Mati Nuude, as gentle as ever, looks out of the Park Hotel window at the hometown, lovely in its spring colors. At the same time, Nuude unexpectedly admits to craving even more Summer. Somewhere far away, in some exotic country. These thoughts are mostly about spouse Maarja. I fly around day in, day out anyway. I won’t get bored, but Maarja spends a lot of time between four walls. Some kind of stress mood inevitably sets in, Nuude sums up the unexpected wish in two sentences.
It’s true. I’ll see Tartu on Saturday and Pärnu the next evening. In Tallinn, on the second floor of Raeköök. The Tartu beer summer organizers are already announcing the big show in mid-May. So there’s hardly a window to be found for even a week-long trip, to Tunisia, say. The travel organizers have their work cut out figuring out how to lure the Golden Record laureate. Their offer is a trek à la two for the price of one, and on Mati’s side, songs at certain events.
Nuude doesn’t want to talk about recording for now. Or even hear about it? It’s a familiar story, music promoters’ promises and whether they get kept. Things with Aidem Pot are supposedly settled, though. One room is said to be full of tapes of songs. The bank account has grown, but more modestly than expected. The good side is that wherever Mati performs, you can buy Nuude’s cassette at a discount. The bad side is that Auris Rätsep made sure to flood every notable venue with the audience’s favorite songs.
Naturally, this happened before the one who had gone to such great trouble got their share.
And, curiously, a new project got going before it was cleared with Nuude. Some joker injected one businessman with a wallet-reviving idea: hey, let’s turn little wooden men just like Nuude on a lathe. The maker was nevertheless enough of a gentleman to phone the person being portrayed and ask permission. The preliminary terms were agreed, too. “Soon I may run into stout little figurines in my likeness somewhere on a counter,” smirks Mati Nuude. Looks out of the window, glances at the clock. Constant rush. Up some pub steps again, from somewhere. Onto the stage. The audience has paid for the spectacle and the dance. They want the best.
Author: Aare Kreilis
Come and work out! ArtGym
