Sunday special: Michel Petrucciani

He disappeared ten years ago, on January 6th 1999. I remember clearly the call from my editor, a message in my answering machine late at night. A call reminding me we needed to update the running interview we had for our upcoming issue of Cuadernos De Jazz, since I had just written the conversation Petruche and me had had less than two months ago, after a solo piano concert in Madrid.Suddenly, a joyful and inspiring dialogue became and epitaph.

He was a master and a beautiful human being who filled you inmediately with the same energy and joie de vivre he showed in his physical and explosive solo sessions. We talked for more than a hour, when we were supposed to have less than 30 minutes. We connected, laughed, shared references for musicians and the passion for this music, jazz, as the ultimate expression of our souls and not only an excercise on intelect - like so many artists insist  -. But he only  had words of respect and gratitude for everyone, but also energy and optimism when it comes to the act of creating music. With all that in mind I couldn't help myself and I started crying when I heard the news in the machine. 

For no particular reason, as I always do on sunday morning, I chose this cd: one of my favourite records. It's a double record published in the peak of Petruche's career: "Au Théâtre Des Champs Elysées" (Dreyfus, 1995). A musical journey to the heart and soul of a generous artist, a man full of happiness and wisdom, respect and devotion for the tradition of jazz, but also a true hero who challenged his body limitations, the pain, the reflection of a strange creature to reach the size of a giant who remains as one of the masters of the last quarter of the XX century.