Habíamos llegado al Bar de Cao, maderoso y ocre en su esquina eterna de Matheu e Independencia, cumpliendo con la convocatoria hecha por el Gobierno de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires a los que habíamos sido premiados en el Certamen de los Bares Notables pero esta vez celebrando el Día de la Música. Tomamos esta oportunidad como la última presentación en el año de nuestro trío (Hernán Reinaudo, Julián Graciano y F.R.) y parecía muy bueno el hecho de que el lugar ya estaba lleno. Los abrazos con amigos, el infaltable e indispensable "alemán" Enrique Snider con Graciela, los vericuetos del sonido y sus frecuencias, las tres sillas dispuestas en el escenario. Así fue que abrimos el concierto para un público atento y dispuesto como última presentación del día de las que se habían desarrollado por toda la ciudad en bares, calles, veredas y demás lugares hasta insólitos. Hasta que llegó la policía. Mientras cantaba no sé qué cosa ví entrar uniformados. Tal vez todo fue muy rápido, viví una especie de dejá vu de tiempos idos. En cierto momento indefinible tuvimos que dejar una canción en la mitad, apagar los micrófonos, cerrar los instrumentos. Antes, por puro afán resistente, se nos ocurrió hacer una versión bastante desaforada del tango Acquaforte, tan anarquista todavía. Acompañados por los aplausos y protestas del público bajamos del escenario a encontrarnos con nuestros vinos y cervezas aliados a otras copas que llegaban en manos de amigos tan sorprendidos como nosotros buscando una respuesta a esta, en principio, censura ejercida por la Federal. ¿Qué pasó en el Día de la Música? La Ciudad de Buenos Aires, por la que fuimos contratados a través de su dependencia de Bares Notables representada por Marcelo Ginesta ( que cumplía años ese día y no pudo estar presente) organizó nuestra actuación, broche final de un día en el que la música se halló por toda la ciudad, en un local que no tiene habilitación para ejecutar música en vivo los días de semana. Así fue que un vecino desvelado acudió a la policía con su queja a las 22.00 horas y, con diligencia, la fuerza pública se hizo presente para callar al cantor y sus guitarristas mientras, seguramente, en algún otro lugar era más que requerida. El Bardo habitual.
We had come to Cao's Bar, timbered and tawny as allways on it’s eternal corner of Matheu street and Independencia avenue, fulfilling with the summons done by the Government of the City of Buenos Aires, those that we had been rewarded at the Contest of the Notable Bars but this time celebrating the Day of the Music. We took this opportunity as the last presentation of our trio this year (Hernán Reinaudo, Julián Graciano and F.R.) and it seemed to be very good the fact that the place already was full with audience. The encounter with friends, the inevitable and indispensable “alemán” Enrique with Graciela, the rough terrain of the audio techniques and its frequencies, three chairs arranged on stage. We begon the concert for an attentive audience as last presentation of the day of those who had played around the whole city in bars, streets, paths and other places up to unusual. And the police came. While I was singing do not what I saw to enter blue uniforms. Maybe everything was very fast, I lived through a kind of dejá vu of old dark times. In certain undefinable moment we had to leave a song in the half, extinguish the microphones, close the instruments. Before, for pure resistant zeal, it happened to us to do a version behaved in an outrageous way enough of the tango Acquaforte, so anarchistic it still is yet. Accompanied by the applaus and protests of the public we went down the stage to meet our wines and beers that were allied to other glasses that were coming in hands of surprised friends as us seeking for an answer to this situation, maybe a new censorship exercised by the Policía Federal. What happened on the Day of the Music? The City of Buenos Aires, by which we were contracted across its dependence of Notable Bars represented by Marcelo Ginesta (who was celebrating his birthday on that day and could not be present) organized our presentation, final clasp of one day in which the music was situated in the whole city, in a place that does not have fitting out(qualification) to execute live music during week days. It was that a wakefull neighbor came to the police with his complaint at 22.00 p.m and, diligently, the public force became present to keep silent about the singer and his guitarists while, surely, in some another place it was more needed. The usual Bardo.
We had come to Cao's Bar, timbered and tawny as allways on it’s eternal corner of Matheu street and Independencia avenue, fulfilling with the summons done by the Government of the City of Buenos Aires, those that we had been rewarded at the Contest of the Notable Bars but this time celebrating the Day of the Music. We took this opportunity as the last presentation of our trio this year (Hernán Reinaudo, Julián Graciano and F.R.) and it seemed to be very good the fact that the place already was full with audience. The encounter with friends, the inevitable and indispensable “alemán” Enrique with Graciela, the rough terrain of the audio techniques and its frequencies, three chairs arranged on stage. We begon the concert for an attentive audience as last presentation of the day of those who had played around the whole city in bars, streets, paths and other places up to unusual. And the police came. While I was singing do not what I saw to enter blue uniforms. Maybe everything was very fast, I lived through a kind of dejá vu of old dark times. In certain undefinable moment we had to leave a song in the half, extinguish the microphones, close the instruments. Before, for pure resistant zeal, it happened to us to do a version behaved in an outrageous way enough of the tango Acquaforte, so anarchistic it still is yet. Accompanied by the applaus and protests of the public we went down the stage to meet our wines and beers that were allied to other glasses that were coming in hands of surprised friends as us seeking for an answer to this situation, maybe a new censorship exercised by the Policía Federal. What happened on the Day of the Music? The City of Buenos Aires, by which we were contracted across its dependence of Notable Bars represented by Marcelo Ginesta (who was celebrating his birthday on that day and could not be present) organized our presentation, final clasp of one day in which the music was situated in the whole city, in a place that does not have fitting out(qualification) to execute live music during week days. It was that a wakefull neighbor came to the police with his complaint at 22.00 p.m and, diligently, the public force became present to keep silent about the singer and his guitarists while, surely, in some another place it was more needed. The usual Bardo.
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