David Broza is making love with his well worn lover and singing as if he will never have this perfect moment again at the City Winery in the Village and I am there, participating.
Like the young woman sitting next to me, sharing our table, we are David Broza fans, without understanding exactly what he is saying when he sings his tunes in Hebrew and Spanish. In fact, we are agreed that the songs we can understand, are not his best. Maybe it’s the mystery of the unknown, but I don’t think so. He is more comfortable with his own Hebrew and his passion for Spanish guitar and its language.
I have seen him often in concert and in odd places, like the elebvator in our favorite hotel in Tev Aviv. Close to his home there, he often uses the exercise room and we met him riding down to the library, chatting like buddies.
It was a concert on Christmas Eve, nine years ago that I sat with Tuvia sharing a birthday gift from Ami, his son, mesmerized by David Broza’s hands moving on probably that same guitir, then probably with all its black coating. It was in that two hours of music that I pledged to get my own guitar and get intimate with music again.
Nine years later my fingers still don’t fly around my guitar with abandon, but I am feeling that I can harness more of the beauty of our partnership in bloom. And there is more bonding to come. My guitar will let me fly high, but I need to power down and move to my waiting lover just 2 feet away, waiting patiently to be embraced.