Luis and Juan Gomez in a happier time
This memorial of Juan Gomez is a remembrance from his son, Spanish banjo master Lluis Gomez, in honor of all that he did to help his son in his chosen passion and profession. Many of us surely have similar stories.
My father, Juan Gómez, passed away last Friday, September 25, at 6:45 p.m. He was 93 years old. My sister and I were with him, and he left us peacefully and without suffering.
My father was not particularly a bluegrass fan, but he was a lover of music and culture. He enjoyed singing old songs, and, above all, he supported me throughout my musical career.
Thanks to my father, I was able to buy my first really good banjo, a 1970s Gibson RB-250. He lent me 200,000 Spanish pesetas at the time — a lot of money for a modest family like ours, but one that always supported me and my music.
And when I didn’t have a car yet, there were countless trips to take me to gigs and bring me back home. Looking back, I realize how many hours and how much effort he put into helping me follow my musical path.
More than 25 years ago, when I was starting to organize what would eventually become the Al Ras Bluegrass & Old Time Music Festival, my father took care of all the paperwork and bureaucracy involved in creating the association. In those days, things were very different. We had to travel from Premià de Mar to Barcelona by train, spend countless hours waiting in offices, filling out forms, signing documents, answering questions, and dealing with all the bureaucracy required to make everything official.
Before the first official edition of the festival, we organized two very simple events. My father and I would travel to Badalona, rent a small sound system, load it up, and take it to Gallecs, where those first events were held. Everything was very basic and very hands-on.
He also went to the Barcelona airport to pick up international musicians. He didn’t speak a word of English, but somehow he always managed to make himself understood.
There is a passage from a poem by the Spanish poet Jorge Manrique that I have always loved. It was written in the 15th century, after the death of his father, and these lines have stayed with me especially now:
Our lives are like the rivers
that flow into the sea,
which is death.
Jorge Manrique wrote these words more than five centuries ago, but they still feel remarkably close today. Reading them after my father’s passing, they have taken on a new meaning for me.
Looking back now, I realize how much my dad was part of the story behind Al Ras and, in many ways, behind my own musical journey. He was always there to help, quietly taking care of things that needed to be done so that I could concentrate on the music.
From Al Ras, and from me as his son, thank you, Dad.
Thank you for everything.
Here is a tune, La Flor, which Lluis wrote for his father. La Flor means The Flower, which was Juan’s nickname growing up in a small town called Pradoluengo. It is performed here by Flamengrass: Carol Duran on violin, Maribel Rivero on bass, Javier Vaquero on flamenco guitar, and Lluis Gomez on banjo.
