NICK CAVE, MONTSERRAT ROIG Y EL MONIGOTE PERDIDO

Esta es mi primera entrada en meses. Tras mi regreso a España, la inspiración parecía haberse agotado. Mi vida se había acomodado a una nueva rutina: estudiar, dar clases, ir a la montaña de vez en cuando, disfrutar de mi estancia en el apartamento donde Lorenzo, Carla y yo comenzamos nuestra nueva vida. Más que Remembering in London, este blog debería llamarse Buscando la inspiración perdida en Londres. No obstante, algo ocurrió ayer que encendió la vieja llama.

Tras pasar el día entre papeles, decidí hacer una visita al viejo cine Albéniz, una de las joyas que hace que merezca la pena vivir en Málaga; el único lugar en el que puedes realmente disfrutar del cine independiente en versión original. Me llena de alegría el ver que siempre hay cola en la taquilla, aunque he de decir que la mayoría de los presentes tienen más de cuarenta años. Seguro que muchos de ellos venían a este mismo cine a ver Sonrisas y lágrimas cada año, como yo solía hacer con mis tías cuando era una niña.

Los espectadores hacen cola a la entrada del cine Albéniz

No tienes que pensártelo mucho para elegir una película en el Albéniz. Todo es bueno. Me decidí por 20,000 Days On Earth (20.000 días en la tierra), el documental sobre Nick Cave, simplemente porque el horario me venía bien. Lo  que me encontré fue un auténtico festín: el sonido de la voz profunda de Cave recitando los pensamientos garabateados en sus cuadernos a lo largo de los años, la calidad envolvente de su música, compuesta junto a Warren Ellis, la luz melancólica y evocativa de Brighton en otoño… Pero, sobre todo, lo que puso en marcha mi cerebro fue el experimentar el placer de mirar hacia atrás, el encontrarte con tu viejo yo a mitad de la vida, descubriendo que eres básicamente la misma persona, aunque no del todo.

Cuando regresé a Málaga en mayo, mi madre, inspirada por mi experiencia con la reminiscencia, decidió bucear en sus viejas cajas de recuerdos y rescató una colección de viejas fotografías y un trozo de papel que había conservado durante treinta años: un ejercicio de autorreflexión que yo había realizado mientras estudiaba COU, a la edad de 17 años. El papel mostraba un monigote, al que yo había “decorado” con gafas de culo de vaso, una camiseta a rayas y unos zapatos de arlequín, tratando de quitarle importancia a las preguntas y respuestas unidas mediante flechas a las diferentes partes de su cuerpo. “Típico de mí”, pensé cuando lo vi.

Había preguntas del tipo “¿En qué hombro te apoyas?” o “¿Hacia dónde vas?” y antes de empezar a leer pensé que mi vieja visión de la vida me iba a parecer ridícula e incluso embarazosa. No podía estar más equivocada. Fue asombroso el comprobar cómo mi perspectiva no había cambiado un ápice: he ganado y perdido muchos amigos en el camino, pero las personas en las que me apoyo son las exactamente las mismas; todavía veo el futuro como una página en blanco y trato de disfrutar del presente; lo que más temo es  que algún día no sea capaz de reconocer a la gente que quiero. Era simplemente yo en ese trozo de papel

Cuando llegué a casa me encontré dun mensaje de Lorenzo: no te pierdas este fabuloso documental en la web de Televisión Española a la Carta. Seguí el enlace y me encontré con una joya que encajaba perfectamente con mis pensamientos.

Hace treinta años, mientra yo dibujaba monigotes, la escritora y periodista Montserrat Roig entrevistó a una serie de jóvenes para un programa titulado Búscate la vida. Algunos eran anónimos: un torero decidido a continuar en los ruedos a pesar de haber perdido un ojo a causa de una cornada; una jornalera de Marinaleda, el pueblo andaluz donde los trabajadores hicieron la revolución allá por los años 80; la alcaldesa más joven de España, una chica de tan sólo 18 años; un chico decidido a hacerse objetor de conciencia (recordemos que el servicio militar fue obligatorio hasta 1996) y que trabajaba repartiendo cartas en un banco mientras intentaba triunfar como estrella del pop. Los otros nombres me resultaban familiares: Clara Morán, la hija del ministros de asuntos exteriores allá por los ochenta, y la coreógrafa Blanca Li.

En el programa se mostraba a estos jóvenes en la actualidad, mirando las viejas grabaciones y reflexionando sobre lo que eran y lo que son. La mayoría sentían lo mismo que yo cuando se enfrentaban a su yo más joven: en el fondo no habían cambiado; sus perspectivas vitales eran más o menos las mismas. Se podía ver que algunos habían recibido sus golpes en la vida (divorcio, enfermedad, muerte, desempleo…) Nada se mencionaba abiertamente, pero se podía inferir en sus conversaciones o simplemente en sus miradas.

Se podía ver que, a pesar de la crisis, la vida en España ha mejorado increíblemente desde los ochenta: en una de las entrevistas, la chica de Marinaleda dice que la libertad significa poder comer cuando lo necesitas y poder expresar tus opiniones abiertamente. Asumía que no podía tener las cosas bonitas que anunciaban en la televisión, pero el saber que había gente con tanto y gente con tan poco le llenaba de indignación. Ahora tiene un móvil y un coche porque los necesita… o quizás porque ahora es como cualquier otra persona. Todavía vive con el chico con el que se casó el año antes de ser entrevistada por Roig.

La alcaldesa todavía vive en su pueblo. Consiguió hacer realidad su proyecto de abrir un colegio para que los niños y niñas no tuvieran que viajar 70 Km. todos los días, aunque tuvieron que cerrarlo hace dos años porque ya no quedan niños. Todavía trabaja en el ayuntamiento, ahora como concejala. Hace treinta años los hombres le decían que se fuera a su casa a limpiar y no se metiera en asuntos que no corresponden a las mujeres. ¡Cuánto ha cambiado la vida desde entonces!

La única que ha cambiado mucho es Clara Morán. Resulta claro que la vida no es lo que ella esperaba. De ningún modo se reconocía en la mujercita llena de seguridad que aparecía en la pantalla. Sin embardo, ha descubierto el valor de la ingenuidad y ahora no tiene miedo a mostrarse tal y como es.

En cuanto a Blanca Li, es la que realmente ha triunfado. También era la que tenía un objetivo más claro, la que no tenía miedo de fracasar porque fallar una vez no quiere decir que vayas a hacerlo siempre (una buena lección, teniendo en cuenta que procede de una niña de 17 años). Ahora es una célebre coreógrafa que vive la vida a la que siempre aspiró, profesional y personalmente.

El programa termina con una promesa de Montserrat Roig: entrevistar a todos estos chicos y chicas dentro de diez años para ver en qué medida habían conseguido sus objetivos. No pudo ser. Seis años más tarde, a la edad de 45 años, el cáncer se llevó su vida. Treinta años después, sus amigos han terminado este proyecto como homenaje a ella y como regalo para todos nosotros.

Yo hace treinta años, mientras estudiaba árabe en Marruecos

Yo ahora

Aquí podéis ver el documental La vida encontrada

Y en filmin podéis encontrar 20.000 días en la tierra

NICK CAVE, MONTSERRAT ROIG AND THE LOST PUPPET

This is my first entry in months. After coming back to Spain, inspiration seemed to have run out. My life seemed to have settled into a new routine: teaching, studying, going to the mountains from time to time, spending and enjoying time on my own in the apartment where Lorenzo, Carla and I started our life together.  It seemed that rather than “Remembering in London”, this blog should have been called Finding the lost inspiration in London. However, something happened yesterday that lit the old flame.

After having spent the day among papers, I decided to pay a visit to the old Albeniz cinema, one of the jewels that make it worth living in Malaga, the only place where you can enjoy truly independent cinema in the original version. It puts a smile on my face to see that there’s always a queue at the box office, although I must say that most of the aficionados are over forty. I bet many of them used to go to this very same cinema to see The Sound of Music every year, as I used to do with my aunties when I was a kid.

Spectators queuing outside the Albeniz Cinema

You don’t have to think much to choose a film at the Albeniz. Everything is good. I decided to see 20,000 Days On Earth, the documentary about Nick Cave, just because it fitted into my timetable. What I found was a feast to the senses: the sound of Nick’s deep voice as he recited the thoughts he had jotted down in his notebooks throughout the years, the involving nature of his music, composed together with Warren Ellis, the gloomy and evocative light of Brighton in the autumn… But most of all, what really put my brain into motion was to experience the enjoyable pleasure of looking back at your old self halfway through your life, discovering that you are pretty much the same, but not quite.

When I returned to Malaga in May, my mum, inspired by my reminiscence experience, decided to dive into the old boxes of memories we have at home and fished a collection of old photographs and a piece of paper she had kept for thirty years: a self-reflection exercise I had done during my last year of high school, when I was 17. It contained the drawing of a puppet, which I had duly decorated in a self-deprecating manner with thick glasses, a striped t-shirt and funny shoes, as a way of resting importance to the questions and answers that were linked by arrows  to the different parts of its body – so typical of me, I thought, when I saw it.

There were questions of the type “On which shoulders do you lean on?” or “How do you face the future?” and before starting to read I thought I would laugh at how ridiculous my outlook on life would seem to me today, thirty years later. I couldn’t be more wrong. It was truly amazing to see that my view hadn’t changed an iota: I have lost and gained lots of friends on the way, but the people I lean on are exactly the same; I still see the future as a blank page and I try to enjoy the present; what I fear the most is not being able to recognize the people I love one day. It was me, just me, on that piece of paper.

When I arrived home, I found a text from Lorenzo: watch this wonderful documentary on the Spanish Television website. I followed the link he sent me and I found that the content of this other jewel was absolutely relevant.

Thirty years ago, in the same year I was drawing the puppet, the writer Montserrat Roig interviewed a series of young people for a documentary called Búscate la vida (an expression that means something like “Try to make a living”). Some of them were anonymous: a young matador who was keen on continuing his career on the bullring despite having lost an eye; a farmer from Marinaleda, a small village in Andalucia where the workers’ revolution was made in the 1980s; the youngest mayor in Spain, a girl of just 18; or a boy who decided to become a conscience objector (doing the military service was compulsive until 1996) and who worked delivering letters in a bank and tried to make a career as a pop singer. The other two names were familiar: Clara Moran, the daughter of the Socialist Foreign Secretary in the 1980s, and the choreographer Blanca Li.

In the programme you could see these young people nowadays, looking at the old recordings and reflecting on what they were and what they are. Most of them shared my feelings when they confronted their younger selves: deep down they had not changed; their outlook on life was more or less the same. You could see that some of them had received their blows in life (divorce, illness, death, unemployment…) Nothing was openly said about this, but you could infer it from their conversation or just from their look.

You could see that despite the economic crisis, life in Spain has incredibly improved since the 1980s: in one of the interviews, the girl from Marinaleda said that freedom was to be able to eat whenever you need to and to be able to express your thoughts openly. She assumed that she could not have the nice things she could see on TV but claimed that knowing that there were people with so little and people with so much made her angry. Nowadays she has a mobile phone and a car because she needs them… or perhaps because she has become like anyone else. She still lives with the boy she married one year before she was interviewed by Roig.

The mayor still lives in her little village. She managed to open a school so that the children did not have to leave their homes to study 70 km away, although they had to close it a couple of years ago because there are almost no children left. She still works at the Town Hall, now as a councillor. Thirty years ago the men in the village used to tell her to go home and do the housework instead of meddling with businesses that did not correspond to women. How has life changed since then!

The only one who has change a great deal is Clara Morán; life is obviously not what she expected. She would not recognize herself in the self-assured little woman on the screen. But she has discovered the value of naïvety and now she is not afraid of showing herself as she really is.

As for Blanca Li, she’s the most successful one. She was also the most focused, the one who was not afraid of failing because failing once does not mean that you will fail forever (what a lesson to be received from an 17 year old). Now she’s a renowned choreographer, living the life she always wanted, professionally and personally.

At the end of the programme we can see how Montserrat Roig promised that she would interview all these boys and girls ten years on in order to see if they had achieved their goals in life. This was not possible. Six years later, at the age of 45, cancer took her life. Thirty years on, her friends have finished her project as homage to her and as a gift to all of us.

Me 30 years ago, while studying Arabic in Morocco

Me now

THE UNDERWATER ARCHEOLOGIST

A few years ago I read a novel called ‘What I Was’ with my third year students. It was a book for teenagers, a coming-of-age tale set in East Anglia, the story of the friendship between two very different boys in the 1960s. I don’t remember much of the plot, but there is a passage that got engraved in my mind: the two boys are rowing on a boat on a clear Easter day; the sea is calm and they can see the remains of a lost medieval city underwater.

The sea is actually one of the protagonists of the book and the story reaches its climax during a storm that floods the cabin where one of the boys lives. Thirty years on, it will also have claimed the hateful school where the other protagonist felt like a prisoner. The beach where most of the action takes place is a place full of mystery – cold and menacing. 

When I read this book I wondered whether this place was real or just a product of the imagination of Meg Rosoff, its author. I recently discovered the truth.

A few weeks ago Pam invited us to spend a few days in Suffolk. She and her family have a cottage in a very small village, Walpole, and she suggested that we could stay there and use their bicycles to move around the region and discover its treasures. 

Tug of war in Walberswick

There are plenty of cycling routes, and on the first day we embarked on a seven-hour trip that took us as far as Framlingham, where we finally stopped to have a beer in the pub near the station.

On this first excursion we went through yellow fields and green woods, passing almost inhabited places with a church in the middle of nowhere. On the second day, however, we decided to set towards the coast. We had been told about a mysterious town called Dunwich and immediately I knew it was the place the book talked about.

Dunwich was the capital of the Anglo Saxon kingdom of East Angles. It was an international harbour and in the 13^th century it had eight churches and about five thousand inhabitants. Between 1286 and 1362 a series of storm surges (or meteotsunamis) destroyed most of the harbour and the town. In the 19^th century there were less than 250 inhabitants and only one of the churches remained, the one that was claimed by the sea between 1908 and 1919. Nowadays, Dunwich is just a couple of streets and it has only 50 inhabitants. However, it’s still a town, not a village. 

There’s a museum and a cafe on the beach, where you can have the typical fish and chips or drink a cup of coffee before going for a walk along the cliff (you are warned to be careful, because its edge may collapse into the beach when you expect it the least). 

The cliff eventually leads to a wood that hides the remains of the Greyfriars priory. What really impressed me the most was the lack of people around, even in the middle of July, the absolute silence only broken by the cries of the birds coming from the nearby marshes.

Going back to the beach, the weather suddenly changed and it started to rain. It felt so different from the scorching sandy extensions full of holidaymakers of Southern Spain (I must confess I have always hated going to the beach in Malaga: too much sand, too much heat, too much noise). Here, in this desolate landscape I felt I could walk forever. The rain stopped eventually and we started moving towards the marshes, following the opposite direction. First we came across a family who were brave enough to adventure themselves into the sea (we had brought our swimsuits but we found the sea too menacing and turbulent).

Later on we came across a man standing next to a fishing rod. His daughter, a twelve-year old girl was lying comfortably inside a bivouac, drawing pictures on a notebook. They told us that the weather was nice enough to spend the night on the beach. Maybe they expected to listen to the bells of the churches of the ghost town, as the legend says.

We continued our silent walk. The prevailing colour was brown: you could see it in the sea and in the stones, different shades that combined with the traditional white, black and grey. The only noise was the one from the sea and the crushing sound of the pebbles under our shoes.

Walking along this barren place, I thought it could very well become a metaphor of the dementia process. This condition is progressive and it erodes not only your memory but your capacity to communicate and do everyday activities. However, the person with dementia is still a person. All the features that define them are still there, but in a submerged form.

Last Tuesday we had dinner with Anita Berlin in a really nice place near the Thames. Anita told us about all the different projects she has in mind to give shape to the history of her family. Anita’s mother, Carmen, who lives with Alzheimer’s, has an amazing history. To give you just an example, she was one of the persons who were saved by Angel Sanz-Briz, the Angel of Budapest, during the II World War. Anita has the original documents. She also has a little diary she found recently, which contains a list of books, some of them crossed out. Carmen, who spoke four languages and had a passion for words, can no longer speak. This little notebook will allow Anita to discover more about her mother through the books she read or wanted to read.

Marine archaeologists have managed to reconstruct the map of the old city of Dunwich. Anita is also an archaeologist of submerged treasures.

Photography: Lorenzo Hernandez                                          www.photolorenzohernandez.com

PRIDE AND FREEDOM IN LONDON

I recently attended a performance of Titus Andronicus at the Globe Theatre in London as part of the social programme we had organized for the European partners of the Remembering Yesterday Caring Today Training project who attended the symposium. 

This is one of Shakespeare’s bloodiest productions. It narrates a series of barbaric events that culminate in a banquet where a woman is tricked into eating a pie made with her own sons’ flesh. Rape, mutilation, physical and psychological torture and murder are offered to the spectators in such a stark way that it makes some people feel physically sick. 

I had been warned about the negative reviews this production had received because of its sensationalistic use of violence, an attempt to make a Tarantino-like version of Shakespeare. Actually, there wasn’t so much blood – it was theatre after all. What really shocked me was a scene when a girl is found in the woods by her uncle after having been savagely raped, tortured and maimed. It wasn’t what you could actually see, but the look of madness in the young woman’s face. This reminded me of a performance of the ‘Vagina Monologues’ I saw a few years ago in which one of the actresses reflects on the fate of the thousands of women who were systematically raped during the Bosnian-Serbian war of the 1990s.

Later on in the play, the girl’s father asks the emperor if a parent should kill a daughter that has been raped. The emperor answers that he should, so he murders her in order to save his honour. It’s chilling to think about how often I have heard the same story in the news in the last few years. 

Has humanity changed so little? Yesterday I was in the underground station and I read an announcement of Amnesty International asking people to sign a petition to save a teenage boy from being hanged. His crime? Being gay. 

Fortunately, there are moments when you can see a silver lining in such a bleak panorama. On the same day I attended the performance of Titus Andronicus, I was walking up Whitehall with a group of people who had come to London from all over Europe. When we reached the monument that commemorates the fallen in the wars, we came across a parade of members of the three services of the armed forces. 

As soon as this celebration finished, members of the police moved some fences and the floats of the Pride in London parade took over. In seconds, the sound of the army boots were substituted by the songs of Gloria Gaynor and other divas and the choreographies of topless muscular men and drag queens followed the same route that had been covered by the army march a few minutes before. 

This is one of the things I love about this city, the rich mixture of ways of living and the opportunity to express yourself and live the life of your choice. 

I leave you with the photos Lorenzo took during in Pride in London celebration in Trafalgar Square, one of my favourite places in London.

Lorenzo takes a break from photography in Trafalgar Square

I just caught the London eye celebrating Gay Pride with my mobile

Photography: Lorenzo Hernandez                                                                                      www.photolorenzohernandez.com

BACK IN LONDON

Drama workshop at the RYCT Reminiscence in Dementia Care Symposium

After spending a month in Malaga working at the Official School of Languages in Fuengirola, I am back in London. Going back to my old life in Spain wasn’t as hard as I expected. It was weird to meet my students on the last week of classes, but the teacher who had been standing in for me, Tamara, was such an amazing professional that she made the transition really smooth. After a couple of days I felt as if I had never left my post. It was also really nice to discover that many of my old students had been following this blog and had been connected to me somehow throughout the year.

Living at my mum’s was great: she and her partner, Julian, spoilt me rotten and I must say that I have never eaten so much “jamón serrano” in my life. They live far from my school and I have spent a long time commuting to work, but I also had a delicious sandwich in my bag. Travelling by train wasn’t that bad after all, I spent the time doing useful things such as reading Anita Berlin’s wonderful account of how her grandfather arrived in Spain or writing my contribution for the forthcoming symposium Remembering Yesterday Caring Today. Reminiscence in Dementia Care”.

However, life has been far from relaxing. I left in the morning and came back almost at midnight. To make matters worse, my permission to come back to London to help at the symposium wasn’t properly applied for and it wasn’t clear whether I would get it until the very last minute. Finally, I was given the green light to come to London less than 24 hours before my flight was supposed to take off. I was sighing with relief when I was told that my flight had been cancelled due to the French air controllers’ strike. It was 19:00 and I had to be in London the next day. The airline I was booked in could not offer me a place in the next 48 hours and I would miss the symposium. My colleague Paul helped me find another flight with another company. Fortunately, this one wasn’t cancelled. I travelled all night and I arrived just in time for the conference.

Workshop on the use of visual arts-based activities

Again, going back to my life in London was really easy (I must have become a very flexible person). After a few hours, I felt I had never left. Fortunately, Sue Heiser and a group of wonderful people (I can’t mention all of them now, but I am extremely thankful to them) had helped Pam in the last legs of the conference preparations.

Most of the members of the European Reminiscence Network have worked together in the framework of a Grundtvig Learning Partnership (Remembering Yesterday, Caring Today) during the last two years. This symposium was the culmination of this project. Delegates from all over Europe (The Czech Republic, Estonia, Finland, Germany, Ireland, Northern Ireland Poland, Slovakia, Spain) joined specialists from all over the UK to share experiences and ideas.

Josep Vilar and Duna Ulsamer give their presentation on the impact of RYCT on staffs and residents in the care home context

What was the symposium about? Well, Sally Knocker, summarised it very well in her introductory talk. First, she asked the audience to choose three pieces of information they would use to define themselves. Some people chose things related to their work, hobbies, family, personality... Then, Sally explained that when you are diagnosed with dementia, this is the only thing people see in you; all of a sudden, the rest of your defining features disappear.

The Slovak team led a series of activities on the use of visual arts

The day was packed with workshops focused on the experience and needs of participants with dementia, the impact of “Remembering Yesterday Caring Today” in the care home context, the needs of family carers, the use of drama, music and the visual arts in the RYCT sessions, and how to work towards an artistic product, training and evaluation. All these workshops had a common goal: to focus on the person, not the patient. Artists met social workers, care home managers, specialists in dementia, writers, family carers and persons with dementia who have made different contributions to the RYCT project according to their own skills.

Drama activity led by Pam Schweitzer

The day went by like a dream and I would like to share with you a few moments, illustrated by Lorenzo’s wonderful photos: the participants of the drama workshop lying on the floor reproducing the frozen image of a holiday, the people who joined the visual arts workshop writing and drawing on the paper-covered walls, Anita Berlin looking at the series of portraits that her son Alex had made of her father Ludwig, Josep and Duna talking about the impact of the project in the care home context... Of course I missed a lot. I wish I could have been everywhere, but you can get a taste of the exciting atmosphere of the day.

Anita Berlin looking at her father's portrait

We had lunch in the beautiful hall of the town hall in Woolwich (Pam managed to convince them not to move us to the basement, even if we were almost 100 people), and we had the “official” group photo on the impressive staircase, one of the landmarks of the building.

Dinner at the Town Hall in Woolwich

One of the pluses of this symposium was the outstanding theatre performances we enjoyed during the day. The first one was “Going Back”, the new reminiscence show by Eastern Angles, which tells the life story of Sid, a 94-year-old veteran and his wife Hettie throughout the 20^th century. This was a brilliantly performed show in which I would highlight the amazing choreography and use of sound effects.

Pam Schweitzer and Jon Tavener (director)  converse before the Eastern Angles show 

"Going Back" by Eastern Angles

The second performance was Wioleta Pietrasik’s homage to her grandma, who lived with Alzheimer’s during the last years of her life. This intimate piece was developed by the actress herself with the help of Pam Schweitzer. I loved the mixture of Polish and English and the humorous use of body language.

Wioleta Pietrasik shows how her mother used to stir the mashed potatoes

There was also an exclusive one-to-one performance by Clare McManus, “Tread Softly”, which took place in the kitchen, but only ten people could attend it and I wasn’t one of the lucky ones.

I had to speak at the end of the day, during the launching of the Reminiscence Theatre Archive, so I expected that by the time my turn arrived, everybody would have fled or would be half asleep out of exhaustion. To make matters worse, there was a break for “wine” right before my speech. Amazingly, everybody enjoyed my presentation (maybe it was the wine). I guess my life had been such a rollercoaster for the last seven days that I was too tired to get nervous. Actually, I really enjoyed sharing my enthusiasm about the hidden treasures of the archive.

To finish this entry, I would like to thank all the European members of the network for their support and appreciation. I met most of them in Poznan in October, when I had just arrived here, and now it’s great to see them at the end of this project. They are great professionals and wonderful persons as well. This is the end of one of their learning partnerships and the beginning of a new one, this time led by the very capable Catalan team. Pam knows that the future of the network is in good hands.

Mark, Duna and Josep enjoy their meal at Pam's

Petr Veleta shows his dancing skills to the group

P.S. The next day Pam invited all the European partners to have dinner at her house and relax after two days of hard work. The food was delicious and the atmosphere was lively and warm. Each country was invited to sing a song and the Spanish team chose “Eva Mª se fue buscando el sol en la playa”. 

Probably not the best song of the night, but we enjoyed it

 Photos: Lorenzo Hernandez                                           www.photolorenzohernandez.com