Pino Iorio's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Pino Iorio tuned the last guitar string and set it against the rehearsal room wall. Thirty years ago, he'd built three orchestras and two choirs that all fell apart when the money dried up. Now he taught at the Orfeón of the Universidad del Oriente, one student at a time, passing down the old songs his grandmother used to sing. His daughter played violin in Berlin now, but that didn't matter. Someone had to stay and teach the next generation how to play joropo and gaita and all the music that made this place what it was. He pulled two books from his leather bag and placed them on the table. One covered Venezuelan music traditions, the other focused on the cuatro. The pages showed chord diagrams and old photographs of musicians he'd known as a boy. These would help his students understand what they were learning. Not just notes on paper, but something alive. Pino walked to the hallway where a small message board hung on the wall. The word NOTICIAS sat at the top in bold letters. He pinned a note about his weekly lessons: Tuesdays and Thursdays, traditional music, all instruments welcome. A few other notices surrounded his—someone selling furniture, another offering English tutoring. His paper sat among them, waiting for anyone who still cared about the old songs. He stepped back and studied the board. The university gave him a room and students still showed up, which was more than he'd had in years. His orchestras were gone and most of his musicians had scattered to other countries or other work. But the music hadn't died yet. As long as he could teach, as long as someone listened, the tradition would survive another generation.