Thanks and goodbye Robert B. Sherman

Richard and Robert Sherman (right). Photo by Disney Enterprises, Inc.

Before I heard the sad news this week, I didn't know who Robert B. Sherman was. That name meant anything to me, I didn't associate it with anything.

But I did know a part of his inner world, the way he and his brother Richard perceived life, the way they captured it.

Because I did know some special songs. These songs were different from others: even when they were meant for kids, they had an unusual component of nostalgia, of sadness and realness. I discovered some of these songs when I was a child and some of them when I was grown up. And it didn't really matter, the feeling was the same. These pieces celebrated being a child and at the same time I heard in them that eagerness to come back in time, which is tinted black because of its impossibility. 

Little Black Rain Cloud, tender and sad, makes my mind wander and think of what's irremediably gone, not just for me, but for people in general, no matter the time they were born in, how they look back to their childhood, just like Christopher Robin did in Winnie the Pooh. The songs from Mary Poppins, especially Chim Chim Cher-ee and Walt Disney's favorite, Feed the birds captured this same mixed essence, what's good, kind, noble, sad and fun in the world. Even songs like The Aristocats' Scales and Arpeggios, The Sword in the stone's Higitus Figitus and The Jungle Book's That's What Friends Are For had something different, a darker atmosphere, or a sound that wasn't composed just to maintain kids entertained.

Of course, I also celebrate those incredibly happy songs, like Let's get together, Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and I Wan'na Be Like You. I celebrate the legendary Sherman brothers, Disney, the magical movies that always put a smile on my face and make me think that It's A Great Big, Beautiful Tomorrow...

Thanks and goodbye Robert B. Sherman.