Aura Urziceanu la Jazz Cafe in Londra

Dupa 20 de ani de absenta de pe scena muzicala londoneza, Aura Urziceanu ne-a incantat sufletele cu un recital extraordinar la Jazz Cafe, Camden Town, in Londra. Pe 16 iunie, d-na Urziceanu a cantat pentru romanii si strainii veniti la faimosul venue londonez. E de prisos orice incercare de a-i descrie sau lauda vocea. Cine nu a apucat s-o auda vreodata cantand live, sa faca bine sa isi dea silinta. Va doresc tuturor sa ajungeti s-o auziti macar o data in viata. Trilurile ei merg direct la suflet, ramai vrajit si-ti doresti sa nu se mai opreasca din cantat.

our son

22nd May - Today we found out we were going to have a son...when we saw him moving, flipping and turning, capriciously and naughty, our hearts melted. I was looking at his flick-flacks and thought to myself he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.

We have his 21 weeks scan up on the bookshelf; sucking away at his thumb, a delicate profile like his mommy, and a strong arm, just like his daddy :). I look at him and realize he is our little miracle, weather we consciously thought it or not when we first found out about his existence.

I don't doubt, it's going to be a huge difference when he comes around, but I trust he has a very good reason for wanting to show up at this point in our lives.

We decided to call him Sasha...

Bitter Sweet Simphony

The wave of warmth in the cab makes me want to close my eyes and let the sleep take me. I am tired, but still wired from the live set I’ve just played. As always after a performance, I feel drained, empty of all feelings and senses. I take Maya's hand and squeeze it. She squeezes back and smiles. She knows I need time to myself after the crazy show tonight.

I smile at the thought of all those people down there in the club screaming, dancing, and freeing themselves through my music. Up there, when the records were spinning and the music pumped in my ears, I felt the abandonment take over me. I gave them my all, my soul; I gave them ME. I played for them with the devouring passion that has built up deep inside of me during all these years of waiting and wanting.

I look out of the window. It’s almost dawn. The lights go out in the narrow streets of London. For maybe the millionth time in the past ten years, I am crossing Tower Bridge, returning home from a club. I still find it beautiful beyond words; my heart aches with pleasure at the sight of this beautiful city, my home, my salvation.

I am a DJ and I love my life. My life is music and everything revolves around it. I smile to myself at the thought of how all this began. What brought me in front of a turntable was not the passion, but the half-numbness of a heavy drug night, one of so many I had spent in clubs wasted, leaning against staircases and bars.

Before DJing, I was making my living dealing drugs. And before that, I had been just a boy, a fugitive from poverty, who’d left his home in Eastern Europe, in hope of a better future. Like Alice in Wonderland, I was mesmerized by dreams of London riches instilled in my childish heart by formidable rumors and stories that fed the neighborhood thirst for gossip.

After leaving home, I lived for a while in the bushes of Torino, a homeless boy crossing the city to a shelter for a weekly shower and a warm meal. The day I turned eighteen I celebrated with half a sandwich found in a garbage bin behind a train station restaurant. I can still feel the foul taste of stale bread I found lying next to the pizza scrapes on the bottom of the bin. I was eating heartedly sitting on the verge of the sidewalk, oblivious to people’s disgusted looks. The streets of Torino were roaming with guys like me, a disgrace to the city and to the civilized world.

After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to cross the Channel, I finally arrived in Dover in a goods train carrying wine cases, still drunk from God knows how many bottles I had emptied to keep myself warm in the freezing November air, and numb the fear of getting caught.

London greeted me with cold rain, an unwelcoming and miserable sight. But I did not care when I felt the cold wind through my thin, worn shirt, or when my friend did not come to pick me up. Instead of a warm, friendly house, I had to share a dirty, dump of a room with other immigrants in King’s Cross. I lied about my age, my nationality, and my reasons for disembarking here. To them I was another underage Eastern European, escaped from an abusive family, getting a free ride through Europe.

I felt the shame of my fabricated past pressing down hard on my shoulders. I had no choice. I had left my home pushed by my family’s inability to cope with mounting debts and my brother’s education fees. Although I was the younger one, I had provided for them and for myself ever since I turned 12. In high school I was “the clothes dealer”, selling expensive items brought by older lads in the neighborhood from their European wanderings. It pained me to see my mother’s guilt every time I paid another bill and I wished I could do more to take that burden away.

After a few days in London, I started working in a car wash, barely scraping by, my hands cracked from the cold December wind. I was eating once a day, sleeping four hours a night. Until one day, when everything changed. I’d heard of guys from my neighborhood striking it lucky in this big, menacing city and I started asking around. I needed to see familiar faces, I was longing even for the scumbags from my past. At first, I started wandering through the dirty council estates in North London, looking for familiar faces. I found a few, some working on the black market, some doing what they knew best: pick pocketing. The stars aligned one night, while we were hanging around at the local pub, stoned and grinning stupid while a fat mama was performing her striptease number.

“Serge, my man, what happened to you? You’re a sack of bones, kid,” I heard a voice from afar. I turned around confused and landed my eyes on Gigi, my childhood friend. If I wasn’t so fucked up, I would have tried to give him a big hug. Instead I smiled as openly as I could. He lifted my right elbow as if to demonstrate the state I was in. “Man, we need to get you on your feet. I am going to take care of you. Come work for me.”

“Man, what are you on about?” I replied, looking at his warm winter coat with eager longing.

“Meet me in front of Camden Town tube station tomorrow night at 11, and I promise I’ll turn things around for you in no time”.

That night, Gigi took me to Camden Palace. It was Saturday. The city was awake, lights everywhere. I smelt happiness in the air, caressing my skin and making me feel like one of the others, perfectly blending in. Gigi gave me a bag of coloured pills to stash inside my underwear and we queued patiently in front of the club. I was a nervous rack, but euphoric at the same time, looking around at the colorful, frantic crowd waiting to get in. That night, on Christmas Eve, my career as a drug dealer began.

I started making money, tonnes of money! I was reassuring my parents’ suspicions by lying about doing triple, even quadruple shifts as a waiter in a famous restaurant where rich people dined. I was eighteen and already smitten with my new life. Who wouldn’t have been? My days were a continuous party, my nights, and endless string of drug cocktails and wild fantasies.

And so almost three years passed. The euphoric state from the beginning slowly soured. I was starting to feel empty, my life, a monotonous, vicious party. I had drugs everyday, everywhere. Girls, just a phone call away; money to buy anything my obtuse mind desired. And yet, I felt the smell of nothingness in my nostrils, intoxicating me day by day.

But then, something beautiful happened, something amazing and out of this world. It felt instant, because when it came, it stroke like lightening and never left: it was the music. Everything changed, everything became so new again. My anticipation of a good mashed up night changed into the anticipation of the clean, crystal sound of music running through my veins, while I was down there, in the middle of the frenzied crowd, listening to DJs play as if just for me in the London clubs.

When I found music, I felt I found myself again. And I still feel this even now, after ten years, as strong as I felt it in those first days when I welcomed it into my life.

I feel the cab stop and Maya touch my hand.

“We’re home. Let’s go,” she tells me in a quiet voice.

“I was half dreaming about the past,” I whispered while paying the cab driver.
Those days of going without sleep, from party to party, from house to house, making friends who were looking for the next high are long gone. I used to see my life as a train rushing to its destination while I struggled to hop on. Instead I did nothing. I was numb and clueless.

Music saved me from the person I was desperately trying to become against all my convictions. In that complete daze, I felt it flowing through my veins like hot lava. Ironically, those nights in clubs selling K, X and snow brought me closer to what I am today. The confusion and the tearing depressions, the days without hope and sun gave way to happiness and love, to music, to rhythm, to life.

After sobering up from years of addiction and confusion, music became my one and only drug. In clubs I used to stay glued for hours to the DJ booth, mesmerized by their skills, just as a young boy stricken by David Copperfield’s magical powers.
That time seems so far away now, almost in another life. But Maya is the living proof that it did happen. Just like a ritual, before I lie down, I caress my decks, brush my hand over the vinyls, and let the grooves fill my soul with happiness.
Bitter sweet symphony…

Getting to know the real me...

During the last coaching session, my coach asked me to think about a few answers to these questions:
1)What do you think you believe in?
2) What do you know you believe in?
3) What do you think your parents think about you?


Now, I thought that it would be easy-peesy to answer all these questions, but turns out, I am at a loss of words. nevertheless, i am trying to o my best, because once and for all I would really like to get some answers from within.

question number 1: I think I believe in God's punishment when I am doing something against his will, when I am not following the rules of the church and when I am being deaf to my mother's warnings. I am scared that not doing the right thing according to the Orthodox church laws will only bring me sorrow, problems and ailments. at the same time, I think I believe that not listening to my parents brings nothing good, that their suffering will turn against me. i think i should believe in "believe without doubt", that i should pray more and try to stick to the rules.

question number 2: I know I believe in the greater good, in life on other planets and reincarnation. although this is considered to be a great sin, I think we come back over and over again as different beings to right the wrongs of the past. i think we are timeless, immortal and that we have this great chance of doing the things right in each life we get. I know my baby was meant to come into this world now and that having him/her is no accident. I know I believe that we are all beings of the light, that right and wrong are only concepts invented by our minds to stop us from growing, evolving into spiritual beings. I believe that not being married will not affect my baby's life in any way and that my sins will not affect his future. i believe i should fear less God's punishment, since God is not mean and does not punish. I believe that our own actions and thoughts make our lives difficult or easy. I believe we can achieve anything by dreaming and believing it can happen. i believe i should be less fearful and judgmental and that what others think is not necessarily the truth. I believe that Jesus Christ was a man of his time, with brothers and sisters, a revolutionary and a wise man.

question number 3: I think my parents love me, but they think I am somehow lost, I have lost my way from the Church's God. At least this is what my mother thinks. They both are somehow proud of what I have become, but they will never show it. They think I give too much importance to the outer world, the physical/material things, and too little to the spiritual ones - meaning the Orthodox church's rules. My mother thinks I should read more books written by priests and saints, because sometimes I talk like a heretic. She thinks I should pray more and think more about the punishment from God and shame of the people. She thinks she brought me up good, but my rebellious nature makes me believe in all of devil's works - reincarnation, etc. My parents think that the way i choose to live my life is not according to what the right thing should be and therefore, we continuously clash when I am not playing according to their rules. Sometimes they are right in assuming I am making a mistake by choosing one thing over the other, but it is not enough for them to give me a piece of advise. especially my mom takes it as a personal affront when I am not doing things the way she wants. at the same time, she only believes I am purposely doing this to hurt her. she lives through me and my decisions are daggers in her heart. i know she only wants what is best for me, but i think this is wrong and she should let go.

this is it, in a nutshell...who is wrong or right is not important, as there is only truth and lie in this world. and above all there is LOVE.

Bebe

Pe 4 februarie, viata mea a luat o turnura neasteptata, care atunci mi s-a parut sfarsitul lumii, dar care se dovedeste a fi ceva nemaipomenit pe zi ce trece. Pe 4 februarie am aflat ca voi fi mama. Inca suna ciudat, nebunesc si putin artificial gandidu-ma ca cea care va deveni mama sunt EU. Nu verisoara mea sau prietena mea cea mai buna, sau vecina. Pentru toate m-am bucurat la fel de mult si de sincer. Cand a venit vorba de mine, am fost socata. Imi planuisem sa am copil peste vreo 2-3 ani, termen pe care il tot vehiculez de vreo 4, dar ma simteam total nepregatita. Inca sunt terorizata la gandul ca nu ma voi descurca, ca poate nu voi avea ce sa-l invat. Temerile imi trec repede cand simt cate o fluturare in stomac si ma gandesc ca lucrurule se intampla de obicei cu un scop si ca nimic nu e intamplator.

E un lucru fantastic sa stii ca incet si sigur o fiinta creste in tine. Si apoi vin framantarile, oare e sanatos? oare se dezvolta bine, oare mananc ce-i trebuie?

Fiecare dimineata incepe cu gandul la el, pentru ca am o presimtire ca va fi baiat. si mi-l imaginez mic si dragut in patutul lui. Uneori nu stiu ce sa-mi imaginez, nu stiu ce sa simt. Desi am avut grija de copii altora timp de 2 ani, ma intreb daca o sa stiu ce are nevoie al meu.

Am primit deja primul cadou...un tricou haios cu un buddha musical. De fiecare data cand ma uit la el, ma induiosez si multumesc pentru ceva atat de minunat ce va aparea in viata noastra.

The beginning

This is the saddest story I have ever heard. And I’ve had my fair share of dramas in the ten years as a journalist in London. I am looking at David’s shaking hands, trying to find the right thing to say. There’s nothing. Here I am standing in front of this broken man, a man who chose me to tell his story to the world. His grey eyes are empty and sunken deep into his skull. He looks diminished, almost a puppet under the worn dark blue covers. There is nothing between us, but a heavy silence pressing hard against my chest.

‘Say something,’ I urge myself, looking around the spartan-furnished room, as if help would come from the small corner brown table, or maybe from somewhere underneath it. But what is there to tell a man who saw his loved ones die? What can you tell a man who witnessed his twelve-year old daughter being raped and burned alive? How can you comfort a man whose toddler son and wife had their limbs cut off while he was watching helpless strapped to a pillar?

For the hundredth time, I open my mouth and try to speak. To comfort him and give him reassurance that his story won’t die, buried among the pages of a tabloid paper, as it happens with most of its kind today. But the words won’t come out. I gasp for air, I try to speak again. After a while, I give up. I just sit there, next to his bed, patting his hand and waiting and wondering at how fast a man who had it all lost everything to fate.

My head is spinning with thoughts without rhyme or reason. They come galloping like white ghosts, one after the other. Thoughts of blood and death from another lifetime, of the smell of burned flash and desperate screams of pain and agony.

I look at the brown file on the steel night stand. There, between the covers are pictures of his assassinated family. Sheila, his wife, has a bullet wound in the middle of her forehead. His daughter, Amy, her hair burned and jaw broken. And Daniel stares sadly into nothingness…

An ending

I was holding his body, feeling the life slip out of him. I knew he was finally at peace. ‘Can you hear them Lara? They are calling me. They are…,’ David’s face was twisted in a broken smile. He reached out with a trembling hand, somewhere towards the horizons as if caressing a beloved face.

‘I can see them, Lara. Oh, they are so beautiful. Sheila, my beautiful Sheila…’

Tears were running down my cheeks, staining his face. But he didn’t feel them. He was already far, far from me. I wanted to tell him to hang on, but I knew his time had come. He had stuck around enough to see his children’s murderers behind bars. For a while I tricked myself into believing that maybe, just maybe, life would come back into his steel-grey eyes.

For all these months spent besides him, I had come to know David well and cherish his presence like a child cherishes the memory of his first snow. His tragedy helped me face my own demons, my own painful past. Unlike my own, his family’s murderers had been found and brought to trial. But being part of David’s journey to salvation brought back my inner peace.

Looking down at his face, my stomach churned at the thought of losing him. Now he was looking into my eyes smiling. The first smile I’d ever seen on his face. He touched my cheek and wiped away my tears. ‘Don’t cry baby girl. Go on, be happy. I’ll be watching over you from up there, just like you’ve been doing all this time for me.’

I felt his body stiffen. He breathed in one more time and whispered ,‘You are beautiful’.

I grasped for air to block the tears from choking me. I smiled and held him closer. Lying there, on the cold ground, I whispered words of comfort and witnessed the night end. Overhead, without any fuss stars were going out.