Morley Brings Lyrics to LA; TJ’s Got Talent 2

Don’t look now, but sincere heartfelt lyrics may just be making a comeback. Just when you (or I, that is) thought that hip-hop’s mindless but infectious rap and the lush soundscapes of re-mix dance grooves had just about rendered real lyrics obsolete, there are encouraging signs that such is not necessarily the case. No, I don’t mean Coldplay. Sure, they’re okay, but still not much more than window-dressing in the lyric department. Read the lyrics without the music and you probably wouldn’t get very far or be very impressed. Come to think of it, that’s probably true of most pop (*in the broad sense) music. That could be changing, and Morley is part of that trend. Bottom line: if it’s good, it’ll sell. I’ve never seen such an explosion of pop* music of all genres, and almost wouldn’t have believed it possible if I weren’t seeing it. I remember distinctly in 1961 (at the age of seven) thinking that it had all been done in pop* music, nothing left to do. I was wrong. This is what the MySpace revolution is all about, more than just false friends and free music. We’ve always had free music. Now it’s OURS.

Morley wears her politics like a badge close to her heart, and keeps it right there, available for inspection. It serves as an inspiration for her, not a whipping post. Listen to ‘Women of Hope,’ dedicated to Aung San Suu Kyi, quoting her timeless dictum: “If you feel helpless, then help someone,” and continuing on, “I believe the Almighty knows each and every one of you by your name.” This is good stuff (the fact that Daw Aung San’s political naivete’ and unrealistic expectations may have actually harmed her cause and held her country back is another story: would any country allow a woman to be President while married to a foreigner?). But that’s another story. Aung San was just visiting her mother in 1988, remember…

Morley’s equally at home with her emotions… and her beauty… and her sex… as in ‘Pleasure’: “one kiss on your lips… I could die and be happy… to have lived… just to bring you pleasure.” We haven’t seen female suppleness and emotional vulnerability like this since Joni Mitchell. Then there’s the perennial existential dilemma expressed in ‘Temporary Lighthouses’ (“on a raging sea… doing my best to follow your lead”). Tracy Chapman’s got nothing on her, not much anyway. Her optimism and down-hominess is infectious, too, not bad for a NYC gal. Obviously she knows that McArthur Park is hardly LA’s prime venue, yet didn’t even insult the place by condescending to it: she lifted it up as an epiphany, an event something larger than us that we were sharing in. Did I yet mention that she’s a looker, even elegant? One blurb puts her “somewhere between Sade and Portishead.” I’d add Joni Mitchell and Tracy Chapman- two points define a line; four points define a compass.

I’ll get used to Morley’s name eventually. I still visualize a middle-aged kinky-haired TV reporter, but it’ll pass. Why she chooses to market herself through world music channels I don’t know, but she’s welcome. I’m loosening my requirements. McArthur Park itself is undergoing a face-lift, too, I might add. First they ran off the drug dealers, now they’ve run off the soccer players (read: the port-a-poopers ARE CLEAN). They must have read my complaints. The soccer players’ loss is our gain. They’ve got a free music program second to none and almost every night of the week, gracias a Levitt Pavilion. Get down there and show some support, so they’ll know their efforts were not in vain.

Susan Boyle, the frumpy church-singer, is now a full-fledged singing star only three months after her first Britain’s Got Talent appearance. I experienced something similar in TJ (Tijuana) a few nights ago. His name’s Armando Vidal, aka ‘El Gume’ (?!). He’s got a voice like a church organ, a guitar style somewhere between Segovia and the Del Castillo brothers, and I estimate he tops the scales at over three hundred pounds, all the better for that voice to resonate inside of (how’s that for a dangling participle?). I saw him do a solo set of his own particular brand of trova, folk songs from all over Latin America, and including poems that he himself put to music. Apparently he plays salsa also, but I haven’t seen that yet. Latin America’s got TV judge shows, and they’ve got an ‘Idol’ show, but I don’t think they’ve got a ‘Talent’ show yet (we stole their ‘Ugly Betty’ btw). When they do, look out! Fortunately, you can see him now for the price of a drink, at Antigua Bodega de Papel, Calle 11 between Revolucion and Madero in beautiful downtown TJ, all the way down from the silver arch, usually Thursdays but Google first to make sure. GO!

SEASON’S OVER FOR OUTDOOR MUSIC (ALMOST)

I guess it was fitting to have Poncho Sanchez close out the MacArthur Park music series for the summer, today being Mexican Independence Day and all, he being a native of Laredo and long one of LA’s foremost jazz and salsa percussionists. The audience responded by turning out in force, something that cannot be said of all the shows there. He did not disappoint either, with a nice mixture of both styles, for dancing and listening too, both concrete and abstract. His band featured some especially inspired trumpeting in addition to his own poly-rhythmic conga drumming. He makes it sound easy, but it’s not. The fastest drummer is not necessarily the best, and ditto for the music. Jazz is all about phrasing and subtle nuance. Salsa is all about rhythm and danceability. These guys have both. Nothing else is needed or desired.

This is in marked contrast to the band that proceeded Poncho on Saturday, Marito Rivera y su Grupo Bravo from El Salvador, not coincidentally Central American Independence Day, notwithstanding the fact that there is no such thing as an independent Central America. But no matter, they obviously have some regional solidarity, so that’s cool. But the music’s another thing. Though their cumbia and Latin pop is certainly related to Poncho’s by genre, the extra cutesiness and quasi-choreography is something to behold, keyboardist and lead guitar and various singer/percussionists swaying and dipping to the music. It’s enough to almost make you think that Central America is hopelessly ‘small time’ in comparison to its big brothers in Mexico, South America, and the ‘mother country,’ Spain. Still it’s all good fun and definitely the ‘real thing’, if such concerns are important. There weren’t many gringos in that crowd, just me and one other group conspicuous by their presence. Turns out that was Ms. Levitt herself, sponsor of the whole schmear, alive and in the flesh. Thanks, Ms Levitt. Cutumay Camones started the evening off with some socially conscious lyrics to some folk music Latino style, a bit limited and repetitive, but still significant considering El Salvador’s tortured past and the FMLN banners in the crowd. Grupo Bravo did a rap version of ‘Juana la Cubana,’ too.

More interesting musically was the group Gongmyoung from Korea. An all-instrumental group featuring various percussions and even guitar, they were able to weave sonic landscapes that were quite compelling, creating melodies where by logic melodies don’t normally exist. With some finessing and adapting, these guys could be a hot item on the world music scene. With some ethereal vocals added to taste, they could even be the next Sao Dingding, not to be confused with the Ting Tings. They were there to celebrate Chusok, the Korean harvest festival, and were preceded by HanNuri, doing Korean dancing and drumming. The Korean community turned out for this event larger than I’ve ever seen, so it was a fitting end to the season, each week a new process of discovery. It’s a shame more people don’t take advantage of it. Okay, it ain’t Temple Bar or Largo or Safari Sam’s, but who’s posing with a mai tai? The music was generally good, so that’s the main thing.

It’s pot luck. One night you get the students, another night you get the masters. That’s the good and bad of free music, but that’s the way it’ll have to be. I have yet to pay a peso or peseta, pound or punt, libra or lira, real or riyal, dinar or dirham, ruble or rupiah, yen or yuan, kyat or kip, won, ringgit, dong, baht, or dollar to hear any of the music I’ve heard 4-5 days out of every week this summer, so I reckon that’s way cool. Every week is like a little mini-fest, roaming from stage to stage, loving some and leaving others. Sounds like romance. And I haven’t seen the half of it really, being too scattered to encompass it all. I tended to concentrate on my own little golden triangle that starts around Hollywood & Highland where I live and catch the ‘Rumble and Hum’ Tuesday evening jazz series, continuing on to randomly scattered Grand Performances at Cal Plaza just two red line stops past MacArthur Park, where I see more music than any other one place, usually wrapping the week up at LACMA with its Friday and Saturday evening jazz and Latin music series just past the Farmers’ Market with its Thursday and Friday music series. So it’s route 217 and the 720 and the Red Line, where I pick my wife up in Thai Town every evening on the way home. Don’t mess with me. I’ve got a system.

But, I guess I could’ve just pitched my bedroll at MacArthur Park, since I was there two-three nights almost every week for over two months. I probably wouldn’t be the only one, and I’m not talking about Levitt Pavilion volunteers. It’s not the classiest of music locations to be sure, but isn’t that part of the attraction? Estas’ en el barrio, hombre. So what if someone’s pissing on a tree somewhere over there? They don’t charge extra for that. Most ads don’t mention MacArthur Park any more, just the street address, as if people wouldn’t go if they knew. This is justified if you have bathroom anxiety. Check out the port-a-pooper and you’ll know why. Reminds me of the first time I went to Mexico over thirty years ago. Remember the crapper at the bus station for the bus from Oaxaca to Puerto Escondido? They are (or at least were) despicable, and I’ve got low standards. Ask my wife. Sometimes you gotta’ get down and dirty. Sometimes you don’t. A little ‘atmosphere’ is great with world music, but not that. Since they can’t figure it out, I’ll have to say it.

The water court at Cal Plaza is the exact opposite, if that’s possible, cool and abstract to the point of distraction, a pond in front of the performers and shooting fountains behind. I guess it’s a yin/yang thing and aesthetically inspiring, but almost distracting. And then there’s that yawning gap between you and the performer, as if you’d have to walk on water to get there. It’s only inches deep, but security would probably get there first, unless you hip-hopped the islands. That might be a shortcut to stardom after all. Hip-hop? Hey, wait a minute…

There are many others, many of which I have yet to fully explore, including the Santa Monica Pier, the Skirball and the Autry, but probably my favorite of the summer freebie venues to which I regularly go for world music is LACMA by the tar pits. It’s not a proper stage really, the sound system is basic, and the acoustics are non-existent, but the audience is always as good as the music. They’re warm and appreciative and most importantly, they’re there, even if this is not exactly their ‘there.’ I don’t think that many people actually live right on Museum Row and there’s no convenient subway line, but there’s always a crowd, black and white and all shades of between-ness, munching and dancing and playing with the kids. And the stage is right there in front of you on the same level. You can’t more intimate than this. If only that sun would just go on down…

It ain’t over yet. The Festival of Sacred Music still has a two-week run to go. On Thursday Savina Yannatou will be at the Japanese American National Museum with songs from the Near and Middle East; sounds like a good bet for us red-line sewer snakes. Cava and Gomez are at Amoeba in Hollywood today Tuesday as DJ and performer. The Latino Film Fest continues in Hollywood until Friday. Soon the weather will turn cool and the rains will come. What next? Oh yeah, I almost forgot. This Sunday will be the latest installment of KCRW's 'world fest' in which reigning world music diva Lila Downs will play third fiddle to fusionista crowd-pleasers Ozomatli and Michael Franti's Spearhead, barely edging out TJ techno-rancheristas Nortec Collective featuring Bostich and Fussible, whoever/whatever that refers to. It sounds like a sewing machine that's a real bitch or semi-automatic or both. Es la frontera, hombre. Welcome to World Music 401.

IT’S ALWAYS SUMMER SOMEWHERE; IF SATURDAY THEN BRAZIL?

What’s the difference between a pit and a bull-hockey mom? The pit knows how to say nothing without even speaking. It’s like using change to promote your career or using your career to promote change, or using the power of example instead of examples of power. Who writes this crap? It’s like déjà vu all over again. It’s like too many cooks spoiling the broth. It’s time for that seventh-inning stretch. One-line zingers and time-worn clichés seem to dominate our YouTube MeVee MySpace FaceBook SecondLife era, giving high-def resolution and Mosly Def soundtracks to low-brow insults by high-income low-breeds in the no-concept re-runs that we collectively refer to as our national body politic. It is a headache with no resolution in sight. Fortunately I’m not a political commentator or I might have some spleen to vent. As it turns out I limit myself to this humble blog and a more Baudelairean form of spleen that looks for release in a thousand bastard poems and homeless confessions, some godly some not, most still seeking the light of day in a system that seeks fashion not form from editors who grin through gapped teeth when they say without the slightest trace of self-consciousness, “stay tortured, my friends.” One man’s spleen is another man’s bad attitude is another man’s political righteousness. Go figure.

Fortunately for this mostly-world-music phase of this mostly-world-something blog, there are only one or two clichés that apply to our current situation- i.e. it ain’t over till it’s over, and that’s usually right after the fat lady sings. In other words, summer’s almost over and so is the world music, at least the freebies. I’ll either have to start paying for it, what little can be found, or go off in search of festivals to get my rocks off. But festival season’s over, you say? Mais au contraire mon cher; it’s only just begun. If you don’t believe me, just look at the left-hand column of this blog, and that hardly includes all the little local hoe-downs. Always wanted to see the world? There’s no better time. The era of cheap flights is crashing headlong into the era of high-price gas, so the future of world travel is uncertain. For world music in the US, September is actually probably the best month, with major festivals still to come in Madison (this week) and Chicago and Albuquerque (next week). The fact that they co-ordinate somewhat ensures that some of the best-quality acts available will be there.

Even right here in LA, the Sacred Music Festival has many ‘world’ acts, probably more and better than other so-called ‘world fests’. Unfortunately it’s scattered over many days and all over the greater Metro area, thereby likely stretching one’s patience as thin as the definition of ‘festival’. Still for my money festivals are the best place to see and hear music, for not only do you get the music, but you usually get food, arts and crafts, and other aspects of the culture too. WOMADs may be on the decline, presumably due to lack of local funding, but local promoters are increasingly taking up the torch and the slack. That’s the way it should be, right? Just last Saturday here out at La Brea (‘tar’) tar pits, the Brazilian Consulate put on a nice little festival where you could listen to music while shopping for T-shirts and sipping acai. It’s not bad. I hear all the Olympians are trying it. I managed to catch a trio playing some nice smooth Brazilian ballads in the process. I didn’t manage to catch their names. Other than that Los Pinguos showed up for Grand Performances at Cal Plaza on Friday, playing their particular brand of ‘Latin/Indie/Other’ (so their MySpace site says) high-energy pop balladry that they bring with them from their native Argentina. Nice stuff.

I also managed to catch a bluegrass group called Bearfoot at MacArthur Park. Now I don’t normally consider bluegrass to be ‘world music’, not unless it’s sung by Inuits from Greenland, but there are always exceptions. Global Fest in New York had one earlier this year, so there is precedent. Nevertheless, this particular group hails from Alaska (no direct relation to you-know-who, but you never know…), so that’s ‘worldly’ enough for me I guess. Actually without a flat-picking banjoist (or any banjoist for that matter), their music might more resemble an old-fashioned string band, so instrumental (pun intended) is the Scruggs flat-picking banjo style in modern bluegrass music. Worldly or not, and notwithstanding the fact that my little brother plays dobro in a bluegrass band back home down South, bluegrass music is not usually the type of music I sit in my living room and listen to, no matter how much I might respect it. Still I found myself getting lost in it, though these are hardly trail-blazing musicians. But the three-part harmonies, the aw-shucks goofiness and small-town honesty should remind us all of something we might have quickly forgotten upon moving away from such, i.e. ‘home’. For those who don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m sorry, truly sorry. It’s nice to see a traditional-music band in LA not called ‘groovy’ or ‘psychedelic’ something. These guys and gals are so straight that it’s hip.

Maybe last but certainly not least, this week is nothing short of spectacular for world music in LA. First there’s the beginning of the World Festival of Sacred Music with perhaps the single most impressive day of the entire season at UCLA’s Royce Hall on Saturday September 13, with Tuvan throat singing, fado, samba, zouk, Sufi, Qawwali, Persian, and Javanese music played by such luminaries as Chirigilchin and Waldemar Bastos among others. In addition there will be songs and ceremonies at the Haramokngna American Indian Cultural Center in La Canada all weekend and Canciones del Alma at the MOLAA in Long Beach on Sunday as part of the same program, not to mention Balinese music at the Center for the Arts in Eagle Rock and Indonesian and Tibetan music at the Pacific Asia Museum in Pasadena, among others. Whew!

That’s not all. MacArthur Park celebrates its final weekend of the summer season in grand style, with a Korean ‘Chusok’ harvest moon celebration with Gongmyoung on Friday and continuing on Saturday with Central American Independence Day with bands Cutumay Camones and Marito Rivera y su Grupo Bravo on Saturday. This all culminates with Mexican Independence Day celebrations on Sunday with Mariachi Los Angeles and the legendary Poncho Sanchez and his Latin Jazz Band. While it may be surprising that Central American nations celebrate their mutual independence from Spain rather than their individual independence from each other, it’s certainly no surprise that Mexicans celebrate the day of Hidalgo’s grito as their day of independence. No city in Mexico is without a street named 16 de Septiembre. The festivities have already started. See you there.