Modernism Monday: “Sligo Creek,” Al Petteway

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If you’ve seen Ken Burns’s documentary on the history of our national parks, you’ll recognize this piece.  Al Petteway is a terrific and talented musician, and I’m thrilled he’s getting more recognition since “National Parks” came out.  This piece reminds me of sailing up the wet, dank coast of Newfoundland, whose native music is similar in style to “Sligo Creek.”  This is a very good tune to listen to when you need to square your shoulders and face the day.  This makes it especially suited for a cold and rainy Monday, be you on the prow of a boat headed to Labrador, or behind the wheel of your car headed to work.

Sacred Sunday: “Hanaq Pachap Kusikuynin,” Juan Pérez Bocanegra

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Where to begin with this piece.  There is so much to say.  I’ll start with its history.  The piece was written in Quechua, an ancient language native to the Andean region in South America, by the Franciscan Pastor Juan Pérez Bocanegra around 1610 and published in 1631.  Bocanegra sang and ministered at San Pedro de Andahuaylillas in Cusco, Peru.  This piece was meant as a processional hymn to be sung as parishioners entered church.  It is originally about 20 minutes long and has twenty or so verses; this version only contains the first two.

I find this piece entirely chilling.  First of all, it uses Amerindian words to express European religious concepts set to a European Baroque tune.  Second, though it’s a hymn to the Virgin, which would ostensibly sound sweet and calm, this piece is firmly in the Church Militant camp.  Yes, it’s a processional, and processionals are supposed to be rhythmic and metrical, but this goes beyond metrical to martial.  I think this is fitting, given the context.

By the time this piece was written, the Spanish colonization of the New World had been underway for just about a century.  In 1532, Francisco Pizarro and his soldiers ambushed and captured Emperor Atahualpa of the Incas, effectively defeating the mightiest of the indigenous South American empires and easing further Spanish conquest.  Ten years later, the Spanish government established the Viceroyalty of Peru, which, until the early 18th century, spanned almost the entirety of the South American landmass save only for Venezuela, which was under a different Viceroyalty, and the eastern half of Brazil, which was under the control of Portugal.  This was the second of four such viceroyalties that consolidated and administered Spain’s territories.  Control of the land, control of the government, and control of the economy comprise three-quarters of the recipe needed for complete domination – the last quarter is, of course, control of religion.  In this, the Catholic Church was masterful.

That is why I find this piece so chilling.  Religion has always been one of the strongest influences on society and culture, and as music is a part of culture, this piece is, to me, an audible relic of one civilization’s violent conquest and subjugation of another.

Bocanegra himself was born in Spain, but at some point (and for reasons I can’t find), emigrated to Peru.  I can only surmise that he actively chose to put the hymns he wrote into Quechua to encourage conversion.  Words and English translation are below.  Before I close, I want to be absolutely clear that this is meant in no way to be a dig against the current Catholic Church.  All denominations of all religions have done some fairly odious things in the past.  Finally, while this recording is perfectly serviceable, I highly recommend finding the one done by Ex Cathedra off their “New World Symphonies” album.

Hanaq pachap kusikuynin
Waranqakta much’asqayki
Yupayruru puquq mallki
Runakunap suyakuynin
Kallpannaqpa q’imikuynin
Waqyasqayta.

Uyariway much’asqayta
Diospa rampan Diospa maman
Yuraq tuqtu hamanq’ayman
Yupasqalla, qullpasqayta
Wawaykiman suyusqayta
Rikuchillay.

Oh, Joy of heaven
forever adore you,
flowering tree that gives us the Sacred Fruit,
Hope of Humanity,
the strength that sustains me,
yet I still fall.

Keep in mind my veneration
You, guiding hand of God, Mother of God,
Flourishing amancaicito of tender and white wings,
my worship and my tears;
to let Him know this son
places his stock in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Salubrious Saturday: Duet for Two Violins and Orchestra, Steve Reich

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I adore Steve Reich.  Adore him.  He is one of my top ten favorite composers, and has influenced my life enormously.  This blog will feature some of his other work later on.  There are, however, a fair number of people I know who don’t enjoy Steve Reich at all.  (Hi, Mom.  Oh hey there, third ex-boyfriend on the left.)  It’s more than understandable.  There isn’t a discernible melody, for starters, nor an easily explainable rhythm, which leads some to conclude that Reich’s music is pretty pointless.  When I play this piece, however, some of them warm up to the idea.  (Hi again, Mom.  Smell you later, third ex-boyfriend on the left.)  Though it keeps to the general Reich-ian aesthetic of repetitive minimalism, it’s also beautifully – and accessibly – lyrical.  It sounds like Vaughan Williams’s lark when it was still young and went cruising with its best friend, before it grew up, went to Groton and Yale, got its medical degree, and became an elegant, staid, and entirely boring lark that ate a light dinner and retired early with some Tennyson poems.  (Yes, yes, “Better not be at all than not be noble,” good for you.)  This piece makes me feel like I just took in a lungful of fresh air on the first day of spring.  Speaking of lungfuls of air, I am hoping to go for my first long training run today to prepare for the half-marathon I foolishly signed up for, and perhaps this piece will convince me it’s warmer than 20 degrees outside.  Happy Saturday!

P.S.  I took the photo in the video in Kiev, Ukraine.  What a wacky place, Ukraine.  More on that in a later post.

P.P.S.  I am of course in no way maligning Groton or Yale.  As they say, some of my best friends went to Groton and Yale.

Funk Friday: “You Can’t Be Told,” Valerie June

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I worship at the altar of Valerie June.  What a fabulously unique voice – so clear and sharp against the growl of the guitars.  This song makes me want to be:

a) in a coordinated dance routine with random patrons at a crowded bar, and/or

b) in a slow-motion movie scene in which I, the film’s protagonist, a wise-cracking hitwoman, am walking down a street in a major metropolis dressed in all black.  Plus aviators and heels.  Natch.

As neither of these things is going to happen, at least not anytime soon and not without a lot of paperwork, I’ll settle for putting this on in the background to help me push through a grouchy Friday afternoon and into a much more fun Friday evening.

Throwback Thursday: Piano Concerto in A Minor, First Movement, Robert Schumann

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I first heard this piece on a train, halfway between Germany and Poland.  It was the summer before my third year at university, and my father and I were going to be spending two weeks InterRailing around central and eastern Europe.  We had freshened our CD collections at a record store (remember those?) near Leipziger Straße the day we were to leave for Warsaw; we had to have plenty of train music for our discmans (discmen?  Remember those?).  I picked out some dippy movie soundtrack that heavily featured Badly Drawn Boy; my father picked up some Schumann or whatever.  (Pff.  Old people.)  We swapped CDs halfway to Warsaw – I forked over said soundtrack, along with some Louis Prima, and I got this Schumann disc in return.  To this day, I can’t think of that specific train trip without hearing this piece.  Trying to figure out how to order a sandwich in German from the food cart?  Schumann.  Regarding the loveliness of pastoral Germany?  Schumann.  I must’ve listened to it a dozen times over the course of the trip – in Prague, Budapest, on the night train through Slovakia, Dresden – but it’s still lodged in that one particular compartment, as plush and beautiful as the train compartment we sat in.

The beginning of the piece is fantastic – the electric shock of the orchestra’s first chord, followed by the piano almost flinging the melody away before descending down the keyboard to meet back up with the orchestra again.  The rest of the piece builds to the last two minutes, starting around 12:22.  The melody opens up on the piano until 12:43, when it slowly, slowly, starts getting pushed back into its harness, to ultimately be refocused and unleashed at full gallop at 13:24.  The fire is just barely contained, flaring up once or twice before exploding.  It’s just exhilarating – an absolutely brilliant use of tempo and dynamics.  It is worth noting the specific recording I am using here.  I’m not usually this anal but as far as I’m concerned, the only recording of this worth listening to is this one, by Sviatoslav Richter, done in 1958.

This piano concerto was finished in 1845.  Here is a short list of what was happening around the world at the same time, to give the piece some context:

  • Edgar Allen Poe wrote The Raven
  • Texas was granted statehood, becoming the 28th state in the union
  • James K. Polk became the 11th President of the United States
  • The war between the U.S. and Mexico began
  • Blight struck the potato crop in Ireland, thus beginning the Great Famine
  • The British Parliament passed the Aberdeen Act, which allowed British naval vessels to search Brazilian ships as part of the abolition of the African slave trade.

Since I will be heading back to work for real tomorrow, nose to grindstone and all that, I needed something to help me focus on the myriad tasks at hand.  I’m pretty certain it will do the trick, and I hope it does so for you, too.

Worldly Wednesday, “Ça Plane Pour Moi,” Plastic Bertrand

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Aaaahh I love this song.  I love this song so much.  This is in the top ten list of personal theme songs.  The song’s chorus, “Ça plane pour moi,” very roughly translates into “This is working out great.”  It’s possible it’s ironic.  Actually, wait – it’s French.  It’s highly probable it’s ironic.  It sounds so upbeat in the face of so many annoying (and strange – again, it’s French) things happening to the guy – “it’s not today that the sky will fall on my head.”  Damn right, Monsieur Français!  This is a very good song for the day after a big night.  (Editor’s note: If you really tied one on last night, perhaps wait until those ibuprofen have taken effect before pressing play on this one.  It might make that headache just a touch worse.)  It is also a great way to kick out the old and bring in the new.  Oh hey there, 2014!  Ça plane pour moi!  

French lyrics followed by English translation – both the best I could do – below.

Wham! Bam! mon chat Splash
Git sur mon lit a bouffé
sa langue en buvant tout mon whisky
quant à moi peu dormi, vidé, brimé
J’ai dû dormir dans la gouttière
Ou j’ai eu un flash
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!
En quatre couleurs

Allez hop! un matin
Une louloute est venue chez-moi
Poupée de cellophane, cheveux chinois
un sparadrap, une gueule de bois
a bu ma bière dans un grand verre en caoutchouc
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!
Comme un indien dans son igloo

Ça plane pour moi! Ça plane pour moi!
Ça plane pour moi moi moi moi moi
Ça plane pour moi
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!
Ça plane pour moi

Allez hop! la nana quel panard!
Quelle vibration!
de s’envoyer sur le paillasson
Limée, ruinée, vidée, comblée
You are the King of the divan!
Qu’elle me dit en passant
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!
I am the King of the divan

Ça plane pour moi! Ça plane pour moi!
Ça plane pour moi moi moi moi moi
Ça plane pour moi
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!
Ça plane pour moi

Allez hop! t’occupe t’inquiète
touche pas ma planète
It’s not today
Que le ciel me tombera sur la tete
et que la colle me manquera
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!
Ca plane pour moi

Allez hop! ma nana s’est tirée
S’est barrée enfin c’est marre a tout casse
L’evier, le bar me laissant seul
Comme un grand connard
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!
Le pied dans le plat

Ça plane pour moi! Ça plane pour moi!
Ça plane pour moi moi moi moi moi
Ça plane pour moi
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo!
Ça plane pour moi

Wham! Bam! my cat Splash 
lies on my bed with his tongue puffed out 
from drinking all my whisky. 
As for me, not enough sleep, drained, persecuted, 
I had to sleep in the gutter 
where I had a vision 
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo! 
in four colors 
 
Let’s go! One morning 
a darling came to my home, 
a cellophane puppet with Chinese hair, 
a band-aid, a hangover, 
drank my beer in a large rubber glass 
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo! 
like an Indian in his igloo 
 
This works for me, this works for me 
This works for me me me me me 
This work for me 
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo! 
This works for me 
 
Let’s go! That chick, what a gas! 
what a vibration! 
to be sent to the mat 
filed, ruined, drained, filled 
You are the King of the divan! 
she says to me in passing 
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo! 
I am the King of the divan 
 
This works for me, this works for me 
This works for me me me me me 
This work for me 
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo! 
This works for me 
 
Let’s go! Don’t mind, don’t worry 
It doesn’t affect me 
It’s not today 
that the sky will fall on my head 
and the glue will fail me 
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo! 
This life’s for me 
 
Let’s go! my chick has gone away, 
flew away, finally had enough, to break 
the sink, the bar, leaving me alone 
like a complete jerk 
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo! 
I’ve put my foot in it 
 
This works for me, this works for me 
This works for me me me me me 
This work for me 
Oooo-ooo-ooo-ooo! 
This works for me 

 

Termagant Tuesday: “Auld Lang Syne,” Dejan’s Olympia Brass Band

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No sound makes a person happier than a jazz band from New Orleans.  Not the laugher of little children, not the soothing thrumming sound an ATM makes when it dispenses your money, not the person you’ve had your eye on saying “I’ve loved you for ages,” nothing.  Nada.  The big donut.  There is an absolute riot of fantastic Louisiana and other varieties of Dixieland jazz versions of Auld Lang Syne, and your Yankette struggled mightily over which one to pick.  I almost went with The Kings of Dixieland, because, well, they’re The Kings, but this version is so much rowdier and it sounds like they’re just having a ball.  So let’s join them (and their singing at 03:02), shall we?  Pop the champagne, crank up the volume, grab your someone, and take a spin around the room.  May you and yours have the very happiest of New Years, and may 2014 bring you everything you deserve.  WHO DAT!

Modernism Monday: “Simple Things,” Paolo Nutini

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Oh, Monday.  Poor, maligned Monday.  It gets such a bad rap.  No matter how much you adore your job, sometimes the sound of the word Monday just makes you want to say “sod it all” and hide in the bathtub.  Especially difficult to stomach is the first Monday after Christmas.  Helpfully, delightful Scottish singer Paolo Nutini has written a song that puts the whole “work” jag in quite the healthy context.

Additionally appropriate for this specific Monday is the song’s self-determination theme that makes it a good one to listen to in these last days of 2013.  Remember those resolutions you made in 2012?  Any remaining that you can (or want to) accomplish in the next two days?  Anything about your life you’ll resolve to change in 2014?  (Editor’s note: HOLY CRAP 2014.  I feel so old.  It was fourteen years ago I rang in the 2000’s with champagne floats.  Never having a champagne float again has been a fantastically easy resolution to keep.)

Sacred Sunday: “Ne irascaris Domine,” William Byrd

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This piece is my most meaningful musical discovery of 2013.  Here’s how it happened.

Do you remember, back in September and early October, when it felt like everything was going wrong at once?  If you live in D.C., as I do, you probably remember.  Let’s catalogue everything that happened:

– The Navy Yard shooting

– The shooting/car chase around the Capitol

– The man who immolated himself on the National Mall

There were other awful things that happened in D.C. and around the world around that time, as well, and I remember talking about them but don’t remember what they were.  I guess I blocked them out.

Also around this time, my work started to really pick up and I found myself staying later and later at the office.  On late nights at work I like to listen to music to keep me going, and this night, filled as I was with a sort of existential dread, I looked for something soothing.  I’ve listened to William Byrd all my life, so I found a recording of his sacred motets on YouTube, pressed play, and forged ahead.

My ears leaned towards the speakers when “Ne irascaris” started.  It was different than the preceding track, and not just in tempo and melody and all the obvious things, but in tone.  It wasn’t exactly soothing but it wasn’t exactly sad, and it sounded a little resigned but simultaneously still kept some hope alive.  The music caused all the fear, anger, unease, and resentment – towards a whole lot of things – I had felt since the Navy Yard shooting to build in me until, once the music got to 06:10, I completely broke down.

“Zion has become a wilderness,
Jerusalem has been made desolate.”

I had to look up the English translation the next morning and was startled yet completely unsurprised to discover what the words that brought me to tears actually meant.  It felt spooky that I had, through total chance, found a piece that so completely resonated with feelings I’d not yet fully dealt with that it sparked a wonderful catharsis.  It’s amazing what music can do.

—-

Ne irascaris Domine satis,
et ne ultra memineris iniquitatis nostrae.
Ecce respice populus tuus omnes nos.  

Civitas sancti tui facta est deserta.

Sion deserta facta est,
Jerusalem desolata est.

Be not angry, O Lord,
and remember our iniquity no more.
Behold, we are all your people.
Your holy city has become a wilderness.
Zion has become a wilderness,
Jerusalem has been made desolate.

Salubrious Saturday: “Do Your Thing,” Basement Jaxx

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It’s Saturday.  By now, you’re probably back from wherever you spent the holidays, or your family has finally left your house.  You’ve woken up, with great relief, in your own bed, in your own living quarters, with no one to deal with and no one’s agenda to fulfill but your own.  Maybe you’ll go to a yoga class wearing one of those low-cut tank tops that make your grandmother sad!  Maybe you’ll build that Lego set all wrong!  Maybe you’ll finally unleash your inner Caligula and diligently plow your way through the food and booze leftovers in your underwear as your blissfully ignorant parents spend their drive home discussing how great it is to see you looking so put together!  Whatever you decide, today is all yours, my friend.  You do you.  So here’s a song to celebrate your liberation from forced happiness over dippy presents (“A ‘festive’ red and green cheese grater!  Wow!”) and ossified holiday traditions that no one really enjoys but everyone keeps up because, well, it’s the holidays.