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"Una Noche Romantica"  -  April 14, 2007  -  7:30 pm

My wife and I were invited to attend a concert by world renown classical guitarist Pepe Romero in New Braunfels.  It was a special favor request by some people close to him who live in the area.  His wife is from Texas, he's from Spain.

I'd never heard of him, but it brings up an old line I'd used from the beginning with my own wife when I'd get caught out not knowing something that "everybody" knows :-)  I'd respond with, "Oh, yea, well who's Harold Pinter?"  Happens he's a world renown playwright, but unless you're a deep fan or student or in theatre yourself, extremely unlikely you'd know they answer.  Neither did my wife.  And so, yes, I admit, I'd never heard of Pepe Romero.  But I had no qualms he was probably very very good.  I did have some qualms its was in an ancient old movie theatre that'd been renovated by this small community north of San Antonio.  That was my error.  :-)

The trip from the kinda big town of Austin to the no way big town of New Braunfels was slightly better than usual for going south on I-35.  All the construction I'd remembered for the last 15 years, and since the last time I'd traveled south past anything further than Buda almost two years ago, was gone.  Clean un-pot-holed lanes with moderately hurried drivers in a traffic flow that moved, ie, not bad.

Good enough a drive to leisurely notice the build up of shops and subdivisions and fast foods and signs.  Leisurely enough to recognize exits I'd used in the past, off to Wimberley, to Texas State, to an old glass supplier, and to, near our destination, Canyon Lake.

Canyon Lake was an experimental excursion that yielded a nice painting still hanging in our living room and a discovery of one those Texas tucked away spots you can't imagine more people don't go to.  Kinda like Lost Maples, but on a smaller scale, Canyon Lake is a true Texas treat.

Flying along the flat highway of I-35 from Austin to San Antonio, if you take the exit actually named Canyon Lake, go west a mere couple miles, you enter huge rolling and cut away hills and curves.  It all comes up so suddenly you think you've fallen off Texas into a coastal dwellers dream of what Texas could be like.

Anyway, a little past that, and past the McQueeny exit I'd taken so many times to stop at the Jack-in-the-Box there for coffee and breakfast en-route to an art or mall show, was our exit.  Our friend who'd generously passed along some tickets to us wanted us to see a little of her town, New Braunfels.  I liked what I saw.  Cute cottages, some of stone, shaded from the traffic by huge spreading canopies of trees lined most of the way to the main street into town.  Quaint curio shops, bakeries, galleries, and the old renovated theatre, swarming with people of all ages in all levels of dress from casual to dressy to fancy.  They all seemed excited to be there.

Though we were half an hour early, there was no nearby parking.  All spots taken.  We went a block, turned down a block, and found a few spaces.

They all filled shortly after we'd scooted the truck into the first one we could claim.

The two block walk in the cool clear evening air gave us a chance to spy into the shop windows, but we also had to cross the big main street we'd entered by.  Spotted looking for an opening to cross, several cars stoped unrequested and waved us on by.  Hmmmm.  Hadn't had that happen in many a year.  Maybe it'd at least be nice at the theatre too.  Now I was beginning to get it right.

The ticket window clearly stated Sold Out.  It was hard to work our way in through the crowd, but we spotted our friend who'd brought her mother and we all made our way to our seats.

The movie theatre, now the Brauntex Performing Arts Theatre, was a replica of the one I went to as child in Houston in the Heights on Washington Ave.

Concrete steps leading up to a raised stage with a viewing screen set to the back a bit.  My brother and sister and I would pay ten cents, til they raised it a quarter! (we were very upset for awhile).  Here, I was glad our seats were reserved, the place was packed full.  But again, unlike for so many years, all I heard was, "Excuse me"  "Sorry"  "Pardon me"  "After you"  "Thank you"  It'd been many a year since such an overall group of strangers reminded me of the Texas I'd grown up with in Houston.  Polite, glad to be where they were, accepting.

My wife and her friend and mother and I sat down to enjoy the concert.

The symphony members were already seated warming up.  Immediately I recognized from my grade school through Jr High band days that this was a cohesive group, not just a band of community members interested in music.

The Mid-Texas Symphony would prove not just competent, but entertaining.

The program began with just the symphony, interpreting Mozart's Symphony No. 35, "Haffner."  The conductor, David Mairs, explained some of the movements clearly and with good humor and the music began.

Memories of sitting in the Music Hall, now gone in Houston, on field trips from Memorial Elementary flooded my thoughts.  Almost afraid I'd sink into boredom, I quickly found myself enjoying the interplay of instruments.

Clean well placed notes, stirrings by the strings, and an interplay that had me secretly smiling.  When done, the guest guitarist was introduced.

Older than I'd envisioned, more spry than I'd expected, and more masterly than I could have known to wish for.  My ideas of guitarmanship was limited to Jimmy Page and Jimmy Hendrix and sessions of Unplugged on MTV.

The program in part described Pepe's opening selection, specifically the second movement, as "...a reflective meditation by the soloist over a sustained violin accompaniment and pizzicato bass."  Also not something I would have known how to describe as such  :-)  I do know that by the near end of this second "reflective meditation", Vivaldi's "Guitar Concerto in D Major", I was wishing it would continue til I could feel completely void of my fatigue and the freeway drive there.  A long running score of this I know would have lead me into one of the more restful healing sleeps I could dream of.  The spirited yet light transition to the closing perkier third movement kept any hard jarring away and led perfectly to intermission.

Again the permeating sounds of politeness as the whole theatre emptied into the small lobby for drinks, brownies, and coffee, "Excuse me"  "Oh, pardon me"  "After you"  "Yes, thank you."  It was hard not to want to take advantage and just barge through the thickest parts to where I needed to go knowing no one would object  :-)

The second half of the program the conductor again gave a little history of the pieces ahead and of Pepe himself.  Evidently he has shared his knowledge and skills with local Texas colleges for many decades and is recognized through out Europe.

Again this elder musician took his seat, propping one leg on a small wood block to raise his left knee to support his arm holding the guitar, and played.  This time I watched him more closely to see how controlled yet evocatively he would alternate between picking delicious single notes then strumming the strings.  The movement he created between the two types of sounds was controlled yet explosive at times.  This was the sounds of was I'd become used to hearing as stereotypically matador or mexican music, usually over-dramatic and almost a caricature of hispanic culture.  What I heard here though was the real thing.  Even more, the originating sound source.  Here I now heard an internal anguish against a surviving dignity.

The notes themselves repeatedly led me to expect a transition to what the first expressions, in a later time, might have been in the dying days of Dixie; the lyrics "look away, look away" haunting my hearing from my memories.  This was the real thing, the real music, played by a man who felt the essence of when the music was written.  Classical almost didn't do it justice.  The piece was Joaquin Turina's "La Oracion del Terero."

The remainder of the program, and through the three standing ovation encores, I kinda floated through, admiring both single note picks and multiple note sequences strung like Chinese lanterns in a John Singer Sargent painting, sometimes punctuated by drum like thumpings.  All with a clean easy taut passion.  Everyone there knew we had all been treated to the best of treats.

Mid-Texas Symphony
http://www.mtsymphony.org/

Pepe Romero
www.peperomero.com

www.brauntex.org

thanks ya'll,

adan

ps - next writing I'll probably post a very short correction/wrap up of the Met art show in Houston along w/the few brave comments i got in  :-)

then, after that, probably post a new painting, a small 9x12 i've been working on of Bryant Park in NYC

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