I can hear it already: This is not real world music!!!

But wait, aren't the blues "world music?" As Link's resident expert, I say "yes, they are!"  Of course, that's me singing the song I wrote, so I have a vested interest in bending the category (maybe). But no less a luminary that Howard Mandel, President of the Jazz Journalists Association saw fit to carry this on HIS blog. So there. 

Here's the scoop on how this all happened:

Getting laid off because of a recession can really get to you, no matter how busy you make yourself. My partner Bruce Arnold had been writing songs for his new lap steel, and this one, called "Up the Spout" (a Midwestern depression term) just spoke to me. I wrote a melody and words and voilá.

Occupy Wall Street happened right around the time we were shooting the video, so I went down there and got shots of some of the more poignant people and signs... what can I say, they were more sympatico than I thought they'd be, and every one of them could have been you or me. Much has been said against the demonstration, but I for one am glad that someone is expressing the outrage that Americans should be feeling about being used and abused by a system that is badly out of kilter. Do I have the answers? As Mr. Mandel sagely pointed out in his blog: "Nobody should expect policy answers from a blues."

Lyrics to "Up the Spout"

It's a bitter wind, and it ain't no breeze
It shakes the windows and it takes the trees
And it blew me away
I love my work. It's what life's about-
that wind came and blew it all Up the Spout
Yes it blew me away.

Now here I sit... what shall I do
That wind left me here without a clue
Yes, it blew me a way
You were the boss, yet here we meet
Yeah, we both lost on that windy street
Yes it blew us both away

That wind don't care -- we're all just dust
and it' happening to all of us
It's blowing us away
Now with a little luck I'll make it through
But when that wind blows it's gonna come for you too
It's blowing -- It's blowing us away, Up the Spout
Blowing us Up the Spout

For more of Michal's original music videos, visit inter-muse.com.

This video has been a long time coming. The back story: I've known guitarist/writer Banning Eyre for years and of course, his and Sean Barlow’s tireless efforts with their baby, Afropop Worldwide. I've followed their travels and travails, and admired their dedication and perseverance. I always wanted to collaborate in some way, and I got my chance when Banning called me up in the summer of 2010 and told me he was going to visit a great guitarist who was in town, to record him for a radio show, and would I like to come along? As we drove up to the Bronx, Banning filled me in on how he had first met Badian, and I got a feeling for why this interview was going to be special for him.

After a rather steep climb up to a rambling house on a hill, we were greeted by the elegantly clad Badian, and his regal wife. Banning set up his gear in the sunny backyard, and recording commenced. As I shot the performance I realized that the technique Badian used was unlike any I had seen before. One hears rippling melodic lines coming out of koras and ngonis, but transferring that sound to the guitar requires a great delicacy and precision utilizing both the up stroke and the down stroke of the "picking" fingers. Badian’s technique is utterly fluid in this way. Thank goodness for a good zoom on my camera; I was able to get nice close-ups of his hands.

Badian was in town for a month playing for the various celebrations within the West African community in the Bronx, which at this point is considerable. I can only imagine how wonderful the music must be at these events. but you will never see this kind of thing covered in Time Out or any publications of that ilk. You just have to be hooked into the scene. Banning and Badian had much to say to each other (mostly in French so I got only the gist of many names, and being brought up to date on everyone's doings), so I just concentrated on shooting. When I got back to my house I reviewed the footage and considered how to use it... for my Huffington Post vlog? As an exclusive here on my own site? To post on guitar sites? I was in a quandary. In the midst of this indecision Banning called to say he had footage of Badian from 1996 that he had been saving for all these years and maybe there was a bigger story to be told. Could I hold off on posting until we could put something like that together?

So I held off for over a year. Banning was off and running with countless Afropop Worldwide projects and trips, and working with his own band, Timbila. But after he returned from a music collecting trip to Egypt, he was back with a vengeance, wanting to get the project up and out. So here it is at last, after hours of footage in many formats sifted through, and condensed into 15.5 minutes.

For more of Michal's original music videos, visit inter-muse.com.

As promised, here is more from the interview with Sertab Erener and Demir Demirkan. I was very interested in how Sertab had migrated from opera to pop singing, and in the process of explaining, Demir suggested she sing one song (Aşk) that demonstrated both techniques...which it certainly does!

I have to say that after listening to Sertab sing in our studio and in concert, there is a real difference between that and her formally recorded vocals.... and the same goes for the sound of the two of them unplugged. (Check out the previous blog post and interview video on Sertab and Demir here.)

Here comes my rant: These days it seems we throw the term "throat singing" around a bit loosely. It can get confusing. After all, Mongolian and Tuvan overtone singing (the technique of singing more than one note simultaneously) is called throat singing. But as far as I can hear, the Inuit singing technique does not deal with overtones.  Rather, it is about vocalising on both the inhaled and exhaled breath. Yet it is referred to as throat singing.  Personally I'd rather just call one overtone singing, and call the other Inuit singing (or two-way singing?).
That said, Tanya Tagaq visited us in the summer, and she was a trip, as you'll see from our interview.

We were also sent a fantastic short film that called "Tungijuq" in which she stars and provides soundtrack.  We're still trying to figure out if it's too strong for broadcast. It concerns itself with the cycle of life and death from an Inuit perspective, and it is not for the squeamish...or prudish. Be on the lookout for it, as it is just about to hit the film festival circuit.

My colleague Fernando Gonzalez has graciously contributed this exclusive eulogy for Mercedes Sosa who passed away last week. We both agreed that the video of her performance of "Todo Cambia" captures her passion, charisma and the love she elicited from her fans. Thank you, Fernando.

Mercedes Sosa

By Fernando Gonzalez

For an artist, becoming a political symbol is a double edged sword.
Argentine singer Mercedes Sosa, who died of in kidney failure in Buenos Aires on October 4, at age 74, was for many Mother Courage, The Voice of the Americas, The Mother of the Americas, The Voice of the Voiceless, and more.
Sometimes obscured by the mythmaking was the fact that she was an extraordinary artist.
A short, stocky woman, with Indian facial features and jet black hair (she was nicknamed La Negra, the black one), Sosa possessed an extraordinary alto voice, rich and powerful but also remarkably expressive. She could go from a whispered love song to a rousing flag-waver with stunning ease. Sosa was not a songwriter. But, quoting an old line, when Sosa sang a song, it stayed sung. She made her own songs such as “Gracias a La Vida,” “Alfonsina y el Mar,” and “Maria, Maria,” even when the songwriters were themselves major figures such as Violeta Parra and Milton Nascimento. 
She performed usually sitting center stage – although before health problems pretty much confined her to a chair on stage, she would also get up and dance, a memory perhaps from when Sosa was a teenager in Tucumán, a province in Argentina’s northwest, and she was a teacher of folk dances.
She started as a traditional folk singer but soon she was part of a group of poets and musicians who were, sometimes literally, rewriting folk music with what became known as Movimiento del Nuevo Cancionero, the New Song Movement, updating the standard folk lyrics to address the plight of the poor and disenfranchised. It set the tone for her entire career.

 “We were looking for a different poetic language, and musically we looked at jazz,” she once explained. “We spoke from truth and poverty, but didn´t forget about the landscape, because we didn’t want to grow apart from the people. They called us communists because any revolutionary act provokes fear and culture is the most important revolution. Governments don’t last. Culture is the greatest power.”
Notably, and especially after her return to Argentina in 1982 after a three year self-imposed exile, Sosa not only maintained a progressive attitude regarding the lyrics but applied it to her music, collaborating, for example, with rockers such as Charly Garcia and Fito Páez, and opening her repertoire to young, sometimes unknown, songwriters.
In recent years, in 1997 and again in 2003, she struggled with various health problems. In ‘97 the situation was so dire that, she acknowledged years later, she wrote her testament. Her problems in 2003, including severe depression, kept her off the stages for two years.
Sosa died after 13 days at the hospital. Her illness canceled plans to present a new two-disc set of duets featuring an all star cast of collaborators including García, Páez, Shakira, Julieta Venegas, and Joaquín Sabina. (It was released in the U.S. as one disc including selections from the two volumes.) It was, appropriately, called “Cantora,” singer.
For all the names she was called, this was the only title Sosa claimed for herself.
"Sometimes, one is made to be a big mouth or some sort of Robin Hood and it's not like that," she once told me, in the 90s. "I am a woman who sings, who tries to sing as well as possible with the best songs available. I was bestowed this role as big protester and it's not like that at all. I'm just a thinking artist."