Niño Josele - (self-titled)

Niño Josele
(self-titled), Sony BMG
2003

Although many Americans having found their way to Ottmar Liebert, Jesse Cook, or Strunz & Farah via PBS specials or the purchase of a discount cd, it is lamentable to think that probably a good number of them stopped developing their understanding of what flamenco music is not long afterwards.  The trouble is that the above artists often don't use much of the flamenco traditions.  The "rumba" for example, a rhythm that is often associated with flamenco (and which Liebert, Cook, and S&F use to exhaustion), is actually a Cuban rhythm.  Although some pure flamenco guitarists *might* use it (surely, Paco de Lucia got worldwide attention secondary to his release of a rumba tune in 1976 called "Entre Dos Aguas"), it is known to be on the periphery of flamenco.  Alongside their severely limited use of true flamenco forms and rhythms is their severely limited hand techniques: despite the art being largely noted for complicated techniques utilizing the fingers (a variety of rasgueados, picado, golpe, alzapua) Cook and Strunz & Farah use guitar picks.  And so, the actual "flamenco experience" offered by the above artists is somewhat comparable to one thinking they know what Italian cuisine is, on the grounds that they just ate an Oscar Mayer "Lunchables" pizza combination.

The problem for New Wave, New Age, and neo-pseudo-quasi-flamenco guitarists is that one knows little of flamenco by a guitar alone.  Without the guitarist's counterparts of the cantaore (singer) and the bailaores (dancers), much of the guitar work lacks purpose.  The singers and dancers of flamenco give the guitar its true utilization, and these vocal and dance forms are a large part of the reason why there is such a solid and long-held tradition for the guitar.  The flamenco experience was about families, gathering together in their cave homes in Spain.  If you couldn't play guitar, you might play percussion; if not percussion, then perhaps palmeros (a rather sophisticated rhythmic accompaniment through clapping, often involving 2 different patterns played simultaneously by two or more people).  If not las palmas, perhaps you could sing, and if not singing, perhaps you could dance.  If you can't dance, well then... there are always dishes that need to be done.

Another consideration is that a good number of purest flamenco rhythms are based not in the 4 beats, as a rumba, but are understood as 12 beats -- a system referred to as Compás. The 12-beat forms often have subdivisions of 2's and 3's, and specific emphatic points within that, making it much more complicated than what New Wave flamenco artists often attempt.  So much of the true color of flamenco music is in these forms and the purpose of the forms to the art collective (musicians AND dancers AND singers).  For example, the Siguiriya is often considered a tune where the cantaore should pour out his or her most heart-breaking revelations and sorrows on living, and the structured progression of different parts that is traditionally in an Alegria (a different 12-based rhythm) is largely a formula that flamenco dancers know and are familiar with.

Other characteristics outside of the guitar-work include the singing style.  The "stressed" or broken sound in the voice bears an element of tonality, and also an element of fray or abrasiveness.  Although the historical reasoning for this being part of the flamenco tradition is plain to see (expansion and influence of the Umayyad empire and migration of the Romani people), it is uncanny how much the often-revered voice in flamenco is comparable to that of the styles of Pakistani Qawwali singers like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, or Egyptian singers like Yasin al-Tuhami.  Look for yourself:

Egyptian, Sheikh Yasin Al-Tuhami

Pakistani, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Spanish, Duquende

 Referred to as "gorgorito," this fractured (or "gorged") yelling quality of the voice is sought after in children to inherit the vocal tradition.  It is also important to note that, like many folk traditions, the music is not so much about making sounds in accordance with perfect adherence to an algebraic principle, but rather that the passion, the execution, and the convincing sentience of the artist -- the communication of emotion -- is what is valued. As examples, much-loved flamenco cantaores like La Paquera de Jerez and José Mercé are seldom singing in tune with the guitar chords that surround their voice, but this is their style, and it is not seen as a drawback by very many:


If there's one thing to admire about the tradition of flamenco players, it is the unmasked sincerity in their expression -- which is what seems to be the most-rewarded characteristic by the audience.  Non-musical elements of emotion end up making it into the mix of the art, and it is not uncommon for the style of many singers to utilize a sobbing quality while transitioning through a series of notes.  Some examples are Enrique Morente and this Jesusy-looking dude (El Torta) in Carlos Saura's "Flamenco":

With all that in mind, Niño Josele is one who has proven himself to be both a strong bearer of the traditions of flamenco (via the now out-of-print album "Calle Ancha," back in 1995), and a notable pioneer.  This 2003 self-titled album shows his willingness to work with elements that have influenced flamenco in both the near and distant past -- namely Arabic culture and jazz. Many flamenco artists have been utilizing really dense jazz chords over the years, and the brilliant pianist/guitarist/jazzist producer Javier Limón has been passed around among flamenco artists more than a joint at a Led Zeppelin concert. On the other side of the influence scale, from the Arab world, one might say the whole history of flamenco music as it is owes its sound to the Arab world:

With the Umayyad expansion across north Africa and into Spain, they brought their instruments with them.

Umayyad expansion at its greatest, 661 - 750 AD

Of course, the Arabs didn't have a guitar, they had an oud: the fretless round-backed wonder of the Arab world.

Oud

Vihuela

So the Arabian term "al oud" got translated to Spanish as "La Oud,"; Europeans take La Oud (and some of the design) and make the fretted instrument called the "lute" -- which would eventually be the guitar.  There were many other luthier experiments in between, and at the same time, so it's hard to qualify a direct lineage.  The manufacture of the lute and guitar seems largely of Arabian origins, but the word guitar comes from the old Greek "kithara" -- even though the composition of a guitar resembles nearly nothing of the harp-like nature of it's ancient Greek namesake.  The seemingly most-immediate predecessor of the guitar was called the vihuela in Spain and Portugal, and it was essentially what you called a lute with a flat (or mostly-flat) back.  Notice that the tuning pegs of a vihuela are driven through the back of the headstock, and not from the sides.  This is unlike many modern guitars, and unlike the oud itself.  Flamenco guitars acquire this from its lineage of the vihuela, and I've even seen some luthiers here in Colorado building flamenco guitars with the pegs in this traditional fashion.

Put quite simply, every redneck raving about a Creedence Clearwater Revival tune's guitar solo should, in a way, thank an Arabian woodworker -- historically speaking.

In addition to physical woodworking or manufacturing history, another important Arabic element of flamenco (besides instrumentation, and besides singing styles) is the musical scales.  From its gypsy roots, flamenco artists have largely harped on what they call the "Freygish" scale, or phrygian dominant scale: a scale common to the musics of Persia, Greece, Jews, and the Arab world.  There are variations, but largely, the Freygish scale is one with a flattened 2nd, as well as a flattened and 6th and/or 7th.  Probably not by coincidence, one of the Arab world's most-played scales is a maqam (their equivalent term for a scale) called 'hijaz'.  Again, though there are variations, most variations of hijaz include the flattened 2nd, as well as a flattened 6th or 7th.  Aside from scales, consider the palmeros: those layered hand-clapping styles mentioned earlier.  A brief trip to the musics of Morocco can show you that there just might be some relationship between the palmero function in flamenco music, and the function of the qarkabeb (massive metal castanets) in Moroccan music.  Although the rhythms have different feels and lengths, their 'place' within the music is very similar.  Look for yourself:

Qarkabeb in Moroccan music of the Gnawa people.

Palmeros in Flamenco music of the Spanish people.

So then, ... it should be of little surprise that a flamenco artist, in messing around with influences, invites into his album both "modern" jazz tunes, as in this rendition of "Beautiful Love," re-titled, "Miel, canela y yerbagüena," with Israel Sandoval on electric guitar and Paquete on mandolin:


...as well as old Moroccan folk rhythms, for a tune called Zawiya:


Some of the truer flamenco moments shine through on his self-titled album, including "Cosas de Amores," a tune with master vocalist Enrique Morente, citing words apparently by early 20th century Spanish poet Manuel Machado.  The song isn't performed without a touch of jazz sensibilities: Niño's solo fires through passages stunningly, utilizing the peculiarity of the whole-tone scale (starting at 53 seconds in this excerpt).  This is a scale utilized by Josele also in his 2001 release, "El Sorbo," with jazz producer Javier Limón:


Leaning on the more flamenco side of things is, "Llanto de Sal," which has wonderful moments of jazzy approaching chords and a wanderlust in its chord progression, as shown in this clip...


...and "Estirpe," a buleria featuring another wonderful cantaor, Guadiana:


Josele's experimentation with jazz would find him doing whole jazz albums, like "Paz" in 2007, which shows him working with a large portion of jazz pianist Bill Evans's repertoire.



Depending on which side of the fence you're on, the strength (or the fault) of Niño Josele's self-titled album may be that he worked so much out of the context of traditional flamenco.  This may be received as a problem for someone wanting a traditional repertoire from a great player, but one has to consider: all the new ideas that players might later incorporate into their tradition in a more natural way need to come from somewhere.  Certainly the success of Paco de Lucia's work "Cositas Buenas" with Javier Limon is an indication that audiences loved the new approach in the traditional context.  Perhaps then we should appreciate what the musical explorer does in their journey, and enjoy watching them go along their way, rather that cling to our own expectations of what their individual art is.  Besides, if the album seems too unapproachable... there's always Ottmar Liebert.

--Seth Premo

Bijan Chemirani/Kevin Sedikki - Imaginarium

Kevin Seddiki & Bijan Chemirani

Imaginarium World Village (www.worldvillagemusic.com)

Bijan Chemirani and his brother Keyvan are both prodigies of the Persian drum master, Djamchid Chemirani, and their seemingly implacable desire to integrate with other musicians around the world is evident in their history of releases. Since their monolithic 1997 release, Trio de Zarb, the family’s musical wanderlust has led them all over the world.  Bijan’s travels brought him to record with African balafon and kora players (Neba Solo Trio, Ballaké Sissoko), masters of Greek music (Ross Daly, Stelios Petrakis), East Indian Carnatic vocalists (Sudha Ragunathan), as well as multi-instrumentalist wizards like Efrén López.  Kevin Seddiki also plays percussion, but his primary foundation is guitar, working with the likes of Al di Meola, Glenn Velez, and Lebanese artist Yasmine Hamdan.  He has recorded and performed with Bijan before, as part of the Oneira 6tet, and his playing on 2008’s Orion with Stelios Petrakis was more than enough to rouse curiosity and appreciation for whatever technique and background gave him his sound.

Imaginarium presents both new work and some well-known jazz tunes stemming from the two artists. The new tunes are not the least bit unambitious in their rhythms: “19 Bridges” is a tune written for 19 beats (or what in Indian culture they often refer to as a 9 ½ beat cycle)...


...and some tunes have cycles more common to Persian culture (the 10/8 in “Sar Andjam,” and the 5/8 for “On Saturn’s Rings”).  There is also a tune based in 11-beat cycles, “Schumannsko,” and the rhythm that underlays the Africanesque sounds in “Bamako” is based on a count of 15. This variety comes in addition to the more familiar jazz nature of the Brazilian chorinho tune “Cochichando,”...


...and a beautiful jazz variant of the Charles Aznavour/Jacques Plante tune, “La bohême.”


Some sounds coming from the drums and guitar are new as well. The zarb used in “On Saturn’s Rings” is a newer modification to the drum where snares are applied, resulting in a hybrid sound combining zarb and cajón. In the same track, the guitar’s foreign harmonies, pick slides, and chirps, paint an otherworldly picture upon a beat with shifting rhythmic emphasis.


The guitar work in “Bamako” sounds frayed, as if paper were covering the sound hole of the instrument. The tone is still there, but a subtle rattle accompanies each note, and its intensity matches the volume of what is played. The outcome is an atmosphere of frailty or brokenness that affords more than if the guitar were played standard.


Although it can’t be referred to as a fault, the big cross-cultural collaborative projects they have both participated in (with the numerous personnel and talents onboard) can often create an album that is very intensive – where the most relaxed moment is a brief intro preceding the tune, or an individual‘s solo/taksim. Imaginarium comes from a different angle: brave in its exploration, subtler in its energies, and giving much attention to painting an atmosphere by including techniques that are more than just stunts, but sounds inherent to the nature of the work. As an album both exotic and familiar, and mindful and gentler in its energies, Imaginarium satisfies deeply. -Seth Premo

Mavra Froudia

Stelios Petrakis, Efren Lopez, Bijan Chemirani

Mavra Froudia
Musiepoca (www.musiepoca.com – info@musiepoca.com)

Ages ago, it seems, (or perhaps when we were of younger mind) the  world used to be a place where magic dwelled, and one could wield supernatural forces to manipulate the natural world: sticks could turn into snakes, rabbits could appear from an empty hat, and a clever man could make something other than our wallet vanish right before our very eyes.  However, in today’s times, few believe in a sense of magic that is not manipulation.  These days, the closest we get to magic is in some modified definition of the concept of magic: things happening in ways for which there is no decent explanation.  For example:

"How is it that my car keys can just disappear?"
"Where does the raw material of a McDonald's hamburger patty come from?"
"How does congress get re-elected?"
Magic, my friends.

Certain music can have an enchantment upon us that seems magical, in that we might not know exactly why we're drawn to it, but we are.  It is more than just the exotic rhythms, tones, and instrumentation in Mavra Froudia that give it allure.  With the exception of one traditional tune from Karpathos, this release features seven new compositions from Bijan Chemirani, Stelios Petrakis, and Efren López, set for a wide array of instrumentation.  Their music writing is heavily influenced by the principles of various folk music styles they’ve devoted their lives to playing, but also richly flavored by their own creative energies. 

The new album’s breadth of instrumentation, composition styles, and atmosphere will take a long time to outwear.  Perhaps the fact that song titles use four different languages is an indicator of the broad world of the ideas that prompt their muses.  “El nuvol d’Oort,” is a tune inspired by the theories of Dutch astronomer Jan Oort, and although “Hortus Deliciarum,” has a rhythm based in Pontic music, it was written in honor of Hieronymus Bosch, a medieval painter who created some of the earliest and most well-known illustrations of the vielle à roué – the French term for Hurdy Gurdy that is the composition’s central instrument.   The trio Chemirani/ López/Petrakis prove that they are magi of a musical kingdom whose focal point may be the Mediterranean, but also has strong footholds from Western European turf, all the way to Afghanistan. 

In the end (and as history often shows), their work is not magic, but an act of fine craftsmanship. Although one finds odd meters in “Hortus Deliciarum,” “A.A.A.A.A.A.A.,” and “El nuvol d'Oort,” (9, 7, and 5-beat cycles, respectively) Mavra Froudia’s other tracks are based in time signatures more common to western music. Each successive listen unveils a little more of the care involved in their processes:

-López’s creation of wonderful melodic runs on the laouto and bulgari in the open spaces of title track’s melody, harmonizing in stereo to different subdivisions of the main beat.


-The steel string microtonal harmonies and fretless guitar work of “Üç Telli.”


-The delicate but flashing articulations on Petrakis’s lyra in “Syvritos.”

-Chemirani’s flock of fingers and inexhaustible rhythmic variations on the Persian zarb, most noticeably in the 5-beat cycle of “El Nuvol d'Oort,” which ends up building a whole new platform from which to introduce the tune’s final melodic sections.

-The rondeau form of “A.A.A.A.A.A.A.,” led by the Afghan rebab, where every new melodic verse covers different terrain, re-contextualizing the main motif.

A good portion of the appeal of their instrumental music comes from creating or reciting melodies that seem to travel places and have stories to tell.  Their level of refinement shows each player knowing how to work with and embellish the other, and at the same time, move the tune along, changing the atmosphere as they see fit.  In that way, each track's arrangement turns pages of the musical story effortlessly from moment to moment.  Even two years after its initial release, the stories and “magic” of Mavra Froudia can stand out as regularly-played gems in one’s music collection.