Leyla McCalla

Lately I am really digging Leyla McCalla's latest album, a tribute to Langston Hughes and an exploration of Haitian folk music. She's not quite an amazing vocalist, but there is something appealing to her rather unadorned vocal style, plus her banjo and cello skills are enjoyable! She can sound perfectly fine just accompanying herself on the cello or banjo, and possesses classical credentials and folk/old-time cred from playing in New Orleans (as well as with the Carolina Chocolate Drops, an excellent band I once saw live). Check out some of her music here, as well as her excellent rendition of "Lonely House," a Kurt Weill number I have always been fond of. Besides that, I really enjoy her covers of Haitian folk tunes, including "Mesi Bondye" and "Latibonit."

A Day for the Hunter, A Day for the Prey: Popular Music and Power in Haiti

Reading Averill's A Day For the Hunter, A Day For the Prey was both informative, interesting, entertaining, and useful for Haitian music enthusiasts. As a novice to the field of Caribbean music and much ethnomusicology, it was an excellent introduction to the complex subject of 20th century Haitian music as it pertains to history and social relations. The only notable, recurring flaw was the plethora of typos, and perhaps how little the book has to say about pre-20th century Haitian music (despite a good introduction to the subject, the book does not delve deeper into the origins of Haitian meringue or other genres as much as I would like. In Averill's defense, however, that was not the purpose of his book, so those seeking an exhaustive text on the subject of the entirety of Haitian music should supplement this text with Largey's work on Haitian mizik savant or salon/art music, and perhaps read some of Creolizing The Contradance in the Caribbean.

The ultimate strength of Averill's book is to demonstrate how central music, particularly popular music, was in social conflict, class relations, and the production of ideological and political trends in Haitian history, from the early 20th century's period of US Occupation to the rise and fall(s) of Aristide. Various intellectual trends can be clearly revealed to be part of broader ideological shifts in Haitian consciousness, such as indigenism, negritude/noirisme, Duvalierism, populist democratic movements, and militarism. Indeed, from the colonial era to the 21st century, Haitian music has been central in military institutions (the fanfa of the Haitian military helped spread creolized forms of the European contredanse that later birthed the Haitian meringue, as well as shape popular musical practices, such as the ochan and koudjay in Haitian society). In addition, the military, as well as elites, have endeavored to use music to legitimize their rule or at the very least, draw crowds, such as in the koudjay, where elites paid musicians to play in public spaces for them. 

Another example of how essential music is to Haitian society would lay in Carnival, a special time where the urban poor and middle-classes could seize the streets, issue a pwen against elites, celebrate themselves, and shape decisions made political and military circles (For instance, Baby Doc chose to leave Haiti in 1986 before Carnival, where more bloodshed would have likely occurred as the anti-Duvalierists would have seized the street, or how Carnival allowed a space for critiques of Baby Doc's wife, and thereby, undermine his regime and legitimacy). The importance of music in Afro-derived Haitian practices, such as Vodou and rara, also shaped Haitian political and intellectual discourse as the indigenist and noirist schools espoused Vodou and Haitian peasant forms as a way of celebrating a Haitian identity and/or championing 'black power,' a product of the US Occupation's racism, the Haitian left (represented by writers and activists, such as Jacques Roumain), the writings of Jean-Price Mars, Haitian class/color dynamics. This of course, aided in the folkloric movement where groups like Jazz des Jeunes (which became a favored band to represent Haiti identity abroad, as well as the most talked about group in Haiti for some time in the 1940s and 1950s, before the rise kompa) and singers such as Candio and Lumane Casimir became famous during and after the US Occupation's end. 

The use of Haitian Vodou and rara would also shape the democratization movement in the 1970s thru the 1980s, as rara influenced the mizik raisin movement and artists and cultural troupes, including Boukman Eksperyans, the twoubadou tradition (itself a product of Cuban son influences brought back by migrant workers) and singers like Manno Charlemagne incorporating Vodou allusions in their songs while challenging Baby Doc and the military, and last but certainly not least, the pro-Lavalas movement. The name was taken from a song by a peasant organization, and Aristide himself was a guitarist and songwriter who used Vodou references that appealed to the Catholic and Vodou majority of Haiti's poor. By the way, one must note how Vodou and peasant cultural practices were central to the two nationalist movements in Haiti, forming a Haitian national identity and resistance to the US and foreign imperialism, and sustaining the democratic wave from the 1980s to the present. 

One thing I particularly enjoyed was learning about how close kompa was to the rise of Papa Doc and that of his successor, Baby Doc. Early kompa, such as Nemours Jean-Baptiste and Webert Sicot, for instance, also recorded an ochan (or dedicated Carnival pieces) to Duvalier, celebrating his early regime, thereby legitimizing him with their immense appeal as commercial musicians (here are some examples, from Jean-Baptiste). Since this is the first I have read of how kompa's emergence in the second half of the 1950s after the Vodou-jazz phase of artists such as the orchestra of Issa El Saieh or Jazz des Jeunes, kompa direct, 'created' by Nemours Jean-Baptiste and the first hugely commercial music of Haiti (which reached the countryside through the proliferation of radio technology and national radio stations, the very same stations that had previously celebrated the music of Jazz des Jeunes), kompa direct did emerge in the context of the fall of Magloire and the rise of Duvalier, with mostly middle-class musicians such as Jean-Baptiste being a core part of the expansion. Similarly, the mini-jazz phase of kompa music celebrated middle-class lifestyles, exemplifying how the rise of Duvalier was tied to (at least some) middle-class support since the middle-classes and other non-elite actors were allowed some direct participation in the kleptocracy. Some kompa bands would retain their stain of Duvalierism long after breaking away from participating in the pro-Duvalier Carnival celebrations, or receiving money (Bossa Combo being one example of a band with Baby Doc's patronage).

Anyway, I'll stop rambling about the many positives of this book and how insightful of an analysis it is. In the end, the book is a testament to the importance of music as a product and influence in history, whether on the side of elites or the popular struggles. In addition, Averill goes to greath lengths to illustrate how important cultural creolization, the diaspora, and international influences were/are in Haiti, from Cuban son and mambo to Dominican merengue and US hip-hop. Furthermore, there are numerous excerpts from songs that buttress Averill's arguments, and shed light on the Sicot-Jean-Baptiste rivalry, and the problems of commercial music in Haiti (ranging from lack of studios and the necessary technology and funds in Haiti, the pattern of musicians blowing all their money away quickly, musicians only getting paid for recording in the studio and getting no royalties, numerous cases of song theft, etc.). In short, run to read this book for an informative read on the relationship between music and power in a Caribbean context. 

Lisette quitté la plaine

Lisette quitté la plaine

Moin pèdi bonhè moué;

Zié moin semblé fontaine. 

Dépi moin pas miré toué.

Le jou quand moin coupé canne

Moin chongé zanmou moué;

La nouit quand moin dans cabane,

Dans dromi, moin quimbé toué.

Dépi moin pédi Lisette

Moin pas souchiè calinda;

Moin quitté bram-bram sonnette

Moin pas batt Bamboula.

Quand moin contré lautt négress 

Moin pas gagné zié pou li;

Moin pas souchié travail piess,

 Toutt qui chose moin mourri.

Lisette moin tandé nouvelle

To compté bientôt tourné.

Vini donc toujou fidelle

Miré bon passé tandé,

Na pas tardé davantage,

To fait moin assez chagrin,

Moin tant com’zozo dans cage,

Quand yo fait li mouri faim.

According to Potomitan, this old Creole poem was written in 1757 (later published by Moreau de Saint-Mery in 1797) and composed by a white Saint-Dominguan! It's interesting as an example of what would later be known as Haitian Kreyol, as well as how white composers used the language of creolization in ways that were picked up by people of African descent, such as "Lisette," which became a folk song of people of African descent in Louisiana (presumably sometime after Saint-Dominguan refugees and immigrants settled in the area after the Haitian Revolution). Unfortunately, I cannot locate a verison of the song that is more 'traditional,' but here is one excellent arrangement featuring Mattwilda Dobbs. Lescot, the daughter of a Haitian president, also sang "Lisette." Some scholars link "Lisette" to a cocotte musical tradition and see its influence in the more famous "Choucoune" of Oswald Durand, which was set to music by Monton. 

Ancient West African Music: The Epic of Sunjata and the Kora

Enjoy some ancient Malian music! Sidiki Diabate and Toumani Diabate are widely considered two of the best kora players of recent history. I particularly enjoyed "Sunjata," an epic I have read in translation but never heard presented in the way griots and musical ensembles performed it. Although some scholars question the antiquity of the kora (they doubt that it existed back in the early days of the Mali Empire, founded by Sunjata in the 13th century, preferring a more recent origin, perhaps in a limited geographic region in the 18th century), it's a beautiful instrument that is now one of the musical symbols of the Mandinka people's cultural heritage. Indeed, hearing this music, along with the ngoni and other stringed-instruments of this region of West Africa, one cannot help but think of the African origins of the blues, perhaps one of the reasons 'desert blues' is popular in Mali. Also, enjoy "Djourou Kara Nany," supposedly an ancient song about Alexander the Great, whose legendary conquests and history reached ancient Mali and entered into the oral traditions of Sunjata. Check out another version of "Sunjata" featuring the ngoni (a type of lute) here. 

Junot Diaz and Edwidge Danticat

Either I'm too lazy or the internet just doesn't have any photos of Danticat with Diaz, but this is one of my favorite photos, as well as an illustration of how white males are still conceived as the 'best writers' in the US. Supposedly, for great writers under 40, only 1 black woman and 1 Latino/Afro-Latino are considered 'great' by the likes of the New Yorker? I'm sure all these writers are great, and some of them (David Foster Wallace) I plan on reading some day, but I still prioritize reading more works by people of color and women authors. 

Gagaku

Gagaku is quite interesting, and with an ancient history stretching back to the Heian period, a way to 'go back in time' to a much earlier world. Learn more about this genre of Japanese classical music here. 

Deux Guidons and Mazora

"Deux Guidons," a critique of Nemours Jean-Baptiste, is quite catchy! "Mazora" is also quite catchy, proof that I need to hear more Sicot, the 'main rival' of Jean-Baptiste in the early years of kompa. Reading Gage Averill's short text, A Day for the Hunter, A Day for the Prey has been quite useful for finding additional early kompa musical suggestions, as well as a useful book for placing Haitian music in the social and political context of the rise of Duvalier and ideological currents. In addition to these two jams, check out "Machan'n Fresko," "Yolita," and this. Like Averill, I would say Sicot was a better saxophonist, but perhaps Jean-Baptiste was the better bandleader? Nevertheless, "Yolita" sounds like a copy of another kompa or kadans song, perhaps by Orchestre Tropicana? Can't remember which one, but they sound too similar to be a coincidence. 

Dupuy's The Prophet and Power: Jean-Bertrand Aristide, The International Community, and Haiti

After finally reading The Prophet and Power: Jean-Bertrand Aristide, the International Community, and Haiti by Wesleyan professor Alex Dupuy, I have a better understanding of what has transpired in recent memory in Haiti. The narrative is quite 'fresh' to me, given my background on Aristide from my mom's pro-Aristide relatives in the 1990s and the US leftist interpretation on the two coups against Aristide (each one supported by Washington) that I received from Democracy Now and other sources. Naturally, things are far more complex than the Bush administration simply forcing Aristide out of power, a process more fully detailed by Dupuy's coverage of the 'hybrid' character of Aristide's presidencies (authoritarian and democratic, condoning violence and corruption, but cloaked in a rhetoric of social democracy, poorly planned verbal attacks on the bourgeoisie and wealthy elite behind the opposition, and Aristide's early messianic stature among the dispossessed masses).

Dupuy, like say, Noam Chomsky or Democracy Now's coverage of recent Haitian history, places the quest for democratization in a broader context of US, French, and Canadian imperialism, but unlike them (and in a fashion, reminding me of a Chilean professor of mine who emphasized domestic factors in the coup that ended Salvador Allende's presidency), emphasizes local Haitian contradictions within Aristide's administrations and the tradition of the Haitian prebendary state (Dupuy's term for what another scholar refers to as the 'predatory' Haitian state, or what Trouillot likened to the Haitian state against the nation) that led to the downfall of Aristide on two occasions, in his first term in the early 1990s and again in 2004.

So, yes, of course US imperialism and Western-controlled flow of economic aid forced Aristide into negotiations with the opposition (which proved itself only interested in forcing Aristide out of office both times), but Aristide's poorly organized Lavalas party (lack of a party structure or coherent political plan  that alienated the bourgeoisie sectors he needed on his side to retain power, and the prevalence of gangs in the urban slums that would claim to act under Lavalas and therefore be used against him by the US, CD (Democratic Convergence), and other observers during his second term) ended his terms prematurely with no substantive progress to bring about what Dupuy refers to as a 'maximalist democracy.'

In short, the symbol of change and progress for the Haitian underclass, the majority of the population who live in abject poverty, Aristide, succumbed to foreign meddling, internal flaws of his 'hybrid' political organization, rhetorical strategies that further alienated the very sectors of the population within the growing opposition movement, and a burgeoning crisis of human rights violations as gangs roamed the slums, journalists were killed (former Aristide supporter Jean Dominique was among those killed by someone working for Aristide's government, or so it is believed), the opposition's former military leaders crossed the border from the Dominican Republic, and Aristide even lost his legitimacy with much of the underclass and middle-class (violence against university students certainly didn't help his case, nor did the general lawlessness, corruption scandals, and inevitable coup, which, unlike the first one, sparked no major protest in Haiti comparable to that of the former), sealing his fate to be forcibly removed from office and choosing to flee with his life intact.

In addition, Dupuy's book offers a more complex view of Aristide's fall than other studies which exaggerate the extent to which Aristide's marriage to a light-skinned Haitian-American led to his loss of legitimacy in the eyes of the urban poor and peasantry. The 'color' question likely influenced a change in the perception of Aristide, but I am sure the poor of Haiti are not so 'color-struck' as to automatically question the legitimacy of a leader for marrying a light-skinned woman. Indeed, reading some of Aristide's speeches, he made it quite clear who he considered the enemies of the poor to be, the bourgeoisie, elite, and the 'cold neighbor to the north' who kept the Haitian masses poor for the last two hundred years. No doubt, he believed that to some extent himself, despite being forced into negotiations that crippled his presidency.

One last thing, I am still not entirely convinced by Dupuy that the fall of Aristide is due just as much to his own internal flaws and the scandals, human rights violations, and chaos that preceded the second coup. It seemed inevitable, something Dupuy recognizes, that the opposition despised Aristide for what he symbolized, and would've removed him from power regardless of how organized he was or if he had an organized political party and did not allow his government to be blamed for human rights violations (something the military juntas and interim government would even more guilty of for the greater number of deaths), or he if cut back on inflammatory speeches against the bourgeoisie, or had he not disbanded the Army (which I don't see how he could have avoided). All these errors and questionable decisions on his part certainly didn't help in the long run, but in the case of Haiti (unlike Allende's Chile), dependence on foreign aid and neoliberal institutions such as the World Bank and IMF with their structural adjustment plans, the longer history of US imperialism in Haiti, and the legacy of the prebendary or predatory state, Aristide would've likely been removed from power regardless of how effective a politician or how many negotiations or deals he made with opposition forces, the Clinton or Bush administration, and the Haitian moneyed classes he did win over.

Anyway, this is a very useful text to examining the current crisis in Haiti and the lingering effects of Duvalierism without Duvalier as Haitian 'democracy' continues to be a sham, corruption remains rampant, the 'elected' president is a pawn of foreign corporate interests and Haitian elites, promotes sweatshop labor, tourism, and a 'minimalist' democracy where right-wing forces, domestic and abroad, continue to profit off the marginalization of the 'poorest country in the western hemisphere.' How Haiti's 'lawlessness' in the aftermath of the 2004 coup led to MINUSTAH and the growth of the NGOs after the 2010 earthquake are all connected with the exile of Aristide, the legacy of Duvalierism, Western imperialism (Wikileaks just revealed how, like previous administrations, Obama pushed against raising the minimum wage in Haiti), and the persistence of extreme social inequality and divisions within Haitian society where only violence seems to be the main key to controlling the state (the recent violent protests against Martelly, for instance, or the frequent police and MINUSTAH targeting of civilians, talk of restoring the Army, and 'selling out' to the capitalist world system through luxury tourism projects, no real protection of the environment, and a non-response to the crisis faced by Dominicans of Haitian descent are all examples of the plethora of internal problems within the Haitian social structure and its peripheral place).

Manifest Destiny

We miss you, Dave Chappelle.

Nemours Jean-Baptiste's Rhythme Commercial

I love old Caribbean music, especially the sounds of large orchestras before music was cheapened by heartless electric guitars (just playing). I just prefer an older aesthetic in a lot of Caribbean and African music, especially if it's very jazz. For an example of the influential Nemours Jean-Baptiste, who was influenced by Dominican merengue, Cuban music, US jazz, and other styles of music, check out "Rhythme Commercial," which follows the 'compas direct' rhythm innovated by Jean-Baptiste in 1950s Port-au-Prince. Despite all these non-Haitian influences, compas still flows from Haitian folk music, mereng, and even older dance music of Haiti, such as contredanse.  

For any bored readers, check out a song by Juan Luis Guerra based on "Rhythme Commercial," his own "Mal de Amor." I never liked Juan Luis Guerra ("Ojala que llueva cafe" was the song I first heard by him back in my high school days, and I never cared for his voice). Interesting song though! 

Alain Jean-Marie's Haiti

A lovely jazz song and homage to Haiti. I gotta check out more of Alain Jean-Marie's work, I need more jazz in my life. 

Creolizing Contradance in the Caribbean

Finally got around to reading Creolizing Contradance in the Caribbean and I found it quite informative. As someone 'new' to the genres of Puerto Rican danza and merengue, this accessible but academic text full of essays by various scholars (including Largey on the Haitian contradance and meringue/mereng) gives a full history and background to the development of creolized forms of European dance and instrumentation that would later give birth to merengue, danza, and other genres of Caribbean music. Alas, the search for the origins of the merengue and Haitian meringue remain elusive, but this book is a step int he right direction to clarifying the origins of both genres, as well as the Puerto Rican danza.

The book is also a powerful reminder of the importance of music and dance in creolization and Caribbean history. For instance, from the humble origins of the contradance in rural England to courtly to ritualized dance of French aristocrats (where its prestige would spread throughout Europe and the Americas) symbolized the growth of the bourgeoisie in western Europe, the rise of the waltz and independent, intimate partner dance (the triumph of individualism over the collective-oriented dances of pre-capitalist Europe), and its spread to whites, people of color, and slaves in the colonial Caribbean. Once established in colonial societies in the Caribbean, whites and people of African descent learned the dances that were 'hot' in Europe, followed musical developments (as well as receiving musical training, slaves who fused contradance and quadrille with 'neo-African' dances, drums, and characteristic rhythms, such as the cinquillo, tresillo, amphibrachs, etc., like the tumba francesa of eastern Cuba, transformed European dances into something else, with more swaying of the hips and picking up close partner dance.)

As one would expect, the focus of the book is centered on the Spanish Caribbean, where creolization in music occurred sooner, focusing on Cuban Afro-Caribbeanized forms of contradanza, particularly the Habanera rhythm that spread across the world from its Cuban origins in the 1840s and 1850s. In addition, this text is useful for endeavoring to trace the origins of the merengue, which apparently first appeared as a type of dance or style based on the Cuban contradance in Cuba. It also appeared in Puerto Rico in the 1840s (where it was banned in 1849 by the Spanish governor for promoting indecency and immoral dancing!), but the merengue of Puerto Rico may not have anything in common with the Cuban dance of the same name. In addition, Puerto Rican danza lived longer than Cuban danza and danzon, giving us "La Borinquena" and numerous compositions by formally trained pianists, such as Juan Morel Campos and Manuel Gregorio Tavarez, developing in its own evolutionary path away from Cuban creole/Afro-Caribbean music forms. One difference, however, between Cuba and Puerto Rico in the 19th century, is that more Afro-Cuban musicians and composers seemed to have played a role in Cuban danza and danzon, while Puerto Rico reflected migration patterns from colonial Venezuelan (elites fleeing Bolivar's revolutionary movement) and danza remained more connected to elite audiences and urban Puerto Ricans, particularly in Ponce and San Juan (although the occasional jibaro musician would play the stately, elegant danza).

Moving on, the 'merengue' of 19th century Puerto Rican danza seems to have spread to the Dominican Republic, where 'merengue' did not connote the Cibao region music of rustic, accordion-led bands. Indeed, I now know I have a lot of 'salon merengues' to listen to from Dominican composers who closely followed Puerto Rican danza music, especially Juan Morel Campos. However, the music we now call merengue cibaeno did materialize in the late 19th century, and was fused with the Puerto Rican-styled danza in the early 20th century to express a national identity through music. But the salon merengue, in its early history, was quite different from the music we recognize now as Dominican merengue. On Haitian influences in Dominican music, beyond the carabine dance brought by Haitian solders under Dessalines, the Haitian mereng is not declared to have an earlier origin, probably because, as Largey states, there's no evidence for the Haitian 'meringue' before the second half of the 19th century.

As for the Haitian meringue, Largey's chapter is very useful for elucidating the importance of creolized European dances in Saint Domingue and Haiti. The Haitian contredanse, remains present in folkloric troupes, despite the overwhelming focus (from Haitian composers eager to find something expressing kinship with Haitian peasantry and the African origins of the Haitian people) on 'neo-African' and Vodou dances and music, though one can hear contredanse recordings by some 1950s Haitians artists. Furthermore, Largey calls into question Jean Fouchard's claims about the meringue as central to Haitian musical identity (although Largey is receptive to the idea of a significant carabine influence from military regimental bands from the era of Dessalines and the first half of the 19th century in military and political circles), preferring to see examples of meringue, like "Choucoune," as an example of elite Haitians trying to connect with the lower classes and cultivate a national identity. Anywho, it is interesting to read Ludovic Lamothe basically say that the Haitian meringue owes more to Cuban Habanera and Puerto Rican danza music than any earlier Haitian music, despite the appeaerance of cinquillo or quintolet throughout Afro-Haitian music.

Undoubtedly, Largey's chapter on Haitian contredanse and meringue stood out, as well as the chapter on the Puerto Rican danza. I am not too informed on Haitian music history, but Largey's short chapter illustrates how Haitian music was always about attempting to develop a national identity that transcended class and color divisions (indeed, Largey claims that balls hosted by Haitian mulatto presidents, such as Petion and Boyer, were 'color-segregated' where only elite blacks of high military rank were welcome, so music was always contentious. In fact, the Haitian military bands, fanfares, such as the Fanfare du Palais National (led by Occide Jeanty, a composer and formally trained in Paris), were hired to promote politicians or military leaders, while also playing for elite and subaltern audiences.

Given the diverse audiences of these fanfares, all segments of Haitian society would have been exposed to the meringue and martial music at some point (at least in the towns and cities), thereby cultivating a national identity through music. The private salons, on the other hand, hosted pianists playing the stately meringue lente, slow meringues popular with elite audiences, while the popular classes supposedly preferred fast-tempo meringues and Carnival music (Lamothe's "Nibo" would be one example of a Carnival hit and "La Dangereuse" a meringue lente). Unfortunately, the exact origins of the Haitian mereng remain elusive, and the only carabine dance I found online was that of Dominican merengue groups, not exactly what I'm looking for.

Chico & Rita

Chica & Rita is a lovely film with a beautiful, animated aesthetic that, at its most basic level, is a love story. Featuring two Afro-Cubans as the love pairing, the film addresses racial discrimination in Cuba and New York, emphasizes Cuban music and jazz (including appearances of famous jazz artists in the film, such as Charlie Parker, Chano Pozo, Thelonious Monk, Dizzy Gillespie, Nat King Cole, and Tito Puente, and others), and follows a rather unrealistic love relationship (How exactly do Chico and Rita fall in love after spending one night with each other in Havana?). Regardless of how unrealistically the two fall in love, it's an endearing story where jazz and Cuban music unite to tell the story of Afro-Cubans in New York (and the importance of Afro-Latinos in the development of jazz, particularly "Cu-bop" and other developments, including classics such as "Manteca," the very song Chano Pozo dies in a bar to while Chico and Ramon look on). 

Nevertheless, I cannot help but feel that this is an animated (and Cuban) version of Black Orpheus, with less focus on 'traditional' or 'exotic' aspects of Afro-Cuban culture (although a Santeria scene where Rita dances her gorgeous self off and a presumably Cuban female equivalent to a Haitian houngan appears). Like Black Orpheus, jazz fused with local music plays a large role in this film (Cu-bop, Cuban jazz, and mambo rather than bossa nova feature prominently in this stunning film), and both are fundamentally love stories set in 'exotic' Latin American nations where blacks live 'colorful' lives full of music, passion, and Iberian-American urban architecture (Havana and Rio). They also promote stereotypes of the sensual, tropical mulata, but that's still debateable, given the time differences in the film and the rather openly sexual romantic scenes that often characterize recent adult-oriented films. Either way, there are some rather moving dance scenes, comedy, and open sexuality lacking in most animated features. 

Of course, Chico & Rita is a little different for encompassing New York, Paris, and other US cities, and for directlty addressing racial discrimination (Chano Pozo tells Chico and his friend, Ramon, when they first come to New York from La Habana, about Jim Crow and an Anglo-American refers to Chico as a junglebunny). Oddly enough, white Cuban racism against Afro-Cubans is rendered invisible, save by indirect allusions, but Rita, while inebriated, bravely and perhaps foolishly (for its negative impact on her career as a singer and actress in the US), tells it like it is about how she could perform at elite venues in Las Vegas but could never rent a room at the adjacent hotels. 

In addition, the overwhelming view of Cuba under Fidel is one of an unfree and censored music scene with persistent blackouts. It's hard to read too much into it, but considering how influential Bebo Valdes was to the film and how he left revolutionary Cuba (he recorded several of the songs used in the film and the protagonist, Chico, shares his surname), Fidel's Cuba's accomplishments in racial equality are lost in the overall dismal state of independent music not tied directly to his party. This is not to suggest that Castro's government achieved racial equality (certainly not!), but some of the benefits of post-revolutionary Cuba are lost in this film, which also has the unfortunate tendency of overlooking decades of Cuban history. One scene does include a nice homage of young Afro-Cubans rapping and dancing to hip-hop as the old Chico walks by the bustling Havana street to his old apartment. 

Anyway, I'll cease my rambling here. It's a good film that has a very interesting aesthetic style, lovely music documenting the history of interactions between Cuban and US jazz, and some representation of the world Afro-Cubans lived in during age of mambo, chachacha and bebop. At least we get some Afro-Latinos on the big screen and a celebration of Cuba's musical legacy. 

Mayajigua

Just beautiful. Nothing short of elegant, brassy Cuban love. Valdes was a master of Cuban piano and jazz, and on this mambo, one of my favorites of Cuban music, leading an amazing orquesta. I may have found my favorite Cuban artist! The brother was well-versed in US jazz, worked in Haiti for a minute, and mastered various genres, including Cuban contradanza/danzon, such as the classic "La Bella Cubana."

The Black Count

Tom Reiss's The Black Count is a fascinating read on the life of Alex Dumas, the mulatto father of famous French novelist, Alexandre Dumas. Dumas's father significantly shaped his son's literature, and therefore influenced French national identity (as well as reaching great prestige and power in France's military during the Revolutionary period, a testament to the vast array of African experiences in European history), so the story of Dumas's general father, son of a Saint-Dominguan slave woman and a less than noble aristocrat in Jeremie (modern Haiti) is one deserving more attention. Of course, one could critique Reiss's book for some anachronistic views on race, mainly referring to Dumas as a 'black' at various times, despite the experience of people of color and mixed origins being quite different (varying with class, of course). I suspect using the American 'one drop rule' view of blackness made more sense to the author, as well as for marketing purposes. It sounds better and is easier to refer to Dumas as the 'Black Count' rather than the "Mulatto" or "Half-breed."

Anyway, another problem I had with the book was how little of Dumas's life in Saint Domingue was revealed. His mother's personal life or history is essentially non-existent, and though Dumas lived in Saint Domingue until thirteen (he received a 'proper' and aristocratic education in France when his father sent for him after abandoning his son in the colony to return to France and take on his title and whatever remained from his family's wealth), so much of Dumas's early life remains lost (although finding sources on that period would be excessively difficult, compared to the amount of documentation one could find in France or in personal letters from Dumas, his loved ones, etc.). In addition, Reiss does not do enough to connect the dots between the Haitian and French Revolutions (and when he does, he overlooks or reveals his ignorance of Afro-Europe), espeically in how he seems to sincerely believe that Dumas's rise to fame in the French revolutionary military had no precedent. People of African descent could rise to all kinds of positions of authority in the last 500 years of European history, including scholars, professors, writers, aristocrats, artists, skilled laborers, musicians, composers, etc.). Indeed, Reiss has quite a bit to say about the Chevalier de Saint George, another man of color with roots in the French Antilles, who was Marie-Antoinette's favored violinist and a prominent man on the Parisian social scene (and involved in the military).

If one looks at Revolutionary-era France in the context of the the degree to which 'liberal' bourgeois revolutions were 'inclusive' or anti-racist, I suppose it was ahead of the rest of Europe, but given the long history of African-European relations, one could not help but feel that Reiss was too positive in his portrait of the Revolution (though appropriately critical of many courses it would take, such as the rise of Napoleon, or the restoration of racial discrimination and slavery in legislation, not to mention the brutal French suppression and re-enslavement of the people of Guadeloupe or Leclerc's attempt to conquer Saint-Domingue and the savage violence with which white Europeans attacked, killed, sold into slavery, and tortured black and mixed-race Saint-Dominguans). I suppose what I am mostly getting at his how mainstream audiences still need an accessible history (much like The Black Count) that goes into great depth to reveal how influential people of African descent were in Europe, from Rome to the present.

At the end of the day, Reiss's text is successful as a biography of a man whose treatment by the racist Napoleon and French state revealed how elusive racial equality remained/s in France. The 'Black Devil" (as he was called by Austrians) would lead numerous campaigns in Europe and even Napoleon's foolish Egyptian campaign, only to be imprisoned in Italy (one aspect of his life that would influence The Count of Monte Cristo, as well as his military experiences shaping The Three Musketeers, and his mixed-race experience as a slave/free person of color, Dumas's lesser known novel, Georges). After reading this book and how much Napoleon hated Dumas (some of it due to Dumas's towering stature and being perceived by the Egyptians as the leader of the French army), one cannot help but feel that the fate of the slaves/ex-slaves in the colonies and the French republic would have been better served with a true believer in republicanism, like Dumas. Despite all the 'good' reforms and liberal policies promoted by Napoleon (such as protections of Jewish communities in Europe in areas conquered by Napoleon) and the supposedly 'good' spread of the Napoleonic legal code, the man's real legacy can be seen in dismantling radical abolitionism, warmongering, and imperialism. There are quite a few Europeanists and French historians I could and should recommend this book to to correct some of their ignorance or undue praise and obsession with Napoleon.

Lover Man

Source

Roger Ram Ramirez, Afro-boricua New Yorker, gave us "Lover Man" through the lovely recordings of Billie Holiday. Though the song does not reflect Ramirez's Afro-Latino background, it certainly indicates the influence of Puerto Ricans in New York on the US jazz scene. For some other great renditions of this standard, check out Sarah Vaughan's, including this one I am in love with (and check this out, too, for an example of how the younger Sarah Vaughan expressed her balladry in the company of greats such as Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker). Last but certainly not least, Charlie Parker's recording of the song in a drunken mess is still worthwhile.

Merengues for January

Jemima Pierre tells it like it is on BAR for their December 31st show on the racist Dominican Republic's government, the horrible corruption of Martelly (and his illegal dealings with Dominican politicians and elites) and the vast gold deposits of Haiti. As usual, poor Haitians are sold out while Haitian elites side with whoever they can to sell out and exploit the black poor. In other news, I am also becoming more and more of a fan of Dominican merengue. Check out "Una mujer de color" by Angel Viloria (my guy) and "Felix Cumbe." I think the merengue of the 1960s onward incorporated more influences from salsa. Last but certainly not least, one of the more innovative figures in post-Trujillo merengue, Johnny Ventura's "La Agarradera" is also worth listening to. While you're at it, check out my nascent Dominican merengue playlist on Youtube. Weird, odd fact, Johnny Ventura would become a mayor of Santo Domingo, just as Manno Charlemagne, a Haitian singer, would also become mayor of Port-au-Prince. It's interesting how musicians on both sides of the island would become mayors of their respective capital cities...

210 Years

I'm celebrating the New Year and Haitian independence by listening to the music of Occide Jeanty and eating joumou soup. I couldn't find the music for free online, so I purchased an album as MP3, and I'm loving it! Sure, a lot of it is military marches and perhaps overly drenched in the European classical music tradition, but I do love me some classical and art music from Caribbean composers. Alas, if only one could find more recordings of some of the priceless gems of Haitian art music...Happy New Year!

Pierrre Blain: Moin Pa Ni Doudou

Ah, what better way to begin 2014 with some excellent old Caribbean music? Pierre Blain, a fine vocalist, gave us this lively number, "Moin Pa Ni Doudou," which might have been recorded in Martinique or Guadeloupe. Regardless of where it was recorded, this is the kind of Haitian music I love the most: jazzy piano or keyboards, featuring an orchestra, and full of the sensual, stately sounds of the Haitian mereng. Check out "Suzette" for another example of this style I find so enchanting.