Finally, he will not have time to grow old. He was installed in his new cottage lift to suggest he had everything, even decline. ? Has made him laugh, to imagine themselves unworthy grandfather in the endless parties from his perch in r? Der cane in hand, to ensure the quality of the wine, then return to its electronic gadgets not to miss a single train. Claude Nobs loved walking her dogs in the solitude of the morning of Caux above Montreux. He still loved skiing – this is a fall that led, after a coma at his death, the strange death, he spoke freely. He even planned not to burden the lives of his loved ones, seek recourse to euthanasia if the need was felt. But Nobs died alive. After a final edition of the festival, the 46th for which he was particularly engaged and had planned to open a dance ballerina tutu or Queen of England, eternal jubilee of an Epicurean.
Should speak, and we will, of its contribution, international tributes, this crazy story: a cook Territet who became one of my very best of the world celebrated in music?. But what is rightfully ours, at this precise moment, is his incredible ability to receive. He welcomed in houses of wood, bo? Your jewelry to full locomotive miniature jukebox, sculptures and art from the worst taste possible. He served salmon, very red meat, fish from ponds nearby the old Bordeaux, heady alcohol, you resservait every moment to be s? R you do not miss anything. He spoke constantly questioned you, then you brought in the theater, the best seat aircraft imaginable to watch Miles Davis in 1991, in 1976 Nina Simone, Aretha Franklin in 1971. Claude Nobs, which is probably not anecdotal recall, was probably one of the best h? For your time.
LOS ANGELES, TOKYO BANGKOK
The more angry the more hairy the most absurd musicians, were transformed instantly mischievous kids when they landed in his eyrie. They soften in contact with this little guy who spoke all languages ??and crossing all backgrounds. Nobs was able to go to Montreux, a night of New Year, with David Bowie to distribute caviar poor. He was also capable of terrible anger: he called you and you dealt with all the names of rare birds for an article that was not his, before excusing himself as m me, you type in the back and concede, in a whisper, that he never grew up. Nobs was excessive. In a country that loves you does not work out nails. He slept in Los Angeles for a discount trophy woke Bangkok to swim, before getting bored and start to create a branch of the Montreux Jazz in Tokyo. It was cosmopolitan, yet so rooted that it sometimes gave the impression of never having left his birthplace.
Territet, February 8, 1936, Aquarius Aquarius ascendant. A bakery, battles Indians in the caves of the neighborhood, child in glorious palaces abandoned Punic Wars kilos of 78s Claude ranked with stars, a perfect childhood, good appetite things. He, with his land, the complex relationship of absolute gift. Nothing in the world, it would have left its Geneva, the mountains which wall the heart tee “station old English” Montreux’s asleep. Yet he led? Has almost every year the trustee, the township, authorities and even people passing he would run away, move the Montreux Jazz most grateful kingdoms. Claude Nobs wanted to be loved. And he still did not understand that he was. He knew the incredible courage, strength of conviction, which he had shown him the timid to force the fate of his corner of Lake.
Young man, committed the Office of Tourism Montreux, he broke down the door of the founders of Atlantic label in New York. The Ertegun brothers, he had not given the choice. If they had refused to help build a festival, it would still today doing their heels in their hallway. His first American nights he had spent in Chicago, he called the bluesman Willie Dixon he had tracked down the number, he went to listen to Muddy Waters, Howlin ‘Wolf, the bumpy trip in Plymouth, only one door worked. Claude had collapsed before dawn, worn by Dixon until an unlikely bed where he had dreamed all night that followed. They were long, compelling, brutal, those nights of the first Montreux festivals when the tiny radio talent spread over two days in 1967 gradually became a kind of compulsive bacchanal where most music lovers came? Born, everyone is exhausted with him. His audience, mostly made up of people who lived on the day, complained of delays, concerts dragged on, the last-minute additions to programs already shielded.
Claude Nobs could not imagine closing the door to an artist who was needed in extremis. To others, his entourage, develop schedules. Each year, before the festival, you showed on a digital tablet videos of the latest wonders he had crossed, strangers who would not bring a spectator but in addition he was prouder than any Diva . A Hungarian guitarist 14 years. A genius of Cuban piano. A band of drummers Ghana. Santana, his friend wanted to carnival on Main Street: no problem! Stephan Eicher was seeking Malian musicians, but also yodelling and why not an orchestra bargain! Why not get an evening that integrates the entire history of dance music with dozens of guests who come from all continents for one night? Why not. Nobs could not bear to be taken back to reason. He who had been a magnificent era when music was still money. It will not get used, the reign of savings.
VIDEOS IN SAFE
There was absolutely no offline, though. He was immediately seized that broadcasting is a key to its success. He filmed everything, every concert, to accumulate in his personal safe one of the greatest collections of twentieth-century music. He understood, too, that the music he was very strong ap – blues, jazz – not enough to his appetite and his aura. He was crazy about pop stars, show business which he understood the inner mechanics: interpersonal skills. He fetched Miles Davis at the airport in yellow Ferrari. He took care of Nina Simone, the worst moment of her life, when she called him from his Swiss exile and he ran home to change a light bulb. Claude Nobs, at the bottom of it, knew that DJ Bobo did not amount to Duke Ellington and BB King. But, without an ounce of snobbery and aware of the brand that he must defend, he invited all his greedy music feast. Although some zealots have called swing to the Hague Tribunal to demand that removes mention jazz at the Montreux Jazz Festival.
It was grotesque. Prince just arrived in Minneapolis, would he played standards in New Orleans in its opening concert Montreux if the festival did not initially recorded in his legend disks Bill Evans or Keith Jarrett? For rockers of all kinds, Montreux was a kind of initiation rite they wanted to be equal. Wylcef Jean, former Fugees rapper, arriving in the Stravinski Auditorium, was engaged in a touching revisits Creole jazz on a piano as he paced a dangerous thing. Nobs looked since its tiny houses, often alone, on a screen placed for him. Wild beasts shirts hanging on a hanger. And champagne which he did not necessarily affected. He was not fooled, nor pride or talent, he knew when a room would light up like a bush fire, he rose four seconds before the end to grab his golden microphone and announce a bunch of languages mixed at night, never did stop. And he seized the flight Quincy Jones, the producer par excellence, who spent summers in recent years in Montreux. He asked him to tell his life to an audience who listened to half. We do not understand always that Nobs invites artists who had experienced a time of glory and seemed to live by Montreux. It was a unique loyalty in this profession where passion sweeps tomorrow than yesterday.
Before his final festival, whose 46th edition there was no indication that she would be conclusive, we met him in his cottage. We ate on the balcony of the flat inou? S, listening to music now on Youtube, despite tens of thousands of records that cluttered his reserve. He spoke of all the movies he could not see his friend Thierry Amsallem with whom he had PACS, ten of Miles Davis in Montreux he took out a box. “This is a record of my time on earth, right?” Nobs, aged 76, was not wise. He still believed that we can postpone indefinitely the dawn setting does not. He was fully aware of what he had left, to Switzerland, to the world, but he easily persuaded that nothing is desire. In the end, this little upset cook had chosen a life of service.
Read also: the obituary of Claude Nobs, by Francis Marmande (in subscribers edition).