Cute Band Alert*
Published: March 23, 2011
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Miloš Karadaglic is sexy. His press folder, which identifies him simply as MILOS, is a picture of him in narrow black pants and a loose cotton button-down—buttoned way down—sitting on a sandy beach, back against a wooden post, his dark eyes squinted against the sun. His bare feet dig into the sand while he cradles his equally beautiful guitar under one arm like a lover, and his mussy hair begs for a hand to give it more mussing.
And yet, when you look up at the man onstage in front of you, the press folder suddenly carries the sex appeal of dentures. An die Musik is the perfect place for his solo classical guitar recital, a quiet, intimate setting where you can melt in a cozy arm chair and rest your feet on the stage while slobbering simultaneously over his eyes, his hands, his accent, and his talent. And, oh, and his style: He wears a crisp white shirt and skinny secret-agent tie under a buttoned black-velvet suit coat, paired with shiny slacks that taper down to his dress-sock-covered ankles, which stick out in an adorable fashion from the way he positions his knees under his guitar. His slightly too large feet find themselves in a curious pair of dress shoes, black leather polished dull save for the patent that encases the shoelaces and with a heel just slightly higher than most American men would venture.
Because, of course, Miloš is not an American man. He is a 28-year-old chocolate bar from Montenegro, a tiny Eastern European country huddled by the Adriatic Sea. And he is passionately in love with his guitar, which brought him through a poor childhood, out of Montenegro, and into London, where he moved as a teenager to gain entry to the Royal Academy of Music.
From there he found his way to this, his first performance in Baltimore, in preparation for the release of Mediterráneo, his debut CD, in June. He opened a March 17 show without a word, launching in to Isaac Albeniz’s Suite española No. 5: Asturias, also the first piece on his upcoming album. It is, like its performer, dramatically beautiful, a poetic sampling of tremolo, strumming, and hammer-on, his right hand often raising from the strings to carefully and precisely tap a single note. From there follows a quiet and lilting Lágrima and the bold and brave Receurdos de la Alhambra, both by prolific 19th-century composer Francisco Tárrega, who appears multiple times on Mediterráneo.
Miloš pauses between pairs of songs to educate his audiences, about both himself and the pieces he’s chosen to play. He explains how Mikis Theodorakis’ Epitaph was written to invoke war and the torments of existence, but that they remind him of the sea. He tells a passionate story behind his first exposure to Carlo Domeniconi’s soul-moving Koyunaba: how he first heard it as a teenager, far away from home in London; how it requires a tuning and technique not before used on the guitar; how it reminds him of homesickness. It’s all spoken in the kind of soft accent that comes from a well-traveled man discussing his object of greatest love, especially when he introduces Recuerdos with, “When I play this, I like to pretend I am a matador.” So do we, Miloš, so do we.
*With apologies to Sassy.
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