Siddhartha Khosla of Goldspot at Hard Rock Cafe in Bangalore, India, in early 2012. (Photo credit: Sohanmaheshwar)
Death Cab for Cutie meets Kishore Kumar meets the Beatles meets The Smiths meets … 1960s Bollywood nostalgia meets contemporary indie pop-rock.
Yes, there’s an American band that’s all that and more. You may not have heard of Goldspot, but chances are, you’ve heard one, maybe more, of their songs.
They’ve released two albums (are they still called albums?) with another one releasing later this summer. Their music is featured in everything from films, starring the likes of Reese Witherspoon, Vince Vaughn, Aasif Mandvi (of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart fame), and Kate Hudson; commercials for Apple’s iPad, eBay, and Chrysler; and popular television shows such as How I Met Your Mother and The O.C. The group has played in music festivals on both sides of the Atlantic and the Pacific as well as opened for bands such as Arcade Fire, Franz Ferdinand, Bon Jovi, and, of course, Death Cab for Cutie. They’ve won numerous awards, been featured on NPR, and were named “the best band to come out of America in years” by the UK’s Sunday Times.
Borrowing its name after India’s equivalent of a fizzy orange soda pop, Goldspot is fronted by its Indian-American creator and songwriter Siddhartha (Sid) Khosla, who was born and raised in New Jersey and grew up on a steady dose of Hindi film songs from the 1950s and 1960s.
Goldspot's music reminds me of all the diverse types of music I heard and loved growing up, including the sort my parents played when I was a kid, as well as a dash or two of my favorite kind of alternative music. Not indie folk, but that sort of serious indie pop that bundles influences from all my favorites sounds---echoes of the oldies from the British invasion as well as contemporary modern beats.
Following is a sampling of a few of my favorites. Apologies for not embedding the videos for these songs directly into this post, but clicking on the links will get you to the right link.
Here’s one of their catchy songs from the trailer of the U.S. film, How Do You Know?
And a Hindi version of the same song from the satirical film, The President is Coming, a parody based on a real visit George W. Bush made to India in 2006. (I haven't seen the movie yet, but doesn't it sound like a hoot?) The movie features Konkana Sen Sharma, a talented and well-known actress who stars in Indian “art films” (that's what non-Bollywood movies are generally known as in India).
I’ll leave you with this one, a song whose proceeds go entirely to the American Cross for Hurricane Sandy disaster relief. It's also featured on the TV show, The O.C.
Our guest today is
Judy Hudson, a writer/ photographer who lives on Vancouver Island. Today, she’s
writing about Cremona, Italy, which holds a special place in her heart. She
first went to Cremona in the 1980’s with her husband, a bowmaker,to visit their friend Peter who was a student
at the Scuola di Liuteria (Violinmaker’s school). They return often to this center of everything violin.
Judy loves to travel
and writes travel articles. You can see more of her photographs on her photo
website www.judyhudsonphotos.com . She is currently
working on her first mystery featuring Rocky and Bernadette, a travel writing
and photography team, and plans to set the second book in the series in
Cremona.
Roaring over the
Brenner Pass, we sailed down the sunny side of the mountains into Italy. The
temperature outside the Skoda soared.
The twelve hour drive
from Prague to Cremona is beautiful, but harrowing. Trucks go 90 km/hour (55
miles/hour), but BMWs and Mercedes zoom up out of nowhere at180 (110). I brake,
ducking in and out between the slower moving trucks. After two hours, my
knuckles are white and it’s time to switch drivers. Luckily we have three
drivers on the trip, my husband, our old friend Peter, and I.
Peter always has a
booth at Mondomusica , the annual violin
trade show in Cremona, Italy. Forget your impressions of staid classical
musicians, when the Italians are hosting, it’s one big musical party. The real
competition is about who can give the most passionate performance.
Cremona is the home
of Stradivari, Amati, Guarneri, and the legion of 16th Century
violinmakers who founded the still unmatched Cremonese school of violinmaking.
Today Cremona is home to more than one hundred violinmakers. Most are Italian,
but the Scuola di Liuteriafounded there
in 1938, has a large contingent of international students and, over the years,
some have settled in the city after finishing the three-year course.
We always arrive in
Cremona just as the sun is setting, when the gates of the Fiere, the arena, open, and trucks and vans stuffed with
instruments from all over Italy and Europe pour in, ready to set up their
booths.
We arrive in our
Skoda wagon, stuffed with people and luggage and boxes of shoulder rests. Although
he is a violinmaker, because of the logistics involved in bringing instruments
from Quebec, Peter only brings shoulder-rests to Mondomusica, a violin add-on
that eases the strain on players necks, made by his relatives in the Czech
Republic.
The other vendors, everything
from small time makers to international companies like Yamaha, set up elaborate displays
in the dramatic red and black booths. We put together our scrounged folding
tables and chairs, assemble do-it-yourself IKEA shelves, roll out the latest
poster Peter has had made, and last but not least, stick a small Canadian flag
high on the end of the booth, a beacon for his regular customers and friends in
the rows and rows of look-alike aisles. (For the full flavor of the show, check
out my Mondomusica Montage video.)
Dinner is sausage, cheese
and beer, European style, then it’s off to Lago Scuro, our accommodation for
the week.
The first time I stayed
there, Peter had only been there once, the year before. “It’s a castle,” he
told us. Sure, I thought. “And a
cheese factory.” I tried to picture it, but with no success.
In typical Italian
style, the bridge was closed, so we took another bridge, and another road, and
got totally lost. The flat back roads of the Po River plain surrounding Cremona
were pitch dark, and, to my eye, had few landmarks, just flat fields and the
odd, seemingly abandoned clusters of medieval houses.
Half an hour later, we
stumbled on the far end of the closed bridge and headed off into the darkness
again. But this time with some success. We ended up on a narrow dirt road
beside a crumbling stone wall.
“We’re here,” Peter
said. I was dubious. Then we passed through a tall wrought iron gate and, under
the light of a full moon, got our first view of Lago Scuro. A fortified farm of
the 1700’s, complete with a crenellated roofline and turrets.
Peter rapped at the
darkened door and spoke in Italian to a man with a big bushy beard who led us into
a courtyard. A soft light illuminated an old grape vine winding up to the
gallery above. The servants quarters, built two hundred years ago. Enchanting.
My husband and I had
a large room furnished in a whimsical blend of mismatched furniture. The
bathroom was down the hall, but was new and everything worked. That’s all I
ask. We fell into bed.
The next morning I
opened the two layers of wooden shutters and swung wide the small-paned windows
onto a fairy tale scene. A turret rose just outside our window, backed by a
misty garden. Regardless of the sometime inconvenience of staying at Lago Scuro,
I’d return anytime for the setting alone.
That and the
breakfasts. Lago Scuro (Dark Lake) is an Agriturismo, (www.agriturismolagoscuro.net ) an organic farm
B&B, and these were not the normal urban Italian dry-biscuits-and-espresso
type breakfast. It’s homemade cheeses, hard and soft, home-cured meats, freshly
baked cakes and granola, endless Italian coffee, and milk straight from the
cows. I put on a pound a day when I stay there, and I’m sure it’s from the
breakfasts alone. On this weekend every year, the B&B is full of violinmakers
from all over Europe, who meet every morning at breakfast on the long dining
table.
Then back to the Fiere
and Mondomusica. The days start quietly—musicians are not early risers. But the
students from the Scuola are there first thing, searching out the best wood in
the booths of Eastern European wood dealers.
The noise level rises
as the crowd arrives and musicians try out the thousands of stringed instruments
on display. We escape the bedlam for a few hours every afternoon and head into
town to walk Cremona’s medieval streets. The Po valley has been breadbasket of
Italy for thousands of years. Recently a Roman road was uncovered, the Via Postumia, from Genoa to Aquileia on the Adriatic. Even
in those days, Cremona was an important point at which to cross the river.
Now a refreshingly
vibrant city of 70,000, it is not really a tourist town, despite its large,
beautiful old center, and 13th and 14th century main
square. The storefront windows, in buildings centuries old, display the latest
fashions in clothing and home furnishings because, after all, Cremona is less
than an hour’s drive from Milan. But the focus of the city is clearly the
violin.
We often return to
the square for dinner, to sit for the evening in the balmy air, greeting old
friends as they wander by, sharing wine and conversation.
Last year, after the cacophonous
noise of Mondomusica, the squeaky beds and the night time mosquitoes (the first
time for that!), we swore it would be our last trip. But now, as I remember the
fabulous meals, the friends we see, and the mist rising from the gardens in the
morning at Lago Scuro, I’m sure that two years from now we’ll forget the mosquitoes
and hit the road with Peter again, heading for Cremona.
Living in a land down under
Where women glow and men plunder
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover!
If these lyrics mean
nothing to you, either you’re waaaaaaay younger than me or you’ve been living
under a rock for the past thirty-odd years. Downunder
by Men at Work unofficially became Australia’s national anthem back in the 80’s
and is still heard playing on radio stations from Turkey to the U.S.A. to
Brazil. So how did a relatively unknown group from Melbourne become so popular?
In 1978 in the now
trendy, but then derelict, Melbourne suburb of St Kilda, a four piece band got
together and recorded the music to Riff
Raff, a low-budget stage musical one of the band members was working on. A
year later saw a couple of line-up changes and shortly there after, the unnamed
band became Men at Work.
Columbia Records
signed the band in 1981 and their first single, Who Can It Be Now? was released, achieving great success in
Australia. North America rejected their first album, Business As Usual, twice but with unending persistence from the
band’s management, they finally struck a deal and released the album in the USA
and UK. Canada was the first country to embrace the lads and the band quickly
released their next single worldwide, Down
Under, and this is the song still sung by Aussies around the world (usually
in pubs or large sporting events).
By 1983 Men at Work achieved
a feat no other Australian band had managed up until then. They held number one
album and single at the same time in the USA and UK. At the time, Australia was
considered a wild-west frontier and we had struggled to achieve international
success in the arts. Men at Work got Australia onto the world stage and the
‘80s subsequently became the decade where people all over the world thought we
were exotic (ha!) and longed to visit our sandy shores. This also was the era
of Crocodile Dundee.
With a Grammy Award
for Best New Act and Juno Award for International LP of the Year, Men at Work
were well on their way to achieving their dreams. They released a second album,
Cargo (my favourite), and it rose to
the top of international charts while Business as Usual kept it company. With
their recording success, the band undertook a worldwide tour and sold out most
concerts.
But their great
achievements came at a cost. Two years of constant touring had taken its toll
and the incessant infighting among band members resulted in two members leaving
and pursuing individual projects. With three members left, they released a
third album, Two Hearts, and only the
first single made it into the Top 50 of the USA The lineup changed a few more
times over the next couple of years and by 1986, Men at Work disbanded.
Ten years later, two
of the original band members, Colin Hay and Greg Ham united to tour South
America, where they still had a large fan base. They released Brazil ’96, a live recording of their
concerts there. I’ll never forget my first trip to Brazil in 1995. I was
sipping some wonderful Brazilian coffee in a café and low and behold, Down Under blasted from the tinny
speakers. Luckily, I had plenty of serviettes to mop up my spilt coffee.
In recent years, the
band have been involved in a copyright lawsuit due to their song Down Under. It’s a long, complicated
explanation but to keep it short and sweet, a record company who held the
rights to a popular 1940s Australian song, Kookaburra,
believed the flute component in Down Under contained the riff from the Kookaburra song. As Down Under had played a large role in the band’s success, the
people who owned the Kookaburrarights demanded royalties. The band (and
many other people) had thought Kookaburra
was in the public domain but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The judge
ruled against Men at Work and band member, Greg Ham (who played the flute in Down Under) is quoted as saying that the
ruling destroyed his life. In 2012, Ham passed away in his home, and no reason
has been publicly given for his death.
Down Under was played
in the Sydney 2000 closing ceremony of the Olympics, the closing credits of Crocodile Dundee Los Angeles, and in
2001 the Australasian Performing Rights Association named Down Under as fourth
in the Best Australian Song of All Time (Friday
On My Mind by The Easy Beats was
number one).
Who knew a small band
back in the ‘80s could achieve so much international success for themselves and
Australian tourism and business. And for your viewing pleasure, I present Downunder.
From some
of the least hopeful places on the planet comes some of the most hopeful music.
Throughout Africa, the trend in pop culture is
for musicians to uplift and inspire, with folk instruments, upbeat rhythms, and
lyrics. They sing of their own
transitions from desolation to optimism, or give tribute to the struggles of
their compatriots.
BOMBINO Photo: By
Modiba Productions (CC-BY-SA-3.0)
Last week, Bombino,
one of Africa’s fastest-rising musicians,
released the album Nomad to critical acclaim. The album was produced by Dan
Auerbach of The Black Keys, and the result is mesmerizing. Omara Bombino Moctar
is a Tuareg born in Niger in 1980
in the midst of cultural and political upheaval. The Tuareg are a nomadic ethnic group common throughout northern Africa
from Burkina Faso to Mali, Niger,
Algeria, and Libya. Due to
their nomadic lifestyle, they have been the subject of violent suppression
since the days of colonialism. With North African governments seeking to
restrict their movements as population growth stresses the desert environment,
the Tuareg have found themselves
marginalized and repressed. This led to several uprisings and reprisals from
the 1960s through the present. Bombino grew up in the midst of violence. His
family was forced to flee Niger
several times to neighboring Algeria
and later to Libya.
During his years in exile, Bombino taught himself to play the guitar, watching
videos of Mark Knopfler, Jimi Hendrix and others until he mastered their styles.
In 2007, the government of Niger
outlawed the guitar and executed two musicians, forcing Bombino to flee once
again. His sound is electrifying with a voice like butter accompanying high-energy
guitar and in the process encapsulating the sounds of rebellion and optimism. His
music speaks of peace and rights for the Tuaregs spread throughout the Sahara.
This video
about the making of Nomad includes background about Bombino and
the history of the Tuareg people:
Watch
Bombino’s performance of a simple, yet beautiful Tuareg dedication song:
Listen to
sample tracks from the album Nomad and discover more about this fascinating nomadic musician here:
Africa’s most inspiring musical couple is Amadou and Mariam. Amadou
Bagayoko became blind at the age of 16, and Mariam Doumbia lost her sight at
age 5 due to measles. Amadou and Mariam, both from Bamako, Mali,
met in 1975 at an institute for the blind. They married in 1980 and began
touring, recording, and playing at festivals worldwide. A 2004 collaboration
with Manu Chao, a world-famous Latin musician, to produce the album Dimanche à Bamako propelled the
couple to worldwide fame. Their music blends rock and blues with traditional Mali, Middle
Eastern, and Indian instruments. Their French lyrics uplift and inspire, giving hope for the downtrodden of Mali. Many of their songs are love songs, like Je Pense à Toi. Themes of friendship, happiness, and community infuse their music.
An edgy
R&B rapper is making a mark on the African and European music scenes with a
compelling personal story of triumph over adversity. Baloji, whose name means
sorcerer in Swahili, was born in 1978 in Lubumbashi,
Congo to a
Congolese mother and Belgian father. When he was 3, his mother sent him to live
in Belgium
with his father. His father lost his fortune in Congolese investments when
Baloji was 7 and deserted him. Baloji grew up in a school for delinquent
children run by nuns. Angry, alienated, and out of sync with mainstream Belgian
culture, he ran away at age 15 and joined a rap group. The group eventually
became known as Starflam. They cut an album, Survivant, in 2001 that went
platinum. Due to disagreements, Baloji quit the group in 2004, turning his back
on music altogether.
Out of the
blue, he received a letter from his mother who had not been in contact since
1981. His mother commented in her letter that when she sent him to Belgium she had intentionally sent him to the land of Marvin Gaye. Baloji deeply considered that
musical legacy contrasted with the current condition of people in war-torn Congo. He
realized that his life perspective was skewed. Rather than being a victim of a
cross cultural childhood, he was fortunate to have escaped the intense poverty
and violence of the Congo.
When they spoke by phone, his mother asked him what he’d been doing for all the
years they were apart. He produced his first solo album, Hotel Impala as a way
to respond with the highlights of his life. Compelled to return to Kinshasa, a city built
for 500,000 people but now home to over 12 million, he began a journey of
exploration and self-discovery. Music in the Congo had not changed much in 25
years. Caught up in the feverish energy of the city, Baloji turned his confused
cross-cultural identity into a strength. In just six days, he recorded the
album Kinshasa Succursale with Congolese bands Konono No 1 and Zaiko Langa
Langa. The album reworked several songs from Hotel Impala with several new
songs, all blending Congolese instruments and rhythms. Gritty music videos were
filmed on the streets of Kinshasa.
Karibou Ya
Bintou (meaning Welcome to Limbo) is the signature track. It tells the tale of
how he evolved from an angry young man to a music sorcerer, a creative spirit
fully engaged with his cultural identity. Here is the video with English
subtitles [for mature audiences only]:
Mellower
sounds abound in Le Jour d’Après, which harkens back to the more constrained musical
days of Independence.
If you
happen to be in Britain
this summer, catch a train tour called the African Express. About 80 musicians,
including Amadou and Mariam and Baloji, are riding a train across country to
promote the best in African music. Many of these artists have compelling
personal stories, coming from war-torn areas, or overcoming lives of turmoil. http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2012/aug/26/africa-express-bound-for-glory
By now you’ve read me banging on countless times about how Melbourne, Australia, is an awesome multi-cultural city. If you want to go out for dinner in my fair town, pick a country, and chances are you’ll find a restaurant that serves the food of the nation of your choice. Nearly every weekend there are festivals, be it Greek, Italian, French, Croatian, Spanish... you name it, we have it. And when it comes to music, Melbourne is the place to be if you want to throw a few musical styles into a blender and see what happens. The Melbourne band Bombay Royale, has done that, and the musical cocktail is one of a kind and very hard to resist.
Bombay Royale embrace the music of Indian cinema and take great pride in covering little-known Bollywood classics as well as creating original surfadelic Hindi numbers. East meets West in a most spectacular way, and the result is a mix of music, sung mostly in Hindi, that is guaranteed to get the feet tapping and executing the odd Bollywood dance move or three.
Indian cinema has a love of the dramatic, a cascade of colours and over the top acting. Almost half a century ago Indian cinema adopted music from around the world, including rock, surf, and disco, and put their own Indian spin on it that appealed to the masses. The musicians from that era, such as R.D. Burman, Asha Bhosle, and Mohammed Rafi, created music that Bombay Royale now cover and wow audiences in Australia and around the world.
The band played its first gig in April 2010 at the St Kilda Festival, a multicultural arts festival popular in Melbourne and has a strong contingent of international artists performing. Since then, Bombay Royale have played nationally at the Port Fairy Folk Festival, Bellingen Global Carnival and also at the Australasian World Music Expo as well as a gig in the Reunion Islands (Africa) in 2011. Now seen regularly on television and radio, their fan base has increased dramatically and is still on the up.
With what looks like a cast of thousands, Bombay Royale have assembled an eclectic bunch of talented musicians who share a passion for Indian cinema music with a twist. Tablas, brass, guitars, sitars, organs, drums, bass, and fabulous vocals combine to create a very cool, multi-cultural sound.
One of the lead singers is Parvyn Singh. Born into a family of professional musicians, Parvyn’s performed on stage since the age of five. She blends the singing styles of East and West and has created her own unique style. Lead male vocalist is Bengali Shourov Bhattacharya, who grew up listening to his family collection of Bollywood records. When these two performers sing a duet, it is hot!
Other band members include Andy Williamson on sax; Bob Knob bassist, composer and producer; Tom Martin on guitar and song writer; Matt Vehl on synth; Julian Goyma on drums; Josh Bennett on sitar, table, mandolin, dlruba, and guitar; Ed Fairlie on trumpet; Declan Jones on horns, and Ros Jones on trombones.
Once again, Melbourne’s diversity has nurtured and encouraged a band that takes all the good of various cultures to make it even better. But rather than me tell you how fabulous they are, find out for yourself!
Sangeeta
Nancy Boondoo, an attorney with the government of Trinidad and Tobago, is a
student of life. She's always on the lookout for something new and interesting
to learn and do. She loves to travel, and though she hasn't yet been to India,
the land of her ancestors, it's at the top of her list to visit someday. She
loves to go to the beach, take nature hikes, and bake. She does not like to
cook, but she collects cookbooks anyway, along with all kinds of other
books. A girl after our own heart...
Calypso
music, like the steel pan and chutney music, originated from my beautiful,
small country of Trinidad and Tobago, and unfortunately, it is a largely
unappreciated art form in a world filled of “production-line” type music.
Calypso music had its birth amongst the Afro-Trinibagonian slave population and
is reported to have been a means of communication between the slaves in a time
when their communication with each other was severely limited by the
plantocracy, who were no doubt afraid of a slave revolution, which occurred
regularly on other Caribbean islands. Calypso music has since developed to
become witty social commentary set to music, and over the years, has served as
historical records of events, whether local or global, capture Trinidad and
Tobago’s attention. As we approach Carnival in Trinidad and Tobago, the local
highlight of the calypsonian’s year, I thought it appropriate to share a few of
my favourite songs and explain the stories they tell.
One
of my all time favourites is Lord Invader’s “Rum and Coca Cola.” Yes, you read
right – Lord Invader’s, not the Andrews Sisters. Here’s Lord Invader’s original version:
What
does this song have to do with our history? Well, firstly, Trinidad and Tobago,
though a British West Indian colony, has always had ties with the United
States. In 1941, the U.S. and Britain
signed the Lend-Lease Agreement, also called the Bases-for-Destroyers
Agreement. As part of this agreement, the Americans got 99-year leases of the
deepwater harbor on Trinidad’s north coast, along with three army bases, one
each at Chaguaramas, Wallerfield, and Carlsen Field. Thousands of Trinidadians
worked at these bases for higher wages and in better conditions than they were
accustomed to. My grandmother spoke fondly of my grandfather’s experiences
while working at the Carlsen Field base. There were also the female
Trinidadians who worked in an entirely different manner – as prostitutes,
entertaining the Americans and Canadians who were stationed here; they too made
higher wages than the other islanders.
Lord
Invader was inspired by this situation, and the fact that the Americans used to
chase (drink) the local rum with their Coca Cola at limings (hangouts) such as
Point Cumana. The wages of the prostitutes was apparently so high that mothers
would pimp or even join their daughters in the profession, “working for the
Yankee dollar,” as Lord Invader eloquently put it.
In
1936, Attila the Hun sang “Roosevelt in Trinidad,” a lively calypso recording
the visit of then U.S. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt to Trinidad.
Roosevelt was on a secret mission to Casablanca, and because of the tumultuous
period before World War II, he flew the longer route through Trinidad as part
of the secrecy. The calypso extolled Roosevelt’s virtues. Listen to it here:
It
is said that Roosevelt became a fan of calypso music after hearing this song.
Wouldn’t you too if you were flatteringly portrayed in song?
Jumping
a few decades later into 1967, Lord Kitchener sang the popular “Take Yuh Meat
Out Mih Rice,” a conversation between a Bajan (a citizen of Barbados, a
Caribbean neighbor) and a Trini (short for Trinidadian), complete with the
accents. Trinidad and Tobago and Barbados have shared a long love-hate
relationship, and in this calypso, the Bajan and Trini, unable to make it alone
and being hungry, decide to pool their resources to make a meal of meat and
rice, the Bajan contributing the rice and the Trini the meat. After the meal is
finished cooking, the Bajan continuously diminishes the Trini’s contribution as
a justification for reducing his own share. Over the years, Barbados and
Trinidad and Tobago have had disputes over maritime borders, cricket, and
flying fish. Why flying fish? Well, the Bajans alleged that they have fished
flying fish, the national icon of Barbados, off the coast of Tobago since the
seventeenth century. We Trinis, for the most part, do not take too kindly to
the Bajans passing of our fish as their own. In the opinion of many, this
calypso song, though decades old, still applies. It’s sure to put a smile on
your face! Take a listen:
One
of the best calypos around is Ras Shorty I’s “Watch Out, My Children,” released
in 1997. In the 1990s, the country’s drug problem began to surface. After
meeting some young boys high on cocaine and looking as if their lives had been
wasted, Ras Shorty I was inspired to write this song. Interestingly enough, the
United Nations International Drug Control Programme chose the anti-drug anthem
in 2002 as its theme song. It is timeless and beautiful, and if you listen to
no other calypso on this list, I ask that you at least listen to this one:
There
is a tremendous amount of calypso music, though my list is short and does
little justice to the great art form. Calypsos have recorded much international
history, such as about the Russian Space Station, Edward VII’s abdication, the
first nuclear weapon, and a visit by the famous German airship, Graf Zepplin,
to Trinidad in 1934 on its way to the Chicago Fair. While calypsonian musicians
have stopped naming themselves “Lord,” the stage names are still unusual, and
the music continues to tell our story and define us as a nation.
Pete Seeger (l) and Rik Palieri (r) in 1980
Photo by Bob Yahn
Our guest today is Rik Palieri, a singer-songwriter based in Hinesburg, Vermont, who performs both original and traditional songs on a variety of instruments, including the banjo, guitar, mouth bow, Native American flute, and Polish bagpipes. Rik is author of the book, The Road Is My Mistress: Tales of a Roustabout Songster, and producer of The Song Writer’s Notebook, a TV show that is now archived in the new Rik Palieri Collection in The Library of Congress. Rik has eight CDs and was recently featured on the Grammy-nominated Singing Through The Hard Times: a tribute to Utah Phillips. More about Rik Palieri can be found at www.banjo.net.
Did you ever experience one moment that changed your life?
For me, that moment came in the mid-1970s, back when I had dreams of becoming a banjo player and folk performer. Yes, while most kids my age were having rock & roll fantasies, I was trying to plunk out a few old folk songs on my long-neck banjo. I had been inspired by activist, songwriter, and beloved performer Pete Seeger. Pete’s life story of rambling around the country by freight train and thumb, learning and sharing music with everyone he met, not only excited but inspired me. After seeing Pete live at a college show, I felt a bright light burn inside me and sensed that it would somehow be my destiny to carry on in his spirit. At that time, this notion seemed ridiculous, as I was just fifteen and a mere beginner on my instrument. Pete was only known to me by listening to his recordings, seeing him at his concerts, and sharing a few backstage handshakes. But then, just a few years later, my magical moment came.
I had read that Pete Seeger was going to give a free evening concert in Central Park with Arlo Guthrie. I marked that day on my calendar and waited for the big day to arrive. Little did I know that, earlier that same day, my mother would take my two young sisters to the park to visit a few museums. After finishing their museum tour, they all went over to Central Park for a picnic and to play with the other children.
As they were setting down their blankets, a huge crowd gathered. Curious, my mother asked one of the young girls sitting nearby what was going on. The girl replied that there was a free concert with Pete Seeger and Arlo Guthrie. When my sister, Lisa, heard that Pete was playing, she remembered that I also planned to be at this show and, for some strange reason, she thought that I would be performing too. My sisters told my mother they wanted to go look for me and headed for the stage area.
They were both only tiny tots at the time, about nine and six years old, so when they met one of the stage hands and told him they were looking for their brother, who was a friend of Pete Seeger, the stage hand brought them to the trailer where Pete and his wife, Toshi, were preparing for the evening show.
Lisa remembers walking into the trailer. “It was so strange. We were only two little girls and did not realize where we were, but as soon as the door opened, I recognized the big tall fellow with a gray bushy beard, holding a banjo. I knew it was none other than Pete Seeger.” After a few moments of stunned silence, Lisa blurted out, “I know you. You're Pete Seeger.”
Pete replied, “Where do you know me from?”
Lisa said, “From watching Sesame Street. Do you know if my brother is here?”
Pete, a little perplexed, asked, “Your brother?”
Lisa continued, “My brother is a big fan of yours, and he plays the banjo too. And he is really good. I thought he said he was coming to see your show. Is he here?” Lisa went on about her brother till Pete asked, “Who is he?”
Lisa said, “His name is Rik Palieri and, you know, he has some of your records too.”
Pete laughed. “No, he is not here.” Then he asked his wife, Toshi, to make the girls some sandwiches, gave them water, then sent them back out to play.
My sisters left the trailer and told my mother what had happened. My mother really did not believe them but said, “That's nice.”
A few hours later, I arrived with my girlfriend and sat down to enjoy the show. That night at the concert, Pete said, “Tomorrow I will be performing at a riverfront festival in Hoboken, New Jersey, to benefit the Clearwater. Everyone’s invited.” (The Sloop Clearwater is the environmental sailboat that Pete helped build in 1969.)
As Hoboken was just a stone’s throw away from my parents’ house, I knew I had to go.
The next morning at breakfast, before I left for the concert, my sister told me, “I met Pete Seeger yesterday.”
I looked at her like she was crazy.
“He was filing his nails,” she snapped back.
Unaware of my sister’s little promotional campaign, I just shook my head and walked out the door with my banjo slung over my back. When I arrived, a few musicians had already begun playing together in a little circle, so I pulled out my banjo and joined right in. We played for while and then some one called out, “Hey Pete's here!”
First concert with Pete in Hoboken
Pete was dressed in a bright yellow t-shirt and a black Greek fisherman's cap. He joined our circle, unzipped his leather guitar case and took out his big 12-string guitar, and played along. After a few songs he introduced himself then asked us about ourselves.
When he came to me he said, “And who are you?”
“Hi, I'm Rik Palieri,” I managed to stammer.
Pete looked at me, cocked his head, and said, “You know Rik, I met your sisters yesterday, and they told me you are a good banjo player. Why don't you come up on stage with me, and we'll sing a few songs together with the rest of the group?”
I stood in shock, thinking: You met my sisters? You want me to join you on stage?
Pete smiled and welcomed me up on the high waterfront stage.
Within a week, my life changed. A photographer from the Asbury Park Press snapped a photo of me and Pete on stage, a photo that appeared in the paper’s next edition, and now the reporter wanted a follow-up story. Later, Pete himself called me on the phone, asking me to help him put on a concert and start building a chapter of the Clearwater in my community.
As the years passed, Pete became my mentor, sending me letters, giving me advice, and helping me get involved in concerts, festivals, recordings, and books. He also appeared as a guest on my cable TV show, “The Song Writer’s Notebook.” Whenever Pete thought something I was doing was worthwhile, he was always there with his warm smile and helping hand.
Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t gone to that little festival in Hoboken, would my life still be the same? But my sister Lisa takes a whole different view. “Remember, Rik, it was me who introduced you to Pete Seeger. You still owe me, big time!”
Here is a short video clip of me and Pete singing "John Henry." It's from the Song Writer's Notebook:
