Gypsies

Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg, Sergio and Odair Assad; Nodja Salerno-Sonnenberg, violin; Sergio Assad, guitar; Odair Assad, guitar

I don’t know how to talk about gypsies in a politically correct way. The nomadic nature of their lifestyle forbids a thorough understanding of their worldview; they pick up and leave before anyone gets to know them. When observed from a distance, their culture and mores can seem attractive and alluring. Why not? Lots of travel, no worries, no cares, living an insouciant life on the raw nerve of a free spirit. Grabbing life with both hands, shaking it up and holding on tight. Isn’t that the way life was meant to be? I don’t know the answer to that question.

My parents, my family, my friends and colleagues keep me grounded pretty hard. God grounds me pretty hard. And I ground me pretty hard. I buck at it for sure. I so desperately desire that unshackled and soaring pneuma that thrives on immunity from the consequences of excess. Am I wrong or does it sound like I’m talking about Heaven?

The passionate heart that lies on the emotionally charged sleeve of the instrument-bearing gypsy rover inoculates the music of the soul. And when that music comes out to play through the bow of a violin or on the strings of a fervid guitar, modesty, moderation, subtlety, restraint and sobriety evaporate in the fire. “Maybe you can cook a hamburger with a match,” the gypsy says, “but I don’t have that kind of time. I want you to know the magnitude of my ardor, the degree of my fervency … and the width, breadth and reach of my love. Right. Now.”

The gypsy influence in the dazzling arrangements on this CD cannot escape the notice of the listener. With the virtuosic playing on both violin and guitar and the disciplined stylistic approach to, among others, Eastern European, Turkish, Brazilian and Spanish world music, we have a fusion of classical and gypsy music rarely encountered on this outrageously high level. If you ever wanted to pretend to be a gypsy, this is your best chance.

The only actual hands-on gypsy experience in my young years occurred with my friend Joe M. when we had a few hours of “parole” from the cruise ship in Rome, Italy. I had just attended a lecture the day before on what to see and where to go in the Eternal City. During the lecture, Frank Buckingham – Yes, that was his name. Do you like it? – cued us in to the latest tactics that the gypsies employed to attain what they wanted from your pockets. The gypsy children would approach you with newspapers, splay them out in front of you at waist level or higher and start asking questions while they fish through your pants pockets. And it happens in about five seconds.

About six young boys approached me, right outside the Coliseum, and I just grabbed their newspapers, wadded them up and threw them at them. A different group of boys, two seconds later, did the same thing to Joe, but he hadn’t attended the lecture. I yelled, “Polizzi” and they took off down the street but not until they’d shown us the blessed “fickle finger of fate”. I wanted to give them a “Sock it to me”, but I probably would have ended up hearing an Italian version of “Here come ‘da judge. Here come ‘da judge. Here comde ‘da judge.” A bad first gypsy impression? You bet your sweet bippy.

Credits: To Rome. You’re beautiful. Can’t wait to see you again some day.