Translation by Iván Artalejo
The singing of the clouds ˈOn the white roadˈ is an embrace that reflects the perfume of a departure, it’s the hands turned into wings, it’s the mouth of the artist that doesn’t resist to the silence and dialogues through colors, sounds, ruined cities, the night guard; ˈOn the white roadˈ the clouds are as wide as the existence of the doors, the eyes, the looks, the air that descends and appears and revolves and burns with the mysticism of the question. The clouds are implosive hymns, they slip from present to past, from the prolonged chronology to the migratory sentiment of the memory; thus Enrique Toussaint’s clouds walk, from the material identification to the bottom of an open dream. The clouds are numbers that tell stories of the spirit, they fill real worlds with suns, and they corner any recidivist catastrophe with spiritual medical chants, any mourning of the flesh, any associated journey.
The breathing of Enrique Toussaint’s bass builds a promised bridge of communication, holds from the ground a comet bird that merges with the surviving thread of the music. One by one, the clouds form shamanic whispers, they are dances engraved before any birth and any death. Cloud 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, until arriving to the Music in silence with Diego Herrera and Alfonso André.
Here, the clouds transfigured a story: a burnt, a cut gesture, an unexplainable fury, pompous moments of creation of the soul, the soul mate. The prince reveals not the farewell, but the reunion, from time to time, it screams with despair that the immortality of the heart’s memory does exist; it recalls, it moves, it preaches; shows its teeth, its idealism, its anguish, its tenderness, its gratitude. It seems that in The prince, there is an ensemble of sonorous stems sustained in time. At times, the impossibility is shown, the crystalized energy embodies itself in reflections that burst without claim in transcendence. Enrique Toussaint, the clouds and the silence go beyond music, knowledge, interpretation, the silent chrysanthemum, the inherited reading. Enrique Toussaint connects the living with the lined universe, he travels with his strings with no fear nor danger, and he preaches the respect, the offering, the depth, the tribute.
Enrique Toussaint: the musician that turns his cloud-notes into smiles of present birds.
How many degrees are you?