Sunday, 6 December 2009

Ricardo Amorim

Nomads
From my bedroom window, I could watch a bunch of gypsy folks right at the next corner strumming ferociously their guitars.

Suspended by the pace of hands clapping, words on a strange dialect were shouted, sung into the air. Supposedly, these words should have pierced through my senses before the guitars did, and all that clapping, would be nothing but a sort of arrangement. But I guess if it would have happened like this, I'd probably be anything but a guitarist today.

Unconsciously, music was growing inside of me very fast and the only missing link between what my ears listen and what my heart feels was its own source, so… guitars caught my attention.

The whole neighbourhood could hear them. Gypsies, like most of metal heads, are truly free in their spirits. They have no fear. They sing what they want to, where they want to, and how loud they want to sing, and you don't want to mess with them.

The same thing can be applied to guitars I guess. You can express what you want to, how loud you want to, and definitely it is not on their nature to be liars. Actually, those stringed wood boxes can turn themselves into a perfect mirror image of your own state of mind. They will tell you if you're happy, sad, angered, relaxed, frustrated…anything. It doesn't matter if questions are asked or not, you will always get an answer.

Perfect friend
Apart from the fact that I had a pretty much normal teenage hood, I've been developing an obsessive tendency to isolate myself since my early ages, and having music as a perfect friend, was something instinctive that I didn't questioned at all. As long as I could listen to it, unconsciously I would allow myself to travel trough my entire life, meditate about it and realise what was left behind. The amount of music where I could lay my ears would be my only limit, which was forcing me to depend a lot on my neighbour's music collection.

I went trough everything. At ten I was into Duran Duran, at twelve got into the Doors, the Stones, Hendrix, U2, Scorpions, Van Hallen , and the most of guitar oriented rock that was around at the time.

At the age of fourteen I discovered Heavy Metal and become a big aficionado of the mighty Iron Maiden. Obsessed by Adrian Smith and Dave Murray's guitar work, the very first thing that I've felt was the unconditional need to play guitar for the rest of my days. Such an intense power couldn't be ignored and it made me went to my parents asking for a guitar.

Finally I got it for Christmas and the first thing I did was to learn that historical ‘Wasted years' intro guitar lick. One week later my fingers were bleeding but my pride was way higher.

Things were never the same again. My school grades went down while my audition was getting in tune by digging anything that would please me, and if not, at least I knew that it would explain me how to get music out of that stringed wood box. Metallica, Slayer, Kreator, Venom, the Bay area Scene, Tampa's great acts such as Morbid Angel, Death, Deicide, etc., were all getting in my veins and left me such a trace of poison that it still remains within me today.

The Paranormal waltz
Like every metal head at the time, I wanted to have a band, and from that moment on, I've tried to find or fit into bands that I would identify myself with. Of course failure and frustration had to come along with, till the day, a phone call from a former school friend, on the behalf of a suburban death-trash metal band, turned the tables for me. They needed a guitarist.

Formally known as The Undertaker, Paranormal Waltz was probably the first real band experience I had. Small but solid steps were taken in musical development and, along with it, shared the very limited knowledge we possessed, hoping to learn how to mix it and create something that could please our own hearts. Of course, mistakes were repeated quite often, and consequently led me to a point where such chemistry wasn't enough for me anymore. But still, I have to say that, after all this years and apart from the resentment that stood after my departure, I still feel a great sense of gratitude towards the achievements we had together at the time. But like I said before, it still wouldn't be enough.

Under the Moonspell
Most of the Moonspell people are my neighbours, not only geographically but musically. We live in different houses, but all on the same street, where everybody knows everybody without noticing each one of them, till one day. So, after wandering around for a life, this band decided to slap my face with what I was missing at my previous musical adventure. Not only a great sense of responsibility when it comes to artistic expression, but also the very strong aesthetics in which I could truly relate to. Extremity in order to reach balance. This Band gained probably one of their first real fans.

It will never be enough to mention that Moonspell brought to my attention that art is a very spontaneous thing and it cannot be restrained to rules. And thanks to this fresh new concept, a lot of doors got open to my artistic expression, giving me way more ground to cover, even if sometimes I'd went too far or didn't went there at all. Finally I felt I could be a Nomad in my own perfect world, like those gipsy people who were haunting my own naivety with their mysterious craft.

After confessing in total drunkenness that Moonspell was the band I wanted to belong, admitting under the arrogant influence of alcohol, that the guitarist spot had been granted to me almost by birthright I've got, Three years later, and quite sober this time, the invitation to fulfil my long awaited curse.

It took me three seconds to say... yes!

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