Geek of All Trades

Ladysmith Black Mambazo

Nearly two months ago, right as I was becoming distracted away from frequent blogging, I mentioned the World Music concert series from which we'd chosen a selection of shows to attend.  Last Friday was our first show of the Spring 2008 series - Ladysmith Black Mambazo, at Sanders Theater at Harvard.

The South African choral group Ladysmith Black Mambazo became very famous in the US after they performed on Paul Simon's blockbuster album Graceland, but even by then they had already been doing their thing for many, many years - the group was founded in 1960 by Joseph Shabalala, who still leads the group today.  In their early days they performed in singing competitions in mining townships, and they were so good that they demolished the field - eventually they were asked to retire from the competitions to give someone else a chance to win.   

Today, most of Mambazo's original members have retired or passed on, and Shabalala's four sons are carrying on the tradition along with the other family friends and professional singers that make up the nine-man group.  But Mr. Shabalala is as energetic as ever, and seemed tireless in Friday night's performance, jumping and kicking and dancing with as much verve as any of the younger men.  Indeed, the dancing - the men's exuberance - was the best part of the show.  The songs themselves are pretty - the singers' mastery of tight harmony and complex rhythm is awesome - but a little unvarying; every song is at the same tempo and in the same mode, and each song concludes with a lengthy and repetitive vamp segment. 

Some time ago I read a review of a Youssou N'Dour album that dug at the genre of "world music" for being "as tedious as the dinner parties at which it is played."  Being a hungry consumer of music from all over the world, I bristled at this characterization, but I also understood the reviewer's point.  There is a certain strain of world music that feels particularly packaged for the West, for an NPR-listening, liberal-voting audience.  Ladysmith Black Mambazo suffers a bit from this ailment, perhaps as a result of having been Paul Simonized so long ago (they did perform "Homeless," a tune from Graceland, at Friday's show).  Still, they are an easy introduction to African music for people new to the sounds.  The choral stylings are unquestionably delightful, and the guys put on a charming and entertaining show. 

World Music - spring concert series

David and I are members of the unimaginatively named "World Music" organization, that arranges and promotes a series of concerts in the Boston area each season.  As members we get advance deals on the best seats for all their concerts, and in seasons past we've seen many excellent shows (a few of which I've written about here):  Indian performers like Zakir Hussain and Rahul Sharma, and a kathak dance demonstration by Pandit Birju Maharaj; African artists like the outstanding Oliver Mtukudzi, the legendary Hugh Masakela, and our long-time favorite Angelique Kidjo; and unusual acts like Finland's Varttina. 

We just got the catalog for the Winter-Spring 2008 series, and we went hog-wild - we'll be attending about two concerts a month from January to May and we're really excited about it.  On the menu are some great performers we've seen before, like Angelique, Mr. Masakela, Zakir sahib, and Mali's Toumani Diabate; we're also going to hear a pair of Pakistani qawwals, which I'm really excited about, and interesting-sounding loungey fusion act called Pink Martini, and a bunch of other (mostly African) stuff.  I'll try to write at least a little about each one here, as I wish I'd done for all the terrific concerts we've seen already.  And you can see World Music's event list here. 

Toumani Diabaté & the Symmetric Orchestra

Thursday night was a concert by Toumani Diabaté and his Symmetric Orchestra at the Somerville Theatre, organized by the World Music organization, via which we have seen many excellent concerts.

Toumani Diabaté is a master of the kora, a West African instrument with 21 strings, somewhere between a lute and a harp.  During the concert he demonstrated how it is played, using only the thumbs and forefingers of each hands.  One thumb lays down the bass, while the other plucks out a melody.  Over that foundation, Diabaté spins wild, flowing flights of improvisation with his two forefingers.  "You can play it fast, or you can play it slow," he said.  No, Toumani - you can.

Diabaté himself is from Mali (I have written about Malian music here before), but his band features musicians from all over West Africa.  It is a fusion band, mixing traditional African instruments with rock and roll drums, guitars, and horns or keyboards.  Diabaté explained that his goal is to bring the centuries-old traditions of West Africa to life with modern sounds, and also to transport today's music back in time.  He said it more eloquently than that; I wish I could recall his exact words. 

The high point of the show for me was its middle segment, in which Diabaté introduced each of the traditional instruments and gave each of his virtuosic bandmates a solo chance to show off.  There was a man who played the balafon, a relative of the marimba or xylophone with wooden bars over gourd resonators.  Diabaté's balafon-player actually had two balafons one behind the other, tuned differently so that instead of only the pentatonic scale of traditional West African music, he had access to most of the chromatic scale.  During his solo, he burst cheerfully into Dave Brubeck's "Take Five," as if to say - you're listening to our music, and we are listening to yours as well.   

Perhaps the most entertaining of Diabaté's soloists was the djembe player, a big strong, man who beat the stuffing out of his drum and while dancing and grooving and generally looking like he was having a fabulous time.  There was also a ngoni (also known as xalam), a small lute-like instrument that Diabaté's bandmate played with incredible agility.  The keyboard player took a turn on a traditional wooden flute as well.

When the band all jammed together, the sound was driving and intense.  There were two singers who sang their hearts out and the drummer and bass player set down a powerful rock beat.  Diabaté's fusion sound really works.  He takes ample advantage of the synergistic similarity between the traditional African pentatonic scale and the American blues scale, creating tunes that drift seamlessly across oceans and centuries. 

Värttinä

Last Friday night David and I heard a fabulous concert by the Finnish band Värttinä.  They have a unique and fascinating sound and they put on a great show.

Värttinä includes an acoustic folk band - fiddle, bouzouki, accordion, and other instruments - fronted by three powerful, energetic singers.  Their music draws on Finnish folk sounds and lyric poetry, but the sound is decidedly contemporary.  To put it concisely, Värttinä rocks.

The pulse of Värttinä is its astonishing drummer, Jaako Lukkarinen.  At about the halfway point in the show, as a song was concluding, David turned to me and said, "That drummer is from another planet."  Moments later the band exited the stage to take a break - all except Lukkarinen, who treated us to the most fascinating and far-ranging 15-minute drum solo one can imagine.  He started by drawing a drumstick along the edge of his cymbals, using it like a bow to set up the most eerie wailing vibrations.  He created crisp rhythms with strings of shells.  And, eventually, he just plain hit the crap out of the drums in a driving rock-and-roll beat. 

But if Lukkarinen is the band's pulse, its soul is shaped by the clever, folksy style of its singers, Susan Aho, Johanna Virtanen, and founding member and anchor Mari Kaasinen.  They writhe and stomp as they act out the themes of their lyrics - everything from the enchantments of forest witches to what it feels like to be unable to get to sleep at the end of a long day.  They create tight, close harmonies and impossibly complex rhythms, all while putting on a show that is engaging, fun, and delightful. 

It was simply a great show.  I only have one Värttinä album, a 15-year old endeavor called Seleniko.  That was much more of folksy album - it didn't rock the way they did on Friday night.  So I'm going to have to pick up something more recent - something after Lukkarinen joined the band.  Oh, and Värttinä have also collaborated with one of my favorite Bollywood composers, A.R. Rahman, on a giant musical production of Lord of the Rings set to open in London this spring.  I am looking forward to hearing the music from that - A.R. Rahman is a master of fusion, and I can't even imagine what he could do with sounds like Värttinä's.

Royal Drummers of Burundi and Mombasa Party

Last night we heard a fantastic concert featuring two very different groups from East Africa - Mombasa Party, from "Kenya Mombasa" (as the band said), and the Royal Drummers of Burundi (pictured above).

Mombasa Party opened the show.  A small ensemble featuring a harmonium, a bass guitar, a guy playing the bongos, and a singer, Mombasa Party played songs in the Taarab style.  I haven't been able to learn much about Taarab - it seems to be an East African fusion of indigenous music with influences from Arabia and Europe.  Some of the songs were decidedly African in flavor; others were reminiscent of Spanish tunes - it was a very diverse set, yet clearly united by a common style.  Their last song included as a refrain the phrase "hakuna matata," which I first heard in the eponymous song in Disney's The Lion King.  It is a Swahili phrase, sometimes translated as "no worries."  Their set had a lot of energy and was completely fun.

When Mombasa Party finished their set, a dozen strong men clad in outfits reminiscent of togas suddenly appeared on the stage and took their places behind large drums that were arrayed on the stage.  These were the Royal Drummers of Burundi.  When they started playing, the sound and the sight were awesome.  They wielded long thick mallets and hit the drums harder than I've ever seen drums hit, in perfect unison.  The wave-like effect of their mallets arcing up through the air and slamming down on the drumheads was awesome.

The Drummers of Burundi gave us only a taste of what they had to offer, and then took their drums off the stage for the intermission.  At the start of the second half, they came back out on the stage beating their drums which they carried on their heads.  These are not small, delicate drums.  They were enormous hollowed-out tree trunks, standing 3-4 feet in height.  Stretched over the tops were untanned animal hides, held in place by a ring of thick, wooden pegs.  The drummers carried these on to the stage and set them down to continue their show.   

Their rhythms were not complex, but they were driving and tight and loud.  And instead of drum solos, they performed dance solos.  There were more musicians than drums, so at any time there were anywhere from one to three men dancing energetically in front of the ensemble (and sometimes one having a rest in the wings!), in the incredibly athletic African style that featured lots of jumps, kicks, and high steps.  It was an awesome experience.  I felt that the ceremonial origins of the drumming were palpable; despite the unreal decibel level, the rhythms were still trance-inducing.

Mombasa Party and the Royal Drummers of Burundi are touring together and I think there are still a number of dates left.  If you get a chance, I highly recommend that you see them. 

Living legend

Last Sunday, I saw Asha Bhosle perform.  I said a little bit about Asha here.  I could not really think of an analogue to Asha Bhosle in western popular culture.  She has been one of the best loved singers in Hindi film for some sixty years.  Considering the reach of Bollywood's audience, her name is probably known to a quarter of the world's population.  She is truly a living legend.

And, for a short time on Sunday evening, I and a few hundred others got to breathe the same air as she.

It's difficult to describe what the experience was like.  Asha jii herself, seventy-something years old, was at once substantial and frail.  She moved at a deliberate pace, and spoke deliberately as well.  She told long stories that seemed rambling, almost stream-of-consciousness, until she delivered the perfectly timed punchline that let us knew she knew just where she was leading us.  And we, the audience, sat on the edges of our seats, delighted with every word, wishing she would never stop talking and at the same time wishing she would stop talking and start singing.

When Asha jii finally did sing, her spirit and strength reverberated and she was energized.  Her performance wasn't perfect - it took her a song or two to warm up enough to really hit the high notes - but at moments her voice was as clear, as sweet, as flirtatious as ever.  So while she wavered a bit off key in her opening number - "Chura liya hai tum ne," one of my favorite songs - she was smooth as silk in "Dum maro dum," and nailed the agressive descending chromatic scales in the rocking "Piya tu ab to aaja." 

"Dum maro dum" is a special song to me and I was particularly delighted that Asha jii performed it.  (I wasn't alone; it's clearly a crowd favorite.)  That song was the first track on the first collection of Bollywood music I ever bought, and I was hooked from the moment I heard it, hooked on Bollywood and hooked on Asha Bhosle.  I've had new favorite songs since, but "Dum maro dum" remains close to my heart - even after I learned that it's really all about smoking pot. 

Asha jii performed with the Kronos Quartet, whose arrangements are a little too self-consciously playful, but they knew the night was all about Asha jii and got out of her way when necessary.  Two other brilliant musicians also joined them - China's Wu Man, an exceptional pipa player; and Zakir Hussain, India's most celebrated tabla player.  They were both tremendous and added enough eastern masala to the Kronos's rather stiff and bland string-quartet sound.  In the end, though, the night belonged to Asha, and seeing her perform live was the opportunity of a lifetime. 

Choli ke peeche kya hai?

Here is a clip of the incomparable Madhuri Dixit performing the scandalous "Choli ke peeche" from the film Khalnayak, which I haven't seen, though I understand that this infamous song is its principal imprint on posterity.

"Choli ke peeche kya hai?" the song asks - What's behind the blouse?

Not to spoil the surprise, but Madhuri's answer is:  "Choli mein dil hai mera, yah dil main dungi mere yaar ko" - Inside the blouse is this heart of mine, and I'll give it to my love. 

The Killer Abs

I headed out to a dive bar in Allston last night to hear my assistant Chris and her band, the Killer Abs.  The Killer Abs are five women ranging in age (I'm guessing) from about 25-40.  They play mostly punk covers - the Clash, the Sex Pistols, &c - with a few other things thrown in.  For example, their set last night opened with the "Fat Albert" theme and ended with a medley that included the Beastie Boys' "Fight For Your Right (to Party)". 

They absolutely rocked.

What they lacked in technical chops they more than made up for in energy and humor.  The drummer beat the stuffing out of her kit - she hit the drums hard.  Chris kept a driving pace on the bass.  The singer - the youngest and most petite of the bunch - kept a snarl and a smile.  "Fuck you," she shouted at the end of the set, "and thanks a lot."  There may be nothing more fun than punk performed with a postmodern sensibility. 

The Killer Abs play frequently around Boston, often at the Abbey Lounge in Somerville and occasionally at the Middle East in Cambridge.  If you are in the area, it's worth giving them a listen.  It's a fun show. 

Stand back, Buenos Aires!

I've rediscovered an old friend, musically speaking.

I first saw Evita on Broadway, with its original cast, when the show was relatively new.  I was maybe nine or ten years old.  My parents, who were at the time ardent theater-lovers, used to attend plays on and off Broadway as frequently as once a week.  (They still love the theater, but don't attend as frequently these days.)  A couple of times a year they would identify a show that they thought I and my brothers would enjoy, and we'd all go together.  I remember, for example - I'm so grateful for this - they took us to see The King and I just before Yul Brynner's ill health forced him to retire.  I remember seeing Brigadoon, too, and countless other wonderful shows and plays. 

Evita made an impression on me, even before I saw it.  Something about the TV commercials grabbed my attention - the dramatic images of a powerful, commanding little woman in fur and diamonds resonated in my young mind.  And even now I recall so many of the details of the staging - the mass of aristocrats huddling together, the jack-stepping soldiers, the crowd of disenfrachised workers rhythmically pumping their slogan-adorned signboards, the game of musical chairs that leaves Juan Peron the only man in power.  A scruffy Mandy Patinkin strutting and gesticulating in his cargo pants and army boots; a tough but graceful Patti LuPone belting her lines with measured rage.  It was a magnificent, powerful spectacle, and remains the most powerful stage show I have ever experienced. 

I didn't buy a copy of the cast recording until I was in high school, but once I did I wore out the grooves on that double-LP set.  Evita is an opera, in the sense that even the dialog between the major songs is scored and sung, not spoken - there's recitative and aria, and the recording includes both, so that listening to the recording one can relive the show in its entirety.  And relive it I did, hundreds of times, so that I knew every word and every note, and could recite it beginning to end (to my family's dismay, I am sure).

But high-school passions gave way to other passions, LPs gave way to CDs, and I never replaced the records.  Years went by, probably fifteen years, in which I did not listen to the show.  Then, a couple of days ago, I found myself talking about it with David.  We were in a cafe in which the Rent soundtrack was playing; we were generally unimpressed with it, and it made me wonder if I would still love Evita today the way I did those years ago.  A couple of hours later, I had a brand-new CD copy of the original cast recording in my hot little hands. 

And I can't stop listening to it.

Think what you will about Andrew Lloyd Weber - Ms. LuPone certainly doesn't seem to have anything nice to say about him - but there was a time when the guy could write a show.  There's a cohesiveness to it that is truly remarkable - themes are introduced in the opening segment and repeated, recreated, and transformed as the story unfolds.  The melodies are delicious and haunting, and the performances in the original cast recording are emotional, clear, and powerful.  The story is odd, at best - I remarked to David that musical theater about corrupt South American dictators is not that far removed from the subject matter of the show-within-a-show of The Producers - but compelling nevertheless.  And Tim Rice's lyrics carry that story with a cohesive wit and cleverness that perfectly matches the score.  In short, it's brilliant.

I'm trying to think of some highlights to identify here, but there are so many amazing moments in the show that I don't know where to begin.  So just go listen to it.  Even if you don't consider yourself a fan of musical theater, I think you will be glad you did.

Tell me, before I waltz out of your life, before turning my back on the past / Forgive my impertinent behavior, but how long do you think this pantomime can last? / Tell me, before I ride off in the sunset, there's one thing I never got clear / How can you claim you're our savior, when those who oppose you are stepped on, or cut up, or simply disappear?

Asha ... in April

One day last week, David emailed to tell me that Asha Bhosle and the Kronos Quartet were performing right here in Boston, at the Berklee School.  "The concert's on Sunday," he said.  "Do you want to go?"

Yes, please.  I was so excited.  Asha jii is my favorite Bollywood playback singer.  She's the favorite of lots of others as well; at seventy-five years of age, she's been recording film songs for sixty years and I understand that she's the most recorded singer in human history and has sold more records than Elvis and the Beatles combined.

I had heard about Asha jii's project with Kronos - Liane Hansen interviewed her on NPR.  They had re-recorded about a dozen songs written by R.D. Burman, one of Bollywood's funkiest, most visionary composers.  I wasn't crazy about the new versions of the tunes - hearing them just made me long to go back to my own collection and listen to the originals.  But they did record some of my most favorite, beloved Asha tunes, like the psychedelic "Dum maro dum" and the delightful, melodic "Chura liya," after a translation of which Kronos named its album.  Besides - the opportunity to see Asha jii, live!  It doesn't matter who she's singing with or how good or bad their interpretations are, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. 

So I was thrilled.  Sunday evening I was practically vibrating with excitement as David and I enjoyed a pre-show drink and pizza in the Back Bay. 

Then we looked at the tickets.

We're not at all sure how this happened - David had thought the concert was that Sunday, December 11.  He had been looking, he thought, at the December 2005 schedule of performances at Berklee and had seen the concert listed there, and he clicked on the listing and ordered the tickets.  But when we looked at them, it was clear as day - the concert is April 9, 2006.  Now, when David returns to the web page on which he originally saw the listing, it isn't there.

So there it is - no Asha Bhosle for us, at least not yet.  We'll be back in April, and content ourselves until then with her recordings and the movies in which they feature.  And watch this space, because I'll be back here to report on the concert to the GOAT faithful.  Until then,

दम मारो दम |
मिट जाए ग़म |
बोलो सुबह शाम |
हरे कृष्ण हरे राम ||