A sunny April morning in Madrid. Marissa was training for a half-marathon, so we were following our usual training regimen: she runs, I wander.
Wandering, for me, usually means carrying my camera around and trying to take interesting photographs of places and the people in them. Often I just end up watching the people, as their own personal dramas act themselves out and I let my imagination provide the back-story. Buen Retiro Park, or El Parque del Buen Retiro, is one of my favorite parks in the world - a leafy green oasis in the heart of Madrid, offering Madrilenos and their guests a place to go for quiet, exercise, romance or fun with the children - and a great place to people-watch.
But this day was a little different. As I meandered along the main through-way - a long, straight lane lined with trees and demarcated with fountains, I kept hearing strains of music that sounded simultaneously familiar and out-of-place.
As I drew nearer, I could hear the harmonies and flourishes of a decent-sized ensemble. When I came upon them I saw the uniforms - heavy blue coats with red collars and white, braided epaulets. The music came to a swell as I snaked to the front of the crowd and then it hit me - they were playing the songs of Elvis Presley!
Hound Dog, Blue Suede Shoes, You Were Always on My Mind - all of the King's greatest were being recreated by a large ensemble in the middle of this fine Spanish park at 10:30 in the morning. One word slipped loudly from my lips...
"Awesome."
The brass section did a fine job with Jailhouse Rock's funky bassline, and the crowd clapped and swung with the beat as the conductor infused as much emotion into the morning as he possibly could. I don't want to stereotype, but if anyone can infuse an outdoor, morning rendition of an old Elvis tune with emotion, it is a Spaniard in a fancy coat. I immediately thought of my uncle Manuel.
The group was set up right there on the pavement - no stage or risers - and one could walk up as close as one liked. So I made my way over to the section I had been in when I was younger - the woodwinds.
I was hoping for a saxophone solo. I would have loved to have done one - a loud honky-tonkin' wail in the middle of Blue Suede Shoes, or a schmaltzy, vibrato-filled run during "My Way." But this was all orchestral work, and the reed players stuck mostly to their flutes.
I lingered just behind the woodwind section and just to the right of the rhythm section and took it all in. As I did I was transported back to my school band years, remembering the feeling of the horn in my hand, my eyes on the music, my toe keeping time. For a moment I was absorbed into this band, the melody surrounding me, an occasional out-of-tune note reminding me how difficult it is to play in a group, outside, with the sun in your eyes and cute girls walking by.
I felt a camaraderie with these guys (it was an all-male ensemble). I shared something with them through our common experience playing - admittedly somewhat cheesy - music for random people in public settings. I wanted to tap one on the shoulder and tell him about that time the Murray High School Jazz Band played a set of old swing tunes at a local elder-care facility, wherein one resident kept shouting that it was "too damn loud" but the rest looked like they had gone back in time. And as I looked out over those watching now I could see that they were really enjoying this unexpected, and rather non-sequiter, show. Even the young families, with their lovely Spanish children in their strollers and strapped to their chests, were stopping to listen and smiling as the next classic hit was recognized.
The medley ended with a big, Vegas-in-Madrid-on-an-April-in-the-morning finale just as it was time for me to get back to my meeting spot with the runner. I left, reluctantly, feeling refreshed and inspired and more connected to the city of Madrid than I ever had before.
Such is the power of Elvis? Such is the power of music, more likely.
