Not Protesting: Jóhann Jóhannsson Remixes Philip Glass with "Protest"

Today's random tune is a piece by Philip Glass that is remixed by Jóhann Jóhannsson. Jóhann Jóhannsson was an Icelandic minimalist composer who wrote pieces blending traditional orchestration with electronic elements. Jóhannsson worked in theatre, dance, television and films. In film, he was best known for his work with Canadian film director Denis Villeneuve, especially on Blade Runner 2049. He died in February of 2018 in Berlin of an accidental overdose of cocaine mixed with medication. Philip Glass is a minimalist composer considered to be one of the most influential musicians of the late 20th century, and describes himself as a composer of music with repetitive structures. This song, Protest, can be found on the 2012 album Rework: Philip Glass Remixed.

Listen to songs like this and more on the KUNM Global Music Show every Monday night from 10 pm - 1 am Mountain Standard Time. Live streaming, program information and the two-week digital archive can be found at http://www.kunm.org.

Sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B3hann_J%C3%B3hannsson; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Glass

Catcher in the Raï: Cheb Mami and "Tayo Tayo Adiani"

Algerian raï has been a music of many surprises for me. I'll highlight a few of them here. First is the knowledge that raï is born of struggle and protest, much like western rock music. Largely developed as a combination of different types of music in the 1930s in Oran, Algeria, raï came up from below. Not officially acknowledged as music by Algerian governments that promoted Arabic classical music, raï was outspoken about social issues. Its name derives from a word that singers would use to signal that an opinion was being expressed. The government of Algeria, during French colonization and then after independence, saw raï as a threat to the political and social order, and would often ban it outright. Raï was blamed for several uprisings against the government. However, starting in the late 70s as Algerian governments began to relax their strictures on the music, the raï became more of a challenge to fundamentalist Islam. In fact, Islamic fundamentalists murdered a popular raï singer in 1994 for allowing himself to be kissed by women during a televised concert.

Second, raï is an amalgamation of a number of different musics, and in that way it is like a sponge, soaking up everything around it. Originating from music and songs, called zendanis, sung by poor people in the bars of Oran, it quickly incorporated elements of musics such as medh (songs of praise to Mohammed) and the music of cheikhas (songs with hedonistic lyrics sung by women in alluring dress) and often resembled a kind of Algerian cabaret aimed at the poor and working class. From there it began to pick up elements of Spanish flamenco, gnawa, and French cabaret. Unlike many other musics from Arab countries, women played a key role in raï's development and it also developed in conjunction with dancing. Raï continues to be a sponge. In the 70s, reggae added its voice to raï. As raï began to increase in international popularity, it began to absorb even more Western influences, such as funk, rock, hip hop and other genres in the 1990s. Some of the most interesting hybrids of raï developed as a result of this infusion of new styles, including folk raï, pop raï, and even the raï punk of Rachid Taha.

One might listen to one raï song and not realize that complex and interesting history. I sure didn't know the roots of raï, but having been raised during a time when music was a voice of protest, I can certainly appreciate the role it has played in Algerian society, both as a modernizing force and as the messenger alternately informing Algerians of their social situation and warning against governmental and religious oppression. One of the foremost voices in this latter stage of raï's development is that of a man often called The Prince of Raï, Cheb Mami. Cheb Mami is the stage name of Ahmed Khelifati Mohamed, who sang in a radio contest in 1982 at the age of 16. This was during a time of governmental oppression of raï and despite the fact that he was clearly the best, he was not allowed to win the competion. However he so captivated the audience that he was awarded second prize. It was there that he was discovered by a producer, and shortly after he began releasing cassette recordings. In 1985 he moved to Paris and began to develop his own style of raï, including incorporating elements of his musical idols such as Stevie Wonder, Otis Redding and French rapper MC Solaar. Continuing the raï tradition of fusion with other musics, he also incorporates flamenco, Turkish and Greek music into his form of raï. After a 1999 duet with Sting in the song Desert Rose, he came to greater attention in America with appearances on many of the top late-night shows, morning shows, the Grammys and even the Super Bowl. He then released a very successful album, Dellali, produced by Nile Rodgers.

This song, Tayo Tayo Adiani, is from his 2008 album Douni L'bladi.

Sweet Ardor and Misery: Ani Cordero and "Macorina"

How many of us look back on our young days with some longing? Everything felt so much more alive then, because we were so young and our bodies were overflowing with chemicals and hormones! The loves and losses that I had when I was a young man were the loves and losses that I felt strongest - everything had such a black and white quality to it. Every love was the greatest, and every loss was the keenest.

Those memories were sweet, and something that we can look fondly back upon and remember those strong emotions, but I'm not sure that I would want to go back to them. You can only have your heart broken once to have those callouses and protective barriers grow around you. Once your innocence of love and loss is compromised, there isn't any going back to those sweet days when you felt so much and were willing to give so much to keep those feelings of love going and going as long as possible, and the feelings of melancholy and sadness also. Because I will admit it - I reveled just as much in the sadness and melancholy of loss as I did in the first buds of a crush, or the first attentions of a new love. Now, at my ripe age of 50, it's hard to feel that kind of excitement and those rapid swings of emotion again, and frankly I think I'm better off for it. But sometimes, I look back and remember the passions of youth and wonder what it might be like to feel them in all their sweet ardor and misery once again.

Today's song is a reinterpretation of a classic Latin love song song by a rising star in the Latin music world. Macorina by Ani Cordero, was originally sung by Costa Rican singer Chavela Vargas, and its lyrics bring me back to those heady days as a young man and promises of love that each of us directly or indirectly experienced. Ani Cordero is a Puerto Rican-born musician who started her music career in Tucson, Arizona fronting a band bearing her own last name, Cordero. In 2000, accompanied by her husband, musician Chris Verene, she moved to New York and reformed the band and toured nationally with Calexico and Los Lobos, among others. By 2005, she had become quite well known in the New York rock scene, and she joined a new Latino pop and folklorico group called Pistolera. Macorina is from her first solo album Recordar: Latin American Songs of Love and Protest, in which she sings eleven songs of political and social significance in Latin America. It was released in April of 2014.