Aziza sobre o pai, Vagif e sobre como era ser músico de jazz na URSS

(…). For me, my father has never died. He simply has left this earth. I still feel his energy surrounding me. Sometimes, it's like his soul is flying around me, you know. There are times when I give concerts that I feel his presence so strongly, it's almost tangible. It's like I could reach out and touch him. Sometimes, I feel it in everyday situations, too.

(…)It seems he hadn't been feeling well, and doctors cautioned him not to play. But he insisted, "No, I must play." And he gave a superb concert, although not many people filled the great hall. It was a special Muslim religious day there-the day of Ashura Hussein when men march in the streets and beat themselves in commemoration of the death of Hussein, the third Shiite Imam. After my father finished the concert, he had a severe heart attack and died. He was only 39.

Why was his concert scheduled on that day? Because of the stupid Soviet system. They were always doing things completely wrong. (…) They had organized a concert for him on a day when they knew very few people would come. They wanted to shame him. Music is not traditionally performed on that day.

My father used to receive so many invitations from abroad inviting him to participate in different international festivals in America, in Europe-everywhere. Once he was invited to Finland to participate in a jazz festival, but a few minutes before the plane was to take off, someone called, "Mr. Zadeh, Vagif Zadeh, please return. Someone is waiting for you." And he went to see what was happening, and they wouldn't allow him back on the plane. It was a ploy to keep him from going abroad. It was simply because he was a jazz player. There were many situations like that.


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