Normally I do not write obituaries. I don't like them You know ... the usual stories, the usual whining, the usual hypocrite R.I.P. . But for B.B. King is different.When someone like him leaves us, you have to write something because it's like a cathedral's facade disappeare. Musicians, please pay attention, I wrote musicians not guitarists like him, are few and precious like the fingers of a hand because they are among the few who were able to transcend their instruments and the limits of their musical's genres transforming their music in a continuous and universal vehicle of emotions and sensations.We knew from a long time about his physical problems and this sad news was expected, it was only a matter of time. Still it hurts, because when a King becomes an icon he becomes immortal prematurely, become a saint even before you see his relics. B.B. King was for anyone who loves the guitar, even the music, in any of its forms an inimitable and unique example of artistic human and professional coherence, he has been able to go beyond the fashions, the times and the misery of our human weakness, he has able to give us unique and unrepeatable moments of joy, happiness and emotions.I admit I thought he was immortal, I thought he could not die, that his vibrato so clean, so emotional, so emotional could resonate in the air forever. I was wrong.On May 14, he left the third King of the Blues, after Albert King and Freddy King only one lacked the appeal. For those who wanted to listen them again l give you the link of the podcast episode of my radio program dedicated to them. Only God knows what kind of jam they are playing together somewhere in afterlife.
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento