Category: Little Epiphanies

Once, a harmonica saved my life. I was 20 years old and setting off on a voyage that would take me hitchhiking from one coast of the US to the other. Before leaving, I bought my first harmonica. It was an intuition. I just knew that for this voyage, I would need a harmonica. One…

In the plaintive shadows of the canyon where the sun does not reach, I stand alone while the winds descend from the ridge tops and throw themselves at me like mad dogs. My poncho whips up. I am alone but there are generations of men who have gone ahead of me. They have been undone…

The blank white walls of the room are covered in illegible words. Totally. There is no spot that has not been written on. I do not know who wrote them or why, but they are the words that surround me, clamoring to break into my mind, imploring me. Covered in words like tattoos, the walls…

She drifts in and out of my vision and my life. I see her murkily, as if she were beneath the brown Rio de la Plata water. She swims languidly and shows no need of surfacing for air. When she opens her mouth to speak, it is muffled and I only see it opening and…

Yesterday was one of those glorious days where everything falls into place. Lunch with our dear friends Dolores Bengolea and her husband, film director Hector Olivera on the balcony of their Buenos Aires penthouse, an on-stage reencounter with my old friend and harmonica mentor Charly Cuomo at the Buenos Aires Blues Festival, and then a…

I watch the container ships move slowly across the water just below the horizon. They move so slowly yet with such implacable purpose. Turn away from the window and when you turn back, they are gone. Tug boats scurry out to meet them, airplanes prepare their descent into Aeroparque, a new metropolis rises in Puerto…

We met as if on a high and barren plain, two specks coming from great distances, preceded by long-shadows. We approached from two separate, desperate horizons. The wind was a dull cry and raised a chalk-like dust that covered everything with its pallid sigh.

Buenos Aires — On Saturday we touched down in this city that is – while not my birthplace – my spiritual home. (Fifteen years of my adult life have been spent here and it is, after all, the place that has nurtured me as an artist.) After a slew of rehearsals, we debuted our new…