Tuesday 27 November 2007

Fiebre

The first song that Daniel and I sang together was "Fever". We sang it before we even had one conversation. I felt the song was extremely cheesy - beneath me even - but it was a song we both knew the words to (albeit in 2 languages) so we tried it. We sounded pretty darn good.

A week later, we sang "Fever" again... by this point we were romantically intertwined, had rehearsed dozens of songs for dozens of hours, and we were feeling tropical, lusty, and musical heat. We had the fever. And damn, we were hot.

Over the next 2 months, Daniel and I sang a lot of songs but we always came back to "Fever"... in Spanish and English, with banter on stage, with banter in the bedroom, with ad libbing & scatting, with full band and acapella... and we always ended breathlessly. As if we had caught something.

We sang for a crowd of no one, a crowd of one, a crowd of 100 people. We made good money and we made absolutely nothing. I remembered what it's like to be a singer, what it's like to be desired, what it's like to be alive.

And then I got on a plane and left Zihua for Gringolandia. Because that is what I had decided was best for me long before I became infected.

Fast forward past a few weeks in air conditioning and I have a fever of the medical sort. It sucks. It makes me whiny and weak and woozy. It makes me think ironically of Daniel and me, standing on a small stage in a candle & star lit restaurant, floating our ways through bossa nova, jazz, blues, and sizzling smoky torch songs. It makes me wonder if una vida en Zihua, una vida con música, una vida mas facíl might just be the loveliest way to burn.

posted on Mexico time @ 16.21 (menos o mas) |