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August 16, 1998
Carolan With Salsa
There are many reasons why one shouldn’t travel around Central America with a harp. Among these are the fairly uniform 100% humidity throughout most of the region, and having to travel by ‘chickenbus’, where space and oxygen are rare luxuries and all luggage is arbitrarily thrown on the roof, in the trunk or under one’s seat depending on the country. Not to mention the sheer availability of strings outside of a few places in Mexico – and the inconvenience of lugging around something so large, awkward and heavy.
When I was planning to leave England, I knew I had an approximate time frame of five months, three of which would be spent working on archaeological sites in Panama and Nicaragua. At the last minute, an email friend offered me some work playing in a restaurant in Antigua, Guatemala for the remainder – giving me all the excuse I needed to ignore my better judgement and the advice I’d been repeatedly given, and to simply wrap up my harp well, pack some spare strings and hope for the best.
I’m in Antigua now, having survived a month in Panama and less than a week in Nicaragua. It is a beautiful colonial city, the former capital from 1543 until its destruction by earthquake in 1773, leaving it with a disproportionate number of ruined churches and convents. Nowadays it is full of Spanish schools, making it a far more obvious place to encounter language students and tourists than the large musical community I discovered instead. I spent my first morning playing on a rooftop with a guitarist, two Native American flautists and an African drummer; a few hours later I was introduced to one of the local Andean groups, Sol Latino, who had been warned of my arrival and was entranced by the thought of live Celtic harp music. In the evening, after their performance, we returned to a friend’s room and exchanged songs throughout the night, sometimes on harp, sometimes on guitar, with or without voice, or on panpipes or flutes. At one point they started playing Greensleeves beautifully on guitar and wooden flute before repeating it a second time with a flamenco rhythm.
That was my introduction to the Antiguan music scene – several Andean groups who play charangos, panpipes, wooden flutes, guitars, traditional and African drums; other panpipe-players, pianists, drummers, a violinist, a bamboo sax player and an enormous number of guitarists. Apart from one of the part-time musicians in Sol Latino, who is currently studying the concert harp at the Conservatorio in the capital, this is the first time that most people have heard, or even seen such an instrument. Particularly a small Celtic harp playing what is invariably described as ‘the music of the angels’.
Part of the excitement of playing here is, admittedly, my growing as a performer, having primarily only played for myself in England. Although now I am content to play anywhere there are people willing to listen, before arriving here my ‘concerts’ had been limited to a palaeontological lab in Balboa, Panama; being divebombed by oversized flying ants in Managua, Nicaragua; and a beautiful evening playing calming music from a rooftop over central San Salvador, El Salvador.
Regardless of whatever bookings I have for the evenings, I always try to make a point of playing in the plaza in the afternoons, as most people are relaxing and socialising, boys are offering to shine shoes and Indian women and girls try to sell their handicrafts. Within minutes of starting, I am usually surrounded by children anxious to touch this strange object, people lounging nearby trying to appear nonchalant, tourists full of questions, and other musicians waiting until the song or set is over to approach me. ‘What is that?’ is normally the first question I am asked. One day when I didn’t particularly feel like playing, I made the mistake of offering the children a go, and have been fighting for full possession of my harp ever since. It is more than just a little offputting to be playing an emotional song and having the bass strings tweaked frantically by someone who shouldn’t be there.
Playing in the park was originally a spontaneous idea one Sunday afternoon (when I was completely out of money) whilst waiting for Sol Latino after spending the morning playing with one of them on panpipes in a convent. For at least the following few weeks I was recognised throughout town for those few hours’ playing, and was approached by the organiser of a local fiesta who wanted me to play in the pueblo’s church.
Most of my time is spent with other musicians: talking with them, planning to play together even if we rarely make it beyond the listening-to-each-other stage. A flautist, who has been invited to represent Guatemala with her guitarist partner at a function in Los Angeles, heard about my playing and after a brief afternoon together has invited me to spend some time with her at her treehouse on nearby Lake Atitlan. The one time I finally performed in public with a friend on keyboards, we were filmed and interviewed by one of the national TV channels. Playing in the park one night, I met a man anxious for harp lessons in return for the use of his piano, as well as the local mariachi band, to whom I tried teaching a few Breton songs.
One day, playing in the park, one of the audience introduced himself as a photographer from National Geographic, on an assignment covering the ancient cities and ruins of Central America. After talking together for a while, he decided to return in the near future to prepare an article on the music scene in this town. Several of us are in the process of learning new instruments, or wanting to (I am currently yearning after an Andean bamboo sax), so at times we joke about forming a new group, with perhaps only one of us playing an instrument we’re at all familiar with. And playing Andean music, of course…
In six months, I have only met one other Celtic musician, and am only slowly becoming flexible enough on the harp to be comfortable with other musical traditions. Still, that doesn’t stop my regular nightly sessions, either in someone’s hotel room or in the park, for local and travelling musicians and anyone who happens to be with us at the time. At other times we might spontaneously launch into one of our stock favourite songs (such as ‘Way Ay Ay’ by Kjarkas, ‘Lejos del Amor’ by Illapu, ‘Dust in the Wind’ or ‘Greensleeves’) in some café or bar when the day is over. Some of my most memorable moments have been with a Mexican group, visiting for the weekend while performing in town, and playing during a power cut – the room lit by matches and lighters – at a farewell party. Also very vivid is the excitement of an Irish pianist on discovering I was borrowing a keyboard for a while (officially to prepare for an audition at the National Conservatorio), leading to many an entertaining night.
A consequence of the traveller population is an unusually spontaneous and dynamic atmosphere, reflected in the many projects and offers I’ve received in a very short time. For example, I had found a restaurant I was determined to approach for work, only to meet the about-to-be owner in a late night bar a few days later. He was also the person responsible for us being filmed for TV. A ‘crazy drummer’, as I call him, keeps dropping hints about some project he has in mind, always refusing to elaborate. A Colombian friend, who plays a cuatro, similar to a small guitar, has been arranging for me to play at a local home for mentally and physically handicapped adults. The most bizarre request has been to play for someone bitten by a scorpion in order to calm her and help her sleep. Most exciting yet: a ‘legendary’ Andean musician has recently returned from a long stay in Japan and in anxious to organise something with me and his current group. Sigh… I know I should start thinking about returning to England soon, but with an opportunity like that….
Right now I’m preparing to record – an idea I’ve had at the back of my mind for some time. A few days ago, on a rare trip to the capital, one of my friends in Sol Latino urged me to record as soon as I could – despite the horror stories I’d heard about their own recording experiences – so that I can earn more money selling my music whilst playing. I’ve been advised to learn some of the more popular local and, yes, Andean songs – really, I have no idea why there is such a very strong following here! – but intend to learn some of my other (non-Andean) favourites too regardless of how unfamiliar they might be. I don’t yet know how it will work out, but I’m building up to asking some of Sol Latino to join me in the studio; although they all play Bolivian, Peruvian and Chilean music beautifully, I can’t help but wonder how some O’Carolan or Breton tunes will sound with a salsa rhythm, or with panpipes, a charango or an African drum in the background. At the very least, it should be representative of the experiences I’ve been having here so far.
And talking of experiences, I’m meant to be heading up to the Chiapas, Mexico the day after tomorrow, where I hear there are musicians I’m already looking forward to meeting and playing with. Of course, it might mean missing out on playing for Bill Gates when he arrives in town sometime in the next fortnight….
Sounding Strings, Spring 1999
written July 1998
Posted by chantal at August 16, 1998 03:09 PM