Después que nos besamos con el alma y con la vida, te fuiste una noche sin una despedida. Y yo sentí que al irte mi pecho sollozaba, la confidencia triste de nuestro amor así...
"A Bolero is a nocturnal and intimate melody, fragrant and fruity, which serves to produce tears, to adore, to embrace like ivy on the wall, to extinguish a love which is more suffering than love, to forget time, the world outside and everything else; to see the dark side of the moon, to erase old kisses with kisses from other lips, to ask the clock to make time stand still.A Bolero is the last chance to slash your wrists with the blade of a metaphor (before you do it with the bread-knife!)
A Bolero is a stormy sea, and in order not to drown in it, one must know how to navigate it, swim in its promises and duck its disappointments. Mayte becomes a jazz vocalist using the instinctive power she has acquired as a flamenco cantaora while Tete finds new riches, lost notes, like a casket which as the melody opens it, hides shades of Mirós paintings.
This album is like the treasure chest of an ancient sunken galleon, shipwrecked in the dark recesses of the heart in the balmy waters where drunken fish sing and write verse. When you open the lid, you wil find a magical treasure trove, a reflection of a night when Mayte sang her passion with closed eyes and tete told of them with open fingers and everyone recognised events in of their own lives.
Jordi Saladrigas, 1996"
A Bolero is a stormy sea, and in order not to drown in it, one must know how to navigate it, swim in its promises and duck its disappointments. Mayte becomes a jazz vocalist using the instinctive power she has acquired as a flamenco cantaora while Tete finds new riches, lost notes, like a casket which as the melody opens it, hides shades of Mirós paintings.
This album is like the treasure chest of an ancient sunken galleon, shipwrecked in the dark recesses of the heart in the balmy waters where drunken fish sing and write verse. When you open the lid, you wil find a magical treasure trove, a reflection of a night when Mayte sang her passion with closed eyes and tete told of them with open fingers and everyone recognised events in of their own lives.
Jordi Saladrigas, 1996"
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