Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

At the time of writing it is not clear whether the six young Iranians detained this week over their performance of the Pharrell Williams’ song Happy were paraded on state television in the buff or not. What is known is that they were arrested, forced to do squats with no clothes on and humiliated. The nude appearance on telly might be apocryphal. Given the social mores that govern the Islamic republic the clerics would have had to reach for the smelling salts.

But can you be happy in Iran dancing to "Happy"?

It never ceases to amaze me the various reactions to the same phenomenon. Pharrell’s chart hit is as innocuous as it gets. A beautiful, catchy late spring/summer tune that makes you want to hop on one leg and sing out of tune.

Or that makes you happy.

On happiness, a few months ago I was reading about a study on this subject carried out by Warwick University. It found that on average people in the UK seem to be quite content with their lives. The jury is still out as to whether this is a result of economic stagnation (and knowing that you ain’t getting no more dosh for the foreseeable future) or because you know where you stand financially and adapt to this situation. You know you have less money but you are not totally poor. If I were to be completely frank and sincere and as you know I use this space on Sundays to expand on my (honest) theories, this outcome is a tad bit surprising. I mean no offence, my dear British brothers and sisters, but you do very often come across as a miserable lot. Take the simple question of asking someone about the time. In Cuba, you would probably say: what time is it? whilst pointing at the person’s wrist. Or you would use: do you have the time? with a similar accompanying action. In the UK the average person will ask: you don’t happen to have the time, do you? already setting themselves up for a response in the negative even if the person being questioned is sporting a massive golden Rolex on her/his wrist.

Yet, this approach to life is what makes the British British. It is what makes people (including yours truly) leap out of joy when Andy Murray – finally! – wins at Wimbledon and Mo Farah does the Mobot on the podium as a gold medal is placed aroud his neck. This is the attitude that makes Jack Dee and Charlie Brooker the great stand-ups they are. British miserableness is fertile ground for satire and mick-taking. Take away the misery and the comedy changes.

Happiness is a rather subjective and circumstantial issue. Back in 2011 we had a survey from the Office for National Statistics on happiness and well-being. Amongst the questions asked was: “How satisfied are you with your life nowadays?” Two weeks ago my response would have been: “Not a lot. Thank you very much”, as Chelsea, despite finishing third in the Premier League won not one single piece of silverware, the Yankees, as usual in the last few years, were making me “a nervous wreck” (to quote Gil-Scott Heron), Cameron was still in No 10 (and will be until next year, alas) and I kept seeing Nigel Farage’s grinning mug with pint in hand all over the gaffe. Not a lot? Sorry, correction. Not satisfied at all. Ask me the same question now and I will answer in a rather more positive tone. My job is going well (I have been at this school for just over a year now. Love the head, my colleagues, the pupils and the parents), my family is fine and the weather has been glorious of late. That is the circumstantial bit. Someone else, however, might be going through hell. That’s the subjective part. What if you don’t like the sun or warm temperatures? Then, this weather for you is the devil incarnate.

With these thoughts swarming in my head I came to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe, you, my British brothers and sisters are not that miserable after all. It’s all a façade. A façade to avoid disappointment. Whilst in Brazil football fans have already arranged the float on which they will parade the World Cup trophy over here the England manager, Roy Hodgson is psyching himself up for a quarter-final penalty shoot-out against Germany. And how not to lose it. Should Brazil crash out in the group stages of the tournament there will probably be suicides en masse in the carioca nation. Should England go and do the impossible, win the World Cup, journalists will stop mocking Roy Hodgson’s accent. It’s all to do with perspectives, subjectivity and circumstance.

In the same way that salsa-dancing (and being good at it) has platitudinously attached itself to the vision people have of Cubans, being a curmudgeon has become a byword for the British character. Scratch the surface, however, and you will find the reason why that Warwick university study found that many Britons are happy with their lot in life. They are indeed; they just don’t want you to know it. That is why the Happy video has been received so warmly on these shores. To the point where many schools, including the one where I’m based have done their own version with staff and students. Miserable, the British? Not a bit.

Occasionally I come across artists who leave me speechless, gob agape. Ahmed Dickinson Cárdenas is one of those artists. This Cuban guitarist has transformed one of my country’s oldest traditions: the filin. Originally from the English word “feeling”, this genre developed between the late 40s and early 50s, reaching its apogee at the same time as Fidel’s troops were entering Havana. Ahmed’s compositions draw from a rich, musical pool. He was also fortunate enough to work very closely with the late Cuban master José Antonio (Ñico) Rojas, a virtuoso of filin. I hope you enjoy this Sunday offering.



© 2014

Next Post: “Let’s Talk About...”, to be published on Wednesday 28^th May at 11:59pm (GMT)

Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

So, B.O., what happened, bro? We all had so many hopes, and dashed them you have so far and left us against the ropes.

Let’s talk about you, B.O. No, not the stench one normally has to put up with on the London Underground when pushed up against a fellow passenger’s armpit. No, the B.O. I want to discuss today has capital letters and rules – apparently – over the richest country of the world.

Do we need to change the caption?

Let’s talk about Barack Obama.

We were all there, weren’t we? Well, some of us were. November 2008. That historic night is still seared in my memory, despite the fact I am not American and it’s unlikely I will ever get to vote in a general election there. But, I, too, left my cynical pragmatism aside and for one night allowed myself to dream.

How wrong I was. I don’t mean to say that getting behind Obama was a mistake. I don’t mean to say either that the US would have been better served by the McCain/Palin axis of evil/stupidity. What I really, really mean is that I should have been less idealistic and more reality-rooted. Presidents, like prime ministers are not subjected to normal laws like us, earthlings. Their line-managers are not the teachers, doctors and community leaders who put them in pole position. No, presidents and prime ministers report to Mr Power. And Mr Power sits a healthy distance away from the rest of us, Mr and Mrs Powerless.

When Mr Power coughs up, he (for it is usually a “he”, although there are some “shes”, too) doesn’t just cough up for the privilege of electing whom he thinks will respond better to his interests. He will also pay for the candidate-turned-president/prime minister’s transformation from a moderate to a demagogue.

Obama the candidate was a firebrand. Notice the past tense. Obama the president is a hawk. True, dressed as a dove and more articulate than former Hawk-in-Chief George W Bush, but a hawk nonetheless. He has not closed Guantanamo as he promised during his election campaign and the drone attacks he has ordered on suspect terrorists in Pakistan and Afghanistan have caused untold civilian casualties.

Small wonder, then, that Obama’s approval ratings have taken a dive. And along with it public trust in him has also collapsed. What makes it harder to bear is that he was the candidate sporting the “Yes, we can” motto. Now that “Yes, we can” stands more for “Yes, we can spy more, bomb more countries and still torture people in Guantanamo”.

Am I being unfair? What do you reckon? After all, Obama did not force anyone to jump on his “hope” bandwagon. Remember, he never claimed to be a radical, we turned him into one. Furthermore, the “hope” he came to symbolise could only be translated into success if the change that was supposed to come with it was shared equally and not entrusted just to one single person. From that point of view we should take ownership of our collective disappointment in Obama. We might have projected a utopia on a person whose top priority on taking office might have been to distance himself from his predecessor by adopting a more moderate agenda. We ought to also take into account Republicans’ opposition to some of Obama’s reforms, like his Health Care Plan known as Obamacare.

However, that does not excuse his support for Mr Power. Obama was elected to change the lives of Mr and Mrs Powerless. It is fair to say that many Americans are still waiting for that change.

From the serious to the absurd. You have to hand it to certain celebrities sometimes. Just when you think they cannot get any more ego-centric and stupid, they... well, they carve their names in the Guinness World records as the thickest beings ever to populate planet Earth. I would happily trade a Kanye West and Kim Kardashian for a couple of dinosaurs. Preferably the cute, herbivore type. Diplodocus, anyone?

The latest act of idiocy comes from Will.i.am, he of hip-hop combo The Black Eyed Peas and one of the judges on BBC’s The Voice. Apparently he’s got into a verbal spat with Pharrell Williams, one half of hip-hop duo The Neptunes. The latter has just come up with a new brand, i am OTHER. Will.i.am. has allegedly claimed that he owns the copyright to the phrase “i.am.

Don’t look at me like that. I kid you not. Forget Waterloo in 1815 and Moscow in 1942. This is the mother of all battles, ladies and gentleman! And it’s happening right here, right now, in front of our very eyes.

Just a message for Will.i.am. Forget Pharrell for a second, son. You have bigger fish to fry. Here are some of  the people who came before Pharrell and whom you are going to have to fight if you want to have your way:

Kirk Douglas (I am Spartacus)

Dr Seuss (I do not like green eggs and ham/I do not like them, Sam I am)

God (I Am that I Am)

The English language (latest edition of the Oxford Dictionary or equivalent)

The list goes on, but you know what? I am done with stupid celebrities for today. Have a great week, folks.

© 2013

Next Post: “Pieces of Me, Pieces of Havana”, to be published on Wednesday 3^rd July at 11:59pm MT)