Guadalajara! - rants & raves - craigslist (2024)

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Dick Dia. We heard him sometime ago on a mandolin album. Here he is, on guitar. Wonderful guitar, as one would expect. The title I don't like so much; not as "International ..." as I would expect. As far as I know, most of these tunes are Spanish, Italian, and French. I thought there'd be more variety. (What do you think?) ... But, oh well ... it is ... Great Instrumental Music ... ... Enjoy!

Dick Dia Orchestra "International Guitars"

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_mQXkeSGeqnX_s4I_6DvlXgsU90IX0v2WA

Want to escape? Forget the monotony of alarm clocks,
traffic lights, lunch hours, crowded streets, jammed subways
whose screeches tear at the sanity as they round a curve?
Lake to get away from the disturbing sirens of the keepers
of the peace and the squelchers of earthly flames, not to
mention the subliminal intruders-the sheer number of plays
and movies that must be seen, the concerts to be attended,
the books, magazines and newspapers one must keep up
with? Then there are the programs on TV and radio that no
"thinking person" can afford to be without. Add to these a
lecture series, maybe a club, a hobby and it's little wonder
we occasionally feel like drowning men. It's a rare individual
who has never reached the point when to continue
the struggle seems hardly worthwhile, and the possibility of
just quietly stepping out of the system for a spell looks ever
so enticing.
Of course, escape isn't impossible. Nor do we propose
suicide, beatnikism, or "leaving the body to go off else
where as one cult suggests. The truth is, we've all been
crawling out on the system since that day in the playpen
when we first discovered that balancing on one knee and
two hands while advancing the other knee out front, then
shifting the balance to the forward knee, moved us, albeit
slowly, away. And away we went-beneath tables, under
chairs, through doors and up and down stairs with mother
close behind. A few years later when the bath-spinach-
homework regime became insufferable, we hopped a street-
car and ran away to the sanctuary of Aunt Tillie's attic. And
the older we got, the farther we went, or wanted to go-to
Paris, to Spain, perhaps to Germany and Italy, or to that
haven of Norteamericano escapists, Mexico. But it wasn't
always possible to get away just when we wanted to, nor is
it now. So we must occasionally make do with a substitute,
a vehicle that will transport us from the daily doldrums to
the magic places.
Magic vehicles are not too hard to come by. They come in
various shapes, dimensions, and brands. Cinderella's was a
pumpkin, Alice found hers in a looking glass, but the one
we'd like to recommend is small, round, flat, black and
shiny, and only works when placed on a revolving table
pricked by a needle. Not just any disc will do, of course.
The magic words are Dick Dia's International Guitars,
His swaying rendition of La Seine finds you leaning over
the rail of a Bateau Mouche as it glides between the Ile
Saint-Louis and the Left Bank. Or strolling along the
Champs-Elysées, past the flower stalls bright with carnations,
past the sidewalk cafes with checkered tablecloths,
past the canvasless artist sketching Notre-Dame on the side-
walk with chalk-all Under Paris Skies.
More, the jaunty theme from Mondo Cane, leads you
through the living museum of Renaissance Florence, through
the Straw Market, past the jewelry shops nestled on the
Ponte Vecchio, onto the Palazzo Signoria to feast the eyes
upon the statue of Michelangelo's David.
The rollicking Butcher Boy finds you at a tiny round table
on the back of a barge surrounded by a warm balmy Roman
night and joyous Italians drunk on life and love. The tempo
slows and dark eyes silently invite you to dance to Mala
Femmine, then to the plaintive Torna a Sorrento, but you
must be off to Munich's Hofbräuhaus to sit on one of the long
benches, mug uplifted, amidst a rousing chorus of Lili
Marlene
Or to Seville, where you sit cooling with a glass of sangria.
a mild, iced vermouth, your table brushed by whirling skirts
as Dick Dia's guitars burn Malagueña to the click of casta-
nets and gypsy heels.
The strains of Quando Calienta el Sol might take you to
a half-shaded plaza in Old Verona, to the sun-drenched
Costa Brava, to the top of glistening Aneto Glacier high in
the Pyrenees, to the sunny courtyard of the Palace of the
Alhambra in Granada, or to the hot, dusty grand Plaza de
Toros in Madrid. The trumpet trills of España Cani and the
parade ... announce the start of the corrida. The bull
is set loose, trops around for a few investigatory moments.
then a man, back arched, feet firmly planted, head held
arrogantly high, flashes the cape drawing forth low whistles
and soft oles from the tense expectant crowd. The same
ritual takes place throughout the large cities of Mexico from
the border towns of Nogales and Juarez to Mérida at the tip
of Yucatan. But every village has its mariachi band of local
machos got up in silver-bespangled charro costumes to play
for weddings, dances, fiestas, serenades, and generally any
time or anywhere they are persuaded by a few pesos. And
always in the repertory is Guadalajara, considered by most
Mexicans a kind of second national anthem.
During the recording session for this album Dick Dia
came out with probably the best piece of propaganda that
could be spread about it: "I don't care how much money we
spend. I'm making a jewel," and that's just what he did. His
opalescent blendings of guitars, brass, marimba, flute, and
percussion take charge of the senses, firing the atmosphere
with many faceted molten waves of sound.

-------------

Composer, guitarist, mandolinist and conductor who has made many records. He has appeared in a number of New York night clubs, and worked as a musical director for fifteen years, He joined ASCAP in 1959, and his instrumental compositions include "Ciuo", "Tarantelle Chopinesque", and "Valse Giorgano".
-- https://www.imdb.com/

---------------/w

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