Deep dark blue and red

I was 17, in bed; in the darkness I reached the cd player after promising someone really special to listen to a musician I didn’t know.

Back to that time, I think I would have painted myself with an incredible amount of deep dark blue, and in the middle, a bit covered, thousands of red bursting drops.

When the music started I realised it was a live recorded concert somewhere in far away America; there was a lot of improvisation, you could tell that because the singer was stopping to laugh as desired. Laughing while playing, that was new to me.
After few seconds of the first track I got one of the most genuine moments of naive happiness never achieved before: a huge gigantic smile in the darkness. I could see the red colour. Yes, I could see it. I could see that everything would have gone in the right direction, if I laughed more often. And if I trusted that really special cd owner.
That night was the night I discovered Frank Zappa, the musician, the composer, the genius of merry notes. The album was “Cheap Thrills” and the first song was “Catholic Girls”.


Snap.

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