Arte Y Vida Chicago

Sarah Aroeste, Gracia

By Don Macica,
Chicago based writer and arts marketing consultant.

If the unique qualities of Ladino culture and music ever find an audience beyond scholars and traditionalists, it might be because of artists like Sarah Aroeste. Like some unlikely cross between Yasmin Levy and Alanis Morissette, the American born Aroeste finds deeply personal meaning and not a small amount of catharsis in these ancient songs. Ladino’s roots are in pre-1492, pre-Castilian Spain, but took on characteristics typical of a Diaspora when Spanish Jews were scattered across the globe. Musically, this means that you can hear traces of Middle Eastern, Italian, Greek, South American, and other sounds as well as those of Spain. On her new release, Gracia, Aroeste examines lyrics that are quite relevant to the modern world. She has fit these old tales and a handful of originals into an explicitly feminist framework to tell stories of strong women making their way through the world, expressing desire, longing, loss, sensuality and triumph. Her musical approach is contemporary and eclectic, occasionally reminiscent of those hard rock/hip hop hybrids from a decade ago. More often, though, she and co-producer Shai Bachar inject a more subtle and welcome edginess into the proceedings, accenting the natural melodic power of the songs. And if there is any justice in the world, the remix of Scalerica will soon be a global dance floor smash.

Sarah Aroeste, Gracia

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Album Review: ANA TIJOUX – LA BALA

It’s the type of material that makes us proud: an artist using their talent to open new lines of dialogue, create awareness and with an always present sense of hope, create change. Beyond our personal struggles are hundreds of stories that need to be vocalized, that need to be heard. La Bala opens its musical pages to show us a glimpse of Ana Tijoux‘s world, a genial treasure of global perspective.

Tijoux’s newest masterpiece engages listeners from the very first sound, in modern war tale form. The album’s theme song, La Bala, is combative and explosive, raw and tragic, a wake up call. It then continues into Shock which expresses student outrage and pays homage to the protests taking place across the world, especially those from the rapper’s birthplace, Chile.

Desclasificado portrays the starkness of our reality. “Soy el ultimo eslabon de la piramide,” speaks of the need to look beyond ourselves, to our foundation and those we can’t do without. Everyone is important even if we don’t all believe it. It’s a cry for help for those that think themselves unworthy, even perhaps to the extreme of feeling they’ve no place in the world, without classification.

There’s also an ode to poetry’s kingdom in ‘Sacar La Voz,’ which opens in royal fashion and features fellow poetic aristocrat, Jorge Drexler. The Academy Award winning songwriter, adds a dramatic ending to a song that alludes to the incredible power we each possess and the importance of using it accordingly. The juxtaposing intro is beautiful and unexpected, much like Tijoux herself.

Check it out for yourself and as you near the end of the album, Volver will put it all in perspective. La Bala succeeds in empowering the powerless and reminds us of our capacity for change as extraordinary human beings. It’s a call for a re-appreciation of our humanness.

The album contains 11 songs and also includes special appearances by Curumin, Monica Blaire, Los Aldeanos, Javier Barria and Solo Di Medina. The tunes range from luxurious sounding ballads, to jazzy, sexy hip hop. La Bala follows Tijoux’s Grammy nominated album, 1977, which continues to receive critical acclaim. The new album is no different in its mark for success.

Tijoux is currently on tour in support of La Bala. For more information on Ana Tijoux, visit Nacional Records.

-Sandra Trevino

Ana Tijoux – La Bala

Arte Y Vida Chicago

Bebo Valdés, then and now.
By Don Macica
Chicago based writer and arts marketing consultant.

If we are at all familiar with Bebo Valdés, we know him as some sort of elder statesman, a living legend of Cuban music. And that is most certainly true, as it should be for anyone 90+ years old and still making music. Our impressions of him, though, are based on the way he has been presented to us in the last decade or so, starting with Fernando Trueba’s 2000 Latin Jazz documentary Calle 54, in which Bebo performs elegant duets with, first, the great bassist Cachao, and then his son, Chucho.

Ah, Chucho. As a founding member of the Cuban jazz fusion supergroup (Paquito D’Rivera and Arturo Sandoval were also in the group) Irakere, Chucho Vadés is right there with other noted names of that era, like Joe Zawinul, Chick Corea, Stanley Clark, and of course the electric Miles Davis. Valdés followed up Irakere with a solo career that is now in its third decade. It is entirely possible that, without the success of Chucho (and with a little help from Buena Vista Social Club), none but the most scholarly students of musica Cubana would even know about Bebo Valdés.

But I digress.

Bebo Valdés, first and foremost, was the preeminent bandleader working in Cuba during the 1940s and 1950s. We know about Machito, Chano Pozo, Mario Bauza, Chico O’Farrell and many others because they came to the United States and were the Cuban half of Afro-Cuban jazz. As leader of the orchestra at the famous Tropicana nightclub in Havana, Bebo had the island’s best players at his disposal. There are only a handful of recordings from that era, and one of the best is Cuban Dance Party, which was issued on CD in 2006. It’s everything you would expect and more, filled with mambos and cha-chas that come roaring at you in glorious high-fidelity. Horns blare, percussion cooks, and you can just feel the humidity of a sultry night in La Habana, American mobsters and their Cuban girlfriends lurking in the background. I’ll have another rum and coke, thank you.

One thing that is not immediately evident on the recording, though, is Bebo’s piano. It’s way down in the mix, primarily used as a rhythm instrument as Valdés concentrates on leading this incredible band. His piano skills were certainly known. When Nat King Cole went to Havana to record one of his Cole en Español sessions, Bebo was there in the studio playing as well as arranging.

In the wake of the revolution, Bebo left Cuba for Sweden, where he lived in obscurity, rarely if ever performing publicly. Like his contemporaries from Wim Wender’s film Buena Vista Social Club, he all but disappeared. Meanwhile, his son Chucho became an internationally respected musician and something of an elder statesman himself.

Valdés reemerged in 1994 with a great little release called Bebo Rides Again. It resides somewhere between traditional Cuban and jazzier territory. Organized by and featuring Paquito D’Rivera, the set introduced the then 76 year old Valdés to a whole new audience.

Bebo truly broke through in the new millennium, beginning with Calle 54. Almost all of his recordings and appearances since have focused on his piano playing. And what gorgeous playing it is. His 2003 collaboration with flamenco singer Diego El Cigala, Lagrimas Negras, won a Grammy Award, one of five Bebo has won in the last decade. It is a masterpiece of restrained elegance. Filmmaker Trueba followed this up with a hauntingly beautiful concert film of Bebo and Cigala called Blanco y Negro. As in Calle 54, Trueba’s camera catches every intimate detail and flourish, and Valdés is a wonder to behold, long fingers making elegantly musical runs up and down the length of the keyboard. A central interlude of the film features Bebo alone, improvising a medley of Gershwin’s American in Paris and Concerto in F with a section of the
jazz standard Willow Weep for Me that is breathtaking.

Bebo de Cuba was released in 2005, a 2-CD set that features all original Valdés compositions, including the extended eight movement Suite Cubana. There’s a fine solo piano recording called simply Bebo from 2006 that examines over a century of Cuban music, and in 2009 Bebo and Chucho recorded an album of duets, the lovely Juntos Para Siempre. What all of these projects have in common is their seriousness, a gravitas benefiting a music legend. Little of the spirit of the Tropicana is evident.

This brings us to Chico & Rita, Fernando Trueba and Javier Mariscal’s new animated film that tells the story of Chico, an enormously talented Cuban piano player and bandleader, and his turbulent love affair with Rita, a beautiful singer. Covering fifty years and three continents, it is epic in scope while intimate in nature, addressing themes of friendship, jealousy, betrayal and enduring love while slyly commenting on racial inequities. It’s a beautiful film, with painstakingly
detailed depictions of Havana (then and now), Paris, and New York City. And the music JUMPS. It’s scored, of course, by Bebo Valdés, and it’s easy to construe the entire film as Trueba’s tribute to his good friend.

The soundtrack gives Valdés the opportunity to go back and recreate the essence of 1950s Havana and capture the excitement of those nights at the Tropicana. At the same time, the love story allows him to play with the romantic expressiveness that appears in Blanco y Negro, Bebo, and Juntos Para Siempre. As a bonus, parts of the score re-imagine New York’s Cubop scene, paying tribute to Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Chano Pozo, and Ben Webster. At one point,
a voice sounding very much like Nat King Cole (but actually his brother Freddie) sings Chico’s signature song. There’s even a sequence in which Chico has a fever dream of New York City fueled by his fears of losing Rita, who was escorted there by an oily would-be mogul to become a star. It juxtaposes bits and pieces of movie and Broadway themes to illustrate Chico’s anxiety. All of this makes the soundtrack an indispensible guide to the scope of Bebo’s six decade musical output.

Is Chico Bebo? Perhaps a part of the story is his, but there are parts of the Buena Vista story in there too as well as hints of a very bad movie (but with incredible music) made from a very good book, The Mambo Kings. Trueba calls it “a tribute to all the Cuban musicians of that era.”, but concedes “the spirit of Bebo is all over Chico & Rita.”

And that is a very good thing.

Bebo Valdés, then and now.

Arte Y Vida Chicago

Self-Portrait by Emily Yates Courtesy of NVAM

Art exhibit calls attention to overlooked service women
by Daniela García
A Chicago based writer for Extra Newspaper and Arte y Vida Chicago

There are over 400,000 women currently on active duty, reserve and part of the National Guard, as well as over 1 million female veterans in the U.S. military. It’s a significant number, but little to nothing is really known about what women in the military experience during and after service.

As citizens that willingly go out to fight our country’s battles, you would expect that in return, they would receive both the respect and dignity they deserve from their male counterparts. But considering the news stories and lawsuits that have slowly become our main source of knowledge as to how women in the military are viewed and treated, you would be wrong.

The National Veteran’s Art Museum has tackled the topic of women in the military before, with 2010’s “Battle Dress: A Woman’s View,” but their latest female-only exhibit, “Overlooked / Looked Over” is made up of art specifically from female veterans. “This show was intended to bring to local and national consciousness the realities of the lived experience of women in the military, in war and as veterans,” said Sarah Eilefson, grant and communications coordinator at the NVAM.

“Women are a growing presence in the military,” said Air Force veteran and exhibit curator Erica Slone. “There’s a lot of misconceptions about what that means. The public in general can be pretty ignorant of what it means to be a military member or a veteran, especially a woman veteran.”

The title of the exhibit stems from Mae West, who was once quoted as saying, “I’d rather be looked over than overlooked.” A sentiment that is has been considered both empowering and anti-feminist, it still describes the predicament of past and present female military members: they are either ignored due to their gender or given attention based only on their sexuality.
With that quote kept in mind, seven female veterans (including Slone) from various military backgrounds came together to share their unique stories through various mediums.

“This genre of art, this autobiographical work, is a little more taxing and it’s important to support the artists,” Slone said.

Overall, Slone said the theme of the exhibit is to help communicate the experiences of women veterans in what she describes as a sexist culture that is still very much an in-group mentality that results in a struggle with self-identity. “Women have a particular experience that isn’t understood. Social military conditioning and culture, the way it’s organized, is highly misogynistic and it just goes with the psychology of getting the soldier prepared for war, getting them ready to kill somebody,” Slone said. “That’s the ultimate goal of the military and I think we overlook that, with mass media in general, how it’s advertised, how we try to recruit people. It’s separated from the reality of war.”

Overlooked / Looked Over runs through May 28

Overlooked / Looked Over

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Kelly Owens as Hester  © Anthony Aicardi

Review: Fucking A

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Review: Memories of a Morning
Directed by José Luis Guerín

15th Annual European Union Film Festival
Gene Siskel Film Center

by  Miguel Diaz, a Chicago based Filmmaker

There are certain concepts in our lives we find difficult to accept; death, to put it bluntly, is one of those concepts.

“Memories of a Morning” is a documentary that uses the unexpected suicide of a local violinist to anchor itself on a subject that we know is always there but often ignored or forgotten. Director José Luis Guerín starts his film with images taken from what seems to be his apartment. We see the neighboring windows and activities of the people who live across the street, along with the old stone façade of the 1900 block building they live in.

Among the readers, musicians, lovers, loungers and plain old residents of the building across the street is a man on the 4th or 5th floor dressed only in his undergarments and playing the violin. He is blurred out and we have no idea what he looks like but we can hear his music from across the street and we assume so can everyone else. The opening montage of nearby trees, street signs, pedestrians, and apartment windows almost reflect Guerín’s struggle to find the subject for his film. It is not until we hear and see the man playing the violin alone in his room, standing half-naked by his wide open window that we feel Guerín has found his focus.

And then suddenly, the 1900 block building gets a new façade.

The camera has finally crossed the street to meet some of the people we saw from afar in the opening montage. We find out that the violinist had jumped from his window in an attempt to take his life. We gather that his name was Manel and that he was a lonely man. We hear from his friends that he had slit his wrist as well and that they had no idea why he had chosen to take his life other than he had recently been in a relationship with a girlfriend who works at a radio station.

The film follows this structure throughout. Like many films before it, most notably “Citizen Kane,” it means to use 3rd person perspective to figure out who one individual was. We are only who we think we are until we die, after that we are whatever the still-living say we are. But this film does not mean to prove that, it accepts it as common knowledge; no, this documentary is in search of the behaviors people adopt when confronted with a concept as shattering as death rather than discovering the true identity of a single individual.

Every interviewed neighbor adds their speculation as to who Manel was or why he “did it” but what is most interesting to see is their insight to the morbid concept of passing. A group of women at a nearby salon talk about how they deal with stress by closing their eyes and pretending to quietly die. Do they think Manel’s suicide was a means to soothe or end his pain?

In another scene we see a young guitar player who also used to listen to Manel play, he observed that Manel would hold on to musical notes when playing. He explains that, musically,this was sadder than playing multiple notes; it was as if Manel had one thing he loved and he wanted to hold on to it and nothing else. Guerín also interviews other musicians such as a sax player who also likes to play by his apartment window and a singer who is a single mother.

In a later scene we see a violin instructor tell his 7 or so year-old student about the story of Odysseus and then mention the similarities to Manel’s suicide. It is a curious scene to watch because the child is so understanding we wonder why we tell myths in the first place. And are myths that much different from 3rd person accounts or documentaries?

There are some images towards the end of the film of paintings, books, TV images, and audio records. These are all forms of capturing life, so are films and documentaries or myths and stories, they may not be accurate but they are the only memories we have left when the dead are gone.

Review: Memories of a Morning

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Gutman (Matt DeCaro) listens to the beating of Kilroy’s (Antwayn Hopper) heart, which is “as big as the head of a baby,” in Calixto Bieito’s reimagined production of Tennessee Williams’ Camino Real.

By Alexander Perry

Imagine being stuck in someone else’s dream and unsure if you will ever wake.  Now imagine that the dreamer is drunk, fevered, and possibly dying.  Finally, imagine that the dreamer is masterful poet and playwright Tennessee Williams.  This is the experience offered by Calixto Bieito’s dramatic reimagining of Camino Real opening this week at the Goodman Theatre (March 3 – April 8, 2012).

Suffice to say, this production may not be for everyone, especially those looking for a clear and concise narrative, or even an easily grasped “meaning.”   Thinking about the production is much like thinking about a dream, and requires a bit of Freudian work.  Like all dreams, when the dream (and the play) ends, it takes awhile to digest.  Audiences are left to sort through the production’s bacchanal revelry, with its torrent of images and dream-logic, drifting in and out to the rhythm of Spanish songs and the synapses of a dying man’s brain.  Initially, revulsion and exasperation may set in.  Most audience members probably will give in to the confusion and walk-away dumbfounded.  But, like all Apollonian festivities, there seems to be a sobering order at work underneath- beneath the passionate bravado, lurid imagery, and intimate secrets, audiences are provided a glimpse into a man working through his demons and desires.

At the beginning of the play, we are greeted by an intoxicated man under a lone spotlight who addresses himself as Don Quixote (but who is clearly a stand-in for Tennessee Williams himself).  He soon falls asleep (or chokes to death- it is a little unclear), and we descend into his purgatorial dream, perhaps the last dream of his life.  This dying man’s dream-world is occupied by hopeless lovers like Lord Byron (Mark  Montgomery), the Baron De Charlus (Andre De Shields), Cassanova (David Darlow), the Hunchback of Notre Dame’s beloved Esmeralda (Monica Lopez), her enigmatic Gypsy mother (Carolyn Hoerdemann), and the powerful boxer Killroy (Antwayn Hopper), all looking for an escape from the walled city of Camino Real.  Rather than stage the largely plot-less play pseudo-realistically in a literal city, Bieito pushes the production as far as he can into the metaphoric and Freudian world of the playwright’s unconscious.

This embrace of the unconscious actually helps bring a sense of order to the proceedings.  Like “caged birds,” the characters become personifications of Williams’ Freudian id- submerged (and not so submerged) desires and intimate longings, all seeking to escape to the surface and find expression.  Standing in their way are the walls of the city (impressively designed by Rebecca Ringst) and its authoritarian caretakers Lobo (Jonno Roberts) and Gutman (Matt Decaro), violent representations of a Freudian ego.  Seen in this light, the play becomes familiar terrain for lovers of Williams’ traditional work, even if it is a bit more radically poetic.

This poetic world is fantastically expressed in the production design and in the performances. There is no shortage of spectacle and surprising moments. The set design by Rebecca Ringst cleverly transforms the Goodman’s space, while James Ingalls’ lighting works very well in collaboration- an impressive sequence involving several massive disco balls and refracting light is particularly notable. Ana Kuzmanic’s tightly fitted costumes are very character evocative, and the soundscapes and songs by Richard Woodbury and the cast add to the textured dream-world. The acting is superb by everyone involved. Most notably is Antwayn Hopper’s Killroy; at times defiant and vulnerable, but always eminently sympathetic with his broken heart. Paradoxically, while the production (in both performance and design) succeeds at revealing the bacchanal drives and fragile weaknesses of the human heart, it was at times difficult to become too emotionally attached to any single character. The intimate scenes (while beautifully acted and rendered) are lost a little in the wave of spectacle and noise.

If you are in the mood for something very different and are ready for a Dionysian spectacle of Freudian desires, Camino Real might be for you.

Review: Camino Real

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Todo Mundo Lee a García Márquez
Por Conrado Zuluaga

Este material apareció originalmente en el Centro Virtual Cervantes y ha sido republicado con permiso.

«Durante veinte años he trabajado diez horas diarias, lo que representa un total de 73 000 horas. Durante estos veinte años he escrito 400 tomos de novelas y 35 dramas. Cada uno de estos tomos en ediciones de 4 000 ejemplares, se vendió a 5 francos, son 8 000 000 francos; los 35 dramas, representado por término medio 100 veces cada uno, dieron 6 360 000 francos», eran las cuentas que hacía en 1848 Alejandro Dumas.

Pero el autor de El conde de Montecristo no quedó satisfecho con esos cálculos y también lo hizo de las sumas que con sus obras habían ganado los fabricantes de papel, los impresores, los libreros, los dibujantes, los empresarios, los actores, los escenógrafos, etc., y dedujo que de su trabajo intelectual habían vivido 2 160 personas. Dumas vivió hasta 1870 y durante esos siguientes veintidós años desplegó una incesante actividad y estuvo produciendo siempre.

Pero si esos eran los cálculos a mediados del siglo diecinueve de un escritor que gozaba de popularidad, ¿qué se puede decir de las cuentas que puede llevar a cabo en la actualidad un escritor como el español Arturo Pérez Reverte o el colombiano Gabriel García Márquez? Ahora, cuando los medios de comunicación han convertido en realidad cotidiana la profecía de Melquíades en Cien años de soledad («Sentaron una gitana en el extremo de la aldea e instalaron el catalejo a la entrada de la carpa. Mediante el pago de cinco reales, la gente se asomaba al catalejo y veía a la gitana al alcance de la mano. “La ciencia ha eliminado las distancias”, pregonaba Melquíades. “Dentro de poco, el hombre podrá ver lo que ocurre en cualquier lugar de la tierra, sin moverse de su casa”»), y las noticias editoriales le dan la vuelta al mundo en segundos y las ediciones proliferan en todos los idiomas y los derechos de autor se negocian antes de aparecer los libros —a veces incluso antes de ser escritos— y se pueden adquirir libros a cualquier hora del día o de la noche a través de las librerías virtuales, la verdad escueta es que, tal vez, es imposible hacer las cuentas. Sin embargo, algunos datos y la consideración de diversos fenómenos de los más notables de esta situación, pueden dar una idea al lector atento de las dimensiones de un mercado o de lo que algún periodista llamó, con justa razón, «la gloria en cifras».

A mediados de junio en la FNAC, una de las tiendas de libros y discos más concurridas de Madrid, sus visitantes podían apreciar la maqueta de la calle de un pueblecito, que, por el entorno que el diseñador trataba de imponerle, semejaba un asentamiento urbano tropical. Se trataba del mítico Macondo. Así se iniciaba en España una promoción de toda la obra de García Márquez en las nuevas reimpresiones de la editorial Mondadori. Unas semanas más tarde, los lectores del Nobel colombiano, que son muchos, se vieron gratamente sorprendidos al contemplar varias docenas de buses del transporte municipal de Madrid con una fotografía del escritor de Aracataca y la reproducción de las carátulas de varios de sus títulos. Desde entonces, en la mayoría de las librerías de la ciudad las obras de García Márquez, todas sus novelas y sus libros de cuentos, se obtienen en las nuevas y cuidadas reimpresiones con descuentos especiales.


Pero ese fue sólo el comienzo. A finales de agosto la empresa RBA lanzó una colección de libros denominada «Nueva Narrativa». Los dos primeros títulos fueron obras de García Márquez y Arturo Pérez Reverte, Noticia de un secuestro y La sombra del águila. La frase emblemática de la colección era «Los más leídos» y acertaron, pues la noticia en el diario El País de Madrid, a la semana de la aparición de la colección, era que RBA había decidido imprimir 150 000 ejemplares más de los dos primeros títulos para ajustar los 400 000 ejemplares vendidos.

En la actualidad estas cifras, al menos en lo que atañe al mundo editorial, no sorprenden a nadie, pero es bueno tener presente que hace menos de cincuenta años, por las mismas fechas en que a García Márquez la Editorial Losada de Buenos Aires le rechazaba su manuscrito de La hojarasca, los periódicos norteamericanos registraban la sorprendente noticia de que la última novela de Hemingway, El viejo y el mar, aparecía en los mercados estadounidenses con una edición de 150 000 ejemplares. Algo nunca antes visto con ningún autor. Y en la actualidad, tampoco se puede olvidar que, excepto el mismo García Márquez, ningún autor colombiano sobrepasa la cifra de los 50 000 ejemplares en la primera edición.

Pero la obra de García Márquez y en particular Cien años de soledad constituye desde hace ya varios años una pieza indiscutible en todas las listas de los libros más importantes de los últimos cincuenta años, la última centuria o el milenio. Para el Waterstone’s Magazine dos títulos del escritor colombiano —honor que comparte con Graham Greene, E.M. Forster y J.R.R. Tolkien— forman parte de las cien obras más valiosas del siglo XX: la novela ya mencionada y El amor en los tiempos del cólera. En la colección «Las 100 joyas del milenio», del periódico El Mundo de Madrid, de nuevo Cien años de soledad es el número cinco de la colección. Y una revista literaria suiza que llevó a cabo durante 1997 una encuesta en más de una docena de países, concluyó que García Márquez es el autor más leído de los últimos 100 años.

La popularidad de Cien años de soledad no es un fenómeno del milenio, es decir, de esa especie de urticaria que se ha extendido por todos los países y, en particular, en todos aquellos que pretenden realizar un inventario de los últimos mil años de la humanidad. La popularidad de esta novela empezó a gestarse desde la primera edición de Sudamericana de Buenos Aires (junio de 1967), que constaba de ocho mil ejemplares y se agotó en la primera semana, gracias —simple y llanamente— a los comentarios que corrían de boca en boca. Porque el otro asunto digno de tener en cuenta es que son pocas las novelas del siglo XX que constituyen un fenómeno de expansión como el que disfruta esta novela: en los primeros veinte años, Sudamericana llevó a cabo cincuenta ediciones. A lo anterior hay que añadir que estaban de por medio las ediciones de editoriales españolas, mexicanas y colombianas, las ediciones de los clubes, las institucionales y aquellas pertenecientes a las colecciones especiales.

Y si bien el viajero puede estar seguro de que en cualquier librería del mundo hispano encontrará un ejemplar en español de Cien años de soledad, tampoco puede sorprenderse de que lo mismo le ocurra con la traducción, no en París, Londres, Berlín, Lisboa o Roma, lo cual a estas alturas es apenas elemental, sino en Budapest, Jerusalén, La Haya, Copenhague, Riga, Reikiavik, Nueva Delhi o Tokio. Esta novela está traducida a más de 34 idiomas en donde figuran, además de los más extendidos, otros idiomas: el lituano, el esloveno, el serbio, el malayalam, el croata y el bosnio. Los dos últimos en entrar a formar parte de esta lista que crece todos los días, han sido el letón y uno extendido por la India, el hindi (descendiente del sánscrito, aquel en el que Melquíades escribió la versión original de Cien años de soledad). En los tres años siguientes a la concesión del Premio Nobel, las ediciones en holandés, por ejemplo, se multiplicaron, hasta tal punto que en 1982 se conseguía en las librerías la novena y cinco años después la última edición era la duodécima o decimotercera. En los círculos editoriales se calcula que de Cien años de soledad se han vendido más de 30 millones de ejemplares. La conclusión es obvia: todo el mundo lee a García Márquez.

Bueno, no todo el mundo. Existen las excepciones que confirman la norma: en cierta ocasión se le preguntó a la madre de un gran amigo, lectora ella de muy alto nivel, si había leído Cien años de soledad —si había leído algo de García Márquez— y la respuesta fue inmediata: «Yo a ese zambo no lo leo.»

Todo Mundo Lee a García Márquez

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Cousinhood /Primos
Directed by Daniel Sánchez Arévalo

15th Annual European Union Film Festival
Gene Siskel Film Center

by Miguel Diaz
Miguel Diaz is a Chicago based Filmmaker

There is a feeling that I could not shake off while watching Daniel Sánchez Arévalo’s “Cousinhood.” The film plays like a Spanish drama that thinks it is a contemporary American comedy film, or is it the other way around? Arévalo manages to engage the appropriate emotional responses as well as make us laugh but neither of these aspects truly stand out. What we get is a film that works by conventional standards (à la Judd Apatow) but plagued by an indecisiveness of genre.

The film opens with a sad but mostly humorous scene in which Diego (Quim Gutiérrez) an “almost groom” is abandoned at the altar by his “almost bride.” Diego, obviously holding back tears, explains to the remaining guests (his family) that there will no longer be a wedding and asks them to leave him alone. Once his request is obliged, he is approached by two of his cousins Julián (Raúl Arévalo) and José Miguel (Adrián Lastra).

In an attempt to make Diego feel better about the situation, Julián suggests they all go on a trip to their childhood town so Diego can pay a visit to his first love Martina (Inma Cuesta). If this part seems vague or confusing it is because the film presented it as such. The on-a-whim decision to go on such a trip for such a reason can be blamed on the flared emotions of the moment or the excessive alcohol drinking being done near the church altar.

Regardless of the reason, it works (otherwise there would be no movie). The trio arrive at their childhood home currently inhabited by Martina. Considering they barged in running and scaring her child in the process it is amazing how much patience Martina shows but she makes the ridiculous situation seem reasonable. Even when Diego admits that he was dumped by his bride-to-be on the day of his wedding and that he essentially came back to his hometown to overcome his sadness by reuniting with his first love, Martina manages to ground the situation in the realm of reason.

I imagine this makes hers the most important role. She makes the situation seem childish instead of immature, endearing instead of insulting. But we also get Diego’s position, Gutiérrez plays him as a man who is aware of his foolishness but is too in love and well-meaning to care about it.

Adding to this plot are Julián’s mission to get his childhood role model back on his feet and Miguel’s struggle with his internal psychological fears and the fatherly effect he has on Martina’s son. These plot-lines are given as much screen-time as Diego’s and Martina’s but are actually the weakest links. Yes, we care about the characters and yes, they are interesting as well as humorous. The problem here is that this is where the film becomes conventional, or better said, predictable. The fact this film is trying to be a Hollywood comedy is a weakness the fact that it succeeds in making us care and feel genuinely good at the end is not.

For example, about half-way through the film, Diego and Miguel are presented with the realities of their lives back in Madrid thus complicating the plot. Diego’s ex-fiance, Yolanda (Núria Gago), and Miguel’s overly protective girlfriend, Toña (Alicia Rubio) arrive at Martina’s home. The plot between Toña, Miguel, and Dani (Martina’s son) is more of the predictable convention mentioned earlier, although still executed well and fun to watch.

On the other hand, Diego’s situation takes a more serious turn and in effect less comedic. He is the kind of man who knows he loves someone after only a few moments and he is torn between two women. It seems generic but we listen and we care because when you consider Cuesta’s and Gago’s performances you start to feel the severity of the emotions set on the table.

Unlike the title would have you believe, “Cousinhood” is not a film you should see with two of your best buddies. It isn’t a Bromedy/Bromance; it is best seen with a significant other. If you must see it, I would recommend waiting for it to be released on DVD. Again, the film is too Hollywood for it’s own good but it is well casted and well directed.

Cousinhood

Arte Y Vida Chicago

Chicago Jazz Ensemble with Miguel Zenón: Ornithology, The Music of Charlie Parker
By Don Macica

Don Macica is a Chicago based writer and arts marketing consultant.

At first glance, Miguel Zenón seems an unlikely choice for a collaborator on a concert devoted entirely to Charlie Parker’s idea to record an album with a string section. As Chicago Jazz Ensemble artistic director Dana Hall noted in his introduction, Zenón is very much a 21st century musician, one who has devoted much of his output to exploring the idioms and songs of his birthplace, Puerto Rico, in a jazz context. His last visit to Chicago, a May 2011 date at the Jazz Showcase (where he’ll return in April), consisted almost entirely of music from his then upcoming Alma Adentro, which interprets the classic songs of noted  Puerto Rican composers like Rafael Hernandez, Pedro Flores, and Bobby Capó. The one deviation was fresh material for his next project, original compositions that examine the diaspora of Puerto Ricans in
the mainland U.S. and the duality of identity that arises from it.

But wait: In between recording Alma Adentro and the premiere of Puerto Rico Nació en Mi: Tales from the Diaspora two weeks ago in New York City, Zenón returned home to preach the gospel of… Charlie Parker! His “Caravana Cultural” is an initiative that focuses in organizing free jazz concerts in the rural areas of the island, and Parker’s music featured. Zenón is also a member of the SFJAZZ Collective, which makes the music of jazz masters like Parker its mission.

The wise folks at the CJE surely knew this when they asked Zenón to join them at the Harris Theater Friday night for Ornithology. As Dana Hall said, despite his remarkable original work, Zenón has not been “… sleepin’ on Bird.” For this concert, the Ensemble was joined by a 10-piece string section that brought an open-minded youthfulness which complimented the CJE veterans well.

The evening started off with a song not from the Charlie Parker with Strings sessions, a rendition of Star Eyes arranged by Zenón that took the standard’s slight Latin underpinnings and developed them with a rolling, bouncing treatment. The rest of the night followed the original 1950’s era arrangements. But, oh, what arrangements they were!

It’s said that the strings idea originated with Parker, and that the record company agreed, with the proviso that standards make up the repertoire to increase sales. Thus it was that the concert primarily consisted of the great American songbook: I’m in the Mood for Love, They Can’t Take that Away From Me, Autumn in New York, What is This Thing Called Love. Zenón’s playing was gorgeous throughout, and the arrangements, hard to hear fully in the original recordings, shone brightly. On Johnny Mercer’s Laura, Zenón found the same shimmering romance that he did on Alma Adentro’s title track and Amor.

The evening held a few surprises as well. The ‘Latin tinge’ that Jelly Roll Morton once cited as an essential contributor to jazz could be heard in a handful of songs, most notably Temptation, whose Latin / Arabic feel was punctuated by blasts from CJE’s horn section. Zenón was absolutely on fire here, feet locked together as his bending knees followed the rhythm, and the strings executed the complex arrangement flawlessly.

The big surprise of the night was the unearthing of three tunes written and recorded for Charlie Parker with Strings, but “left on the cutting room floor” because their adventurous modernism was at odds with the record company’s desire for sales. Written by soon-to-be giants of jazz like Gerry Mulligan, John Lewis, and George Russell, they were an absolute revelation. Here were tunes in which the string section provide not merely beautiful support, but an essential component of the composition, sounding at times like close cousins to Miles Davis’ Birth of the Cool. In this context, Zenón was free to play something that, though over six decades old, was completely new, and he brought every bit of his 21stcentury
attitude and approach to bear. This was music that reflected the radical genius that Parker was, and showed why a modern day master like Miguel Zenón is his direct descendant.

Chicago Jazz Ensemble

Chicago Jazz Ensemble