A light you can hear


 

There is a place where language becomes silence, the place of Poetry, a place where music dissolves into light. We resort to records or, if the opportunity hopefully arises, to live concerts, so we can listen to Carles Benavent’s dazzling electric bass, searching precisely for a glimpse of this light.

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There is a place where language becomes silence, the place of Poetry, a place where music dissolves into light. We resort to records or, if the opportunity hopefully arises, to live concerts, so we can listen to Carles Benavent’s dazzling electric bass, searching precisely for a glimpse of this light. A light that springs from the cross between the vital agitation of the Parallel Avenue, the majestic stillness of Montjuic hill, and the invisible water that flow over the streets of El Poble-sec. A light studded by immigrant floods and silence in the glasses of the Petit Paris, where Serrat and Jaume Sisa used to laugh and sing, where the talent without frontiers of this Prince of the Electric Bass was born. A wondrous electric bass, who never gives up, that is constantly reborn.

 His steel was forged in the death rattles of 1968, and on each end of the Big Pond, in the legendary wake of Jaco Pastorius, along with the multicoloured flags of Paco de Lucía, Miles Davis, Camarón, Don Alias, Gil Goldstein, Chick Corea, and many others.  This unprecedented electric bass guitar, dotted with guitar chops, blurs the boundaries of jazz while being drenched in Flamenco blood. It maps, through improvisation, Brazilian spirit, African echoes and Latin stone, combining them all to engender the eternally renewed air of a Fiesta called Benavent, where our senses enter the harmonic arena of joy and complaint, of pain and dance, by the resonant light of the Tarot’s Two of Cups, which tells about love, upon that ancient surface where Heaven and Earth hold each other again. For this music discloses the origins that preceded any frontier, any name, any race; it draws together ancient sounds, the lively and multifaceted sounds of the dawn of the world, when the human soul was passionate laughter, and it could vibrate. This music, which is a river of fire, plays for the dreaming slave and for the master in decline, and seems to make out a new horizon, perhaps an unlikely one, where life will be an art. Again.

Lorenna Del Mar, A light you can hear
(Translated from the original Spanish text)