Scatterbrain, or Recovering from the Bordertown

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.

Waiting for a Bus to the Frontier

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 resto de esta entrada es para cualquier persona que participó en las Pruebas para Admisión de Las Llamadas; ganadores y perdedores. También me gustaría conocer la opinión de los espectadores e incluso el jurado. ¿Cómo te sientes acerca de los resultados? ¿Cambia sus sentimientos sobre el rendimiento de su comparsa? Responder directamente al blog, me envía un correo electrónico (csutton1@hotmail.com) o un mensaje de Facebook. En cualquier caso, fue un honor para mí que tenía la oportunidad de desfilar y participar en la alegria 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!

An Introvert Abroad

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.

 

La flor del candombe...



La Melaza (10-23-11)

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.

Huracán Candombe

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!

Words from the Wise (Not Me)

"From the viewpoint of the Americas…it appears that the primary value of what exists of Africa is that it provides a basis for the development of tradition, for exploring new directions without loss of musical identity. Africa, therefore provides a source of strength. That is why African roots must be viewed in terms of creative processes that allow for continuity and change" (J. H. Kwabena Nketia, Ethnomusicology and African Music, 335).

"I consider myself a son of the world, but also a son of Africa" (Daniel Vidart, translation from presentation at the Coloquio Internacional Montevideo: October 1, 2011).

J. H. Kwabena Nketia

Earlier this month I had the pleasure of hearing presentations by Joseph H. Kwabena Nketia, Ghanaian musicologist and composer, and Daniel Vidart, Uruguayan anthropologist and poet. Both men spoke at the Coloquio Internacional de Música in Montevideo, themed "Music between Africa and the Americas." It was a weekend of ethnomusicological presentations, confrontations, and more often than not, candombe. I highlight these two because after their presentations, I walked away inspired; unlike many of the heated exchanges that took place during Q&As with other speakers.

In my previous post, I cited Kofi Agawu, and the idea of "seeking sameness in order to highlight difference." This is why I began this post citing Professor Nketia, whose presentation closed the Coloquio. His message was overwhelmingly one of highlighting not just difference, but the "significance of difference." Admittedly, I'm still wrestling with why I feel the addition of "significance" adds a more positive vibe to the study of difference. Quite possibly it's because in so many discussions of music, I feel we highlight the negative qualities of difference.

Returning to the first quote by Nketia, I'd like to point out that statements like this are often criticized for painting a portrait of a unified, homogenous continent. However, it would be silly to believe, even for a moment, that Professor Nketia isn't aware of the geographical, ethnic, linguistic, and cultural diversity of his native country. When reading literature regarding the music of Africa, the common thread is not often a lack of diversity, but the significance of community within the diverse musical cultures. Therefore, viewing Africa as "a source of strength" provides the sense of a place free of segregation, unlike the Americas. Of course this is a utopian ideal, but perhaps one that is needed in the building of communities, and even nations. I also appreciate that this statement doesn't mention race, since anyone who has grown up in popular cultures of the Americas and the Caribbean has taken part in the "processes" of "continuity and change."

Daniel Vidart

The important part is to recognize this, as Professor Vidart stated. We are sons and daughters of the world...sons and daughters of Africa. To borrow one more quote from the Coloquio, this time some lyrics from the musicologist Pete Seeger, through his nephew, also a musicologist, Anthony Seeger: "We're all mixed up." This is all leading me to a post on heritage, patrimonio. A word that for me, being from South Carolina, has always carried a lot of baggage.

Next episode.

Seeking Sameness

As I keep my fingers crossed for some candy this Halloween, or Noche de brujas as it's called in Uruguay, I decided to open this post with a festive game. Can you spot the scary differences?

 
Congrats, you did it!! Now to tie it in...

Since September I spend most mornings reading. Mainly books by Uruguayan authors that were not easily accessible in Miami, but also literature regarding anthropology, musicology, methodology, and/or theory. Quite often I finish these works wanting to spit verbal venom. So much so that I have fantasized about academic discourse being a lot like the rap battles in 8 Mile, only replace the explicit urban lyrics with intellectual colloquies. But this is neither here nor there...oh wait, except that is about the highlighting of difference!
 
Recently, while searching for materials to support using "Western" notation for my candombe transcriptions, I came across Kofi Agawu's "The Invention of 'African' Rhythm"(Journal of the American Musicological Society, 1995). In the closing paragraph of his examination of the "politics of notating African music," I found the following statement inspiring:

"An ideology of difference must be replaced by an ideology of sameness so that--somewhat paradoxically--we can gain a better view of difference" (393).  

Lately I've noticed the "sameness" between traditions of the cuerdas, and those of the drumlines of the United States (and elsewhere, though I'm only comparing with my own experiences). Of course there are differences, many of which are visibly and aurally obvious. But even aurally...a drummer that doesn't enjoy an amazing groove has to be in the minority, right? Within both exists various military-like heirarchies, from the jefe de la cuerda (drum captain) to the more specific section leaders. There are the identifying colors found on uniforms, flags, and even with special paint jobs for the drums. Each group has its followers, as well as those who don't like when things change. Both feature the politics of competition.

I would like to call attention to one difference with the "drumlines" of Uruguay: you don't age out. Continuity is part of candombe's tradition, unlike in the United States where age or graduation brings an end to participation. This doesn't mean an end to performing, and often the "age out" process opens doors to instruction. But I wonder...does our tradition cause a lack of appreciation for maintaining a sense of community? It seems increasingly rare that percussionists (and other musicans) seek to create strong bonds on local levels, in favor of pursuing the most elite positions.

But now I've gone beyond what I wanted to write about here. The idea is to leave you with a marching band performance that might seem more familiar. The tune is "Magalenha" from the amazing album Brasileiro by Sergio Mendes. And I apologize for the palm, and that you have to hear me poorly singing Portuguese gibberish, but I just love the song.