How can my two weeks of guest boinging be over already? I was just starting to get my blog on, and now it's time to bail.Read the rest
I beg your pardon for missing my post yesterday. I was struggling to get the first Postmamboism T-shirt manufactured, celebrating the publication of "Principles of Postmamboism." Looks like I'll have 'em sometime between Monday and Wednesday. The graphic that accompanied that article -- "Abre kuta güiri mambo" (open up your ears and listen to the important matter") -- is going to be the T-shirt image, only printed in red on black instead of black on white. Damn, I haven't made a T-shirt since the last Muñequitos tour.
Today's post is pictures, specifically from New Orleans, and more specifically from my book The Year Before The Flood. To my delight and astonishment, my publisher (Lawrence Hill Books) gave me a 16-page color glossy insert for my photos, along with the black-and-whites sprinkled through the text. Most of them were taken during the almost-year we lived in New Orleans, which is the slice of time the book is about: from August 2004 to May 2005. Here are a few of the pix, though I do think they look better bigger, on paper:
Above, Aldo "Michael" Andrews, of the Bayou Steppers Social Aid and Pleasure Club, in front of the entrance to the Mother-in-Law Lounge in Tremé as their anniversary parade drew to a close on January 16, 2005. Moments after this picture was taken, the police turned on their sirens and ordered the area cleared.
While the premises and methods of Postmamboism are applicable across a wide variety of musics, the discipline begins with the study of African and African diaspora musics, given their historical centrality to the music of the world and their deep connection through slavery, neoslavery, and liberation struggles to fundamental questions of colonialism, capitalism, and civilization. Postmamboism calls for a thorough knowledge of music of the black Atlantic, and implicitly has much to do with the emergent field of Atlantic studies, but its techniques and perspective can work with any musical culture.
Postmamboism is urgently interested in the ancient history of all civilizations, including both that which is documented through archaeology in the dry, heavily excavated zones of the Mediterranean Rim and Asia, and that which rotted in the humidity and archaeological neglect of sub-Saharan Africa and must be studied by other means. The term Postmamboism derives from the Kikongo word imbú, likely used in Cuba from the 16th century on, that is variously translated as "word," "law," "song," or "important matter," and which is pluralized as ma-imbú, or mambo. The prefix "post" is understood to mean not "what replaced," but "what happened after the world was transformed by." Postmamboism says with Arsenio Rodríguez: Abre (open) kuta (ear) güiri (hear) mambo.
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I heard some good records this year, but one stands out for the way it compelled me to listen over and over: Cuban pianist Omar Sosa's Across the Divide: A Tale of Rhythm & Ancestry.
I don't listen to all that much recorded music, though you wouldn't know it from the way my apartment is bulging with recorded music in every format known to man or woman. About an hour a day, usually, not counting my work, which entails studying music. I prefer my music live, in the presence of other people hearing it with me. And if I play a recording, I listen to it. I don't play recorded music while I'm doing something else, unless it's a routine task.
I must have thousands of CDs, but there are about thirty I play repeatedly--my comfort records, so to speak. By which I mean, when I want to relax with an old friend, I put this one on. My idiosyncratic, impulsively personal selection goes beyond the constant parade of r&b and salsa oldies on my computer to albums that have an arc, an identity, and a context of their own.
João Bosco's Zona de Fronteira. Big Sam's Funky Nation. Lecuona plays Lecuona. Alicia de Larrocha plays Albéniz's Iberia, though I wish I could hear a ripping new interpretation of it with close miking. Everything by Dr. John, and Coco Robicheaux's Spiritland. Cash Money Greatest Hits. George Clinton's T.A.P.O.A.F.O.M (The Awesome Power of a Fully Operational Mother Ship), and another acronymic title, Miles Davis's E.S.P., King Tubby. Boukman Eksperyans's Kalfou Danjere. Terry Allen, Joe Ely. And my favorite Christmas record of all time (because it doesn't sound like a "Christmas record"), El Gran Combo's Nuestra Música. And, previously, one record by Omar Sosa, the elaborate, African-orchestral Afreecanos (2008).
Sosa's Across the Divide was my only new comfort record this year. It's a powerful, spiritual record that features Tim Eriksen, who sings traditional Anglo-American ballads with musicality and soul, and plays a nice banjo too.
"Singer/songwriter/guitarist, musical anthropologist, and one of rock and roll's pioneering forces in the Dominican Republic, Luis Días, passed away from a heart attack and other health-related complications on the morning of Dec. 8th, in Santo Domingo."
I borrowed the photo from writer-photographer Eliseo Cardona's fine music blog Blue Monk, which also has an appreciation of Luis's life and work.
In the Santo Domingo daily paper 7 Días, Alfonso Torres writes a eulogy (in Spanish):
Nadie como él desafió la muerte, la noche terrorífica del último cuarto del siglo 20 dominicano, con su lírica estremecedora, su irreverencia, sus acordes exóticos tan lejanos y tan cercanos de nuestra cultura popular.
Which I crudely translate to (though I have to repunctuate):
Nobody could defy death—the terrorific night of the last quarter of the 20th century in the Dominican Republic - like him, with his shake-you-up lyrics, his irreverence, his exotic chords so far away from and so close to our popular culture. Read the rest
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New Orleans is a subjective town that demands a point of view. Depending on where you're coming from, you have a different vision of the city. So I felt it was necessary to tell people where I was coming from, so to speak, before I could tell my story of New Orleans.
I'm not from New Orleans, but I lived in Louisiana until I was nine years old--in Natchitoches, Louisiana, which is 282 miles northwest of New Orleans and four years older, the first town the French founded in what later became the Louisiana Purchase. That was back in the bad old days, the 1950s. In August 1960 (just before the desegregation battle erupted in New Orleans) we moved away, to El Paso. I never lived in Louisiana again, until 2004, when I was fifty-three. Returning to Louisiana all those years later, I was a kind of insider / outsider. As I tried to learn the ropes of living in New Orleans, all kinds of long-buried fragmentary memories came surging forward. Like, I already knew what it meant for a deliveryman to leave a package "under the house," because the houses are raised up off the ground. And no one had to explain to me about southern racism, because I went to a segregated school.
The main body of The Year Before The Flood is Part Two, which tells the story of our year in New Orleans. But there's a shorter Part One, a childhood memoir that explains what I was bringing to my New Orleans experience. Here's an excerpt from the first chapter of the book, which is called "Jump Jim Crow." If you want to listen along while you read, here's a clip of me reading it at Joe's Pub on November 20.
(Boing Boing guestblogger Ned Sublette is an author, historian, photographer, and singer-songwriter who lives in New York City. His most recent book is "The Year Before The Flood." Photo above: Chano Domínguez, Dec. 3, Jazz Standard. Photos in this post: (c) 2009, Ned Sublette]
In presenting his version of Kind of Blue . . . [pianist Chano] Domínguez came with a quintet format I have not seen before: bass (Mario Rossy), cajón (Israel Piraña Suárez), a wailing flamenco vocal (Blas Córdoba, also on handclaps), and a handclappper (Tomasito) who also contributed bursts of percussive dance on a wooden mini-floor set at the front of the Standard's stage. So there were only two harmonic instruments and a voice, set against a rich, brittle rhythmic conversation.That's from a review I wrote Friday morning, posted over at allaboutjazz.com, of Thursday night's splendid performance by Chano Domínguez at the Jazz Standard in New York. Now let me back up.
Last year I played the most amazing festival: the Voll-Damm Barcelona International Jazz Festival (Voll-Damm is the sponsor). That was the festival where I spent two days with Bebo and Chucho Valdés... Read the rest
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