Goat stew and dress codes...
Puerto Rico is phenomenal so far. As you can tell by the time, I am not quite adjusted to the new time zone yet. Losing four hours plays with your inner clock quite a bit.
This is a much different place than I remember. At first, I thought it was just because I'm 17 years older. That probably has a lot to do with it, but my dad says that there has been tons of development here since we last visited. San Juan is every bit a city, with all the attendant issues regarding poverty, gentrification, crime, and the loss of traditional culture.
One significant change is the prevalance of reguetón, a popular Latin American music that blends reggae with Latin rhythms to form a beat called Dem Bow. This beat is then rapped over in Spanish, often with the same explicit lyrics and subject matter that appear in mainstream rap in the US today. It is a controversial music because the youth in the Caribbean and Central America (the music is disputed as being created in either Puerto Rico or Panama) really feel empowered by having a musical voice that is uniquely theirs, though the subject matter is often violent and degrading to women.
The Puerto Rico in my memories rings with the traditional música campesina (rural music)--cuatros and guiras and wooden flutes. I'm all for pushing into new forms of music, especially as new generations seek to express themselves, but these traditional forms have to be preserved. They are a part of our heritage, and once they are gone, we are impoverished for it.
Tonight was cool because my parents treated me to a phenomenal Christmas jazz concert at the Fine Arts center in Santurce. The first act was traditional, the second act was a mixture of opera with música campesina, and the last act was a full stage of musicians (probably 12 or so) playing an incredible mixture of música campesina, afrorican jazz (that's right, I didn't make the term Afrorican up!), reggae, and hip hop. That was a unique expression, and the rapper had very positive lyrics. I can only hope such music forms will influence reguetón for the better.
One snag in tonight's show--I asked my parents three times before we arrived if there was a dress code. They said no, and I was inclined to believe them as everything here is much more laid back. But, when we were in line to give the guy our ticket, he was eyeing me, and I knew they had been mistaken. When we got to the front, he said I could not enter with shorts on. And to be blunt, he was being a real a-hole about it all. He told my parents I could come in if I sat in the back.
Now, I'm not one for a scene. I try to go with the flow as much as possible. But jazz is not about these ridiculous, aristocratic rules, and I certainly was not going to sit in the back as I'm nearing the end of my fourth rereading of The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I felt bad for inconveniencing my parents, but my dad seemed to understand. He drove me back to the apartment and I changed into pants. We only missed three songs.
It turns out that our seats were only five rows from the back, and the theater was small enough that anywhere was a good seat. But, it's the principle of the thing. I tried to give the guy at the door a steady look to let him know my displeasure when we returned, but he wouldn't even look us in the eye. And I'll tell you what I mean by all of this--during the intermission, I saw a teenager walk in with shorts. So, what was all that really about? I don't know, but I was angry for probably the first five songs. I don't know why this stuff gets me so worked up.
Other than that guy, it's been good to be around my people again. As soon as we landed in Newark, there were Puerto Ricans everywhere and Spanish being spoken all around me. I loved it. And now I'm here on the island. My Spanish is terrible...very rusty. Inés says I will loosen up, but 1.5 days and I'm still a mumbling idiot. I spoke enough to order some amazing goat stew when I first got in town though...and tonight it was pizza with beef and platanos on it. The food is unbeatable.
It's not all paradise. There are some serious problems here, especially with drugs and gentrification. The poor are being pushed out of the inner areas of San Juan and there is no housing for them. There are lots of beggars around, and they are not just hitting up tourists. As in most Latin American countries, the gap between the haves and have-nots continues to widen as the adage proves true--given the chance, the oppressed will become the most vicious oppressors. I'm almost afraid to do it, but I intend to seek out some of these darker patches in my time here. My parents live in a very nice part of San Juan, but it is a fantasy world in many respects. If I really want to understand my people, I have to understand all my people; not just the rich and well educated.
Overall, though, I love it here. Everywhere I go, there are people like me. Every man and woman has the mixed heritage that I have, and we are beautiful.
This is a much different place than I remember. At first, I thought it was just because I'm 17 years older. That probably has a lot to do with it, but my dad says that there has been tons of development here since we last visited. San Juan is every bit a city, with all the attendant issues regarding poverty, gentrification, crime, and the loss of traditional culture.
One significant change is the prevalance of reguetón, a popular Latin American music that blends reggae with Latin rhythms to form a beat called Dem Bow. This beat is then rapped over in Spanish, often with the same explicit lyrics and subject matter that appear in mainstream rap in the US today. It is a controversial music because the youth in the Caribbean and Central America (the music is disputed as being created in either Puerto Rico or Panama) really feel empowered by having a musical voice that is uniquely theirs, though the subject matter is often violent and degrading to women.
The Puerto Rico in my memories rings with the traditional música campesina (rural music)--cuatros and guiras and wooden flutes. I'm all for pushing into new forms of music, especially as new generations seek to express themselves, but these traditional forms have to be preserved. They are a part of our heritage, and once they are gone, we are impoverished for it.
Tonight was cool because my parents treated me to a phenomenal Christmas jazz concert at the Fine Arts center in Santurce. The first act was traditional, the second act was a mixture of opera with música campesina, and the last act was a full stage of musicians (probably 12 or so) playing an incredible mixture of música campesina, afrorican jazz (that's right, I didn't make the term Afrorican up!), reggae, and hip hop. That was a unique expression, and the rapper had very positive lyrics. I can only hope such music forms will influence reguetón for the better.
One snag in tonight's show--I asked my parents three times before we arrived if there was a dress code. They said no, and I was inclined to believe them as everything here is much more laid back. But, when we were in line to give the guy our ticket, he was eyeing me, and I knew they had been mistaken. When we got to the front, he said I could not enter with shorts on. And to be blunt, he was being a real a-hole about it all. He told my parents I could come in if I sat in the back.
Now, I'm not one for a scene. I try to go with the flow as much as possible. But jazz is not about these ridiculous, aristocratic rules, and I certainly was not going to sit in the back as I'm nearing the end of my fourth rereading of The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I felt bad for inconveniencing my parents, but my dad seemed to understand. He drove me back to the apartment and I changed into pants. We only missed three songs.
It turns out that our seats were only five rows from the back, and the theater was small enough that anywhere was a good seat. But, it's the principle of the thing. I tried to give the guy at the door a steady look to let him know my displeasure when we returned, but he wouldn't even look us in the eye. And I'll tell you what I mean by all of this--during the intermission, I saw a teenager walk in with shorts. So, what was all that really about? I don't know, but I was angry for probably the first five songs. I don't know why this stuff gets me so worked up.
Other than that guy, it's been good to be around my people again. As soon as we landed in Newark, there were Puerto Ricans everywhere and Spanish being spoken all around me. I loved it. And now I'm here on the island. My Spanish is terrible...very rusty. Inés says I will loosen up, but 1.5 days and I'm still a mumbling idiot. I spoke enough to order some amazing goat stew when I first got in town though...and tonight it was pizza with beef and platanos on it. The food is unbeatable.
It's not all paradise. There are some serious problems here, especially with drugs and gentrification. The poor are being pushed out of the inner areas of San Juan and there is no housing for them. There are lots of beggars around, and they are not just hitting up tourists. As in most Latin American countries, the gap between the haves and have-nots continues to widen as the adage proves true--given the chance, the oppressed will become the most vicious oppressors. I'm almost afraid to do it, but I intend to seek out some of these darker patches in my time here. My parents live in a very nice part of San Juan, but it is a fantasy world in many respects. If I really want to understand my people, I have to understand all my people; not just the rich and well educated.
Overall, though, I love it here. Everywhere I go, there are people like me. Every man and woman has the mixed heritage that I have, and we are beautiful.