It’s the curse of the world traveler and world music aficionado- while other normal people are off doing other normal things, we’re out searching for that elusive ‘other’, at one and the same time exotic and novel and accessible, a dimension hidden in plain sight, degrees of separation defined only by the mutations of time, language, and circumstance. So while others are off at Sunset Junction groping and grappling with the latest ‘indie’ fave raves, I’m searching the Metro web-site, trying to get to the African Marketplace at Rancho Cienega and the Guatemalan ‘Fiesta Chapina’ out at Hollywood Park all in one single day’s outing, and still end up in Thai Town in time to meet my wife after work. Hey, Thai Town’s not too far from Sunset Junction, maybe I could do a quadruple flip off the Hollywood springboard and win gold at the LA Metro Olympics. Such are the daydreams of the world traveler reduced to arm chair gymnastics and the search for new dimensions in inner space. Does anyone still remember that there was an active public search for a fourth dimension little more than a century ago, such was the need for such? Time heals all.
Okay so the African Marketplace probably ain’t so exotic really, variations on typical SoCal street fare, booths and entertainment, etc., good clean fun, well advertised and open to all who want to get irie with the Homies out on their own turf. But the Feria Chapina? You gotta’ be a dedicated Gringo/Farang/Gaijin looking to ‘out’ himself to end up there on a Sunday afternoon. You’ve got to read HOY. The Gringo ‘zines are out of the loop on this. It should be an adventure and a sort of homecoming too, shouldn’t it? After all Guatemala was my first point of ex-patriation way back in the old post-hip days when Europeans still slept on the beaches of Lago Atitlan and tried to decide where they’d make their next ‘scene’ when they tired of that one. We Americans were trying to figure out how to make a buck on it. Many of them are still there, though I got tired of it a few years later when they found a dead body in the ravine by our house and the Guatemalan civil war was on. I still traveled in and out for many years doing business, but the bloom was off the rose.
I went back last year for the first time in twelve years, and it really hadn’t changed that much since the last time, though quite a bit from the first time. In other words, most of the changes happened on my watch, in effect caused by me and ‘my kind’. It’s always been like this, the search for something else, not necessarily better but ‘other’, on both the micro and macro scale. When the sun starts arcing low in the sky, I start making plans to go south for the winter. The same thing happens a little bit every day, circadian rhythms not so much different from ‘circanian’ ones. I made that word up. There’s a constant process of extending oneself outward, come what may.
In other words, the ‘Feria Chapina’ sucked… big time. Notwithstanding my sentimental attachment to Guatemala, I figured that since the Central American fair by MacArthur a couple months ago at no charge was half-way decent, then this one at Hollywood Park for a five-spot should be pretty good. It wasn’t. After running a zig-zag maze of vendors, designed for their optimum exposure, certainly not fire safety, you finally arrive at… nothing. The music was lousy, the lines were long, the costs were steep… and the crowds were thick. Ironic, isn’t it, that America’s ethnic minorities are happy to pay a premium to call something their own, while across town they could get something in the same genre but world-class, all for free? I wish I’d gone to the African Marketplace instead, but I’ll be damned if I’ll be disappointed twice in one day.
Fortunately I caught the NEA Folk Arts Heritage Award Winners downtown at Cal Plaza first. That was eminently worthwhile. This is the highest honor that can be bestowed on an artist in the folk and traditional arts. The program started with Richard Hagopian on the Armenian oud, accompanied by dumbeg and kanoun. Born in the Armenian stronghold of Fowler near Fresno, Hagopian has studied music and the oud since an early age and received its highest honor, the title of ‘oudi’ in 1969. His music is available from Smithsonian Folkways Recordings and any of their outlets. The next NEA recipient on the bill was Zakir Hussain, the Indian tabla master probably best known by most people for his work with Mickey Hart on the earlier Grammy-winning Planet Drum album and the current Global Drum Project. In fact he is a fixture of Indian classical music and has a PhD in musicology in addition to having collaborated with many Westerners in his long and storied career, from the Beatles to John McLaughlin. Sunday was unusual in that he was playing alone unaccompanied, admitting “I have no idea what I’m going to do.” Apparently he figured something out, teaching us all along the way, thumping poly-rhythms while simultaneously picking bass lines and weaving melodies in and out. The man is a master.
That was the highlight but the week had other bright spots, also. Saturday evening at LACMA featured Scott Martin Latin Soul Band, playing a lively set of standards. Ex-Poncho Sanchez, saxophonist Martin has played all over and recorded with many greats. Saturday evening they must have been hungry, because the titles seemed to contain a large number of references to food, particularly “Fried Neck Bones and an Order of Fries.” Sounds good to me. Later that evening Dona Oxford played some rockin’ soul and blues over at MacArthur Park. Too bad nobody was listening. They were all over at Grand Performances’ Cal Plaza presentation of the DaKAH Hip Hop Orchestra, conducted by Geoff Gallegos. It was interesting and the music itself was great, but the hip-hop aspect itself was a bit disappointing, as usual. As always the attitude outweighs both the music and the message, leaving me all revved up and no car to drive. I persevere in my quest to get into hip-hop. The concept of ‘talking blues’ helps, but I don’t remember it being quite so… so… so full of itself.
This week the hot ticket is the Andy Palacio tribute by his band The Garifuna Collective, joined by Umalali. For those who don’t already know, the Garifuna are runaway slaves from the Caribbean who mixed with the local Arawak Indians and founded their own civilization and culture. Finally they landed on the shores of Central America where Belize, Guatemala, and Honduras all meet. There they remain today, speaking their own Arawakan-based language in addition to either English or Spanish or both. Andy Palacio was their pride and joy, prominent in the world music community until struck by a heart attack a short six months ago. It should be a good and heart-felt performance. Besides that, there are Sammy Figueroa, TAIKOPROJECT, and Mili Mili at MacArthur Park and Kobo Town at Levitt Pavilion in Pasadena. Angel Lebron is at LACMA Saturday and Charangoa is at the Farmers’ Market Friday evening. Jose Rizo’s Jazz on the Latin Side All Stars are at Hollywood & Highland tonight Tuesday. See you there.
Have you ever noticed that the best
travel writers never really considered themselves as such? Look at anybody’s list of favorites and
you’ll see names like Kerouac, Bowles, Matthiessen, etc. quite often, along
with names like Theroux and Iyer, writers who certainly consider themselves
travel writers, but not exclusively. You’ll
only rarely if ever see a guidebook writer.
But there is a historical tradition which goes back directly to Marco
Polo and Ibn Battutah , and even Tacitus and Herodotus, before them. 
