A week ago he died Adam Schlensiger. By these payments, this name tells you nothing to most, I know. You do not have the echo of Lucia Bosé, nor of Carlos Falcó, or Radomir Antic or Lorenzo Sanz -ah, the football-. The national newspapers yes, picked up the news of his death. By coronaviruses. He was 52 years old. Others, however, it sounds to us, Schlesinger. Above all sounds to us. And his professional activity has filled us much more than the others listed (an aside here to recognize my affection for Bosé for his role in Death of a cyclist. Disturbing).
Schlesinger made us spend large periods of time. We will continue happening. With its songs. It is good that you have the disks. They killed Lennon, but there it is, singing in A Day in the Life had to laugh while reading a news story quite sad. And Alex Chilton died ten years ago and here it is, filling the stay singing September Gurls with their Big Star. The encierro is much more bearable with people made of that paste.
That is what happens with Schlesinger. That was dead I said it in a whatsapp my friend Arturo Any, with whom I shared memorable evenings and unforgettable nights in the newspaper and large periods of time after closing waiting for the Owl -as I called him – when the night buses Tussam came to the New Plaza, giving account of a Murphy’s red or two, and then he lost on purpose the bus that I had planned to take – in the irish pub which was then in the basement of the Hotel Inglaterra. I miss Arthur in the writing, I miss that wording, I miss the irish Hotel England. What is happening contributes to this longing: these days are lacking so many things, all of those things that, suddenly, in a moment of decline in staff, seem to be already destroyed for ever.
It is likely that some of those nights I speak of the Fountains of Wayne, from their disks. If you did not know, and gives them by reading this journal public, the Fountains of Wayne were a group of american pop, from New Jersey, very far from the fatalism grunge and noisism of the noise-rock. Composed many for Schlesinger, his songs were like “the morning sun comes in through my window.” Have you seen The Wondersthe film of Tom Hanks on a band shooting a single success? Since the author of that song, That thing you dois Schlesinger. The sky more black could it be thundering while comprobabas that you were in red numbers after discovering that the only milk that I stayed at home for the first coffee of the day had been cut, but pinchabas a disk of the Fountains of Wayne -very funny without stupid prejudices capable of using to Britney Spears – and caught air.
If they want, they can do these days suffocating. Look it up in YouTube Stacy’s Mom. To the whole volume. And full-screen.