Había un grupo de músicos de Risignstar que se reunían cada día con la intención de crear algo memorable, era algo que cada vez fue mucho más agradable, tardes de café e ideas, instrumentos apoyados contra la pared, silencios que no incomodaban y las risas de cada uno de ellos no podían faltar. Pero al final de mes tenía una presentación de risignstar y nadie propuso escribir una canción, simplemente comenzaron a unir piezas y algo grande estaba por suceder.
Rolie el guitarrista fue el primero en tocar, estaba un poco perdido apenas podía mantener una secuencia corta y se detenía, como si dudara de sí mismo. Pero era un guitarrista que no buscaba aplausos ni aprobación, solo demostrar que podía aportar los sonidos indicados. Seguidamente, venía la cantante Rhons, tenía un la melodía en mente y por eso la respondió con palabras sueltas, versos que no rimaban del todo, imágenes que no pedían ser entendidas, sin embargo, siguió cantando bajito, y su letra no explicaba nada, apenas sugería. Por último el pianista Willis, escuchó lo que ya existía y no intentó ordenar el caos, solo colocó acordes que parecían abrir caminos, pero nunca los cerró, era para que algo más ocurriera o no.
There was a group of musicians from Risignstar who got together every day with the intention of creating something memorable. It was something that became more and more enjoyable: afternoons spent drinking coffee and brainstorming ideas, instruments leaning against the wall, silences that weren't awkward, and laughter that was always present. But at the end of the month, Risignstar had a performance, and no one suggested writing a song. They simply began to put pieces together, and something big was about to happen.
Rolie, the guitarist, was the first to play. He was a little lost, barely able to maintain a short sequence before stopping, as if doubting himself. But he was a guitarist who wasn't looking for applause or approval, just to show that he could produce the right sounds. Next came the singer, Rhons. She had a melody in mind, so she responded with random words, verses that didn't quite rhyme, images that didn't need to be understood. However, she continued to sing softly, and her lyrics didn't explain anything, they merely suggested. Finally, the pianist Willis listened to what already existed and did not try to bring order to the chaos. He simply placed chords that seemed to open up paths, but he never closed them, leaving it up to something else to happen or not.
Durante varios días así fueron armando la canción: sin estructura clara, sin la urgencia de terminarla, nadie preguntó cómo iba ni cuánto faltaba. La música se construía sola, sostenida por la confianza de no tener que demostrar nada. Sin embargo, cuando alguien propuso grabarla, apareció la pregunta inevitable: ¿de quién es?
Por eso el guitarrista no respondió, sabía que esa melodía no habría existido sin las pausas de la cantante ni sin los silencios del piano. La cantante pensó en sus versos incompletos de ese momento, no significaban lo mismo afuera. El pianista miró las teclas y comprendió que había tocado sin dirigir, sin decidir del todo. Por eso luego de horas de conversación entre los tres músicos decidieron no firmarla. No por modestia ni por rebeldía, sino porque hacerlo habría sido reducirla. Poner un nombre implicaba fijarla, hacerla pertenecer, cuando en realidad había nacido para ser compartida y luego desaparecer.
For several days, they put the song together like this: without a clear structure, without the urgency to finish it, no one asked how it was going or how much was left. The music built itself, sustained by the confidence of not having to prove anything. However, when someone suggested recording it, the inevitable question arose: whose is it?
That's why the guitarist didn't answer; he knew that melody wouldn't have existed without the singer's pauses or the piano's silences. The singer thought about her incomplete verses at that moment; they didn't mean the same thing outside. The pianist looked at the keys and realized that he had played without directing, without fully deciding. That's why, after hours of conversation between the three musicians, they decided not to sign it. Not out of modesty or rebellion, but because doing so would have been to reduce it. Putting a name on it meant fixing it, making it belong, when in reality it was born to be shared and then disappear.
La canción quedó ahí, guardada en ese estudio y cada vez que la tocaban era distinta, donde a veces la melodía se alargaba, otras la letra se perdía antes del final, otras el piano callaba más de la cuenta. Sin embargo, en esas imperfecciones encontraron algo valioso: la certeza de que no todo lo que creamos necesita ser reclamado. Algunas obras existen solo mientras alguien confía en otro. Mientras nadie intenta apropiarse del momento. Por lo tanto, una vez que terminaron su trabajo en risignstar no se llevaron la canción, se llevaron algo más grande y era la tranquilidad de haber creado sin poseer, de haber compartido sin firmar. Como si, por una vez, la música hubiera sido libre incluso de ellos.
The song remained there, stored in that studio, and every time they played it, it was different. Sometimes the melody was elongated, other times the lyrics were lost before the end, and other times the piano fell silent for longer than it should have. However, in those imperfections, they found something valuable: the certainty that not everything we create needs to be claimed. Some works exist only as long as someone trusts another. As long as no one tries to appropriate the moment. Therefore, once they finished their work at risignstar, they didn't take the song with them; they took something bigger, and that was the peace of mind of having created without owning, of having shared without signing. As if, for once, the music had been free even from them.
Post de Risingstar
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