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When he played, the stones sang, and the trees began to dance...
Thursday, February 1st, 2007 05:42 pm.
My dad just told me an old friend of the family died a couple of days ago, of throat cancer. I hadn't even known he was sick, and now I'm crying because I never got to say goodbye.
Gino d'Auri was a flamenco guitarist, a funny, sweet horndog of a guy. His exquisite artistry and enthusiasm for life were such a joy, even if he was a bit of a pain in the ass at times. Although Italian, he was one of the flamenco artists that my dad helped to bring to the States back in the 70's, and had a flourishing career here. He released several albums, played at clubs and with visiting dance companies. He was well-liked by everyone, and knew just about everybody in flamenco circles. (I remember him telling me about hosting Paco de Lucia at his house when Paco was in town, and how flabbergasted he was to see Paco come out of a hot shower, nonchalantly sit on the sofa peeling the calluses off his fingers, and then pick up a guitar and start playing without a hitch.)
Even though I hadn't seen him in a couple of years, I can't believe he's gone. I keep seeing his face in my mind, his bright smile and dancing eyes, and hearing that great sharp guffaw of his. He could always cheer up a room when he came in, loud and cheerful. He often came over to watch soccer games at my parents' house, and was a regular staple at family parties long after my dad ceased to be involved with the performance world. I'll miss him so much.
Ciao, Gino. A donde vayas, que te vaya bien.
You can read about Gino here and here.
My dad just told me an old friend of the family died a couple of days ago, of throat cancer. I hadn't even known he was sick, and now I'm crying because I never got to say goodbye.
Gino d'Auri was a flamenco guitarist, a funny, sweet horndog of a guy. His exquisite artistry and enthusiasm for life were such a joy, even if he was a bit of a pain in the ass at times. Although Italian, he was one of the flamenco artists that my dad helped to bring to the States back in the 70's, and had a flourishing career here. He released several albums, played at clubs and with visiting dance companies. He was well-liked by everyone, and knew just about everybody in flamenco circles. (I remember him telling me about hosting Paco de Lucia at his house when Paco was in town, and how flabbergasted he was to see Paco come out of a hot shower, nonchalantly sit on the sofa peeling the calluses off his fingers, and then pick up a guitar and start playing without a hitch.)
Even though I hadn't seen him in a couple of years, I can't believe he's gone. I keep seeing his face in my mind, his bright smile and dancing eyes, and hearing that great sharp guffaw of his. He could always cheer up a room when he came in, loud and cheerful. He often came over to watch soccer games at my parents' house, and was a regular staple at family parties long after my dad ceased to be involved with the performance world. I'll miss him so much.
Ciao, Gino. A donde vayas, que te vaya bien.
You can read about Gino here and here.
