I am guilty, of negligence and omissis. Too many days have gone by without me contributing to these pages and a lot has happened. Now I am faced with two options, either a) offering a detailed recount of my past adventures therefore succumbing before getting past day one or b) sketching an outline of what would fit nicely in a three acts opera
I choose the second one. In respect of the zest and juice of my jest in Europe, though, I will make an etching of it. Outline it, but with great care for the main lines, which will be indeleble.
1)Prologue: I leave nyc in a state of prostration. I get into a stupid argument with .amp and he won't talk to me again. I won't get into the dynamic, if not that of my own sanity, slowly slipping away. I can only sleep with valium or weed. I am one week away from a trip to Italy, to see my family, a circumstance which always taps into something buried to deep to stir (childhood! unresolved issues! immaturity! nostalgia!). So i freak out. I cry all my tears. I owe survival to a glass pipe, the molecular perfection of benzodyazepines and the big heart of those who came to the rescue - my friends Pookalu, YumYum, Beluria and Art.
2)Preparing for the tour: What was originally intended to be a "relaxing holiday at some Italian beach" has somehow morphed - see how I make it sound as if I had nothing to do with its morphing - into a frenzy. It's like a tour. I'm on tour, Double L "Eat Europe alive" 2005 tour. For booking check with my manager.
So it's Milan Rome London Milan. In 5 days. Or, in terms of mission/emotions, it's love work (crazy) fun love.
I spend an hour trying to find the least expensive combination of trains and ariplanes. I spend the rest of the day persuading myself I can make it without getting a nervous breakdown - and my perplexed parents that "this IS a good idea". I spend part of the night thinking how in the world I'll ever be able to hook up with YumYum in the UK. I'm going to Rome to work the people working with the Mayor. And to meet the Artistic director of Casa del Jazz, who is going to show me the venue. I have projects to propose. They suggest sitting in for two concerts in one night. This promises to be good. Even better is the masterplan for London. Staying at ArcheoC's place, meeting with sexy South African journo, whom I haven't seen in ages (we parted on a minor key). Most importantly, seeing All Rise at Royal Albert Hall, LCJO with London Philarmonic, conducted by Kurt Masur.
Personal top 3 by Wynton Marsalis (original compositions only). The majesty of the blues, All Rise, In this house on this morning (au pair with Black codes and Marciac suite). I can't miss it, are you kidding me? Only problem, YumYum is on the road and has barely had time to confirm she's going. I make a last minute decision. She has a US mobile, mine is Italian, ArcheoC and sexy SAJ's are UK. Coordinating will be one nutty ride.
3)Rome. Rome has always been a city where power was celebrated and fought and exchanged and conquered. The walls near the Coliseum feature a "slideshow" (a sequence of murals) of how the Roman Empire grew from a pimple on the world's ass to be the ass and the world itself. I find this crash course in power inspiring on my way to multiple meetings at il Campidoglio, an elevated palace overlooking i Fori Imperiali and housing Rome's mayoral offices and Rome's finest Art collections.
Highlights of my stay include two nights in a 5 stars hotel, comp'd. Strings have been pulled to find me a room - a suite, more like - including Napoleonic antiques, a gigantic fruit basket and fine china, a Jacuzzi for five, drapes, oriental rugs, a chandelier: all looking slightly dusty, worn out, uhm, decadent - so called "Prima repubblica" (First republic) style, a reference to a specific time in Italian politics, that is "once were luxurious" (and corrupt, at the expenses of taxpayers). Anyway, back to my hotel, it is the first time I ask a friend if he can recommend a nice hotel and end up, well, like this.
I won't even have time to dip the tip of my toes in my Jacuzzi. I'm busy discussing another Jacuzzi - the gold plated Jacuzzi Enrico Nicoletti had installed in his villa, in the Park of Terme di Caracalla. There was also an altar and more gold on doorknobs and window frames. And maybe money and body parts buried in the garden: Enrico Nicoletti was a member of Banda della Magliana, a notorious gang that took over Rome's crime scene in the 70s-80s. Following his fall, the villa was confiscated and has recently been beautifully restored and turned into a flexible performing-recording-educational-housing (feeding!) space, for JAZZ ONLY. A first, in Italy.
As I sit in the office of the Artistic Director, discussing a late night Vespa ride up and down Rome's hills, to go from a smaller gig featuring young prodigy Petrella's all trombones quintet, at Casa del Jazz, to a star studded sold out concert by Enrico Pieranunzi at the beautiful Auditorium, my eyes wonder on a picture of the inauguration. Meryl Streep and Robert De Niro, at the entrance of Casa del Jazz, smiling, admiring.
I have a smile on my face, even at 5am on Saturday morning, when my concierge wakes me up. I have a plane to catch. Going to London - arrivederci "Eternal city", city of smiles and (beautiful) masks.
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