Listen to Our Show Tonight!

It's the first Monday of the month, and that means Megan Kamerick and I (Michael Hess) will be hosting the KUNM Global Music Show. Tonight Megan will play a set of music that she has put together that explores many different meanings of the word "freedom," to coincide with the just-past US Independence Day. In addition, we'll continue to bring you some of the newest releases in global and world music. You can hear us on KUNM 89.9 FM Albuquerque/Santa Fe and stream us live at KUNM's website. We'll be on from 10 pm - 1 am US Mountain Time. We hope you can listen, and feel free to comment to this post if you would like us to play something!

What Does the Fox Say? Momonashi and "Kitsune Show"

I think that had I continued my never-really-started music career, I would have been a bassist.  I've always been impressed by those who play bass in bands.  They provide an essential yet often overlooked function.  Lead guitarists are all flash and pyrotechnics.  They grind the ax like nobody's business, laying down riffs and blistering solos night after night, winning the accolades of critics and audience members alike.  They have their pick of the girls (or boys, in some cases).  Drummers lay down the beat and help keep the pace and time of the song, and they are allowed a few times a concert their own flashy solos.  Lead singers, well, they are the eye candy of the concert, and also get their pick of the girls (or boys, as the case may be).  But bassists?  They lay back, putting down the foundation of the music in the bass line, and just continue it in the background so that you hardly notice it is there unless you really listen for it.  They are often introverted, and seemingly at times in their own world.  They mostly don't participate in the antics on the stage, and rarely allow themselves to be thrust into the spotlight.  Of course, there are always exceptions.  Paul McCartney, Sting, and others like that who started on bass and who became leaders on stage in their own rights.  But mostly, the bassist stays in the background, sacrificing fame, fortune, and nights of companionship to put down the perfect base of each song.

I'm generalizing, of course, but I've always found it a pleasure when a bassist steps out of the shadows.  This is why I really enjoyed finding Kitsune Show by Momonashi.  Jigen, the bassist, strides forward in style and uses his bass to interpret a fox.  Momonashi is a duo made up of Jigen and vocalist Mihoco Kamimura, so the bassist is always front and center with the vocalist anyway.  Momonashi was formed in 1998, and released their first album in 2005.  After the Great Japan Earthquake and Tsunami, Momonashi went to the earthquake zone and began to perform free concerts to raise awareness and assist people affected by the quake and the tsunami.  They have performed over 100 free concerts since, and have helped establish and support relief projects.  This year, they released their fourth album.  This song, Kitsune Show (the Fox Show) is from their album Kanki (Happy Momonashi 10th Anniversary) released in 2008, and features Jigen's bass in all its glory, accompanied by a dance by Mihoco Kamimura in a fox mask.

A Sense of Longing: Deolinda and "Uma Ilha"

Sometimes there is nothing better than to immerse oneself in melancholy.  The great Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk, in his book Istanbul, has long descriptions of cultural melancholy as people in the modern Turkish state who are old enough to remember the splendor of the Ottoman Empire look back on glories of the past amid the uncertainties of the present and future.  Individual melancholy hits us from time to time as well, usually as we personally revisit the past and compare it with our own presents and and uncertainties, or even perhaps when we get the "grass is always greener" syndrome and think of what might have been or what could have been had we only did this or that previously.  I am as susceptible to this as any other.  I like wallowing in melancholy once in a while.  I even put together a melancholy song list that I can access to feed that particular feeling.

The Portuguese word that best describes this feeling is saudade, which is not directly translatable but connotes longing.  In Portuguese music, the fado has developed over centuries to capture this longing.  Fados are often slow, serious songs.  They are often about the sea or about the life of the poor, and are usually accompanied by Portuguese guitar.  They are an unique contribution to world culture, so much so that the UN has inscribed fado on its Intangible Cultural Heritage list to bring awareness to its significance and to protect it.  Famous Portuguese performers of fado include Amália Rodrigues, Carlos do Carmo, and Ana Moura among many others.

Deolinda is a band that formed in 2006 when the brothers Pedro da Silva Martins and Luis José Martins asked their cousin Ana Bacalhau to sing on a few songs they had written.  Realizing that her voice fit perfectly with their songs, they formed Deolinda and rounded out the band with her husband José Pedro Leitã.  Their first album, Canção Ao Lado (2008), reached number 3 on the Portuguese charts, and their followup album, Dois selos e um carimbo (2010), hit number 1.  During this period, the band performed a song called Parva que Sous at their concerts, which was a social criticism of Portugal and the lack of opportunities for young people.  Most of Europe was going through a financial crisis, and youth unemployment was enormous, especially in poorer EU countries.  The song became an anthem among economically hurt youth in Portugal and went viral on social media, with bootleg copies of concert performances shared in great numbers.  Deolinda released their third album, Mundo Pequenino, in 2013.

The band's style is inspired by fado, but they have made numerous departures from the form.  While fado utilizes Portuguese guitar, the band does not.  Deolinda's songs are often contain social criticism, and can be lively, upbeat, ironic and humorous which does not fit the usual melancholy style of fado either.  Fado performers often dress in black when performing, but Deolinda does not.  Perhaps they are defining a post-fado or neo-fado style?  However this song, Uma Ilha (An Island) from their 2010 release Dois Selos e um Carimbo, does fit the traditional fado style with references to the sea and hidden secrets from a lover, and a slow, almost mournful pace highlighting Ana Bacalhou's beautiful voice.

Reggae from the Torah: Ron Wiseman and "Measure for Measure"

I'm Catholic, and if you know anything about Catholics, you'll know that most of us don't know our Bibles or other Catholic religious texts that well.  Oh, there are exceptions.  A friend we knew in San Antonio when we lived there is Catholic and a biblical scholar.  But when it comes to religious texts, we just don't make them a direct part of our lives.  We go to Mass on Sunday's, listen to the readings, and listen to the priest's interpretation of readings, and then go about our merry ways for another week.  Being a good Catholic was always, to me, more about the actions than the words behind the actions.  I don't want to make it sound like the words and texts aren't important - because they provide a basis for what we do.  Every Catholic knows how to paraphrase Jesus' saying "turn the other cheek," in reference to enemies, or other similar parables and morals, and some of us follow the precepts, especially those that are modeled by our parents and other people we respect.  But it is rare for me to find a Catholic that really delves into the text to gain a greater meaning from the words and context.

Which is why people who really get into the texts fascinate me.  If you are Muslim or Jewish, you probably can quote whole passages of the Koran or the Torah by heart.  Part of the rite of passage for a young Jewish boy (and I'm assuming girl though I may be wrong about that) is to recite a long passage of the holy text from memory at the bar- or bat-mitzvah.  And it is even more fascinating to me when people gain mystical experiences from the text, when the text so moves them that they absorb it into their lives and make it a focal point around which life moves.  For me, in Mass, often I'm thinking something else rather than truly listening to the text, and therefore the text becomes a quiet drone in the background of my thoughts, with the occasional sentence or phrase popping through.  So I appreciate, and am even envious, of those that can really find meaning from the religious texts rather than doing some kind of obligatory half attention to them.

That is what happened to our featured artist today, Ron Wiseman.  Born and raised in Winnipeg, Canada and exposed in his childhood to such types of music as rock, r&b and blues, he began playing blues piano as a child.  He worked with some bands as a young adult, and diversified his playing to rockabilly, country and r&b.  he was living in Toronto when he took a vacation to Israel.  While traveling in the hills of Judea, he had a mystical experience which led him to create music that he called Spiritual (or Conscious) Reggae based on the words of the Torah and other Jewish religious texts.  He came back to Canada, began putting songs together and playing them in his club gigs.  The result was a mixture of reggae, ska, rock and blues and which earned him the unofficial title of "the king of Jewish reggae."  His website says that he interprets sacred texts through the eyes of a musician who has experienced love and suffered loss.  He has shared the stage with Kinky Friedman, recorded in Jamaica with Sugar Minott and has built a following of fans from many backgrounds, religions, and ethnicities.  He is currently a resident of Tel Aviv, Israel.  This song, Measure for Measure, is off his 2005 release Mystical Mood.

The Most Famous World Music Group from Latvia: Iļģi and "Visi Meži Guni Dega"

About 20 years ago, when I made my first ever trip to Europe, I met a young woman from Riga, Latvia while I was at a meeting in Germany. She was impossibly blond, thin and ethereal and pale almost like a China doll, she dressed in the February chill in a fur hat and warm wools, and she had only a little English with a strong accent. Needless to say, I was somewhat smitten (as I usually am with foreign women with accents). I don't remember much about her other than that - she was with a young man but we exchanged addresses and wrote a couple of letters back and forth before both of us stopped writing. I think it was that sense of foreignness, and all of the sights and culture and beauty and language and the rest I didn't know about Latvia that lay behind her that really got me smitten.

 I am a ardent devotee of travel, and over the past few years I haven't done enough of it. When it comes to places I would like to visit, I'm like a kid in a candy store. In other words, so many countries are out there that I can't choose one to see. I'd love to see Latvia, to visit Riga, to hear Latvian folk songs and modern Latvian rock, to eat Latvian food and drink Latvian spirits. Latvia could well turn out to be like Wisconsin, a place I've lived and loved, except with people who speak a Baltic language. I wouldn't care. I would want to see it and experience it anyway, even for a few days. Now that I'm married, I'm past the days and the desire to put moves on Latvian women, but to hear a female Latvian accent would still excite the old hormones just a little bit.

Latvia comes up because today's band is Iļģi, self-described as "the most famous world music group from Latvia." Iļģi was formed in 1981, during the days of the Soviet regime in Latvia which made it a client state of the Soviet Union along with its neighbors Lithuania and Estonia. Iļģi's focus was on the folk music of Latvia, and they traveled around the country looking for folk songs that had never been recorded. In looking for these folk songs, they also uncovered tradition and history that the Soviet government found dangerous because delving into folklore was seeing as an act of dissidence. Their concerts, in which they wore traditional costumes and played traditional Latvian instruments such as the kokle (stringed instrument) and the dūdas (a type of bagpipe) had to be approved by government officials and any perceived non-compliance from regulations could result in a canceled concert or a ban. For a while, their name and that of other folklorists was forbidden to be mentioned in the media. Thus, the band and their work and music were hidden from much of the public for years.

The collapse of the Soviet system freed Iļģi from all restrictions, and also probably freed them from strict adherence to folk music. Musicians being musicians, Iļģi wanted to explore what they were capable of musically and they began to transition from a pure folk band to a post-folk band, where the music became infused with other influences besides Latvian folk. Iļģi still remains true to the traditions - the member of the band who has been with them longest teaches Latvian folk traditions to school children, for example. However, they continue to find their way as a post-folk band. For awhile they went to completely electric instruments, but a new generation of music lovers in Latvia have been demanding to hear more of the traditional music, and Iļģi has been going back to the old instruments.  Their music has been described as reflective and meditative in some songs, and upbeat and full of vitality in others. They've been honored many times both in Latvia and abroad, and their 2006 album Ne Uz Vienu Dienu, a collection of Latvian wedding songs from various areas of the country, was was voted second best European world music album of 2006 by World Music Charts Europe. They are also five time winners of the best Latvian contemporary folk album. They have released thirteen albums and two greatest hits compilations.

This song, Visi Meži Guni Dega, is from their 2006 album Ne Uz Vienu Dienu.

The Heart of the Plain: Lo Còr de la Plana and "Sant Trofima"

One of these days I will visit France. Actually, I have been in France but I never really visited France. I was passing through on a train, through the French countryside, and into Paris where I got off the train, took the subway to a different train station, got on another train, and headed through the French countryside to Le Havre where I caught a ferry to Ireland. So, I literally saw France from the inside of a train and I saw Paris from underground, and that was it.

A friend and his wife are planning to rent a villa in Provence next year. Every so often, they travel someplace interesting like Italy or France, rent a little villa, invite some friends and enjoy 2-4 weeks traveling around and seeing the countryside, enjoying the local fare and pretending that life just stops for a while. They have invited us over the years, and over the years we have found reasons not to go, usually because we are too busy or we have something else going on or we have work obligations. But I'm 50 now, and as I am now firmly ensconced in the last half of my life I think it is important that I indulge the things that give me joy. Those things are travel, food, music, and friends. And what better way to get them all in than spending 2-4 weeks in Provence where all of these things would be available to me?

And perhaps, when I am in Provence, I will get to see Lo Còr de la Plana. While prepping for a world music show about a year or so back, I found them. It is my practice to find and buy 10-15 new songs for each show, usually from albums released relatively recently. So, in my iTunes search, Lo Còr de la Plana popped up. Their unique sound, just voice and percussion and hand clapping and foot stomping, was different enough to catch my attention. It turns out there is more to their unique approach. Lo Còr de la Plana was formed in Marseilles in 2001, and they sing most of their songs in Occitan, a language I had never heard of but which apparently is the regional language of Provence. The songs are polyphonic chants in that language, but they apply chants and songs to a modern sensibility. According to Womad, they are not interested in reviving a long-dead past or culture, but appropriating what they need and applying it to the realities of Occitan life today. The band has released three albums to date, and their first album, Es Lo Titre (2003), won the prestigious Grand Prix de l'Académie Charles-Cros in the world music category.

This song, Sant Trofima, is from their 2012 CD Marcha!

Grain for the Harvest: Inna Zhelannaya and "The Wheat"

Here in Albuquerque, in the depths of the summer heat, it's hard to think about fall right now.  Temperatures range into the 90s, and even over 100 F yesterday.  For most of my childhood, my life was spent in three seasons: summer, winter and spring.  My hometown, because it is in a mostly conifer belt, did not have the explosion of fall colors that characterize many of the other regions of the United States.  It wasn't until I moved to the Midwest after college that I saw fall colors in their true glory, and fall remains a spectacular affair that seems all too brief to me.

I also grew up in timber country, not farmland, so the fall harvest of grains was not part of my life.  Yet driving through the fields of the Midwest in the fall, the tall grains like wheat waving in the late fall breezes, shining reddish-golden in the late afternoon sun, is something that I still remember.  There is a calm peacefulness about it, with brief signs of the coming winter as the threshers take the wheat, the leaves begin to turn, and the sun goes down earlier each day.  While I didn't grow up in that type of environment, I can still appreciate it for what it is.

In the same way, I can appreciate Inna Zhelannaya's song The Wheat.  I did not grow up with a lot of electronica in the music that I listened to, but rather was fed on a steady diet of rock and pop.  I am a relative latecomer, in my 40s, to the appreciation of the electronic enhancements that can be applied to music and now at 50 find myself hearing a lot of it on the world music scene.  The Wheat is not an overly electronic song, but instead layers a landscape that befits wheat that is about to harvested, with Zhalannaya's haunting voice overlaying the music like the coming thresher - not grim or even frightening, but inevitable.

Inna Zhelannaya was born in Moscow in 1965 and grew up studying music in school and singing in choir.  After finishing primary school, she attended a music college.  After school, she participated in a number of bands in the 1980s and 90s.  Most notable among these bands was Alliance, which won Radio France International's Best Eastern European album in 1994.  However, soon after Zhelannaya had to leave the band to give birth to a child.  She returned after with a new band called Farlanders, which released three albums.  As of 2013, she has a new band and has released three solo albums.  In her solo work, she reworks old Russian folk songs, some as old as 1000 years, with electronica, trance and progressive rock.  Because of her efforts, and the popularity of her albums, she has been called the "first world music star of Russia."

The Wheat is from Zhelannaya's album Winter, released in 2009, which marked a new direction for Zhelannaya - her voice intricately interacting with electronica and sound design.