Possessed by a strong magnetic tellurism, Cáceres was always to be found within the limits of the hurricane’s eye. He arrived in Paris – was it mere chance? – in May 1968. He was not looking for a beach under the cobblestones, but he found one. In Buenos Aires, where he was born, he had been the factotum of the Existentialist Scene. Student of Fine Arts during day time, trombonist at night, agitator, a force of nature, he became the attraction of the mythic Cueva de Passarato, a jazz club and epicentre of revolutionary trends.

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