There was this – eye.
When I looked out the window, clarinet to mouth, practising, it looked back at me. From its spot on the white trunk of a birch tree outside. Was it keeping a check on me? Constantly present, it watched me while my music emerged – kindly, questioningly.
Now the time has come.
What developed from my gaze on “l’occhio della betulla” has found its band: Lorenzo Frizzera, who came to practice one day with his twelve-string guitar and keeps surprising me with his rich sound and imagination. Ivan Tibolla from the Veneto, who is just as flowing and full of ideas at the organ and on the accordion as he is at the Steinway grand, and who accompanies me on all my excursions (including the wild adventures) like a brother. And Fulvio Maras, whom I once heard at a concert, thinking: “now that is a percussionist I’d like to play with…!”
We live far apart, in quite different places, and yet we come together to play this music. When someone in the Ticino tells me an incredible, funny, or simply surprising story, I reply: “Che roba!” CheRoba is alive. Che roba!