Artist: Lura Title: Di Korpu Ku Alma Label: Escondida Lura Exposes Cape Verde’s Hidden Music with a Winter 2006 Tour The music of Cape Verde—an archipelago 300 miles west of Dakar, Senegal—is a music of emigration.  While the island nation’s best-known singer is Cesaria Evora, a young singer born and raised in Lisbon’s émigré community is presenting once-hidden Cape Verdean styles to American and European audiences. Her name is Lura and she recently released Di Korpu Ku Alma (Of Body and Soul). The first European colonial town in Africa was founded in Cape Verde in 1462, three decades before Columbus set sail for the Americas. Cape Verde’s music reflects the mix of Portuguese and West African roots. But since traveling between Cape Verde’s ten islands is expensive, the populations on each island are distinct with their own personality and dialect. Cesaria Evora—from the island of Sao Vicente—is known for the European-inflected mornas and the faster-paced coladeras. Lura is part of a new generation of musicians rediscovering the hidden traditions of her ancestral homeland. Her music is inspired by the styles of Santiago—the most African of the islands, and the island from which her father came; styles such as batuku and funana. The African musical traditions of Cape Verde are still emerging now because the nation only gained independence in 1975, and prior to that the Church and the colonial government prohibited certain forms. The accordion-driven funana—which Lura performs—was considered too erotic. Originally a dozen or more women would beat the batuku rhythm on folded stacks of clothes (called tchabeta) held by their knees, while a lead singer improvised poetry lampooning or critiquing community happenings. A very sensual dance called torno accompanied the song form. “The women in Cape Verde spend a lot of time together, working and talking and that is how batuku started; from the women of Santiago,” Lura says. “Now I and others are making a kind of batuku, but singing alone, not in a group. I’m a little representation of batuku from Cape Verde.” Orlando Pantera, a young man who died in 2001, and who never released a studio album himself, wrote five of the CD’s batuku-style songs. “When I first heard his music, I fell in love,” Lura exclaims. “He expresses daily life of the Cape Verde people in a very unique way. His music and his words are very strong, and very Cape Verdean. I fell in love with him, but I never met him. When I found out he died, I felt this is something I can do for him. So his music lives on.” Drought and economic limitations drive many Cape Verdeans to live abroad. (There are nearly as many Cape Verdeans living in the U.S. as there are Cape Verdeans in Cape Verde!) “In the poems and lyrics of Cape Verde, we speak a lot about immigration,” explains Lura. “A lot of people move away to make a better living. We talk a lot about rain because there is so little rain. And we talk about food, because sometimes it is very difficult to get food. A lot of things you have to buy from outside; from Portugal, the U.S., Holland. And we talk about the relationship between parents and their children, because so many families are far apart. But the words talk about immigration in a symbolic way.” “So Um Cartinha” is a song about letters, which are very symbolic in Cape Verde. The song pokes fun at a Cape Verdean custom of asking friends who are visiting Lisbon to take back “a little letter”, then presenting them with a fully packed trunk. “At the airport check in line, you can always tell who is going to Cape Verde, because they have the most luggage,” says Lura. “You have to bring a lot of souvenirs to everybody. ‘Oh Náia’ is a funny song about bringing something for everybody but your best friend, who gets mad at you. I am singing that I ran out of money. I did not even have enough money to pay the excise tax!” While they were on tour together, Cesaria Evora inspired Lura to write “Tem Um Hora Pa Tude” (“There is a Time for Everything”). Cesaria is known for continuing to live a simple life; not impressed by her late-in-life fame, nor by the European and American cities she has toured. The song says, “With my beloved, there’s never a time when I don’t have everything.” A time for everything indeed. And it is time for America to hear the voice and passion of Lura on her new CD. Back to top

Artist: Marcel Khalifé Title: Taqasim Label: Nagam Records/Connecting Cultures Records The Devilish Subtleties of Oud and Bass: Lebanese Composer Marcel Khalifé Savors Poetry Without Words “I was born like everyone is born... I have a view of my own and an extra blade of grass. I have a moon past the peak of words.”  -Mahmoud Darwish There is a Lebanese composer and master of the oud (an Arabic lute) living in exile in Paris. Many in the Arab world love him for his fierce dedication to protecting the core of Arab music while simultaneously pushing that essence in new, expressive directions. His name is Marcel Khalifé and he is also credited for taking the words of Palestinian national poet Mahmoud Darwish and popularizing them on the streets and in packed concert halls throughout the Arab world and beyond, where everyday people now recite Darwish’s poems. With his latest work, Taqasim (Nagam Records/Connecting Cultures Records), Khalifé takes his dedication to Darwish to a deeper level, using solely, and without lyrics, the lower register of the oud and upright bass to communicate “those tremendous but obscure dimensions that are often ignored by the listeners’ ears – the task of expressing the profound consonance between the poet and the musician.” Through the oud, Khalifé brings Darwish’s world of the Palestinian people’s dispossession and exile to all, regardless of the listener’s background or familiarity with Arab music, inviting everyone to embrace its deep and subtle complexities and savor its nuances. Khalifé has often spoken out for peace and reconciliation, having risked his life performing in bombed out concert halls during Lebanon’s civil war. Israel seized Khalifé’s cassettes upon invading his country, Lebanon, in 1982. This past August Khalifé wrote to fellow UNESCO Artists for Peace in response to Israel’s bombing of Lebanon, “Nothing justifies our art other than to speak for those who cannot speak. This is the cause for which we dedicated our efforts, and the cause that endorsed our voices. We only wished to take it as far as we can, and vowed to release our work as songs of love for, and unity with, the victims of persecution everywhere.” His core passion lies in transforming the Arab music tradition, picking up the thread spun by the great composers and musicians of the early 20th century, figures like Egyptian composer Sayyed Darweesh. Khalifé calls for a new approach, one that brings instrumental music to the forefront of a tradition that has often laid heavy emphasis on singers and songs: "We Arabs have no history of our music. In my judgment, we have linked music to singing, and it is time to write down the history of music, not just song." Khalifé’s previous work has stretched the world’s understanding of the oud by crafting new contexts and ensembles for the instrument, often by setting the lyrical and complex poems of Mahmoud Darwish to music. Yet now, Khalifé has decided to set aside direct references to Darwish’s words and the song form. This homage to Darwish is “not a song because I want to manifest the subtle, the unspoken,” Khalifé explains. Instead, he has let the oud speak for itself, coupled with Peter Herbert’s elegant upright bass. The bass is the perfect companion for the oud, Khalifé believes, as “Lower registers are what the oud is reaching for, where the devilish subtleties lie, and where speech is limited. There, often lies the truth.” This truth, the “moon beyond the peak of words,” is a deeply personal one for Khalifé and many of Darwish’s numerous admirers in the Arab world. Even before Khalifé made Darwish’s acquaintance, he recalls, “I felt as though Darwish’s poetry, with its divine assertiveness and prophetic cadences, had been revealed to me and for me. I could nearly savor his ‘mother’s bread’ that has become iconic to his readers. I could identify with his passport, which I fancied carried my picture, just as personally as I could identify with his olive grove, his sand, and his sparrows. They were all, at a personal level, mine.” Khalifé’s profound engagement with Darwish, his work and his fate as a Palestinian has translated into decades of work based on Darwish poems. Taqasim, though an integral part of Khalifé’s quest for a new approach to the oud, is something of a departure from his previous Darwish-inspired pieces. The wordless improvisations of Taqasim aim to “re-create what the poetry of Darwish has created in me,” transforming the grammar and sense of words into rhythm and melody. When asked how Western listeners should find Darwish’s spirit in Khalifé’s confident tones, Khalifé responds simply: “Deprogram yourselves and explore the universe with your innate minds.” Back to top

Artist: Andy Palacio and the Garifuna Collective Title: Wátina Label: Cumbancha Shipwrecks, Storms, and Surprise Encounters: The Unique and Soulful Sound of Africa in Central America The tale of Andy Palacio and the Garifuna Collective traces its roots to the early 1980s, when a teenage Palacio traveled from his home in the Central American country of Belize to Nicaragua to serve in a literacy campaign. Palacio is Garifuna, a unique culture based on the Caribbean coast of Central America that blends elements of West African and Native Caribbean heritage. Andy was told that Nicaragua’s local Garifuna traditions and language were all but extinct. He was en route via boat to the Nicaraguan village of Orinoco to begin his first literacy assignment when a storm forced a change of direction, leading to a surprise encounter that had a lasting impact on Palacio’s music, career, and life mission. The legacy of this life-changing meeting lives on in the music of Wátina, a stunning new album featuring an all-star, multigenerational lineup of Garifuna musicians from Belize, Guatemala, and Honduras that will be released by the recently-formed record label Cumbancha on February 27, 2007. The Garifuna people originated when two large Spanish ships, filled with a delivery of West African slaves, sunk off the coast of the Caribbean island of St. Vincent in 1635. Half of the Africans survived and intermingled with the indigenous Caribs of the region, creating a new hybrid culture. Fiercely independent, the Garifuna community resisted European colonization and were forcibly exiled to the Caribbean coast of Central America. Some were segregated and held onto their traditions and language, while others were forced to homogenize with the local predominant culture. To avoid his own mid-lagoon shipwreck, Palacio’s boat captain decided to take a detour to a nearby village until the storm passed. He said to Palacio, “There is a Garifuna man in this village. You should talk in your language and see how he reacts.” When the eighteen year-old Palacio greeted the old man, Mr. López, in the Garifuna tongue, the elder replied in complete disbelief, “Are you telling the truth?” “I told him, ‘Yes, my uncle; I am Garifuna just like you,’” explains Palacio. “He embraced me and would not let go. He could not believe a man so young could speak Garifuna, having imagined the language would perish with him.” “From that day I realized that what was happening in Nicaragua, the disappearance of Garifuna culture, foreshadowed what was going to happen in Belize less than a generation down the road,” recalls Palacio. “I decided to follow my passion and focus more on performing Garifuna music as a way to keep the traditions alive long into the future.” At first, Palacio became a local star of Punta rock, an upbeat Garifuna dance music infused with synthetic beats and keyboards. The Punta rock movement of the ‘90s was in keeping with trends established by successful world music artists such as zouk pioneers Kassav who blended the latest studio technology with their traditional music. But that was not to be Palacio’s ultimate musical course. “Under the direction of my producer Ivan Duran, I made a 180 degree turn,” exclaims Palacio, in his lilting, Caribbean-inflected English. “And I am so happy now to take a completely human experience onto the stage as opposed to where I saw myself heading in the mid ’90s with samplers, sequencers, and instrumental backing tracks. I look back and I cringe. I don’t feel a need to be devoid of technology, I do not want to become a slave to it.” Belizean producer and musician Ivan Duran has spent the last ten years seeking out and recording what he calls “the soulful side of Garifuna music.” He says, “We’re not doing the strictly danceable material of Punta rock, where the lyrics are basically ‘Shake up your waist and dance!’ The fascinating thing you will notice about the styles we are doing is that the beauty is in the simplicity. Garifuna songs may only have two lines, and if you transcribe them, you still do not get the full meaning. But a good Garifuna song is like a photograph. It captures a moment in time; a split second of someone’s life.” Each track on Wátina is based on a traditional Garifuna rhythm and all of the lyrics are in the Garifuna tongue—a unique and endangered language whose root is Arawak influenced by Carib, French, and, possibly, West African languages. In 2001, UNESCO declared the Garifuna language, music, and dance Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity. As an official within Belize’s Ministry of Culture at that time, Andy Palacio played a role in securing that proclamation. Today, Palacio is one of those rare musicians with one foot in the world of cultural diplomacy and another foot on the performance stage. His new album brings together his dual passion for the safeguarding of culture and making modern music tied to Garifuna roots.  The songs on Wátina are overflowing with powerful messages and symbolism that speak to the need for the Garifuna to cherish and celebrate their heritage. “Garifuna music in recent times has been popular for punta and parranda; dance oriented music forms for carnival or the dance floor,” says Palacio. “But on this album we’re bringing attention to songs that aren’t like that. ‘Weyu Larigi Weyu,’ for example, which means “Day by Day,’ uses a rhythm extracted from ritual music called dügü, a traditional healing ceremony that unites family members from all over Central America. It is a prayer asking God’s blessings for our people and asking for guidance, strength, and healing in an afflicted world.” “Ámuñegü”—which is Garifuna for “In Times to Come”— asks, “Who will speak to me in Garifuna in times to come? Who will perform the dügü? Who will perform the arumahani song in times to come? We must preserve Garifuna culture now, lest we lose it altogether in times to come.” Palacio is joined by 75-year-old Garifuna legend Paul Nabor on “Ayó Da,” a song which Nabor wrote 60 years ago to tell the family of a friend that their son was lost on a fishing trip on the river. “All Garifuna songs are very personal in that sense,” says producer Duran. “They are all true stories. This song is how he broke the news to everyone. He doesn’t say it in the song, but Paul told us he thinks that a crocodile ate his friend. The song title simply means ‘Goodbye.’” Another song, “Baba,” was composed by a young Garifuna songwriter named Adrian Martinez. “‘Baba’ has become like an anthem performed in every Garifuna church,” Duran explains. “It talks about fate. Baba has many meanings: Father, Father as God, and it also could be an ancestor from your family who has died. Ancestors play an important role in Garifuna culture.” Palacio and Duran are part of the Garifuna Collective, a loose community of musicians that grew out of Belize’s leading record label, Stonetree Records. Duran, who was born in Belize to Catalonian parents, founded Stonetree in 1995 after studying music at the Escuela Naciónal de Música in Havana, Cuba. “The Collective is the culmination of years of defining what I think is the more emotional part of Garifuna music.” “I started Cumbancha precisely so I could help bring wider exposure to exceptional artists and projects like Andy Palacio and the Garifuna Collective,” says Jacob Edgar, the long-time head of A&R at Putumayo World Music and founder of the new Cumbancha record label. “I’ve been fascinated with Garifuna music and culture since I was a budding ethnomusicologist doing field work in Central America in 1989 and ’90. When we selected tracks for the 1999 Putumayo collection Caribe! Caribe!, we included Andy Palacio and I made a personal connection with Ivan. I was really impressed with Ivan’s passion and talent. We also included an early version of the song “Baba” on Putumayo’s Music from the Chocolate Lands. The beauty and emotion of that song and the others that are part of the project moved me to my core, and I wanted to be a part of this special production.” In February of 2006, Edgar went to Belize to meet with Duran and Palacio to review rough mixes, offer his opinions, and experience firsthand the ambiance of Belize and particularly the Garifuna village of Hopkins where much of the initial recording was done. “I even got to play conch shell on one of the songs!” exclaims Edgar. “I am really very proud of how we recorded the album,” says Duran. “We spent a few months in a cabin right by the sea in a small village working with all the musicians, developing the arrangements from scratch. This music does not exist in its natural form. You can’t go to a club and listen to this. What exists is a very raw form. You might hear some of the rhythms at a beluria, a kind of wake. And you hear people singing with a lot of emotion, but not necessarily ‘in tune.’ Everyday people keep this culture alive. They are like you and me, just in the community, making music everyday. So we wanted to capture that spirit while paying close attention to high quality production values and the essence of Garifuna songs and music. We took the time to make sure each musician that came in understood each song.” “Knowing what not to do is just as important,” Duran continues. “I never want the listener to hear the production work; just to appreciate the music for what it is. A Garifuna song is very basic: short, simple lyrics, and one rhythm. Very rarely will it have a bridge like a pop song. A typical formula would be to put in a bridge to expand it. An outside producer would say ‘Let’s add a guitar or a saxophone solo,’ and most likely that would be a studio musician with no connection. We used a great lead guitarist from Honduras, who is always working with Garifuna musicians, but I still made sure he spent time with us on the songs as opposed to sending him digital files.” Duran is spending countless hours on his next project, also several years in the making. Umalali, the Garifuna Women’s project, which will be released by Cumbancha in the not too distant future, was the result of countless auditions of the best Garifuna women singers and working closely with them to revive their voices in the musical tradition. “Knowing this music inside out… that is what I feel most proud of,” concludes Duran. “This is what I know best and is exactly what I wanted to do all along. I have spent ten years working with these musicians. And I hope that the time spent on this results in an album that sounds effortless and fresh. We want to share this with the world without any artificial ingredients.” Back to top   This website: Copyright © 2006Dream World Media, LLC. / Urban Mozaik Magazine. All rights reserved. This website/publication, in whole or in part, may not be reproduced without written permission from the publisher or the previous publisher of original republished materials.