Darkness. The spotlight was on a solo guitar player. The first measures of his singular, electric guitar filled the space and washed over the room. The hair on my arms stood up. A stirring and collective lift occurred as the reverberating and forward moving tones, reminiscent of Gustavo Santaolalla’s score in The Motorcycle Diaries, drew us into the present scene together, and summoned us to transition as participants and travelers on the potent journeys presented in El año que nací (The Year I Was Born).