A lot of fireworks. Loud, obnoxious fireworks, not the nice to look at kind (though there were a few of those, too).
Spent nochebuena with "Pico" Riñon, her family and a few of their friends. Was a great night, early morning. Found out that Pico's brother and I may be the only two people on earth that enjoyed the Vince Neil-less Motley Crüe album.
Pretty much the only non-food/festive photo I took.
Then there was food. I definitely haven't enjoyed enough Uruguayan food and wine.
First there were appetizers, which included my favorite dish of the night: lengua de vaca. That's right, cow tongue; marinated in vinegar, with celery, red pepper, garlic, and parsley. Amazing.
I also quite enjoyed the chicken pie:
Midnight rolled around, and everyone toasted, hugged, said "Feliz Navidad." It felt much more like a New Years event for me. But then came the main course: stuffed lamb, stuffed chicken, apple mash. And lots of desserts: sweet breads (full of dulce de leche, white and dark chocolates from Spain, and more with names I can't remember. Honestly, I was a little food drunk at that point; not to mention Argentine wine is quite wonderful.
I got home on December 25 (today) at 4:00AM. Slept until 9:00AM. I'm a little tired. Did walk the Rambla for a bit earlier though, and aside from some Santa hats and a few more closed stores than is normal for a Sunday, it seemed like any other day in Montevideo.
- Qué pasa, amigo?
- Je ne suis pas votre ami, mec.
So I've been fascinated the past few weeks with the saga of Luis Suarez and Patrice Evra. Not so much with the players, or the events that took place on the field that day, but with the comments I read that follow various articles, or are posted to Facebook pages.
For those of you who aren't sure what I'm talking about, Luis Suarez, an Uruguayan fútbol (soccer) player for Liverpool, was accused of using a racist slur towards Manchester United player, Patrice Evra, from France. Both players it seems have admitted to taking part in an exchange, with Suarez using either "negro" or "negrito," and Evra saying "sudaca." As far as I can tell, sudaca has its roots in Spain, and is generally considered a derogatory slur towards South Americans. In Uruguay, negro and negrito are commonly heard used as terms of endearment, often crossing racial boundaries. Suarez is citing this as his defense, saying this was not racism, but a cultural misunderstanding; he was hit with an 8-game ban and a £40,000 fine.
Whew...all caught up?
For me, a lot of what I read about this reminds me of something one would see in South Park, just imagine everyone on the football pitch:
The point is, it's all about context. I can confirm that negro/a and negrito/a are indeed used as terms of endearment quite often here. I'm never going to use them, since I would never feel culturally capable. I've also spoken with enough Uruguayans to know that most know better than to travel to another country and casually throw these words around.
What I've found somewhat surprising are responses I've been reading in support of Suarez. A large majority confirm that the terms are "not racist" in Uruguay. But many responses begin taking it to another level, directing comments to Patrice Evra. These are just two samples from Facebook:
"Patrice Evra es lamentable los complejos que sufres...Siendo REALISTAS, tu piel y raza es NEGRA, NO ERES blanco, asiático, latino... Asi que ACEPTALO Y SE FELIZ..." / "Patrice Evra, your complex is regretable...Realistically, your skin and race are BLACK, YOU ARE NOT white, asian, latino...So ACCEPT IT AND BE HAPPY..."
"si es NEGRO, que quieren? que le diga blackie? negro maricón jugá al futbol o volvé a la jungla!!!" / "he is BLACK, what do they want? that he says blackie? black fag play football or return to the jungle!!!"
These are not the sentiments of everyone, and the latter is extreme, but also not infrequent. There are those that are understanding of the penalty, but confused and concerned that Evra was also not hit with a ban for his derogatory slur.
Mostly it's made me hyper-aware of my own sensitivity to the terms. I've grown accustomed to hearing them used, but they're not casual terms that go unnoticed to me either. I've also not really taken a stand on any of this through this post. There are people I'd like to hear from over it first, and I imagine it will be a topic that will come up over the next few days.
Anyway, just something for everyone else to join me in thinking about...right, buddy?
When I say "11 de octubre" (October 11) in Spanish, I think it sounds a little menacing. Since in many countries the 12th of October celebrates the beginning of the processes of colonization of the Americas, the 11th of October represents the final day of cultural freedom for indigenous peoples, and those Africans who arrived here through the slave trade.
This past 11 de Octubre, I attended a parade held on the main avenue, 18 de Julio, here in Montevideo. The event was organized by Mundo Afro, and was open to anyone who wanted to participate. One mass ensemble of drummers and dancers; a show of the drum's resistance to the processes of colonization, and at the same time, it's power to bring people together. The slogan sent out on Mundo Afro flyers read:
NO MÁS RACISMO
LOS TAMBORES LLAMAN POR EQUIDAD
NO MORE RACISM
THE DRUMS CALL FOR EQUALITY
Meanwhile, on Isla de Flores, just a few blocks on away from where the mass cuerda was being organized, another event was taking place. A mini-llamadas, representing the same cause. Even back on that day, I felt the two events serving the same purpose, yet set in opposition of one another was strange, revealing the polarizing effect politics bring to a cause. In either case, what could have been an amazing display of unity, only revealed fractures within a community and culture.
From October 1, 2011. Not to be confused with the Llamadas which took place for the Día del Patrimonio on October 23.
Eight groups, representing the toques del patrimonio, or "rhythms of heritage." Two groups each representing Cuareim (Barrio Sur) and Gaboto (Cordón), and four representing Ansina (Palermo). These videos show each comparsa in its entirety, including flag carriers, dancers, and drummers. Here they are in parade order:
Remember that first chivito I had back in August (see photo)? Well, since then I've only visited two other restaurants. I had another chivito at one, and there was another morning we didn't have water, I needed coffee, so I hit up the Burger King and went for the café con leche and two medialunas combo. I find it expensive here, especially since I'm up to my neck in debts to pay back in the States. I'm also still hoping to buy a drum, though I can't say I have high hopes it will happen.
My problem with restaurants is for the price of one meal, I can make at least 5-6 more at home. Mostly I eat a lot of rice, kind of my tribute to Chris McCandless; a noticeable tribute as I'm becoming more and more familiar with the outline of my ribcage.
Chris McCandless in the wild.
I think the bus is larger than my apartment.
But back to food: I add to the mix lots of dried beans, pasta, fruit/veggies, and tuna. I'm pretty sure the tuna I buy is kind of like the Spam of tuna. I've embraced budget recipes, and at this point just make it up as I go along. But I miss carne. No going vegetarian for me, no way. And Uruguay, like Argentina, is known for its meats...
Anyway, for the price of one chivito, I bought enough to make 2 burgers, milanesa (breaded veal), and spaghetti with meatballs. I'm hoping this will all last me until the end of the month, and it should with the assistance of my freezer. But I just finished a hamburger, and had to share the photo. It's a Jamie Oliver recipe, and one that should be tried by anyone that craves a good burger. I honestly think having gone almost 2 months without a meal like this, I'm a little food high...
This is as close to a holiday blog as I'm going to get.
Lots of writing this last week. Enough so that I believe a rough, but complete, draft of the doctoral essay is realistic by March. My sense of time is a little off here with no semester schedules to follow, and no real awareness of the upcoming "winter" holidays. With candombe dictating my schedule, the next important date I have marked is the 6th of January, the Epiphany, or for Afro-Uruguayans, the day of Kings.
The llamadas that take place on this day are cited by most sources as the most significant, honoring the customs of the original African Naciones in Montevideo. I've already seen three events called Llamadas since arriving; two more than I had expected at this point. They all felt planned; tied to a political and national agenda. I have imagined that January 6 will be different, more spontaneous; not just another practice run for the comparsas before prize money is involved at carnival.
I've tried to ask if the true llamada still exists, as they're described by Rubén (I believe Rada) in Mónica Olaza's Ayer y hoy (2009: 50-51):
"...someone takes to the street, me with my drum at the corner of my house, and I play repique and you answer me with yours, and we get closer, and then another joins, and as we go we're adding [players]; that is a llamada."
This sentiment is echoed in the same book through an interview with Fernando "Lobo" Nuñez (54):
"...what I play, and what we play known as llamadas, takes a cuerda of drums. And I'm able to call to someone in that moment and those over there know that it's me. They know it's Barrio Sur that's playing; that is a llamada."
Both Rada and Nuñez make a clear distinction between this spontaneous, communicative form of playing as distinctive from the parades associated with carnival; events knowns as Llamadas.
When I ask about the spontaneous llamadas, I'm told they do exist. I get the feeling I may not see them, though I'm still hoping something of that sentiment remains on the 6th of January. If YouTube videos from previous years, and the following words from Rubén Rada are any indication, I'm not expecting something completely different: "the true expression of the tambores, that of January 6, the day of Saint Baltasar and Saint Benito...the black saints...is being lost" (Olaza, 51).
Being from South Carolina, I commonly associate the term heritage with the debates over flying the Confederate flag on Statehouse grounds. For those who support its continued flight, the argument usually sounds something like this:
"I just want to support my southern heritage; it's not about slavery."
But no matter the argument, slavery is a part of the Confederate heritage. That flag cannot be seperated from its association with a system that was supported by enslaving other human beings later deemed inferior due to the color of their skin.
So what's this got to do with candombe? Since arriving in Uruguay, the term I've heard cited most frequently regarding candombe rhythms is patrimonio. Patrimonio = heritage.
There's a hierarchy of patrimonial tradition and representation in candombe culture, that seems to change based on the occasion. These three recur with the most frequency:
Uruguayan: it was created here, and belongs to all Uruguayans regardless of race, class, or region.
Afro-Uruguayan: created by and cultivated by enslaved Africans and their descendants, primarily associated with the neighborhoods Barrio Sur and Palermo.
conventillo: rhythmic styles cultivated and developed in housing projects known as Mediomundo (Sur), Ansina (Palermo), and Gaboto (Cordón). Often these are associated with Afro-Uruguayan history and culture.
With each sub-identifier comes exclusion, quite often built on the fear of outside appropriation/influence.
Just one week removed from the National Day of Candombe, Afro-Uruguayan Culture, and Racial Equality, it's easy to see why candombe is employed for nationalistic purposes. Attend any parade of the Llamadas, and on the surface the appearance is exactly "racial harmony through candombe, an African-based cultural form developed in Uruguay." But there are arguments that beyond the limits of Montevideo, candombe is more of a national novelty. In his book Musicas populares del Uruguay (2007), Coriún Aharonián proclaims that "the tamboril is almost exclusively Montevidean," acknowledging that it exists in other locations, but sufficient evidence doesn't exist to call it an Uruguayan phenomenon (90). My only experience with candombe outside of Montevideo was in Rivera, where I was told they play and have their own style, but it's different. The performance I heard there was led by Mundo Afro drummers from Montevideo, so it's difficult to comment more here at this time.
The Afro-Uruguayan label manifests in several ways. Most obvious is the prefix acknowledges the African roots of candombe, which is a fact without argument. Beyond that, it gets complicated. At the conference I attended in early October, ethnomusicologist Olga Picún proposed dropping the prefix, which generally was not met with enthusiasm by the largely Uruguayan audience. Gustavo Goldman, a musician and ethnomusicologist from Montevideo, responded that he liked the label, that it "assigns ownership." But it's difficult to paint a black and white picture of candombe (pardon the pun). The following are examples "assigning ownership" which appear in print; not necessarily negative, but demonstrate complications:
"It is not necessary to be a physically black Montevidean, only culturally black. The fundamental logic of the llamada is incompatible with an individual formed in the Western European white culture." (Aharonián, Músicas populares, 106).
"The interpretive action of expert
drummers conveys an ethnicized and racialized meaning to the whole performance:
they are Black Old men who play, independently of the racialized social
identity of the drummers, white, brown, or black in everyday life." (Ferreira, 2007).
Aharonián cites drummer Fernando
"Lobo" Nuñez, from an interview conducted by Uruguayan popular musician Jaime Roos ("Le sacaron la
fiesta," Jaque, Montevideo,
8-III-1985):
"...the white 'can come to play with the sabor of a black, but I don't know if they can have the same joy, and communicate that joy as can a black." (Músicas populares, 106).
Further complications arise as conventillo culture is added to the mix. The forced removal of families from these buildings was "experienced by Afro-Uruguayans as a direct assault on their families, culture, history, and traditions" (Andrews, Blackness in the White Nation, 143). Yet not all of the residents sharing in the Afro-Uruguayan culture, history, and traditions of these buildings were Afro-Uruguayan. Mediomundo translates to "half the world," so named because it was home to a highly integrated immigrant population. And there are several references to the Ansina area being called "Particular," due to the large number of Italian immigrants living there (Ferreira, Los tambores del candombe, 1997: 77). Martha Gularte references this paradox in her poem "Cuareim y Ansina:"
"Fueron manos malvados que derrumbaron mi alero, olvidaron que en
Cuareim, blancos y negros crecieron."
"They were evil hands that tore down my roof, they forgot that in
In the previous post I mentioned displacement and community. These are principles of candombe. Displaced Africans created candombe, creating a sense of community in the most adverse conditions. They overcame their differences through the reconstruction of African musical forms. In the late 1800s/early 1900s, European immigrants livingin conventillos found that "one way to be, or to become, Uruguayan was to take part...in an African based cultural form." (Andrews, Blackness in the White Nation, 62). This was/is the beauty of candombe...it wants to unite. It's the politics of carnival, the fear of change, that perhaps keep it from doing so.
My imagination tells me that the old candombe, those llamadas, transcended spoken language; perhaps even facilitated understanding.
If anyone thinks I'm being negative, let me say that I can't wait to come back to Montevideo, and experience candombe without a paper to write. To try and connect all of this to the flag issue that I opened with...well, I know people that I love, who support that flag and would like to see it continue flying above the South Carolina statehouse. Even though I don't agree with them, I know they would do anything for me. They're not bad people, only a product of a culture; a culture I rebelled against with the help of music. I feel the same way about some of the people I've met here who might say that whites can't play or understand candombe. I'm optimistic that discrimination is not the objective, it's just human.
That brings me to a video of Maya Angelou. I have to give credit here to a Danielle Brown, a fellow Fulbrighter, whose blog is amazing. She posted a video of Maya Angelou talking about the power of words, and of course, with YouTube, once you watch one thing, you're going to watch something else. For me it was more Maya Angelou, and it really resonates (ignore the audio delay, it's worth listening):
View while running of Ciudad
Vieja from the Rambla
A few weeks ago I started running again, and the last two outings were amazing. It's different for me here, because I don't take the Ipod out. Instead I'm accompanied by the sound of the Rio de la Plata as I move along the Rambla from Ciudad Vieja, where I live, to Playa Ramirez. This allows my mind to wander, and my paper writing is improving.
I find that I am increasingly concerned with two themes here: cultural displacement and community. Obviously I analyze their meaning to candombe, but also in my own life and current situation. Post on this coming soon...
Today during the run I was intensely mulling over how I got here; not to Uruguay and studying candombe, but pursuing ethnomusicological research? It's Bob Becker's fault, and it happened in April 2001 at Clemson University (yuck!). Was excited to find this video (not from 2001):
I was blown away by that Nexus performance. I wish I'd brought an mbira to Uruguay, it would have been worth the customs/security hassle.
Found this video the other day. Andy Cox is an art professor at Limestone College and one of the coolest men I've ever met. The first mbira I held in my hands were some that he made, and the front room of his house is a magical collection of homemade instruments and art, and quite often the two are the same.
Last night I saw two documentaries. The first had some serious audio issues, and I struggled to follow; the second, was amazing. The title was Tambores de agua: un encuentro ancestral. This literally means "water drums," and the film examined this tradition among several communities in Venezuela and its African heritage. This is a clip of the Baka women in Cameroon:
Yesterday I watched 27 comparsas file past my spot at on calle Carlos Quijano, at the intersection where Carlos Gardel becomes Isla de Flores. Because I went alone, I didn't worry with taking a camera, and it was much easier to focus when the event wasn't filtered through a tiny digital screen. I left before the final 14 groups because I was beginning to lose a sense of the rhythm; my ears were drained.
In the previous post I said things had changed, and that remains true. I needed yesterday; those Llamadas. Even if it was just a reminder of why I fell in love with candombe.
"The order came down on 1 December 1978: the Medio Mundo conventillo, built in 1885 and in 1975 declared a National Historical Monument, had been condemned and was to be evacuated immediately. Municipal trucks came four days later, on 5 December, to remove the 170 residents..." (Andrews, Blackness in the White Nation, 2010: 141).
December 3, 1978: marks the final time the drums would sound at the Medio Mundo conventillo...
"Los vecinos,
espontáneamente, para ahogar su frustración y su rabia, salieron a la calle con
sus tamboriles y, sin mediear palabra, sus manos comenzaron a golpear la lonja
con toda la fuerza de su deseperacion."
"In an effort to suppress their frustration and rage, the residents took to the street with their drums, and without words, their hands began to strike the heads with all the force of their desperation"(Chirimini/Varese, Los candombes de reyes:Las llamadas, 2009:143).
December 3, 2006: marks the first Día Nacional de Candombe, la Cultura Afrouruguaya, y la Equidad Racial...
"Nuestra
iniciativa busca contribuir a superar esa situación, promoviendo el
reconocimiento, la valoración y difusión del aporte afrouruguayo a la
construcción del país y a su cultura, destacando el candombe como su máxima
expresión."
"Our iniciative seeks to overcome that situation, promoting the recognition, values, and difusion of Afro-Uruguayan support in the construction of the country and its culture, highlighting candombe as its greatest expression" (Ortuño, Día nacional de candombe, 2007: 9).
Tomorrow brings with it the 6th Annual Día Nacional de Candombe. I've thought a great deal about that moment in 1978, as well as the farewell "party" that took place at the Ansina housing projects in early January 1980. Nothing in my life has prepared me to understand what those communities experienced, and I can't imagine how it must have felt to hear the drums and dance on those nights...
I'm not sure how I feel about a National Day of Candombe at this point. A lot's changed since my first night following Sinfonia de Ansina in barrio Palermo in August. After the Prueba de Admisión para Las Llamadas, the politics of the carnival machine have diminished the impact. I believe candombe could be a vehicle for equality, but the local prejudices are perhaps too great to overcome. At the national level, on paper, the concept is appealing, but once you scratch the surface...well, the conflicts exist on virtually every level.
Montevideo is a loud city. Hell, I came here for one of the things that make it a loud city. During the day: car horns, motorcycles, 80s music, constant construction, conversations that try to compete with everything else. At night (choose from): kids playing soccer using security bars over windows as the goal netting, shouting matches, construction with jackhammers (last nights wonderful new edition). Headphones and an endless assortment of music are my escape. The music is often accompanied with reading, quite often other blogs. Here's some of what has captured my attention lately:
Sō Percussion, particularly Adam Sliwinski's blog. There's not a lot, and he hasn't posted in 6 months, but it's well worth the read. If I could grow up to be a cool percussionist, I hope I'll be as creative as the Sō guys. I somehow arrived at his blog through Adam's post of John Cage's "Some Rules for Teachers and Students." Since I had seen those before, only attributed to someone else, of course I went to Google...
Sister Corita Kent is the name I recognized as the author of the "Rules." Either way, they're worth knowing. Her art is pretty amazing, too...
The Gutenberg Parentheses: Oral Tradition and Digital Technologies. If you have two hours, this is interesting stuff. I like the idea of a super-literacy and secondary orality. Words are escaping the confines of the bound page...
I can't get enough of the articles and video highlights of the South Carolina Gamecocks taking the Clemson Tigers to the woodshed. Three years in a row. Never thought I'd see it in my lifetime...
Some of my best friends continue to be my biggest inspirations. Sometimes I think I keep pushing to accomplish something meaningful just to keep up. The most recent example is Baljinder Sekhon's Twelve Virtues for soprano and percussion ensemble...
I'm always aware of hunger. Food Network, Jamie Oliver, Rachel Ray; easy on the budget recipes. No success here yet as I still don't look to ever save enough to buy drums without not eating...
Wanting Bob Boilen's job. All songs really aren't considered, but there are musical gems in almost every one of these NPR podcasts...
Community and The Tudors. TV shows available on Netflix not overdubbed in Spanish...
And somehow, candombe is never far away, as I've been aware of the open word document the entire time I've been writing this post. I refer you now to Rule 7...
This week I find myself forced to analyze my project in such a way that it appears I am proposing research. To present in writing what it is I plan to do, the methods I will use to accomplish these tasks, and detail the possible benefits to individuals and society. So here's as honest an account as I can give:
If just one book (Spanish or English text) had satisfied my curiosity about the evolution of candombe drumming, I wouldn't be here. Truthfully, I have no problems with any of the works I read regarding candombe culture, except that I wanted to see and hear (when possible) examples of these rhythms within their social and musical contexts. There are two authors on which I designed my early proposals: George Reid Andrews (USA) and Luis Ferreira (UY).
Andrews goal was never to provide a musical analysis of the drumming, and his one attempt is quite generic:
"The music is played on three types of drums--chico, repique, and piano--each of which has a different voice--alto, tenor, and bass, respectively--and plays a different rhythmic figure. The piano hits heavy downbeats on one and four, with intervening syncopated eighth and sixteenth notes; the chico leaps in immediately following each beat with a sequence of three sixteenth notes. Both drums pound out the same stuttering phrases over and over again, in a deep aesthetic of monotony; the repique players have more freedom to improvise, and drive the group forward with their counterrhythms." (Blackness in the White Nation, 129)
To his credit, he does provide an endnote with suggested recordings, websites, and print resources; including Luis Ferreira's Los tambores del candombe. But I was inspired by Reid Andrews, and Blackness in the White Nation is always close at hand, continuing to provide a framework upon which I continue to expand my own investigation.
When I first received Los tambores del candombe on interlibrary loan, I almost decided to walk away from the project. At that time, my Spanish reading ability was non-existent, but as I flipped through the pages, it appeared Luis Ferreira had accomplished what I was seeking. Beginning on page 104 were musical examples; transcriptions of rhythms as performed by master candombe drummers. As I dug deeper though, I found it was as difficult to decipher his notational examples as it was to read the Spanish. When I would compare my interpretation of his notation with examples of performers through recorded examples, I was never close to acheiving accuracy. I later realized there were some problems with my early translations affecting these interpretations, but this didn't account for all of the inaccuracies. Ultimately it was the unavailability of the book that persuaded me to continue my own analysis. I'm happy to say that after searching for the book regularly since 2009, including stops at every bookstore I happened upon in Montevideo, I found a copy of Los tambores on the internet in September.
Notation example from Ferreira, p. 133
Obviously there are other sources, the majority of which are all Spanish texts, and several are out-of-print. I never pass up the opportunity to peruse the shelves in the many Montevidean bookstores for copies, but have yet to find myself lucky. I will say that since the latter half of 2009, materials have appeared more frequently online, particularly recorded examples via YouTube. I have the belief this upsurge in interest corresponds with candombe's placement on UNESCO's list of Intangible Cultural Heritage.
As for progress in Montevideo...language is still my biggest obstacle. I think the constant struggle with speaking and understanding others is why I've felt really worn down the last couple of weeks. I should probably admit that since being robbed in September, I'm constantly anxious when I go out. I'm sure many of you are probably sick of hearing it, but I miss constant musical interaction, and it takes its toll constantly being the spectator. Several of my contacts just want me to ask questions, and when the drum is removed, all is "lost in translation." I don't see much of this as negative, only difficult, which provides some clarity regarding my musical and personal values. I digress...
The project is changing. I am fascinated with the representation of the Llamada rhythms, means of transmission, and their association with cultural heritage (patrimonio). Knowing this is the direction has made it easier to create a list of people and groups I'd like to speak with/follow. I keep starting blog posts dedicated to each of these topics, then deleting them because I feel they get out of hand, demonstrating my lack of a theoretical background to properly address the issues. I do however keep trying, and journaling about them because they are fascinating topics.
The final part of this review process is discussing the possible benefits of the research. There's the obvious "expand on previous scholarship" answer, and help provide additional visibility to this music and its performers. More than anything I want to find ways to make sure the world experiences candombe by those who live it. Many of the drummers I work with seem perplexed that I am doctoral candidate, but not officially a student anymore; that I am a Fulbright scholar without a job. I can't promise funding to visit the University of Miami. A proposal might not be awarded a spot on a program at an event like the Percussive Arts Society International Convention (PASIC). I mention Miami and PAS because both are excellent venues for candombe programs; particularly UM's Festival Miami concert series, and of course PASIC is an obvious choice.
This upcoming weekend will mark the beginning of my fifth month in Uruguay, and December 3 is the National Day of Candombe: Afro-Uruguayan Culture and Racial Equality. There's a huge parade (40+ candombe groups), and several other major events. A busy week for sure.
Spent the last couple of days in symphony rehearsals, and wasn't involved musically. Probably the first time I've done this since the 1996.
Last night, the Orquesta Filharmonic de Montevideo presented a concert in Teatro Solis featuring rioplatense musical styles. I was primarily around for rehearsals of the candombe portion of the show, which included drummers and other performers from Mundo Afro. I was also able to hear the show from backstage. It's always interesting when "classical" musicians are forced to perform "popular" rhythms. There was some frustration on both sides: the candombe drummers felt the orchestral arrangements were "square," and there were some snobbish looks of disgust by a few orchestra members when the candombe drummers failed to follow the maestra's pattern. But in the end, there was a lot of pride in the fusion of the two worlds, and the opportunity to present this music in a very different venue.
Teatro Solís, from the stage.
The video includes clips from rehearsals on November 23, and just before the concert on the 24th. I had hoped to film the show, thinking I had a seat in the audience. Instead I listened from backstage, and with the acoustic shell, there was little space to film with dancers entering and exiting the stage. One highlight of the night was hearing Astor Piazzolla's Oblivion performed using an actual bandoneón; wish I could've recorded some of that performance as well. Also, while waiting for the show to begin, I happened upon a xylophone...inspired to find I was still able to play the opening to Porgy and Bess (using fingers, but what the hell, I remembered it).
Looking back to September 29. These videos are from the Tucuta Nyanzá concert I attended on September 29 in Sala Zitarrosa. The show was promoted as "candombe-fusion." I've also included here the complete set by Berta Pereira and Pollo Píriz, which was for me the highlight of the night. "Tucuta" is the nickname of Ricardo "Tucuta" Soto, and his current band Nyanzá, which I've also seen spelled Ñanza. The following is my translation of a description of the show with some history; in general I've found more extensive info is difficult to come by:
"Candombe-fusion refers to an original repertory of music from Montevideo, the capital of candombe, and combines elements of jazz, rock-and-roll, and Afro-Latin rhythms. The group Nyanza continues the instrumental lineage of Lady Jones, serving to support the music composed by songwriter and musician Ricardo "Tucuta"Soto. Nyanzá's repertoire combines the classic instrumentaion of Lady Jones and new versions of songs by Uruguayan composers Eduardo Mateo and Georginho Gularte, among others. Also featured are versions of 'Alfonsina y el mar' by Ariel Ramirez, 'Los ejes de mi carreta' by Atahualpa Yupanqui, and 'Frente al mar' by Marionito Mores; these versions include the fusion of jazz and African rhythms."
This week has been about recovering from the trip to Rivera, and I'm having a difficult time doing so. I've even been writing the year as 2012.
We left around midnight last Thursday (Oct. 10), and arrived at the stadium Atilio Paiva Olivera sometime between 6:30 and 7:00AM. There wasn't a lot of sleep on the bus, and I was surprised at how rowdy the trip was since the conference started during the 9:00 hour. But schedules, or lack of maintaining them, is one of those things I will consistently struggle with here.
That being said, the three days at the conference were a challenge: lack of sleep and a lot of intense concentration during presentations that were in spanish, portuguese, or a mix of the two (portuñol). Thursday night featured a parade that included a military band, candombe from Mundo Afro, and an Umbanda group.
Mostly though, each day in Rivera was full of panels presenting topics related to issues regarding racism and discrimination against African-descended minorities in South America. The attendance for Friday evenings final panel was particularly interesting, as the audience was suddenly very small. It seems Luis Suarez had the power that night as the Uruguayan fútbol star destroyed Chile in a World Cup qualifying match. Appropriate planning took place here though since that nights panel closed with Brazilians and a Paraguayan.
The ride home was even more raucous than the trip there, with more alcohol and louder music. Mentally I was toast for that ride home. The landscape between Rivera and Montevideo though was breathtaking, with a lot of open space, gauchos, and ñandu.
Ñandu
My greatest disappointment in the trip is there wasn't a lot of room for sightseeing (I didn't take the two photos closest to this paragraph). And after three months of LOUD NOISES in Montevideo, I'd love to experience a more tranquilo Uruguay. By the time we made it back to Montevideo Saturday night/Sunday morning, I was exhausted, feeling almost as if I had the flu.
Sunday didn't offer much rest however, since I had to prepare for a Fulbright presentation on Monday, which had to be delivered in Spanish. I'm accustomed to giving presentations, and overall feel quite comfortable doing so, but was some kind of nervous for this one. It's been a long time since I've had the serious shakes due to nerves, but Monday morning they were on full display. In the end, all went well, but since, my brain's been all over the place.
Tuesday night I did take in a percussion ensemble concert by Perceum, and life felt a little more normal. It was also nice hearing a program of percussion music with which I was completely unfamiliar, though it also reminded me how little I'm actually playing here, and how much I miss that type of musical interaction.
As an aside...before I learned of candombe, I wanted to go to Iceland. Who am I kidding, I still do. Watching the Uruguayan countryside pass on the ride home from Rivera reminded me of the geographical openness I've seen in photos and videos of Iceland. For much of the trip I tried to slow my brain with the music of Björk, Ólafur Arnalds, Amiina, Steindór Anderson, and Sigur Rós. If you ever want to make even the most mundane trip feel epic, play Sigur Rós, especially the ( ) album. Then Tuesday night, NPR's All Songs Considered featured a new track from Jónsi, and my wanderlust for open spaces continues. Do yourself a favor and listen to this new track from Cameron Crowe's upcoming movie We Bought a Zoo. And if you don't know the musical names I've just mentioned, go find them, and add American Nico Muhly to the list. And that's all.
It's 8:00PM in Montevideo. Originally I thought I was going to be on a bus right now with members of Mundo Afro, headed to Rivera. The departure was pushed back to 11:00PM. Rivera is around 6 hours to the north and shares a border with Brazil. Literally shares it.
Plaza Internacional
Santana do Livramento (BR)/Rivera (UY)
We're going to Rivera for a conference organized by Mundo Afro: the 6th Foro Internacional Kizomba, commemerating the International Year for People of African Descent.
The conference opens tomorrow morning at 9:00AM. Again, the bus ride is 6 hours. I'm not usually successful when it comes to sleeping on buses or planes. Should make for an interesting few days.
We get back late Saturday night, I have Sunday "off," and on Monday must deliver a presentation en español. The first time I've ever done this. Ever. Already nervous. But I already have my script, and if I can keep that Inner Game voice in my head (who only speaks English) down to a whisper, I may be okay.
In my last post I said a little about my participation in the qualifying parade for Las Llamadas with the comparsa La Chilinga. Well, La Chilinga didn't qualify, and when the full results were released, the group was next to last. When I went out to Buceo last night, I was once again reminded of my connections to competitive marching band in United States. Everyone stood around, voicing their opinions as to the reasons for such a low ranking. I didn't understand everything since there were often a lot of people talking at once. However, two points stood out: first, for some groups the rules didn't seem to matter; and second, La Chilinga equals Argentina (as Argentines participate in this group). As for the first part, I haven't seen all the videos yet, and will never see every full run, so it's difficult to comment. The second part however deals with issues of appropriation; a notion that Argentina desires to tell the world candombe belongs to them. There were even a few jokes that perhaps I was the culprit.
What I do know is this: when that parade ended there was so much joy from everyone who participated with La Chilinga. I watched the faces in the crowd as we passed, and there were heads bobbing to the groove. I'm equally sure there were those who weren't fond of that very same groove, with allegiances to their comparsa. That's the way it goes. For me, I will always remember how great it felt to play that day, especially since in that 20 minutes I felt connected to more than just the group in Buceo. With candombe as our common language, I felt Uruguayan.
El restode esta entrada espara cualquier persona queparticipó en las Pruebas para Admisión de LasLlamadas; ganadores y perdedores. También me gustaríaconocer la opiniónde los espectadorese inclusoel jurado. ¿Cómo te sientesacerca de los resultados? ¿Cambiasus sentimientos sobreel rendimiento de sucomparsa? Responder directamenteal blog, me envía un correo electrónico (csutton1@hotmail.com) oun mensaje deFacebook. En cualquier caso,fue un honorpara mí que teníala oportunidad dedesfilary participar en laalegria que es el candombe. Por eso, muchas gracias a todos.
And one more thing, I ate cookies tonight because I was grossed out by my skeletal frame, especially this cranium!
This is the end of the first week of my fourth month in Montevideo. I'm exhausted.
Yesterday I participated in the Pruebas para Admisión to Las Llamadas; basically, qualifying for carnival. It was finally a really warm day here, and I've got a bit of sunburn to show for it. Emotions were also a bit more heated with the Buceo group, as is expected with the stress of competition. The final performance felt great though, and I feel lucky to have had an opportunity to experience this part of the carnival process, especially since it was a portion I was unaware of three months ago.
The pruebas offered a nice close to the first part of my investigation, which was to familiarize myself with the drumming. I've said it before, but I don't believe I'd have an ear for this at all if it wasn't for the performance opportunities I've had in Buceo.
Now, ready or not, I must begin formal interviews. I spent most of the last week creating and revising questions, and will this week begin sending out requests.
And as for everything else...
I'm definitely learning a lot about myself. For one, I'm an introvert. Small talk is something I've never been good at in English, so imagine the problems I'm having in Spanish. Part of the exhaustion I feel is simply from constantly being out of my comfort zone. But I am opening up, for instance, there aren't any worries now about the single kiss greeting, it's a part of life here.
I also worry a great deal about returning to the States. This would be easier to ignore if it weren't for the small talk. Everyone wants to know where I'll be living and what I'll be doing. They don't understand when my response is "I don't know."
I do know that I miss being an active participant in a lot of different music. I miss having instruments just laying around. Here I'm mostly an observer, even in the instances of active participation. There are days when I just want to push the research aside and fully enjoy the moment, but my inexperience with fieldwork keeps me constantly on edge, analyzing my actions.
I am thinking that summer will offer opportunities to put the work aside. Plus, I don't just think it's my imagination when I say Montevideo seems happier as the weather warms.
I finally made it out to see La Melaza, a cuerda comprised of women players. The title of the post is a modification of something that Juan "Perico" Gularte said at the Coloquio Internacional on Sept 30: "La Melaza es una flor insertada en candombe/La Melaza is a flower inserted in candombe." I found this an eloquent and beautiful statement.
There's not much to add to this yet. I followed the group along their parade route, and got some contact info. So now I'll try to start gaining some trust, but plan on returning as often as possible just to enjoy their playing.
During their break, I shot this short video. These are my favorite parts of the experience in the streets. A small group drumming, joined by dancers. Spontaneous and just for the joy of it.
I've taken it for granted that many readers know why I named this blog Huracándombe. Uruguay was placed on my musical map as a student at the Unviersity of Miami, home of the Hurricanes, or huracán in Spanish. Originally I thought it was a clever title for the final piece on my final doctoral recital, but decided it seemed appropriate for the blog.
Ironically, I spend most of my time playing the drums of candombe at Club Huracán in Buceo, one of Montevideo's many neighborhoods. This was not planned. I mentioned the group in an earlier blog, but after spending a lot of time there this weekend, wanted to show some gratitude here.
With most things I do in Montevideo, I feel like I'm working. My plan in the first few months was to hopefully have opportunities to play the drums, and get a feel for learning music that didn't involve a classroom. If I had not met Guillermo Ceballos, the jefe de la cuerda, in August, I'm not sure I'd be playing very often. Even though I would have seen and heard a lot of playing, my ability to recognize detail in the rhythms is due to my experience as a part of the ensemble of drummers in Buceo. I truly believe my improving Spanish is a result of this experience as well. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that while in Buceo, I don't feel constantly reminded that this is a project for a degree. And for me, it really is so much more than that.
At some point I'm going to have to ask how they feel about having an estadounidense participating, but I'm leaving that for later (though am always open to responses). I do always feel welcome though, and that's gone a long way to making my stay here easier. This is after all, the first time I've travelled internationally, and it's a bit more than a vacation. My hope anyway, is that I can somehow show everyone there how much I appreciate their hospitality.
Wanted to write this post though, because I had a really great weekend. Friday I played in Las Piedras, an area just north of Montevideo known for its vineyards. Driving in, it was quite nice to see some open space, and a little less city. We played some drums, and I personally indulged in asado, chorizo, and wine. The bus ride home was surreal, but with the exception of the alcohol, not much different than those bus rides home from high school band competitions (I know for many, even the alcohol here might sound par for the course).
Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturdays we play. I finally have some video from a rehearsal yesterday (10-28). Hopefully there will be much more. And since I probably haven't said it publicly, to my fellow Huracánes: Gracias por todos!
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