Earshot Jazz published a short article I wrote, which summarized my Watson project, from July 2011 – August 2012, a journey I called “Speaking Transnational Dialects of Jazz” that took me, in musical whirlwind, to Sweden, India, South Africa, Brazil and Japan. If you scroll down the page a bit, you’ll also see content on Cuba, where I continued my project from late October to early January, 2012.
Dig on “Jazz Without a Compass” in the May 2013 edition of Earshot Jazz, a mirror and focus for the Seattle community. Also dig on Earshot Jazz! I blogged about the Earshot Jazz Festival in October 2012.
“Jazz Without A Compass” is the condensed and abridged final report I wrote up for the TJ Watson Foundation, to conclude their year-long fellowship program. I held off on sharing the full report both for its length, and because it was tailored for specific eyes. I’ve archived “Jazz Without A Compass” (with photos) in the Writing On The Wall page on this blog, where you’ll find a bunch of other pieces I wrote throughout my travels.
I’m in a major transition right now. I’m presently breaking into the Bay Area scene and striking a new balance in my life, one I welcome after nearly two years off the grid (or perhaps, on the grid elsewhere) and rambling around with my horn strapped to my back. I’ve been digging on this Bay Area cat Ben Goldberg since seeing him live a week ago. He writes incredible melody and counterpoint:
I recently read a well-written article on the jazz scene in Norway, “How Norway Funds a Thriving Jazz Scene” by Michelle Mercer. I experienced firsthand the cutting-edge creativity of Norwegians throughout my travels: at the 2011 Oslo Jazz Festival (which I’ve heard Norwegians call “too mainstream”); and the 2012 On The Edge of Wrong Festival (a free, improvised music festival partnered between South Africa and Norway). It was clear a music festival such as On The Edge of Wrong was not for profit. Indeed, the festival largely supported itself, bolstered in part by grants and private donors back in Norway. Morten Kristiansen, founder of On The Edge of Wrong, told me flat out the festival barely breaks even, if that.
Rolf Erik Nystrom @ 2012 On The Edge of Wrong
In her article, Michelle Mercer surveys the financial landscape that supports improvised music in Norway, exemplifying arts organizations such as Cultiva, a 240 million dollar endowment based out of the small, sleepy town of Kristiansand. The endowment comes from, guess where, oil money. Granted, not every country is as oil rich as Norway, but what’s important is what Norwegians DO with their oil profits. Exxon Mobile’s annual 2013 profit: 44.9 billion dollars. Exxon Mobile could use 0.5% of their profits to create such a 240 million dollar endowment… just saying, maybe cut a few exec bonuses. Cultiva used its funds to support individual artists, fund tours, and throw the annual PunktFestival, where improvised music is performed on one stage, recorded, sampled, and then remixed using electronics on another stage in improvised fashion–a festival that makes creative, improvising musicians anywhere drool.
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The creative edge of Norway’s music does not lend itself to profit. Although, the same is true about experimental music everywhere, whether its noise in a basement in Tokyo, improvised music at Café Racer in Seattle, or the Havresekken concert series in Norway. New, experimental music challenges listeners, especially those who aren’t musicians. And here, we also start moving away from jazz. The clip above could be (and is) classified as jazz (at least in Norway). The musicians in the clip probably studied jazz, and are definitely improvising. While blowing changes over a solid jazz swing beat will always feel great, it was a hip, innovative thing nearly a century ago. What’s hip today? What kind of “jazz” sound reflects today, more importantly , tomorrow? In Norway, arts organizations and government funders prize creativity as much as musicians. And the wealth of funding, support and opportunity are pushing creative music, and jazz, forward.
We wandered the backstreets of La Rampa, semi-lost. It’s Sunday afternoon, and it’s hot. I’ve been here before, but each street looks the same. A jacked cubano wearing a tank top and shorts waves us down and points down a street. He knows where we’re heading. The street narrows before opening into a colorful, bohemian barrio: porcelain tiles dotting the asphalt, bathtub benches, a continuous collage of murals, industrial art; and further inside, food carts, bead vendors, throngs of people, foreigners and Cubans. Live music blasts somewhere within the mob, edgy and over-amplified. No one is without refreshment: Cristal, Tu-Kola, or juice boxes of ron. This is Callejón de Hamel.
The jinateros eye us and flock. We know the hustle by now. ¿Quiere? A CD appears in my hand. Da le, venga chico. ¿Toma algo? What country you’re from, my friend? (The go-to English icebreaker). Tranquilo, mae, I casually say. Mira, ya lo tengo todo. A quick response with an accento cubano helps. This friendliness would normally be inviting, but we know the real intention ($). In a country iconic for socialism, its people seem natural capitalists.
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But enough, we came for the party, I mean, la rumba—a party, Afro-Cuban music tradition and dance. Plus it’s Sunday. Cuba has been spared the American Sunday-isms of football and mega churches. Instead, they have rumba (and baseball). We split up, each finding a nook in the crowd. Dancers bounce around, personifying deities of Santería, such as Oggún (Santerías personification of Saint John), clad in green and black, a (dull) machete in hand, puffing a fat cigar butt. Whether or not you’re a dancer, you’re dancing. A lead singer stands amidst the dancers. A choir stands behind, against a wall. To the side sit the tumbadores.
Los tumbadores
For a foreigner, rumba is all sorts of complicated. Its five-stroke clave functions in 4/4 and 6/8 time simultaneously (seemingly a combination of the Afro-Cuban 6/8 clave and 4/4 sonclave)—one feel is usually given more emphasis than the other, which can change as rhythm develops. Only after internalizing the clave (not so easy) do you realize you’re still perpetually off. The clave-ist (almost always the oldest dude) isn’t starting on beat one (beat three, of course). The complexities don’t stop there. Bottom line, it’s all about establishing a hip, sophisticated groove. Anything less would be the Western classical equivalent of playing “hot cross buns” over and over again, with no variation, vibrato… you get it.
¡Es la pinga!
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If you’re not a music nerd, it’s enough to dig on the singing and dancing. Of the three main types of rumba, guaguancó is most popular. Apart from its unique rhythmic sound, you can identify guaguancó from its lyrics (“soy cu-bana, y me gust-a gua-guan-có”—easy enough) and its sexual competition of a dance between male and female. It goes down like this (as seen in the video above): the male dancer impresses and distracts the female with some fancy footwork in order to catch her off guard with what’s called a vacunao—a pelvis thrust, or sudden flick of the hand or foot towards the female’s groin. The female dances seductively to the man’s side, rhythmically opening and closing her skirt to tempt the man, only to block (batao) any attempted vacunao by turning away, closing her skirt or batting the man away with her hand. Colorful scarves are often used for both the vacunao and batao. All movements are interwoven with song and coordinated to certain percussion instruments; thus, there are specific rules of engagement. The blatantly sexual dance is really a good-humored, playful competition—an incredibly blunt version of an age-old dance. And when it comes to such matters, Cubans are always blunt.
Being blunt
Salsa, son or reggae-ton may be more straightforward for most listeners, but rumba is the secret treasure of Cuba. The Cuban Minister of Culture has said what I’m sure many have said before him: “Rumba without Cuba is not rumba, and Cuba without rumba is not Cuba.” There seems to be something deeper in rumba, which isn’t to say that other Cuban music lacks depth. Rumba has never been popular music. It was freedom music. It thrived in time of slavery under the guise of religion. It wasn’t even “discovered” by a second party until slavery ended in Cuba. It is still a stronghold of Santería. It is party music. It speaks on an individual and collective level. It involves all, regardless of race or creed. It mirrors everyday life, the struggles and delights.
Can you tell? This kid $%#@ loves dancing to rumba!
Every culture has a ballad. The Cuban ballad, the bolero (not the same as the Spanish bolero) sprouted in Santiago de Cuba (like son and most older Cuban traditions). Back in the day, trovadores armed themselves with guitars androamed Santiago’s streets, cooing listeners with poetic lyrics (it’s actually not so hard to rhyme in Spanish… when in doubt, add -ito to the last word) and voices that could make João Gilberto jealous (said Miles Davis: [Gilberto] could read a newspaper and sound good). Mostly, trovadores sought bread money and romance, not necessarily in that order. But in the process of trova-doring, these trovadores stumbled upon a human truth: everyone needs a little cooing. Today, bolero and trova (call it a musical twin) are probably the most popular forms of music in all of Latin America.
Bolero and trova branched from their common roots. Trova largely maintains the romantic-singer-songwriter-with-guitar vibe. Silvio Rodriguez’s Ojalá conveys the sound of trova (more accurately nueva trova for its political innuendoes), as well as its massive following: the crowd does most of the singing. This past December, the 34th International New Latin American Film Festival in Habana featured Spanish filmmaker Nico García’s documentary Silvio Rodriguez, Ojalá.
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Bolero expanded to larger ensembles and orchestrated works, especially in the pre-Rev, swanky, though troubled, 40s and 50s . Benny Moré, Cienfuegos native, maestro singer and champion of the loose-fitting-suit style, sings Te Quedarás. Benny is a Cuban icon. Live performance clips commonly portray him song-seducing a foreign girl while her man gazes off at a dancer.
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Dos Gardenias is another classic (oh so many), a mega hit off the Buena Vista Social Club album, as sung by Ibrahim Ferrer.
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But the hit of all hits is Besame Mucho, now a standard just about anywhere in the world. Mexican songwriter Consuelo Velázquez penned Besame in 1940, 15-years-old. Apparently, the girl had never been kissed. She heard kissing was a sin, and believed it. Given the number of people who probably wanted to kiss Velázquez after 1940, I doubt her first-base-abstinence lasted long. Besame was made famous again and again, covered by all the pop cats: Emilio Tuero, Lucho Gatica, The Beatles, Andrea Bocelli, Maynard Ferguson (piccolo to Bocelli), Herp Albert and Micheal Bublé.
It’s also covered as a jazz ballad. Of any Cuban style, bolero readily translates to jazz, albeit after a little reharmonization and groove-change-up. Another Cienfuegos native, trumpeter Alexander Abreu gives Besame ahard-bop touch, the sound popular among many young Cuban jazz heads:
Welcome back faithful readers! “On Cuba” is a blog series on the rich and eclectic music of Cuba. I’ll attempt many things in this series: introduce notable Cuban music traditions (each holds its own), share recordings and videos of Cuban groups, explain how this music has mixed with jazz and other improvised music, and relate stories which shed light on experiences that inform the music.
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And now for my next number… I’d like to return… to the classic! Son is the classical sound of Cuba, one of the oldest established music traditions, which gained popularity in the 1930′s. It’s a good place to begin, as son influenced just about every other Cuban style. Literally meaning “sound” in Spanish, son mixes the Spanish song-style with West African rhythm. The clave is central to any son song, outlining all the melodic and rhythmic intricacies (more on claves later). Over time, son added the trumpet, the sonic “cherry-on-top” of most Cuban music, old and new (though today, other horns are used as well). Legends such as Guajiro Mirabal (still alive and playing, remarkably) defined this style of horn playing. Today, sonis widely loved around the world after a come-back spearheaded by the Buena Vista Social Club in the late 90′s. Below is a clip of Buena Vista performing live, intermixed with shots of La Habana.
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In the 90′s, the world was seduced by “Chan Chan” and other classics off the Buena Visa Social Club album. All over Cuba, son bands entertain visitors, performing all the hits in bars, restaurants and the streets. The ”making of the band” Buena Vista Social Club is an unbelievable story in its own right. Get your hands on the Buena Vista Social Club documentary. While Buena Vista deserves its notoriety, there were, and still are many traditional Cuban groups producing quality music (and even music videos, a now booming (relatively speaking) industry in Cuba). Compay Segundo, of Santiago de Cuba (the old capital, and birthplace of Son) is another famous group. Below Compay is a clip of Sierra Maestra, which tours the US regularly.
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(Cubans seem to like vibrant color schemes)
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Son is no longer the popular music in Cuba. It’s classical music. Young Cubans today prefer the faster, more exciting and modern timba, salsa, and reggae-ton. For a Cuban, listening to son would be like an American listening to Louis Armstrong or a 1930′s swing band–quality, timeless music, but old nonetheless. While son speaks to a more distant past of Cuba, today it is cherished and nurtured like a national treasure.
While son doesn’t often mix directly with jazz (though it can), it is the source for most Cuban music styles that do. Anticipate forthcoming posts!
One quick one. I got back from France (post coming shortly) last Thursday to find the Earshot Jazz Festival going strong in Seattle, wrapping up November 4th with the Robert Glasper Experiment (check out his Black Radio Recovered: The Remix EP!).
Dos y Mas, a duo representin’ Cuba.
Elio Villafranca (piano) and Arturo Stable (percussion) of Dos y Mas opened for Lionel Loueke at the Seattle Art Museum (SAM). The duo blends music from many traditions around the world, the Cuban tradition being just one. Stable even brandished a knock-off-sounding mbira (finger piano). Both are educators in Philadelphia. Loueke then entranced with strong West African folk melodies, sung in unison with his guitar. Heavy, heavy. The SAM just needs a venue with space to dance.
For the full remaining line up, visit earshot.org. Philip Glass, Chris Lightcap, Christian Scott, Evan Flory-Barnes, Roosevelt High School Jazz Band (my alma mater, heh), Branford Marsalis, Robert Glasper are some at-a-glance highlights. If you’re in town, support an awesome local music event!
Naw, I’m not talking about a classic rock radio station, or even a rock climbing gym. I’m talking about the hip-hop song, baby.
I traveled the world for a year seeking dialects of jazz outside of the US. Long before I embarked, fresh dialects of jazz have been emerging within the US, as artists embrace contemporary forms of urban American music like hip-hop and R&B. (I touched on this in a previous post entitled, “J Dillalude”). Jason Moran stands as one such artist. A decade ago, Moran thoughtfully reinvented the 1980s hit “Planet Rock” by Afrika Bambaataa on his album Modernistic. Check out a live clip!
Jason Moran & The Bandwagon – Planet Rock
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Moran gives insight on his rendition:
“‘Planet Rock’ was one of the songs we danced to as kids in the early Eighties… when it came on the radio I was like, “Man, this is a serious piece of music.” It actually goes through sections. There are interludes, it’s well put together and it’s lengthy for a hip-hop song. They don’t make ’em that long anymore. Right before I was going to do Modernistic I was thinking, How do I make a solo recording that’s as vast as what I listen to? How can I incorporate “Planet Rock” into solo piano repertoire and have it rub shoulders with Schumann? And how can they be on the same record with Muhal Richard Abrams and Jaki Byard?
It was a matter of finding the connections between hip-hop and the piano-as-percussion-instrument, which I did via John Cage’s prepared piano music. If I could put all that together, I thought, then “Planet Rock” could still work as a hip-hop piece, and not some jazzy version of it. It could still hold some of that drumbeat, it could still hold that bass line and I could play the lyrics. In a lot of jazz versions of hip-hop tunes they never play the lyrics, they just play the background music.
Now check out Bambaataa’s original take:
Afrika Bambaataa & Soul Sonic Force – Planet Rock
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“Planet Rock” refers to the crack game that plagued the US in the eighties. It still does. At the same time, many of the greatest rappers were once hustlers. Ice-T narrates the back-story of the rap game from the outlook of the crack game in the VH1 documentary “Planet Rock.”
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After a month in the woodshed (hence the long break in blog posts), I embark on another, shorter travel stint. I’ll send word from France and Spain.
After one year and two weeks, nine countries, an untold number of sessions and gigs, and days of flight time, I’ve landed back in Seattle. The journey doesn’t end here. This past year of travel and music is a beginning if anything. Stay tuned!
On my way home from Japan—the final project country—I stopped briefly in Honolulu, HI for some well deserved R&R. More importantly, I was able to reconnect with old friends and play a nice gig at Wards Rafters—which has one of the best complementary views of any venue anywhere. Honestly, my entire journey began on this small island of Oahu, where exactly two years ago, amidst daytime research at the University of Hawaii and late night sessions in Chinatown, my mind gave birth to a humble idea that one might travel the world with his instrument to converse and connect with people all over the world.
Thank you to everyone who followed and supported the wild year. I’m frankly amazed as I glance at a WordPress summary—an extraordinary amount of views from the US, Nepal, South Africa, Brazil, Japan, India, Germany, UK, Sweden, Canada, Australia, Norway, France, Russia, Colombia, Indonesia, Thailand, Denmark, Mongolia, Argentina, Spain, Korea, Italy, Greece, Taiwan, New Zealand, Belgium, Turkey…the list goes on and on, including views from Bhutan, Faroe Islands, Cuba, Puerto Rico, Cyprus and Oman.
Each country I visited boasts an expansive global network, with meaningful musical dialogue between people of vastly different backgrounds. Our differences become our point of interest. Borders blur, lose focus. Exotic presumptions and generalizations subside, replaced by real substance and form. We are all just people, sharing one world and one predicament—life. Music links all of our differences by means of our fundamental similarities. Music is but one means to this end, but what an extraordinary one. The universal language is no myth… but it is not music. It’s goes even deeper than music. Though, music is far deeper than any conventional language.
To all the musos—keep on. To all the listeners and enthusiasts—keep on.
This blog will continue to share beautiful music from around the world, while introducing new themes and inspirations. And I ensure that I will most definitely be keepin’ on.
Enka is the power ballad of Japan; a style of song saturated with the familiar emotional themes—love, loss, hardship and perseverance. On a thematic level, enka resonates with the blues. Both forms of music are based on (albeit different) minor pentatonic scales as well (there is an “enka-blues” sub genre).
The golden days of enka are decades past, but the genre lives on through reinvention and preservation, which I suppose is how any form of established art lives on. Jazz is in the same boat. Some Japanese jazz musicians have experimented with enka. If nothing else, enka lends soulful, ear-pleasing melody.
Saxophonist Yuichiro Tokuda and pianist Kazuhiro Tamura perform a straight-ahead rendition of “Ai Sansen” written by Kei Ogura. Tokuda stays true to the melody, and the original character of “Ai Sansen” is unaltered.
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Saxophonist Umezu Kazutoki has a more adventurous approach to enka. His free and noisy sound embodies what I find to be the more experimental side of Japan’s jazz scene. Here is Kazutoki playing the enka (and circular breathing):
Sky view of July 6th protests against nuclear energy in Japan. The protests, like just about everything in Japan, are extremely well-organized, taking place every Friday, 6 – 8 pm (sharp!).
If you asked me a year ago whether I cared much for socially active music, I’d have shrugged. On a case-by-case basis, sure I did. But in general, music was an escape from the headlines, deadlines, two-year plans, revolutions, disasters and all else. Ask me now… honestly, I do care a lot about socially active music. Just as we need music that gives peace of mind, we need music that provokes, unsettles or shakes foundations.
Consider all mediums of provocation, music is and always has been a powerful one. Some of South Africa’s greatest jazz emerged in the apartheid era. In 1960s Brazil, Gilberto Gil and Caetano Veloso sang out against the military regime. They were imprisoned in 1964 and forced into exile—not to say they were silenced. Moments of cultural, social and political awakening give fertile ground for powerful art. It’s debatable whether Japan experiences a moment now, in response to nuclear energy. Yet, for a country not known for activism, it’s quite exciting that people are mobilizing and speaking out against what has become an immensely contentious issue. Don’t forget to speak through music too!
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This music-spoken word performance, filmed last January, speaks out against nuclear energy in Japan. The video was rapidly re-circulated after a damaged Fukushima reactor was reactivated last week, despite heavy protests (a reminder that Facebook can be used productively). Although heavy in words (for versions with German or French subtitles, visit Youtube), the music relates underlying sentiments—the repetitive, jolly, pop-sounding groove gives off a vibe that it’s yet another normal day in the life… an average day… in an ordinary life where you don’t stop to think critically… or to ask difficult questions. As it turns out, it’s not an ordinary day. The MC emotionally delivers a flurry of critical views and difficult questions.
Japanese composer Ryuichi Sakamoto worked with many others to organize “No Nukes 2012,” a recent music festival with the theme of banning nuclear power plants.
Questions… Why do we use nuclear energy? Who decided that we use it? How safe is it? Who should I trust in the matter? Or even more absurd: Why should I even care? Questions lead to more questions… Here, questions amount to an acknowledgment–of the way things are, good and bad, happy and sad, beautiful and ugly. It’s just too damn easy to live life in flux. Any jazz head knows what comes after acknowledgment.
My ears are open. If you you know of other socially conscious music, lyrics or no, I’m keen to listen–doesn’t even have to be solely about nuclear energy… could even be from another country or in response to a different moment.
