Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

I had a very interesting experience recently. Interesting and a bit scary. I had to conduct some official business for which proof of identity was needed and without any second thoughts, I produced my driving licence. Sweet’eart, the Jamaican-accented lady told me, your licence expired three years ago. Dincha know? Cue jaw hitting the floor (mine), eyes wide open (hers) and much laughter and mirth (both). Three years! Just to give you an idea of why I was laughing so much here’s a quick rundown of what I have done during these three years and how my driving licence has been involved. I have rented cars in Italy and Cuba (2012 and 13 respectively) and I have been the main driver. That means that my (ex) driving licence has been photocopied and kept for their records. I have been one of the designated drivers of two minibuses hired by the school federation for which I used to work. Obviously, before being given the keys to the vehicles I had to submit a copy of my driving licence. And, of course, I have driven. I have driven everywhere. Cornwall in 2011, Shropshire, summer last year. But this is the best bit, or the scariest one. If I had been caught by the police with an out-of-date driving licence I could have been fined up to a thousand pounds.

Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Anyway, this column today is not about officials failing to realise that I held only a provisional licence for more than seven years and for three of those years this document was not valid (I have since renewed my licence, by the way, so if there’s a copper reading this, I’m all right now). What I would like to write about today is my love of driving.

But what if it's expired?

It is ironic that through this blog I promote a greener and cleaner way of living, both consciously and unconsciously. I strongly believe that our planet would be better with fewer cars around. At the same time, though, I can’t deny that I get a big kick out of being behind the wheel, on the open road, going on a long journey somewhere interesting.

I used to write a section called Road Songs years ago when I first started blogging. It was a way of romanticising what I saw as the “art of driving”. Unlike other people my early childhood perceptions were not shaped in the back of a car, but in the middle of a crowded bus in downtown Havana. So, recreational driving was not a part of my upbringing.

That is why as soon as I learnt how to drive and got my licence I became the weekend driver in the family (except for my daughter’s last two years in primary school when I used to do the school run every day). Weekend driving is different to its weekday counterpart. You don’t go somewhere because you have to clock in and out. You go places because it is a pleasure.

Road Songs was never about melodies that mentioned motorways and cul-de-sacs. As a section I wanted it to encompass the feeling that driving awakened in me. The beauty of a bend on the road, the exhilaration of letting the wheel slip through my fingers as I turned it, the art of braking. All these aspects of driving were included in this short-lived section. For all blogposts I sought clips that somehow encapsulated my feelings about being in control of car.

Whilst writing this section I came to the conclusion that perhaps my only gripe when it comes to driving in Britain, if gripe is the right word, is that the UK doesn’t boast iconic roads. Yes, we all know about the M25, but is it the same as Route 66 in the US? And would a motorway running from Scotland to south-eastern England inspire a Dylan-like British singer songwriter in the same way Route 61 inspired Bob to write Highway 61?

That doesn’t mean there’s no poetry in driving. There is, because the car symbolises freedom, if not, ask Bruce Springsteen who has made a whole musical career out of it. Even the shortest car journey has a certain sense of leave-taking about it. You are going somewhere and leaving something or someone behind. Even if it is for eight hours. Then, there’s also the interaction with the machine. The process of learning how to listen to your car’s engine, how to recognise its moans and complaints. That is why Roger Taylor, Queen’s drummer, wrote I am in Love with my Car, because he fell for his motor’s carburettor.

Yes, this column is a bit of a contradiction today. I am on two wheels five days a week. I can’t praise my bike enough. Especially because being a rusty, second-hand one, it’s gone beyond its sell-by and use-by date and it's still going, carrying me on its saddle. Yet, as soon as the weekend arrives I can’t wait to get inside my four-wheeler.  The episode with my (ex) driving licence made it clear. I’m in love with my car. Even if I might not have the valid documentation with me sometimes.



© 2014

Next Post: “Food, Music, Food, Music, Food, Music... Ad Infinitum”, to be published on Wednesday 25^th June at 11:59pm (GMT)

Road Songs

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.



© 2011

Next Post: ‘Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music’, to be published on Sunday 10th April at 10am (GMT)

Road Songs (Special Edition)

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)

Road Songs (Special Edition)

If roads were stick insects, I would not be a driver. Give me a fleshy, curvaceous motorway and I am a happy man, turn it into a size zero paved surface and I will be hanging my car keys forever and ever.

A bend doth a road make. The way this man-made, asphaltic curve winds and wraps itself around the landscape is the reason why I love being behind the wheel so much. It is also the reason why I derive a greater pleasure from driving around the British countryside than in urban London. The streets in my adopted city are too narrow and even broad avenues that arch left or rightwards lack the necessary angular space to enjoy the manouevring around a particular bend.

And the most important element of this peculiar and, possibly, whimsical fancy of mine is the synergy between braking, the bend as such and my hands holding the wheel. The first was analysed in detail here, the second one is the subject of this post tonight and the third one will be discussed in another column very soon.

When you find yourself behind the wheel, steering your car on a long, flat piece of tarmac, at some point your brain begins to beg for a change. That's where bends, chiefly conspicuous ones, come into play. Brake slowly, shift into a lower gear as you go around and let your hands slide on either side of the wheel. Bliss.

In music, too, I love this symbiosis between tempo, musicianship and creativity. And I will use the examples below to illustrate the relationship between road bends and musical ones.

My first clip is by Maestro Astor Piazzolla performing a song that is as rhythmically exquisite as it is curvaceously adorable. Here the bandoneon is the simile to that stretch of road that meanders and zigzags whilst the violin and piano represent the foot on the gas pedal. Touching.



The second clip is by The Beatles and it is also a timeless tune, 'A Day In the Life'. It, too, is my favourite song from their renowned "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" album and no, this is not the official video. In fact there's a disclaimer on the author's profile on youtube that reads thus: 'Beatle clips I put together to "A Day in the Life". I made the picture at the end too. I've been noticing that some sites have been using my video and I would like to say that although I like the idea of my video being liked it is not the original.' And you could certainly believe that this clip was the work of John, Paul, George and Ringo, couldn't you? Such a good quality.

'A Day In the Life' is actually two songs in one. Apparently Lennon finished writing the first part and spoke to Paul about finding a filler for the second section. The latter had scribbled another melody and agreed to add it to John's bit. The result is the union of scattered pieces of news and domestic life. John's view can be interpreted as the sum of disparate world and regional events. Paul's is mundaness at its best. And you notice that at 2:17 (clip below) when McCartney's part kicks in. To me it is the equivalent of driving through the Dartford crossing en route to Kent. There's the bend curving seductively upwards and then downwards, the barrier that separates the metropolis from the countryside, order vs freedom. As an addendum, let me tell you that the Dartford crossing is not always that romantic. In fact, it is a nightmare most of the time, but last summer it provided me with one of those priceless moments when, queue-free, I cruised downhill with Nina Simone on the car stereo belting out 'I Put a Spell on You' and if there's a more magical and serendipitous moment, I'd be glad to hear about it. On a postcard, please. And handwritten, nobody writes cards by hand anymore.

But I digress. Sorry. 'A Day in the Life' is a monster of a road song that symbolises bends at their most beautiful and chaotic, like that middle section. Genius.



Last but not least an artist who has been featured four times on this blog in less than three months. Some people might be wondering whether I have suddenly become a Billy Joel freak or if I'm being paid by his record company to upload his music. No, it has all been very fortuitous. There was that link to his song 'The Stranger' because the post in which the track appeared was related to whistling, then there was his song 'Vienna' used as one of my Sunday clips. A couple of weeks ago I confessed to being bowled over by the lyrics of his timeless 'New York State of Mind' and I now I bring you 'Scenes from an Italian Restaurant'. All this has been rather accidental, not intentional. In the song below, the road bend is symbolised by the changes at 1:41 and at 2:44. The first one is a smooth shift from a higher gear to a lower one, as the car effortlessly moves uphill, zigzagging carefully, whereas the second one is akin to going down and around a pretty bend at full speed, window open, wind massaging your temples. And by the way she is having a ball, isn't she? And so is the saxophonist. What do you mean who is 'she'? She, at 2:42; 2:59; 3:57; 4:08 and 5:01. Have you been paying attention? Anyway, what I would like to know is, what were you doing in the summer of '75? Going steady like Brenda and Eddy or driving around and enjoying road bends? Thanks and enjoy.



Copyright 2010

Next Post: 'Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music' to be published on Sunday 17th January at 10am (GMT)

Road Songs (Special Edition)

Amongst the many pleasures I have found in driving there is one that has become an art, at least for me: braking. There are two others to which I will refer in future special editions, but braking merits its own post.

And I am not merely talking about the act of bringing a car to a complete halt by applying force against the friction of the road, but rather the subtle changes that occur as I shift from gear to gear.

The E70 westbound from Cantabria to Asturias recently offered me the chance to enjoy this lesser-known gem. And I’ve come to think of it in the same way a musician regards his/her own playing and/or singing skills, hence the inclusion in this special edition of ‘Road Songs’.

The M25 here in the UK is not a very good place to practise the art of braking. It is usually choc-a-bloc with traffic jams everywhere and rather than enjoying the kinetic energy involved in the process, you end up feeling claustrophobic and on the brink of a road-rage fit. The 'Ocho Vías' motorway on which I drove in Cuba earlier this year was somewhat flat and monotonous, although surprisingly in good conditions, so that's another no-go. How different the picture was in the Spanish countryside. The E70, a long stretch of road that meanders from the Basque Country to Galicia - becoming A8 in the process - had plenty of soft slopes and suave bends (there’ll be another special post on bends, by the way). In the distance rolling hills helter-skeltered through the Iberian landscape. Deep valleys called out to the driver’s attentive eye and the nature lover in me slowed the car down whenever possible and soaked up the surroundings. Tiny hamlets hung on to perilous slopes.

It was this combination of driving - and braking, of course - and music playing on the car stereo that made me wonder if the arts could widen up its scope to include this dissipation of energy as yet another proof of man's creative nature. In the same way a pianist presses a key on his or her instrument to elicit a particular sound, when I press down on the brake pedal the effect sometimes can be that of the coupling of acoustic energy and air to produce sound. And no, it is not of the screeching type, although that happens all too often.

My first example tonight is Maria Rita and her excellent song 'Muito Pouco'. At 2:27, there's a tiny stop of half a second before the music goes up a couple of notches. It is the equivalent of braking smoothly around a bend on a broad motorway, bringing the car from fifth gear down to fourth and then beefing it back up to fifth. Beautiful.



My second offering tonight comes all the way from Italy (I promised more music from that European nation and I'm keeping my word). Eros Ramazzotti brings back memories galore, especially to those who, like me, enjoyed his well-deserved popularity in the early 90s in Cuba. This song, 'Musica E', is so full of stops that it could well be used in a driving lesson, teaching future drivers how to apply the brake, where and when. The way the musicians and singer meander through the melody reminds me of trips on hilly roads. I hope you enjoy it.



Third track tonight has that perfect combination of pop and classical music mixed together. I have always loved Jamiroquai but even I was taken by surprise when this track first came out. And I remember playing it on a loop on my Walkman. At 3:18 the brakes are applied and yet you have the feeling that he has let the musical car coast a little bit, as if not wanting the song to finish. The same sentiment I have when I come to the end of my journey and I brake slowly until it's time to bring the clutch pedal down. Smoothly. Thanks and happy driving!



Photo taken from flickr.com

Copyright 2009

Next Post: 'Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music' to be published on Sunday 4th October at 10:00 (GMT)

Road Songs (Special Edition)

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)

Road Songs (Fiesta) 2nd Part

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.

The Beginning

The Pleasure of Reversing

The Joy of Uphill Starts

The Mechanics of Driving

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

Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Fiesta)

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.





Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Vivace)

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.

Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Vivace) 2nd Part

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.



Copyrigth 2008

Road Songs (Vivace)

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.



Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Experimental)

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.




Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Variations) (2nd Part)

This is the follow up to last week's column and there might even be a third part next week. Enjoy.

Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Variations) (1st Part)

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.

Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Presto)

Sun is shining, the weather is sweet

Make you want to move your dancing feet

To the rescue, here I am

Want you to know ya, where I stand

(Monday morning) here I am

Want you to know just if you can

(Tuesday evening) where I stand

(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.

Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Misterioso)

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 World column 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.





Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Lento)

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.




Copyright 2008

Road Songs (Sonata)

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.



© 2008

Road Songs (Langsam)

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.







Copyright 2008