Gerardo Núñez Quintet- Andando el tiempo
(with Carmen Cortés)

I'm of the opinion that there are no set roads to follow, and at any rate, if you ever come across one, after having walked down it for a while, it's a good idea to go off it and start down another. You walk more slowly and your feet hurt, but what's the hurry to arrive where? The important thing is to walk, if possible in a group, and to enjoy the road that lies before you. People think that a road necessarily has to lead somewhere, and they speed along to get there first. In reality, you carry the road inside you if you enjoy it. Doing it like that, you always bump into other people going at the same pace as you, or who are going down another road in music or in whatever, because we good walkers spot each other quickly.

Time is like a road. You walk over it, and at the same time, time walks over you. It remains to be seen who walks over whom. It walks over me with its year-laden boots; but I stretch out every minute and try to make it worth two. Time has to be treated affectionately, because it's also a musical concept. It's no good to snatch it up. Flamenco knows how to do that really well: carefully chewing time over, getting all the juice out of it, enjoying its flavor. Since time walks over me, I like to walk on time.

Baño de luna

It's a childhood memory because we children were forbidden to do just that: go for moonlight swims. It wasn't healthy. It started up the clock of melancholy and made you ill with cureless illnesses. For example, music. I should have gone for a lot of moonlight swims.

Soleá de la luna coja

It's another memory. In Granada, in the neighborhood of Albaicín, there's a place they call "Mirador de la Lona" because they used to manufacture the sails for the ships of the Spanish Armada there. You can make out the entire Vega de Granada from the Mirador de la Lona, and the moon sets there on summer nights. It shows up by surprise and descends like a little sun until it hides behind the mountains. The moon sets there very mysteriously. It falls to the beat, and sometimes it seems as if it is limping to slow down its pace and not leave so soon. That deserves a soleá.

Rumba de La Habana a oscuras

Havana is a strange city. I've never felt like at home anywhere in the world, except in dreams. A moonless night, already in the early morning hours, we ended up at the esplanade of Castillo de la Punta. It was winter and the northern front made the waves jump over the pier. Then all of a sudden, there was a blackout in Havana. The only light was that of El Morro Lighthouse, which swept the Paseo del Prado with its arm and nearly touched the Parque Central (Central Park) with its fingers. I've never seen more stars in my life. It was spine-tingling. Like a dream. On the way back, going up Paseo del Prado, I had the melody of this song in my head.

Siempre es tarde

It's an irony. It's a really fast bulería. At first I thought about naming it after a verse by Machado: "Hoy es siempre todavía" ("Today is Always Still"), which is very suggestive, but I wasn't sure the music was up to the greatness of the verse and I opted to laugh at myself. I play that bulería as if I were getting somewhere late, being as punctual as I am.

A la sombra

Sanlúcar is a coastal town on the shores of the Atlantic which lies in the south of Europe, near Jerez, where I was born. There are certain days in summer in Sanlúcar when it's best to stay in the shade, and move around as slowly as a lizard and hope that the slightest breeze might come out from somewhere and give a break from the sweltering heat.

Trasgo

I get along really well with this song, because it broke away from me. I wanted it as part of a broader composition, but it insisted on going its own way; that's just the way it is. I wanted to call it "Trazo" and it didn't allow it; then, "Rasgo" with the same result. It gave itself its name: "Trasgo", that's to say, duende, mischievous spirit.

Compás de amistad

The music makes friends to the beat.

Templo del Lucero

It's a street in Sanlúcar. It's my personal tribute to all the friends who come down it every summer to see us. They come from all over the world, and we spend the rest of the year going all over the world to see them.

Plaza de los Plateros

Jerez de la Frontera, the Bulería.