| |  | In memoriam Cesaria Evora
27.08.1941 – 17.12.2011
She loved lamb chops, a good, strong coffee and a cigarette to go with it.
She never sound checked. One concert hall was as good to her as the next,
no matter how prestigious or worn down – any stage was her living room.
She respected her audience in a way people used to respect sunday afternoon visits to relatives or friends – unthinkable to appear in a dress not freshly ironed.
At the end of any concert, any where, she would say „see you tomorrow“.
She loved to tease. She would call me from a airport 500 kms away to say „I’m hungry. What are you planning to do about that?“
Once, while trying to lift one of her stone heavy suitcases, I jokingly asked her if she was carrying any corpses in it. „Just one“ „she responded. „ Bin Laden“.
She never talked about it to me, but her life before she finally was „discovered“
probably wasn’t big fun. So she decided things now should go her way.
She could drive prestigious chefs ape shit by sending beetroots back to the kitchen three times, claiming they were not well cooked.
Stairs leading up to a stage? Well build me an elevator or push me up a ramp with a wheel chair. No smoking within the theatre? If you don’t provide an ashtray I’ll use a glass. How did she get away with that? Just put on any of her cds, close your eyes and listen. That’s how.
Até amanha, Cise, and I hope you’re having a ball up there. | |
