songs for the road

When I look back at the time I spent volunteering in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil in 2006, it seems so natural, so inevitable that I would end up in there at some point in my life. I often forget about what drew me to it in the first place: Banda Didá, an all female drumming ensemble that is based there. Before learning about that group, I hadn’t even heard of Salvador, an Afro-Brazilian city in the northeastern part of the country.

Music as it pertains to social movements or social justice has always been a topic of interest for me. When I came across a documentary called Girl Beat: Power of the Drum, I was automatically drawn by the synopsis. It highlighted the Banda Didá organization and the work it did to empower females of African descent in Salvador.

Banda Didá was powerful. I couldn’t believe this group of women whose hands and arms pounded out the rage of the remnants of European enslavement to the beats of West Africa. At the same time, their bodies moved fluidly and rhythmically and their faces beamed with pride in their heritage.

The documentary revealed another world, one that I had not yet been privy to, but in which I felt I likely belonged: Afro-Latin culture. In mainstream grade school education in the United States, the fact that Africans were enslaved in many other parts of the Americas is often ignored. The vivacious modern cultures of Latin America and the African influence on many of them is often overlooked. At that point in my life, I was vaguely aware of Afro-Latin America, but that was the first time I’d seen it so tangibly.

As the daughter of immigrants from a small West African country, I’d grown up on the periphery of belonging. I’d accepted that position at that point. But Salvador da Bahia seemed like a place where the distinct mix of cultures that went into my creation was very much the norm in a very visible way. And sure enough, it was.

There’s a bit of drumming at the beginning of this, but skip to 1:00 for the good stuff. Those drums are heavy, and these women make dancing with one attached to your hips look easy.

I saw Banda Didá for the first time in person just a few days after I arrived in Brazil. Every Tuesday night from August until Carnival, they have a big party in Pelourinho, Salvador’s historic center. They call it a “rehearsal” for Carnival and it’s an insanely fun night of government sanctioned partying. There are concerts, street food and drinks, and baterias (drumming ensembles) marching down the cobblestone streets.

A drum circle with an intrinsic sense of spirit and all kinds of soul.

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Today was a day of everyday markets. Today was a day of sipping Oaxaca hot chocolate and dipping airy sweet bread in it. Today was a day of city squares where people gather as if it were an extension of their living room. Today was a day of sitting on a crowded bench at a street food stand and enjoying a memela. Today was a day of mezcal that tasted of agave and earth in the best way possible. Today was a day of learning of the Oaxaca state I have yet to see and wondering when I’ll get a chance to explore lesser known Oaxacas. Today was a day of wishing yet again that I had more time. Today was day of thinking, “I’ll stay another day.” Today was a day of reminiscing about a year ago today in Oaxaca when I was consumed by the energy of the potential of state elections and the energy of the fellow travelers I’d met. Today was a day of wishing that those travelers were all back here again. Today was a day of remembering the two influential travelers I met here last year who’ve passed on and I’ll never see again. Today was a day of being thankful for the ones who are now no longer travel friends but simply friends. Today was a day of indulging in chicken drowned in mole negro, stuffed with plantains and served with a side of garlicky rice. Today was a day of indulging in Oaxaca, trying to absorb up every last bit of its enchantedness before my inevitable departure.

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I frequently find new songs to add to my music collection, but it’s not often that I come across an artist that I can fully get behind. Though finding a new artist is obviously not as exciting as traveling to some out of the way destination, when I do, I feel a delicious sense of discovery akin to exploring a new place.

A few months ago, I discovered and fell in love with the folksy Americana music of Nathaniel Rateliff. I downloaded his album, In the Memory of Loss, and have been listening to it regularly. It’s the kind of album that I like more with each listen.

Whether he’s singing in his Jonny Cash-esque low range or wailing at the top of his range, his vocals are piercing. With a unique and solid voice, his songs are free to be bare, minimally produced, and gimmick free.

A few weeks ago, I saw him perform in San Francisco when he opened for another artist. There was a loud audience that wanted to talk until the opening act came on stage. Despite the noise, he gave an impressive solo performance using just a few guitars and his voice. He is legit.

Many of the songs on his album have a gorgeous and gritty melancholy edge to them, but one of my favorites is the most upbeat, a song called “Laughing”. It’s the perfect song for movement, for taking off, for being unconfined — even when you’re tied down.

So far it’s been my Sunday afternoon anthem. I listen to it as I fold laundry, wash dishes and try to make the most of mundane tasks and the few hours of the weekend I have left.

Now, my summer break and travel are quickly approaching and I wanna listen to it on road trip with my windows rolled down. I wanna listen to it at the airport surrounded by the energy of the coming and going. I wanna listen to it on the roof of a hostel over a local beer while surrounded by an international crew of travelers who’ll be my friends for a moment or maybe more…

And in a more lighthearted setting, complete with a chorus of hippie/hipstery friends:

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Hindu Chanting + Reggae

Years ago, I stumbled upon this song when this video was played on a short-lived world music channel. I was intrigued by the chanting at the beginning, but when the singer opened his mouth, I’m pretty sure my own mouth dropped open.

There were so many things about the artist that perplexed me: his stage name “Apache Indian”, his demeanor, his Hindu-Rasta style and lyrics. But still, the music was equal parts catchy and calming; it had the kind of melodies that repeatedly tug and twist your emotions and then smooth them out.

I recently rediscovered the song and it still has the same effect. I wish I’d had in my music collection while I was traveling through India. It might have been the perfect song to instill a bit of inner calm while I maneuvered through the daily chaos.

Hip Hop/Dance + Bhangra

I came to know and love bhangra music’s natural ability to fuse with other genres when I first attended a monthly event called Nonstop Bhangra here in San Francisco. For me, a large part of the festiveness of the event is the cultural diversity and connectivity that ensues when everyone dances in whatever style they choose to music that combines many styles. I have yet to hear this bhangra-infused remix of The Power by Snap! at a NonStop bhangra event, but it encapsulates the same sort of cultural fusion on an even quirkier level.

The original version of The Power takes me back to the days of wearing two different colored pairs of socks at once, pegged jeans, and the Running Man. It’s pretty damn catchy in its original form, but mixing in bhangra vocals and instruments actually makes me want to dance to it even more.

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In high school, I was a choir freak. I started in the big choir that was open to all freshman, and worked my way up to the top choir, a chamber group of about 25 singers. I have to eschew humility and tell you that we were a damn good choir.

And with being a good choir came the privilege of going places, mostly around California, but also abroad from time to time. For the 100th anniversary of Italian composer Giuseppe Verdi’s death, we were invited to go to Italy and sing his Requiem with a group of other choirs from California. With these other choirs, we performed excerpts of the Requiem at the Papal Mass in St. Peter’s Square and later performed the entire hour and half piece inside St. Peter’s Basilica.

But it wasn’t the big Vatican performances that stood out at the end of the trip. What I remember most was singing in little churches in Venice, Florence, and Sorrento with just our choir. We’d get there and I’d wonder, “Who’s gonna bother to come hear a random high school from California sing here?” Each time, the audience would start out with just family of the choir. By the end, the pews would be filled with people who heard music as they walked by and wanted to come inside and enjoy it.

After the performances, people came up to us to thank us and it never mattered that we were teenagers from a California suburb they’d never heard of. Those are some of my most fond memories of Italy because it spoke to the country’s all-encompassing appreciation for the arts and it also gave my teenage self a first hand experience with music’s unifying power.

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Aside from the universal language aspect of music, in choir, there is the way in which it connects you with the people you’re singing with. A big part of achieving that togetherness is rehearsing day after day with some nights thrown in when needed. I’m a huge fan of the campy TV show Glee, but as one of my music friends likes to point out, it fails to show how much work goes into a group singing a song really well. There can often be difficult harmonies to learn, various languages to sing in, and pieces to sing in tune without accompaniment.

One of my favorite songs that we struggled through was a piece by the contemporary classical composer, Eric Whitacre. In my last year of high school, we sang his composition, Water Night, a choral piece set to a translated poem by Octavio Paz. (Read the story behind the song and listen to it here. It’s amazing.) It is sung a cappella and breaks into multiple parts, up to 14 part harmony. With 25 of us, that meant that at times, there would just be 1 or 2 people singing each note. I think we must have spent hours trying to overcome the tendency to sing the wrong note. On top of the complexity of the parts, this piece required our distinct and often loud voices to tone down and merge and create an ethereal, water-like sound. The dissonant harmony of the piece was like a microcosm of the choir itself, it put together a bunch of notes that may or may not go together in a tight space, and using their individuality cooperatively, the outcome was incredible. This may be gibberish to you if you’re not into the details of music, but it all just means that Water Night is a very challenging but rewarding piece for a choir to sing.

Over the course of learning that piece, our frustration morphed into appreciation into love which peaked at a performance of the song that helped us win first place in a statewide choral competition. Winning at the end of the night was pretty sweet, but so was the moment right after the performance when we left the stage and knew that after our shared challenge of learning our songs, we’d sung them together as best as we possibly could. Like travel, it’s as much about how you got there as it is about getting there. The process makes the intangible beautiful exhale that a performance is so much more gratifying.

Thinking about the time and togetherness it took to reach choir-induced musical highs made me apprehensive when I came across the idea of a “virtual choir”. But as I watched the video below and got to the part where they played an excerpt of Eric Whitacre’s first virtual choir, it gave me the chills. It is unifying and powerful in a completely different way; it’s not a physical connection, but it is connection nonetheless and it very much reaches the heart with its magnitude and possibilities. Virtual Choir 2.0 joined over 2000 voices from 58 countries, and I dare you say that the result doesn’t incite at least a tiny bit of hopefulness in you.

(In case you can’t see the video here, here’s a link to it on the TED Talks website: http://www.ted.com/talks/view/lang/eng//id/1110)

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