Favorite Albums of 2017 Number 7 - La Santa Cecilia's Amar Y Vivir

When I was a kid, my dad would play his records on Sundays. Among them were a lot of Mexican artists. For some reason, Cubans, or at least my family, have a strong connection to Mexican music, probably because Beny Moré and others went there to record back in the early 50s. It's also likely because of the movies featuring Pedro Infante, Jorge Negrete, Javier Solis and others that were hugely popular in Cuba (if you haven't seen Coco, this is my excuse to bring it up and it's actually relevant for several reasons). In later years, when there was a big party, member of my extended family would sometimes hire a local, all female Mariachi band to come. I liked this all fine at the time, but I mostly just internalized it. The boleros I came back around to in my teens. But in the past 10 or so years, I've grown to really appreciate the traditional Mexican styles like ranchera as well as some more modern re-interpretations from bands like La Santa Cecilia. Their album, Amar Y Vivir (En Vivo Desde La Ciudad De Mexico, 2017) captures everything I love about Latin American music, Mexican in particular.

This album was recorded in various famous locations in Mexico City, mostly on the streets. At various points throughout the documentary on the making of the album, the band talks about how they grew up learning from street musicians and eventually doing it themselves. It's also an album about reconnecting with the roots of Latin American music. The songs range from old boleros like "Odiame" and "El Ultimo Trago" to a reinterpreted cover of Cafe Tacuba's "Ingrata" as well as La Santa Cecilia's own compositions. There are featured guests throughout, lending this an air of casual musical conversation that reminds me very much of my visit to Cuba at 5 years old. So, basically, it's nearly impossible for me not to love this album.

There isn't a bad song on here, but my favorite is "Como Dios Manda," an original song from 2014's Someday New. The song was already written in a traditional style, but here it gets a full mariachi treatment that truly makes it timeless. At the beginning of this year, I had the chance to see them live and this song remains the most amazing concert experience I've ever had. Every time I hear the song now, it affects me deeply. This version amps that up and while it's much more elaborate than the simple way it was played at the concert I attended, the emotion is just as palpable. Which is true of just about every note Marisol Hernandez sings. She says she hopes the Mariachis continue playing this song and that one day it becomes one of those songs people just request of them along with all the other traditional songs. I know this song already has that status for me.

In a year that started off with the election of a "person" who made a point of insulting and targeting immigrants, Latin Americans and Mexicans in particular, it's great that this band has found a way to protest with love and art. During the concert in January, they commented on this and while it was still too early to determine how the year would play out and what the reactions would be from our communities, they already had a road map in place to simply do what they had already been doing, maybe with a little more focus and passion. They comment on this again in the album video and it's inspiring to see and hear. Sometimes indirect protest is the most lasting.

Perfect Songs - Caramel

There are as many ways to describe desire as there are desires. There are also many ways to describe smoothness. When those two things merge in a song and somehow combine to make you literally feel and taste desire and silk at the same time, then something otherworldly has just occurred. One such perfect collision happens in Suzanne Vega's "Caramel."

The sense of longing in this song drips slowly and sweetly from the smooth groove of the bass line and velvety guitar. Vega's voice is a lonely call of unhealthy, forbidden desire in a sea of melted caramel, restrained only by the stickiness of the whole affair. And by the way, I wonder if it is about an affair or what exactly makes this love forbidden to her, but at the end of the day, the details don't matter. I love how this evokes a slightly Parisian cafe sound, with the accordion, but several acoustic versions also make clear that there is a bolero foundation here as well, of the kind I grew up listening to, which might explain why I respond so much to the basic melody of this.

I think these combinations of exotic sounds at the heart of it give this a deeply soulful and almost archetypal sensuality that works beyond the lyric. But then the lyrics, this story of a love - a lust - that cannot be, should not be, told in minimal detail, but still rich in flavor, adds a bittersweet sadness that elevates every individual part of the song. It's just perfect.

2015 Week 20: This Party Leads to Lament

Every day, Shayera's Spotify playlist gets better. I'm genuinely surprised by the range of things she asks me to add to it. She's got pretty much all bases covered. This week alone, she had me add Elvis Costello's "Miracle Man," Charles Aznavour's "La Boheme" and Bombay Bicycle Club's "Always Like This." That's some range, right there. Especially when you consider she'll shuffle this on her tablet later and you'll hear "The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Theme" followed by Hank Williams or Ana Tijoux. It's almost to the point where I won't mind playing her list in the car. Almost.

Do it.

This week I was reminded of how great Diego El Cigala is. I first heard of him years ago when my mom was playing a copy of his CD with Bebo Valdez, Lagrimas Negras. She knew I'd love it and was right. Old boleros, played simply, with just piano, upright bass and maybe a cajon for light percussion and unexpectedly, sung in a gypsy flamenco style that somehow makes perfect sense. El Cigala's voice is the epitome of that style which gives voice to every inner ache and longing in a way that is almost too much.  There's also a full length concert of Bebo y Cigala, shot in beautiful black and white, that I later saw on PBS. Do yourself a favor, grab a nice bottle of wine, turn off the lights, put this concert on and just be there for an hour or so. It's on YouTube, here. But what got me thinking about him was that he was on NPR's Tiny Desk recently. Check it out, for a more condensed version of why he's awesome.

So, this week's playlist doesn't have much rhyme or reason to it. It actually came together over 2 weeks since I dedicated last week's to B.B. King. This starts with a party and gets kinda heavy in the middle, before hitting on some drama and ending on a Portuguese fado, a style I've been meaning to explore for a long time. Already I'm finding that it has a lot in common with the bolero. So this party leads to lament, and that's the name of the playlist, then. Enjoy.

Cuba 1979 - The Living Room Concerts

One of my earliest and happiest set of memories is from 1979, when my parents and I went to Cuba. My parents had left years earlier, separately, before they were together, for Spain and this was the first time they had been back to see the family they left behind. At 5 years old, that didn't mean a whole lot to me, but the emotional impact of it still resonated. And it was on this trip that, years later, I'd realize just how important music was to my family.

Pretty much every night we were there, the large family would gather at a different house each night. There were more cousins and uncles and aunts than I can count. At these gatherings, one cousin would bring out his guitar and he and his sister would sing while everyone was gathered. My dad had a super 8 camera and most of this was filmed. These were, literally, my first concerts.

                     
La Carcel de Sing Sing was a favorite of my teen aged cousins back then. It's not hard to understand why, since it's a dramatic song, filled with angst and tragedy, just what teens love. Essentially, it's a murder ballad, about a man in Sing Sing prison, on the eve of his execution for the murder of his lover. Once again it's Jose Feliciano, who captures the song best for me.

                     
Over the years I've watched those home movies and tried to track down those songs. Beyond La Carcel de Sing Sing, there was this other song that I only recently (thank you, Internets) was able to identify. Pueblo Blanco, by Joan Manuel Serrat, talks about a village lost in time, which makes this footage moving in a way that could never have been planned. I don't even care about other versions, because at this point, even though this is just an excerpt, it won't be topped in my mind, heart and soul as the one legitimate version of the song.

            

And my cousin on the guitar was not the only star. The only complete song I have from that time is sung by his sister. The song is called No Espero Mas, a bolero that I know next to nothing about, which makes it that much better. 

                 

These are obviously not professionals, but the imperfections are exactly what I love about it. It's raw and, sure I have a personal connection to it, but I'm sure it carries an honest emotional impact that translates to outsiders as well. I'm not entirely sure what my cousins lives are like today, but I do know in most cases, the years have been much less than kind and there has been tragedy. That's not something I will go into, but I think the fact that music is able to anchor these memories as a happy moment for me, and allows me to paint lives for these people that are different from what the truth might be, is indicative of the power of music.And these home movies, these memories, have influenced what I look for in all music since that time.

Escandalo

One bit of family history that I wish I had more details of was one of my uncles on my father's side. You see, he wrote at least one song that has been recorded by many artists, including Jose Feliciano, about forbidden love. I wish I had more information on my uncle, but it's one of those things I never really asked more about and now both he and my father are gone and I don't have much of a connection to the rest of the family that might know more. In any case, aside from the fact that I have a connection to the song, it's one of my favorite boleros, possibly because it's so open to interpretation as to what the exact nature of the forbidden love is, lending it some dark undertones and mystery. To me, Feliciano's version has always been the one that captures the essence of the song the best, with it's simple bohemian style atmosphere and production.

                       

The atmosphere of that recording, sounding like it's in a small room, perhaps even someone's living room, is something I always search for in music. And Feliciano's voice, though not everyone's cup of tea, has a quality that is perfect for these songs of longing, a certain distant melancholy that I can't put my finger on. His guitar playing has never been in contention, and the flamenco flourishes he adds to his arrangement give it an air of gypsy danger that paints a vivid, though ambiguous image. And yet, there are other versions. Such as this more recent one by Xiomara Laugart, which could easily become a new favorite for me, for all the reasons I just mentioned.