Are your a nodder, or a tapper? A screamer or a finger-snapper? Or maybe you go for introspection, your face an unreadable tableau of well-concealed emotions.
Fret not, for this is not a survey about outlandish sexual practices, but rather the myriad expressions I come across whenever I am behind the wheel. Once more spring has lifted the curtain to the annual spectacle that Britain becomes as soon as winter gives way to temperatures in their late teens. Minus the stroppiness and the talk-back.
Listening to music whilst driving is an activity in which we all indulge. Pardon me for being so absolute, but I don't think there's anyone out there who has not hummed his or her way through an entire school run whilst the little ones wreak havoc in the back. However, have you ever stopped to look at your fellow drivers? Especially when they seem to be carried away by the sheer power of the music they're playing? I mentioned this phenomenon briefly in a post last year, but it's only lately that my attention has been turned once again to motorists who cruise through our roads adopting various guises in the process.
For instance, the screamer is easy to spot. He or she will have a wide smile on their face whilst belting out an anthemic pop song at the top of their lungs; a melody usually of the mainstream variety. Like Elton John's "Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting)", for example. Especially the chorus at the end: "Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday, Saturday's alright..."
I wouldn't recommend snapping your fingers whilst you're driving, but nothing can stop you from doing so when stationary and waiting for the lights to change. I can clearly picture you attempting to keep time to Tennessee Ernie Ford's '16 Tons'.
If, on the other hand, you're a combination of nodder and tapper, then the next track is for you. The simple drumbeat in this song is enough to send the most earnest of drivers into a serious head-and-hands workout. Better still if you're wearing some jewellery. Tapping with both your ringed and ringless fingers on the wheel alternatively will produce some amazing musical results. Trust me, I've been there. And, lest I forget, the young woman in the clip below is none other than Penélope Cruz. I think this was her very first public appearance, although I could be wrong.
Last, but not least, it's the pensive driver. Your inscrutable face is the Da Vince Code of the road. The mystery I've always wanted to solve. I know that you're listening to music in the comfort of your car, I can see you mouthing the lyrics, your gaze lost in the distance, as you wait for pedestrians to cross the street. But, what I'm desperate to find out is: what's playing on your car stereo? In the absence of a concrete answer, however, let's hazard a guess: you're listening to Sevara Nazarkhan, the Uzbek singer, songwriter and doutar player. And let's leave it at that, shall we? As for me, I'm a combination of all the types described above. Because nothing beats a good song on the road.
I'm in a dilemma. I discussed the art of braking here and the beauty of bends here. What, then, should I call the ability to turn round a bend whilst braking (do you see what I did there? :-D) and letting the steering wheel slide through my fingers? Wheel-sliding? No, that sounds like an activity in which Dennis Hopper's creepy Frank Booth would indulge. Possibly with an oxygen mask on.
No, the manoeuvre I'm trying my best to describe involves the smooth process whereby a driver guides the movement of a vehicle as he or she turns a corner, for instance. Once the turn is accomplished - and you have neither cut the lane into which you drive nor gone wide into the opposite one either - you allow the wheel to come back to a straight position. However, how many of you perform this operation without barely touching the wheel, as you turn, I mean? It's almost as if you were letting this circular frame its own moment of freedom. There it is, shifting back as your hands act like a magnetic field, close to it but not on it.
When I was still learning how to drive, my instructor insisted that my arms' position was fundamental, not just in going on straight roads, but also turning around bends. My arms should neither be too tense nor too limp. This would enable me to negotiate any unpredictable hazards, like sharp corners.
What I also discovered was one of those untapped pleasures that linked directly to one of my passions: music.
In my first clip tonight you will be introduced to Camarón de la Isla, accompanied on guitar by Tomatito. These two legends of flamenco music are singing a poem originally written by Antonio Machado, 'La Saeta', and set to music by Joan Manuel Serrat (the gentleman at the beginning). When I began to write this post, this clip immediately came to mind because it encapsulates that feeling of freedom I am overcome by when the steering wheel of my car runs through my fingers without touching them. As further information, 'saetas' are compositions in their own right, commonly sung - a cappella - during Easter and other religious festivities. And you can feel the passion and fervour in Camarón de la Isla's voice. The song mentions both Christ (or Gypsies' Christ, to be more specific) and the Andalucian people. Enjoy.
And because this blog likes to celebrate all musical instruments alike, in the same way that it blows the horn for all aspects of driving, the second clip tonight has the bass guitar as the leading character. Often overlooked, a good bassist will render a band a solid foundation upon which the other members can build the remaining layers of a particular melody. Just like the joint triumvirate of driving around bends, braking softly and wheel-gliding (no, that name didn't work either, I'm still searching). In the meantime, Kings of Leon.
And to wrap things up tonight and kiss this section goodbye for good ( I actually did it a couple of years ago but brought it back after driving through northern Spain last summer, who knows? I'll probably revive it again some time soon) I bring to you Anna Ternheim's 'Girl Laying Down'. She - Anna, not the girl - is a Swedish singer-songwriter, who's had me tapping my foot ever since this song made it to Radio Paradise's playlist. It is dark and grim, but I love the piano. It reminds me of the firm grip on the steering wheel as you are about to turn a corner and the momentary loosening of it after both your hands slide down on either side of the wheel. Bliss. And if you have a funky, catchy name for that manoeuvre, do not hesitate to send your suggestions in (you can scribble it now on the palm of your hand, preferably bracketed with "lift Cuban in London's spirits"), it will be most welcome.
Copyright 2010
Next Post: 'Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music', to be published on Sunday 21st February at 10am (GMT)
A couple of years ago I started a section on this blog called 'Road Songs' (I hope my Linkwithin gadget throws up a few samples). It was primarily based on my penchant for listening to music whilst driving and it was also a way of celebrating the positive outcome of my practical driving test in summer 2007 (after four attempts, fifth time lucky!). Although that forum came to an end a year later I always intended to have special editions of it running at some point. And this is the right time for 'Road Songs' to make a comeback.
Recently I undertook a journey to High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, and on the way there I was asked by one of my companions whether I liked driving and why. I answered yes, but since I was focusing on the road and on the route at the time, I did not delve into the matter in depth.
So, why do I like driving and why, in my case, has being behind the wheel got such a strong relation with harmonies and arpeggios?
The first reason is that to me driving conjures up bewitching images of gears, wheels and engines. The combination of each element slotting into one another, rubbing against each other, pushing and pulling here and there is fascinating. One of my favourite moments is when I switch the engine on and slowly reverse my car onto the road, change to first gear and then smoothly into second. When I do this without making the car jerk, a little light inside me turns itself on and I smile appreciatively.
And it is the same with music. I love melodies that have the same hypnotic effects, where one instrument (usually the bass/bass guitar/double bass) serves as the platform upon which layers and layers of harmonies are added on. Just like my first clip tonight. It is the famous song by 'The Doors', 'Roadhouse Blues' and with due respect to Jim, Eddie has a good stab at it and pulls it off nicely. Sit back for a second and enjoy the effortless transition from instrument to instrument. Magical indeed.
When I started driving they always told me to learn to listen to the engine. And learn I did. As important as knowing your road signs. And believe me, it is a sweet moment when your motor is roaring to the sound you've come to recognise. It is the same with certain songs like this particular track by K-OS. Since I came across it on Radio Paradise, I can't stop playing it. It reminds me of that polished, regular and reassuring sound coming out of my car's engine. It's the sign that says everything's OK, baby, we're rocking.
Am I a happy man when I drive? You bet. Sometimes, as it happened when I went to Cuba last February, you're behind the wheel on a motorway that stretches for miles on end and suddenly you have a view too beautiful to believe: overcast sky on one side of the road, whilst a strong sun burns the hardest stones into submission on the other side. And your eyes are the only camera available. It's one of those moments when you feel lucky and happy to be alive and to bear witness to the wonders of nature, whilst behind the wheel. That's why my third clip is a mix of song and dance. 'A Day at the Races' might have featured the legendary Marx brothers, but it is this dance sequence which, in my humble opinion, upstages everyone else in the film. I watched the movie recently on TCM and I remember thinking: 'Why, that's how I feel when I drive'. Especially in the countryside. Enjoy.
When I drive I am careful with my speed. That is why there is a special joy that overcomes me when I see the needle indicating 20 miles per hour, or 30, or 40, and the revs still reading number 2 or just above it. The car moves steadily and confidently along devouring miles of asphalt. Same with music, I like songs that start with the equivalent of a first gear, then change swiftly into second and third and by the time they hit the analogous motorway it's pandemonium. This particular track by Metallica reminds me of a similar driving scenario. I understand that the name Metallica might not go down very well with some fellow bloggers, readers and followers, but I was a devotee of this American band in my teens and although I do not listen to them anymore as I used to, I still consider their music to be one of the most creative pieces of work ever. That's why I chose what to me is a very middle-of-the-road version of one of their classics. The way the tempo in their melodies fluctuates and swings is incomparable. And as it happened on that trip to High Wycombe, where I had to drive on the M25, once those two needles remain constant, the speed one marking 50-60 miles per hour and the revs one pointing at a number 2 or 3, you know you're in business. In the clip below, from 4 minutes 25 seconds onwards, what you get is that same pandemonium to which I referred earlier. And obviously the inclusion of the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra adds drama and gravitas to a song about death.
Ever driven in the rain? Ever driven in the rain up a hill? Ever driven in the rain up a hill and come to a roundabout with four exits and three other cars coming down the three other lanes signalling right, like you? If you have, or if you ever find yourself in that situation, look at the windshield wipers, yours and the others', dancing from side to side; watch the indicators, winking intermittently; and enjoy that little moment, when rather than applying the handbrake, you bring both clutch and gas pedal up together to keep the car still. Inertia. Biting point. Same as with these dexterous dancers. Watch them as the arms go up together at the same time and how the en pointe is the equivalent of that clutch and gas pedal keeping the vehicle inert. In the same way indicators rarely blink harmoniously, the fact is that on a roundabout where four cars come down four different lanes you will sometimes get indicators flickering in unison, pretty much like this corps du ballet. And the result is as enchanting as listening to Tchaikovsky's score. Wipers swish-swashing on the windshield, indicators winking complicitly at each other, clutch and gas pedals united in a mechanical embrace, feet on point, hands outstretched, music approaching an unrestrained crescendo. This is what I call driving.
And last but not least a subject that no one should ignore: the perils of driving. About a year ago I had a near-miss and that taught me a lesson: never take anything for granted on the road. It is the same mesage that you find in some songs, for instance this little gem by the Spanish band Mecano, a throwback to the good old 80s (and if anyone utters the words '80s' and 'fashion' together, I will send the boys around to his/her house, De Niro-style in 'The Untouchables'. You know, 80s, guys and girls: soulder-pads, mullets, New Romantics, black eyeliner, blazers). The song's name 'Una Rosa es Una Rosa' refers to the dangers to which we are exposed when we plunge into certain relationships headfirst. As you all well know, a rose has thorns. Magnificent.
This is my last column until September when I will return from my well-deserved holiday break. I will still be around in the next couple of weeks but want to concentrate on material for the autumn and winter, so do expect me to visit your blogs until such time when I will disappear because I will be vacationing with my family, possibly in northern Spain, and hopefully behind the wheel. The 'Song for a Summer Sunday Morning' will continue unless blogger decides to play up in the same way it has done these last two weeks gone when my pre-scheduled posts did not come out when I expected them to. There won't be any comments moderator this time because since I don't post about politics or sex (usually), I don't attract spammers or trolls and we're all grown-ups really and I trust you all, above all, I trust you. Besides, I love the interaction there is between my fellow bloggers, readers and followers. When I go to other blogs and I read a comment along the lines of: 'I found you through the Cuban In London blog and I love yours', it fills my heart up with joy. So, let's keep that community spirit up because there's enough hate in the world as it happens. Many thanks for reading my blog and commenting on my posts and when you next go out driving remember to 'Keep your eyes on the road/Your hands upon the wheel/Keep your eyes on the road/Your hands upon the wheel/Yeah, we're going to the roadhouse/Gonna have a real good-time.' Have a happy summer.
Copyright 2009
Next Post: 'Song for a Summer Sunday Morning' to be published on Sunday 19th July at 10am (GMT)
Let it be known that a year ago today just as I was about to finish my driving test the examiner asked me to pull over and uttered the magic words: 'Congratulations, you have passed'. To say that I was over the moon would be putting it too mildly as this had been my fifth attempt to overcome this hurdle. And no, I was not a novice behind the wheel, I just did not have a valid licence, only a temporary one. Without that moment, though, this weekly column would not exist. It was the desire to share with fellow bloggers and readers the music I listened to whilst on the road that led me to begin a series that has been welcomed by all of you and that now comes to an end unfortunately (sniff, sniff). Sporadically I will do special 'one-offs' (like an autumn's hootenanny, for instance) but no more 'Road Songs' extravaganza. Which does not mean that I will stop now listening to good music whilst driving through the streets of London or any other city, village or town. Contrariwise, m'lud, I vow to carry on. I've picked some columns from this long series; they are not my favourite ones, there are no favourite ones because I love them all, but I just chose some at random.
So, which performers have I invited for my farewell party? Well, have a butcher's at the playlist below and pick up what you like (Note: butcher's is a Cockney rhyming slang word, butcher's hook=look)
Nitin Sawhney & Sharon Duncan - Eastern Eyes So Flute - St. Germain Faith Evans - Love Like This (live ) Manu Chao - Clandestino (live) Afro Blue -Mongo Santamaria Chico Buarque - Vai Passar Stevie Wonder - Superstition (live) Agua-Los Van Van
Starting today and carrying on next week I will be celebrating my first year behind the wheel. More to come in seven days. In the meantime, I will leave you with a small selection of clips that better explain my mood.
First off we have the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, with a classic, 'I Feel Good' and you know what, after a year on the road with a valid driver's licence in my pocket, that's how I feel. This is soon followed by a Cuban band that has reaped countless awards in its short existence. Orishas is a rap group with a unique sound and inimitable charisma. Third down the playlist is Bob Marley's son, Ziggy Marley, covering his father's timeless anthem' Punky Reggae Party'. I have always loved dance routines in videos and this is as good as it gets, Michael Jackson's 'Remember the Time'. Pity that the original clip cannot be embedded. Celia Cruz, the Queen of Latin Music, comes up next with 'La Vida es un Carnaval' because life is a carnival, ladies and gentlemen and we had better parade behind and alongside the float whilst we can. Marvin Gaye's errant lover served as the inspiration for a song that has defied time, 'I Heard Through the Grapevine' and we, his fans, are the beneficiaries of his musical mastery. Released in 1990 and danced all the way throughout Cuba, Gerardo's 'Rico Suave' was the summer track of that year. And it has made it to the list. Last but not least is a clip that is not a music video per se, but a scene from a film that encapsulates how I feel at the moment (despite being jobless). 'Hombre Mirando al Sudeste' (Man Facing Southeast) was one of Eliseo Subiela's masterpieces and by incorporating Beethoven's Ninth Symphony into the plot he freed his main character and the supporting ones (literally). Please, even if you can't speak Spanish, stick it out until the end, you won't regret it. I will be back next week with a fresh bout of feel-good and air-punching tunes for everyone to sink their teeth into.
This is the third and final instalment in this three part-series. Basically it is about how good female drivers are (yes, they are, stop rolling your eyes, please!) and how a lot of female musicians break down barriers and conventions without having to resort to short skirts and bikinis.
For the first and second parts, click here and here.
Even someone like me, who enjoyed the whole 'Age Ain't Nothing But a Number' album when it first came out, was surprised by the success of the single 'Try Again' when it was released. Aaliyah was an all-round performer and master (or is that mistress?) of her own destiny. An untimely death did not allow us to taste what should have been the best of a brilliant music career. Nostalgic.
Monica Molina has what is commonly known as pedigree. She is the daughter of the famous flamenco singer Antonio Molina and her sister is actress Angela Molina. However she has made it in the difficult world of Spanish pop with a very peculiar voice and very poetic compositions. Mellow.
Punchy, defiant and in-your-face. That's how I describe Tori Amos. I like the way she bashes those black and white keys in wild abandon. Her voice teems with self-confidence and bravado. Challenging.
Cesaria Evora. Sodade. That's all. If you don't know what I mean by that, you should be tried for crimes against music. Cesaria Evora. Sodade. That. Is. All. Majestic.
I'm taking my freedom/Pulling it off the shelf/Putting it on my chain/Wear it around my neck/I'm taking my freedom/Putting it in my car/Wherever I choose to go/It will take me far. Anyone who sings those lines, has my utmost R.E.S.P.E.C.T. Jill Scott is imposing, and this is not due to her size or weight, but on account of her vocal prowess and yes-I-can attitude. Smashing.
Lhasa de Sela is a very unusual singer (but then again, this is a very unusual blog). The way she sings is ever so tender and affectionate. In this particular song she says the words in French first and then carries on in Spanish. Mesmerising.
Les Nubians were one of the pioneers of the so-called Afropean genre. Born in France, they left for Chad and lived there for seven years, returning to Europe after. Their sound is hard to pin down. Enjoyable.
Last but not least comes Yasmin Levy, an exponent of what is called Ladino music, a mix of Spanish and Jewish music. Ladino culture has survived hundreds of years and Yasmin's voice is testimony to the resilience of its members. Gigantic.
This is the second instalment in this three-part series 'Female Drivers and Female Musicians'. To read the first post, click here
Kristin Hersh is probably every marketing person's nightmare. How do you sell someone who breaks so many boundaries? For starters, there's the voice. Good, but hard to decipher. Then, there're the lyrics. Powerful and passionate, yet intrinsic. After that comes the style. Pop? Folk? Rock? I believe it is good pop, good as in Sinead O' Connor good, The Cranberries good, George Michael good. She exudes good quality and that is why she is here. Yes, and the guy on the video is REM lead singer Michael Stipe, yes, and I know that this is a post that is trying to highlight the pluses of female drivers and musicians. But, I think that Michael can remain there in the background, as part of the furniture. He is not bothering Kristin. Magnetic.
The second track is by Pavel Urquiza, yes, he of Gema and Pavel. This song is performed by Yusa, a singer I saw a couple of times at the Cafe Cantante in Havana, Cuba, many years ago and who, I am so pleased to see, has met with success in Europe. Like Kristin, Yusa is hard to label. I have got her album 'Breathe' and it's a powerhouse of various styles and musical lingoes. Excellent.
Banned by the Brazilian dictatorship in the 70s, 'Calice' became an anthem for its creator, Chico Buarque and my favourite song of his extensive repertoire. There's a video on youtube where both Chico and Milton Nascimento are pretending to sing the song whilst not really saying the words. Maria Bethania 'lives' this song through and through and it's such a powerful sight to see her holding the mike whilst her throaty voice utters the words 'Afasta de mim ese calice, pai' (Put that goblet away from me, land). The goblet is full of blood. Heartfelt.
The last track this week comes courtesy of the Camerata Romeu which I used to follow around in Havana. No, I am not a stalker. I just think that they produce some of the most beautiful music you can ever come across. On this occasion they have Polly Ferman on piano and the Camerata Romeu is accompanying her. Readers and fellow bloggers will probably remember the song by Mercedes Sosa many years ago and I have that version, too, on CD. I love the delicacy of this cover version, though. Tender.
Women and cars. Cars and women. So much to say, so much to write about. Hey, hey, hey, what's that sound I hear of hurried feet dashing off towards the exit door in uncalculated haste? Don't leave, please, carry on reading. This is not a post to bash women who drive. Au contraire. This week 'Road Songs' wants to celebrate those femmes who get behind the steering wheel and drive cars, lorries, motorcycles and whatever 'cacharro' (junk) they come across. Yes, it can be daunting sometimes for female drivers to take to the road with so many misogynists bent on demonstrating how the supposed 'weaker sex' is not very adept at reading maps and managing complicated and unexpected manoeuvres. However, having been married to an exceptionally good driver for almost eleven years now, I can attest to the futility and nonsense of that argument. Women can drive and my boy, do they drive well!
In music there's a similar situation. In the world of pop, rock, R'n'B and hip hop, what's a woman for, other than showing a bit of leg, baring her midriff and displaying her sexiness and sultriness? How about her voice, I hear you saying? Well, yes, dear, you're right, her voice counts, but first, she'll have to make it to the front cover of Maxim or Loaded clad in a skimpy bikini so that preying male eyes can assess (judging mainly by her physical attributes) whether she's capable of carrying a tune or not.
Below you will find examples of female singers who have risen to the challenge presented by the, chiefly male-dominated, music industry and produced some of the most enduring melodies in the history of this art form.
By the way, this is the first installment in a three-part series focusing on female drivers and musicians. I hope you'll enjoy it.
Lila Downs was born in Mexico and grew up there and in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She began singing "ranchera" music at an early age, and later sang at the "fiestas" of the towns in her region, la Mixteca. She sang with the band "Los Cadetes de Yodoyuxi" and later with "La Trova Serrana", a group of folk musicians from the Zapotec town of Guelatao, Oaxaca. At that time she met her musical collaborator Paul Cohen and began to create her own musical compositions. Outstanding.
Susheela Raman was born in London, later emigrating to Australia with her family. In Australia she studied classical South Indian song and began giving performances. She then began working with Western forms including rock and soul, while continuing to study classical Indian music with Shruti Sadolikar. Amazing.
Azam Ali was born in Iran but spent most of her early years in India before moving to the US in the mid eighties. She is a vocalist of astonishing diversity with a range covering music from the medieval European to the classical Eastern - Persian, Lebanese and Indian. Grand.
Start the engine, get into first gear, check blind spot.
When turning left or right, follow the usual procedure: mirror, signal, manoeuvre.
When approaching a roundabout, check first which exit you want and then move into the corresponding lane, check your mirror and blind spot as you drift from one side of the road to the other.
Instructions, instructions, instructions. Automatic instructions, robotic and impersonal instructions. They make up the bulk of what we call driving.
Yet they leave the human factor out.
Today I had a near-miss. I was going to turn right onto a main road. I checked right first (I live in London, as you all know) and then left and proceeded to drive on. My wife let out a scream. Had she not done that, I would not be sitting at this computer right now. Neither would my son be asleep in his bed now. The likelihood is that we'd both be dead. A car turned round a bend as I was coming out and it was travelling at probably 40mph. It was not the other driver's fault. It was mine. I should have checked that right side again before carrying on, but I did not. Because I am human. And we, humans, make mistakes. Sometimes, costly ones.
So, my lesson from today's near-miss was, be human, check, double-check and triple-check. Drive defensively. And above all, do not assume. When you assume, you make an ass out of u and me. Remember we are human.
Music is the same. Musicians are taught a variety of notes and symbols, the purpose of which is to produce a sound, or a succesion of sounds that will trigger a reaction off in our brain. That's all very well. But, how about when the music industry sugar-coats the outcome and produces endless rubbish such as boy and girl bands whose only goal is to create a caramelised sound that will dull our senses and turn us into zombie-like consumers? It's the same effect as driving by the book. You just join the queue of vehicles going in the same direction and at the same pace. Fortunately, unlike in traffic, in music it is the near-misses that save you from the utter tosh that industry seems to represent in this day and time.
The examples below are by artists who don't conform or have never conformed to a norm established by an A&R person or a producer. They are innovators in their own right and we ought to be grateful that they still dare to take risks. After all, these are the near-misses that enrich our soul musically.
As for my almost-accident today, I could have done without it. I don't need to have a fatal crash when I have been colliding with music like the one below for most of my life.
Cars, cars, cars. They are useful, neccesary, some may even say indispensable. The truth is, though, that they make our life easier. Their function is very simple, they serve as a vehicle to transport us from A to B. So, why is it so essential to have the latest make of a particular car? Why do some people fuss over this or that Ford, or this or that VW? To me, there are just a handful of elements I would be concentrating on if I was looking to buy a new motor (something I have never done in my life). Colour would be one, blue or black being my favourite ones. Make, as in VW instead of Ford, although taking into account that our car is a Nissan and it's turned out to be very good, I would probably go for that one brand. And functionality. What do I want it for? For the daily grind? Then, there's no point in getting a Chelsea tractor (that's a 4x4, by the way, for those of you who don't live in Britain, or rather, in London). But if I need it for longer journeys, then an eco-friendly SUV would be a better option.
What I can't see myself doing and I am lucky to have a wife who doesn't do it either, is change our vehicle everytime a new model becomes available. I might be a consumerist, but I do have my limits.
Music is pretty much the same. Certain songs have stood the test of time and they remain classics for that reason. However, you always get second-rate musicians or even brilliant ones trying to re-invent the wheel and attempting to add their own input to what is already a masterpiece, only to ruin the original work completely. And please, Annie Lennox and Wyclef Jean, take no umbrage for this tirade. Your respective cover versions of songs penned by Bob Marley and Pink Floyd did not go down very well with yours truly. Neither did they with many folks I know.
So, what follows below is what happens when an artist truly respects the piece they are covering and not only injects their own energy but maintains the original idea. Sinead O' Connor did it with her take on Prince's song 'Nothing Compares to You', to the point where no one believed it was originally by the Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Ditto Led Zeppelin and their cover version of 'When the Levee Breaks', originally sung by Memphis Minnie. And as the proud owner of both records (the Zep and Memphies') I can safely vouch for the quality displayed by the British band in that track in their album Led Zeppelin IV (or the one with no title).
So, there you have it, when it comes to cars, if it ain't broke, don't fix it, and if it's still going, then, let it go a little bit more. As to music, the same rule appplies, if you're going to rework a classic, please, please, please, make sure that you have what it takes to make it work. The second part of this post will appear next week.
(Wednesday morning) tell myself a new day is rising
(Thursday evening) get on the rise a new day is dawning
(Friday morning) here I am
(Saturday evening) want you to know just
Want you to know just where I stand
When the morning gathers the rainbow
Want you to know I'm a rainbow too
So, to the rescue here I am
Want you to know just if you can
Where I stand, know, know, know, know, know
We'll lift our heads and give JAH praises
We'll lift our heads and give JAH praises, yeah
Sun is shining, the weather is sweet now
Make you want to move your dancing feet
To the rescue, here I am
Want you to know just if you can
Where I stand, know, know, know, where I stand
Monday morning, scoo-be-doop-scoop-scoop
Tuesday evening, scoo-be-doop-scoop-scoop
Wednesday morning, scoo-be-doop-scoop-scoop
Thursday evening, scoo-be-doop-scoop-scoop
Friday morning, scoo-be-doop-scoop-scoop
Saturday evening, scoo-be-doop-scoop-scoop
So to the rescue, to the rescue, to the rescue
Awake from your sleep and slumber
Today could be your lucky number
Sun is shining and the weather is sweet
Sun is Shining
Bob Marley
You know what? Sometimes I just fancy driving around this beautiful city with the car windows rolled down whilst listening to some top-class music. Simple as that.
Whilst in Malaysia recently I, alongside my wife and children, was driven everywhere by my brother in law and his wife. And it was a pleasure to see the city unveiling itself before my eyes from the passenger seat. Coupled with my hosts' dexterity behind the wheel and their ability to mix explanations about the history and social make-up of Kuala Lumpu and the country as a whole whilst keeping an eye on the road, the feeling was of pure joy. And dexterity is a must-have trait when driving on the streets of KL. As I commented on the Living in a Bilingual Worldcolumn a couple of weeks ago, drivers there cut in in front of you at the last moment leaving you with either wet knickers or a red, angry face. Or both. Luckily there were no near-misses and as both my brother in law and his wife conveyed to me people are so used to driving in that crazy way that no one thinks much of it. Add to this the fact that the police seem to turn a blind eye on most traffic violations and you could have a recipe for disaster. But it seemed to me at the time that most people knew the ingredients to the recipe and nobody wanted to put them together. The motto could well have been 'live and let live'.
This put me in a pensive mood as it usually happens when I'm thinking of themes for this column. For starters, even if we were able to hire a car in KL or a similar city with such a crazy traffic system (my darling Havana comes to mind), would I risk driving there when I am so used to laws and regulations in London? And secondly, if I did end up by driving in that city, would I try to abide by the laws governing the traffic, or would I copy the locals?
Same with music. We get used to so many different rhythms when we are growing up that it is hard to pinpoint what will be our genre of choice by the time we hit our teens. I still can't believe that with a father who worked and still works as a pianist and whose main remit was Cuban traditional music and a mother who knows her 'boleros' from her 'guarachas' I became a rock fan. But yes, that's what happened. When I turned 13 I became hooked on rock'n'roll. Little outside this music interested me and except for some 'Nueva Trova' and 'Novísima Trova' singers and musicians, I was a firm follower of Anglo-Saxon rock with the later addendum of the Latin American version.
It was very strange then that as my college years moved towards its twilight, I suddenly found myself one day at the 'Casa de la Cultura de Plaza' in Vedado attending the International Havana Jazz Festival for the first time. I had gone reluctantly; my mate had talked me into it. It was the place where I first saw Irakere live (after having slagged them off for the most part of a decade) and they blew me away on the night. But really, nothing prepared me for the musician who brought tears to my 17-year-old eyes, Arturo Sandoval. This was 1989 and as most Cubans know he would leave for the US the next year never to return to the island, but when he played his trumpet that evening, I understood for the first time what people said about spring, blossoms, flowers, renewal and revival. For me it was an opening, a secret door that let me through to another space and dimension, one which I had been ignoring for a long time on account of my stubbornness and which I had now decided to shed.
So, risks, there you have it. Some are worth it. Some are not. In my case, most of them, musically speaking, have worked. The other day as I was driving to the supermarket, making sure that the car was still up to scratch after having been left on its own for a couple of weeks whilst we were on holidays, I was listening to Aziza Mustafa Zadeh's album 'Dance of Fire'. It was just a short trip to the supermarket, but I was able to squeeze in the first three songs, 'Boomerang', 'Dance of Fire' and 'Sheherezadeh'. The combination of the warm spring sun streaming in through the window and the delicacy with which this Azerbi pianist slides her fingers on the black and white keys made me feel just like that day when I listened to Cuba's foremost trumpeter, Arturo Sandoval. And just like on that day a nice, big grin appeared on my face.
Get in the car. Adjust the seat and the rear-view mirror. Strap yourself in and turn the engine on. Push the gear lever into reverse and enjoy that little moment when the car rolls back onto the road. Change into first gear, check your blind spot and drive off.
This is a run-of-the-mill journey. You have done it so many times. You’re going coffee-shopping. There’s only one supermarket in the entire borough that stocks the coffee you like and you go there at least once a month to purchase it. You know the route by rote. You could even drive there with your eyes closed. Every street, every traffic signal invites recognition. Even the people are the same. London can seem so provincial sometimes. As you come closer to your destination you stop at a set of traffic lights. Ahead of you the road curves upwards, thus, becoming the surname of this north London quartier. The light changes to green and you continue up that hill now, placidly, humming a tune or listening to the football on the car radio.
And suddenly it happens. There, to your right there’s a road. Not just any ordinary road, mind. Or rather, it IS an ordinary road. But not anymore. This patch of asphalt has claimed your memory and left you speechless for a nanosecond.
Because it resembles another road, in another country, in another city.
The truth of the matter is that it does not really look like that foreign road at all. The architecture is different; for starters, the houses on either side point at human existence and the cars on the road betray drivers indoors. That other road, in that other country, in that other city, has fewer houses and a big fan on one side of the street, probably belonging to a factory.
But more importantly, one street is in London, and the other one is in Havana.
Yet you still want this road to look like that other one you left behind in November 1997.
I call this unbidden nostalgia. This is not the usual bittersweet longing for the past that the ancient Greeks labelled thus. This is not the gathering with friends that leads to ‘Do you remember…?’ sessions where tears are shed as photos are passed round. This is an uninvited feeling that overwhelms you wherever you are. It calls no one’s door and yet strolls through the front gate and by the time you realise it has sat down and shared your food.
Unbidden nostalgia is a frightening and yet wonderful feeling that tears through the fabric of your memory. It can be anything, someone moving an arm in an incongruous way on the tube, a starry sky at night or a… road.
Music is like that sometimes, too. Unbidden nostalgia in music is not the type that you carry around on your Ipod Nano or the one you stash away on your computer’s playlists. No, unbidden nostalgia will assail you whilst you are in the pub with a few of your mates and all of a sudden a track that you had forgotten about aeons ago comes on the jukebox. You did not even use to like it then to be honest, but never mind, it is eating you alive. And you stand up, walk down the carpeted floor and approach the machine. And by now, who cares? Someone has turned the tap on and your cheeks are wet and you know you can’t, you won’t, and you don’t want to stop it.
Thursday 6th March. 8.30am. A street in London. I am driving the children to school. My wife's gone to Italy with Creative Partnerships and it's up to me to do the school run whilst she is away. I roll down the car window to let in some air, just a couple of inches, mind, and then it hits me. Spring's here. Well, almost.
It's a bright morning and the British birds' Commonwealth anthem is at full blast. Their singing accompanies the fluttering of wings. They look so busy, building or re-building their nests up in eaves.
The morning wind caresses my face. It is not a warm breeze yet, oh, no, but it is not a freezing one either. It is a chilly air, pleasant enough for me to withstand its strokes with a smile on my face. Outside, kids rush to school, cars zoom past, buses cut in in front of me. But inside, I am radiating the type of energy which, if discovered, could see me persecuted by countless thugs trying to patent it and sell it.
Streets curve seductively out of sight, houses stand tall and proud with binding ivy weaving its way around the building and people go to work carrying their sandwiches and newspapers, some of them with ciggies in hand.
On days like these, I remain silent and let the music in the car do the talking.
What if Dylan was booed during this performance at the Newport Festival? Try listening to this song with the wind sneaking into the car early in the morning and giving you that pleasant, mirthful feeling that everything is going to turn out all right, because you know what? I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more. Everytime this track comes on, my fingers work out a drumbeat on the steering wheel and the whole car merrily swings side to side. Poetic.
I have referred previously on this blog to my need sometimes to have a song telling a story playing in the car. And this track, composed by the Argentinian pop singer Juan Carlos Baglietto about God and the Devil working together in a workshop, fits me like a glove. A real jewel. Magnífico.
Many times I catch myself humming a song with political or social undertones in the car. Not surprisingly, more often than not it is a track by Maestro Stevie. This belongs to an era when musicians were allowed to roam free unencumbered by commercial pressures or record sales. Nostalgic.
In this song, as soon as the guitar kicks in, the car window goes down and my hands relax their grip on the steering wheel. No need for introduction here. Majestic.
Do not be fooled by the title of this track. There's no ire in this song, it's just about how we should all take it easy in life and days like these inspire me to follow Cerys' edict. Husky.
Back in the summer as we were making our way back home from sunny Dorset (although it did rain cats and dogs during our first three or fours days there) my mind wandered off into a territory of its own, as it sometimes does. When my mind does this I never try to reel it back as the outcome of its escapades is often very pleasant thoughts. And so it was on this occasion. The minivan we were in fitted roughly just over a dozen of people and after stopping at the Winchester Motorway Services, we headed off again back to London, some reading, others in a stupor, I, thinking. It was then that my wife asked me if I felt like returning to our house to which my reply was yes. Next, she asked me what I fancied doing most once back in our lair and my response was once again succinct: listening to some music.
During our stay at summer camp as every year we had a lot of fun; we went on walks, swam in the ocean and built bonfires in the evenings. But as it is also customary during this time there was no music blaring out from stereos. Recorded music is not allowed and it has always been a ground rule that I unwittingly challenged the first time I went when I decided to listen to my CD player on my own. No one said anything except for my wife who called this matter to my attention.
Cue three years later and our fourth stay and I was really craving C minors and arpeggios by the time we were about to come back to London. So, whilst I was sat there on the minivan I pondered upon the songs that would have accompanied me on this musical odyssey if I had been driving the same route. Several traffic jams helped me reach my decision and I feel tempted to write about them, too, but I think that these phenomena deserve a post themselves.
So, here they are, songs to listen to whilst driving back from summer camp.
In his 1993 film 'Falling Down', US director Joel Schumacher uses Michael Douglas' character, Williams 'D-Fens' Foster, as a parable to illustrate the pressure cooker American society has become. In the movie, Foster, desperate to get home to celebrate his daughter's birthday finds himself in a traffic jam. As incident after incident start to pile up, so Forster's patience begins to wear thin. Until he reaches his boiling point. And he snaps. And the consequences, as those who have seen the picture know, are not pretty.
Moral tale apart, it is very clear in the movie that Williams has succumbed to the road rage syndrome. This condition is defined as 'a fit of violent anger by the driver of an automobile, esp. one directed toward and endangering other motorists or pedestrians.' Although I have never been affected by this phenomenon (touch wood), nor have I been at the receiving end of someone's verbal or physical abuse as a consequence of road rage, I am wary of if. That's one of the reasons why I always have a bag full of CDs with me, both on short and long journeys in case I suddenly find myself inadvertently in that dangerous and maddening traffic jam.
Recently, after teaching an Afro-Cuban dance masterclass at The Basement in Islington, as a guest teacher at Damarys Farres' Cuban dance course, I gave a lift to a former dancer of Havana University Folklore Company, Ariel Rios. After dropping him off across Manor House tube station I took a left turn to get to Turnpike Lane and immediately realised my mistake. With dread I watched as the traffic stretched for what looked like miles on end. And it was not moving one single inch.
Luckily, I had my CD bag with me.
It was an unusual warm October evening and whilst the cars in front of me moved slower than a couple of turtles doing the 'danzon', I had my window rolled down and Ray Barreto and his Orchestra singing 'Te Traigo Guajira' on the car stereo. Pure bliss.
What follows are some of my suggestions to combat the first signs of road rage. You know: the frustration at seeing the standstill on the street ahead, the anger at vehicles cutting in in front of you, despair when pedestrians cross the road carelessly. Just take a deep breath and allow those nice melodies to seep in and stroke your senses. And make sure that none of those tunes IS 'Road Rage' by Catatonia.
In his remarkable novel, 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being', Milan Kundera tells us how six fortuitous events brought Tereza and Tomas together. It was only a complex neurological case that led Tomas to Tereza's town, when he had to replace the chief surgeon at his hospital due to the latter suffering from sciatica. Although the town had several hotels, Tomas happened to end up at the one where Tereza was employed. He also happened to have enough time to kill before his train was due to depart, thus dropping by the restaurant where Tereza worked to have something to eat. Tereza happened to be working on that night and also happened to be serving Tomas' table.
The trivia game 'Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon' states that any actor can be linked through their film roles to the Hollywood star.
The Roman street system, based on the 'all roads lead to Rome' principle, aims at establishing a symmetrical system whereby most main avenues and roads will lead to a main point, easily recognisable to the motorist, pedestrian or cyclist.
Now, tell that to a Londoner.
Whereas in Havana most main streets will lead to El Malecón (seawall), based mainly on this Roman system adopted in most European countries and some in Latin America, in London, on the other hand, the road system seems to have been concocted to confuse the foreigner. Take the wrong turning and rather than heading for south London you'll end up in Canary Wharf in the eastern part of the city. Forget to check the A-Z before you set off and you will be contemplating endless one-way streets, multiple cul-de-sacs and mind-blowing round-abouts that will drive you nuts. What is it that makes it so hard to drive in London? The answer is that this city is the result of the union of two cities. So you can imagine how huge it is. And this aspect also renders London a marvellous place to drive in, contradictorily. Because when you do get it right, use your A-Z and as many shortcuts and back streets as you possibly can, you will end up with a succession of 'coincidences' like the ones featured in Kundera's novel and Bacon's game that will make your journey a pleasant and satisfying experience.
Music is like that sometimes. Certain artists' oeuvre can be analysed through the musicians they collaborate with, pretty much à la Bacon. The result is as eye-catching and stimulating as Tomas and Tereza's 'six coincidences.
For instance, Al Di Meola is an acoustic guitarist who has played with some of the greater performers ever. One of them was Paco de Lucia. Paco de Lucia has shared the stage with many musicians, one of them Larry Coryell, the brilliant jazz fusion guitarist. Larry Coryell has collaborated with people like Miles Davies, who used John McLoughlin's services on his album 'In A Silent Way'. John Mc Loughlin has played alongside Al Di Meola occasionally. We come back full circle.
And we also come to the end of the road this week. Or musical road I should say. The only reason why Tomas and Tereza died together was because six fortuitous incidents linked their lives forever. Kevin Bacon continues to be an extraordinary actor, 'six degrees' theory notwithstanding, most main roads, at least in Havana, still lead to Rome, or El Malecón for that matter, and in London, sometimes streets will not drive you round the bend, because you will happen to find the important left turning before it is too late.
Open the front of a car and show me its insides and I will be legging it before you can say 'valve'. There is nothing more daunting and scary than that labyrinth of cables, pistons and plugs. Just before my third attempt to pass my driving test my instructor and I had a little run-through the various car parts I would be questioned on by my examiner. I am sorry to disappoint you my dear fellow bloggers, readers and posters, but I failed really badly.
Luckily I managed to scrape through on this subject in the actual test and was flunked twice in a row on my poor driving rather than on knowing when I needed to check the car oil.
And yet, this whole maze of tiny, medium and gigantic parts fascinates me no end. It is amazing to me how the combination of all these different components work together to move your car forwards or backwards, accelerate or slow down.
Sometimes music works in the same way. Certain combinations defy logic and go beyond our understanding.
Take my first example. On the one hand hand you have not only Nigeria's social conscience, but Africa's singing warrior. A thorn on the side of the corrupt government that ruled that West African nation for many years, Fela Kuti became a musical icon to many people around the world. His songs had difficult and complex arrangements and were heavy on the use of trombones, saxophones and trumpets. On the other hand you have 'l'enfant terrible' of prog-rock, Mr Ian Anderson, he of English band Jethro Tull, whose complicated and poetic lyrics delighted those of us who came to them via other groups from the same era: Yes, Emerson, Lake & Palmer and Genesis. The result is an intrinsic, comprehensive and mind-blowing collaboration between these two musicians which resembles the inner world of a car. Masterful.
My second offer is a mélange of blues, country and rock, and just like pistons and valves working together inside a vehicle, these various rhythms have a nice, funky beat going on that makes want to get up on my feet and dance with total abandon. I discovered The Audreys via Radio Paradise, the online radio station that should be a blueprint for wanna-be radio stations everywhere. Groovy.
Number three song this weeks brings what is normally called a chanteuse. She is a cross between a busker (which she has done after eloping to Europe following the success of ther debut album, strange way to celebrate, ain't it?), a jazz singer and troubadour. Madeleine Peyroux is not your traditional singer and her voice smacks of a throaty, powerful engine revving up nicely as all the different components conjure up their magic to make the car move. Smoky.
Finally this song is living proof that music is cyclical. Salsa is rooted mainly in son, a hybrid between African rhythms and their Spanish counterparts. And as the following track shows Orchestra Baobab took it back where it came from and transformed it into an African song with Latin undertones. Compelling.
And this is all for this week. In the meantime I am still trying to work out what to do when going on a long journey. What's the requirement my tyres must meet before I set off again?
Sometimes I wish I was a bird and glide over the throng of cars populating our avenues, roads and streets. To be able to work out whether car A will move into the space that car B just vacated. To witness the amalgamation that occurs whenever there is heavy traffic near a roundabout. The red car will join the green car even though the driver forgot to signal left as the law dictates. Motorists changing minds at the last minute. Unpredictability galore.
Music is like that. And as I get older it is this type of music, bastardised, mulattoised and mixed that I drift towards. This is not a post for those purists who swear by unadulturated music, but then again, this is a blog that celebrates difference with a difference. Recently and on another blog I was discussing Silvio Rodríguez' song 'Melancolía' and how the tune is based on Beethoven's sonata 'Pathétique'. Amazing.
My first offering has the wrong name for this time of year. Yet, here's one of the better versions I have ever heard of 'Summertime'. In fact, it's my favourite one. Thanks, Janis. Spellbinding.
A classically-trained musician, Nina Simone started singing by accident and yet it was that kind of accident that turned many of us into devotees of this exceptional singer because of her strong stage persona. I would dare to say quite boldly that not many artists have been able to match the Great Nina in vocal prowess and piano-playing skills. Stunning.
My last track comes courtesy of a singer I came across the other day whilst reading the paper. She is Israeli, yet sings in Spanish in a style known as Ladino, very popular amongst Jewish groups in the Iberian peninsula. I was immediately captivated by her voice and by the fact that Yasmin Levy is living proof of the amalgamation process different cultures and by default their music go through. Touching.
Are your a nodder, or a tapper? A screamer or a finger-snapper? Or maybe you go for introspection, your face an unreadable tableau of well-concealed emotions.
Cars, cars, cars. They are useful, neccesary, some may even say indispensable. The truth is, though, that they make our life easier. Their function is very simple, they serve as a vehicle to transport us from A to B. So, why is it so essential to have the latest make of a particular car? Why do some people fuss over this or that Ford, or this or that VW? To me, there are just a handful of elements I would be concentrating on if I was looking to buy a new motor (something I have never done in my life). Colour would be one, blue or black being my favourite ones. Make, as in VW instead of Ford, although taking into account that our car is a Nissan and it's turned out to be very good, I would probably go for that one brand. And functionality. What do I want it for? For the daily grind? Then, there's no point in getting a Chelsea tractor (that's a 4x4, by the way, for those of you who don't live in Britain, or rather, in London). But if I need it for longer journeys, then an eco-friendly SUV would be a better option.
