Steven Sogo, Burundian Musician

Definitely want to let all who are interested know about this great young musician from Burundi. Jake and I saw him perform last week in the basement of a Moroccan restaurant in Savile Row in the heart of London, and we were both very impressed. He's got a great voice, good back-up harmonies, and everyone in the band constantly switches instruments. His music and spirit remind me of Vitali Maembe, who I'm pleased to report is becoming better known in Tanzania. The more the world knows about African artists like these, and the more their voices are heard, the better for us all.

Although it was a shock for us to move to London from Iringa, we're starting to get used to some of the perks, like seeing great concerts and musicals whenever we want to. In the past three weeks we've seen three great African shows - Steven Sogo, Youssou N'Dour and High Priest Safro Manzangi at a Congolese independence celebration. To our delight, both Safro and Steven sang in Swahili - Safro's was an old folk song about Patrice Lumumba that he remembered from his youth, and Steven's song in Swahili was 'Kaza Mwendo,' reminding us to live in harmony with the slow pace of life (maisha ni pole pole). His new album is called 'Il est beau mon pays,' a sentiment to which we can wholeheartedly attest: Burundi is a gorgeous country with wonderful people whose kindness really stood out during our three-week tour of East Africa.

Kaza Mwendo isn't up on YouTube yet, but here's another of his videos, enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9Q9UVk8b3g&feature=related

Love Never Dies

What a treat to be in London, the only place in the world right now to see the sequel to our favorite musical! Ramin Karimloo stole the show as the Phantom and West End debutante Sierra Boggess was divine in the title aria. All you New Yorkers will have to wait until November to see this compelling work. It was a wonderful way to celebrate Anette's birthday (belatedly) and our 11-month wedding anniversary. We're off to Switzerland tomorrow with the music still lifting our spirits.

Rage Against The Machine

I just returned from a testament to the power of music, the power of the people, and the power of grassroots organization to foment revolutionary ideals and action. Rage Against The Machine played a free thank-you concert in Finsbury Park, next to our house, and although I didn't have a ticket, I wanted to at least get close enough to feel the noise.

The concert was a tribute to a UK campaign to knock the X-Factor single from the #1 slot at Christmas. The X-Factor is Simon Cowell's creation, Britain's version of American Idol, and it's all about manufacturing cheezy pop music. Fed up with five years in a row of X-Factor #1 singles at xmas, a British couple started a Facebook campaign to get as many downloads as possible of Rage's "Killing in the Name of." Ultimately, Rage pulled off a totally unexpected upset and got the #1 slot, with over 500,000 downloads to the X-Factor's 450,000.

So at 8:30 this evening, having struggled with report writing all day, I walked across the bridge over the train tracks and into Finsbury Park. The usual suspects ringed the concert area - punks, drunks, potheads, dreadheads, and square-looking people like me whose appearance belied a more colorful youth:-)

As the first booming bass notes sounded, the crowd inside the gated area screamed, and those of us without tickets on the outside strained our necks and searched for higher ground to get a glimpse of the giant TV screens. I was happy enough to be this close to one of the most hardcore and inspirational bands of my time, and I bobbed my head and played my air guitar along with tunes like 'Bombtrack' and 'Bulls on Parade,' remembering the good old 90s and all my high school memories.

But then, as the band launched into 'Know Your Enemy,' I decided to see if I could get closer, and it turned out I wasn't the only one with this idea. A shirtless drunk guy went running through police cordons and yanked down a set of temporary chain-link fencing separating us from the main gates. A woefully obese security guard yelled at him, saying "I'm gonna get you!" but the drunk guy continued his rampage, hauling down section after section of fencing. By this time, people had begun streaming over the downed barrier and mounting an assault on the main gates, giving each other a leg up and triumphantly climbing atop the gate to celebrate before hopping down on the inside to be part of the show.

The police were frantically trying to blockade people right and left, but as at the Woodstocks of the 60s and the 90s, the streams of freaks couldn't be stopped! So many people were breaching the gates in so many places that the police finally gave up and let everyone through. It was a magical moment, and I was ecstatic to enter the fray of waving hands and thrashing bodies.

The band played for another hour, and I was mesmerized by every sound, until they stopped to bring onstage the couple who began the campaign. Everyone cheered, and then Rage announced that they had donated 100% of the profits of those 500,000 downloads to Shelter, a charity for the homeless in the UK. We all roared our appreciation as the band handed over a giant check for the couple to give to Shelter, and I noticed that Tom Morello's guitar was graffitied up with the words "Arm the Homeless," in the grand tradition of musical political revolutionaries like Woody Guthrie, whose guitar was famously scrawled with, "This machine kills fascists."

Fittingly, the show ended with a full-blooded rendition of the track that inspired this unlikely campaign, and upon leaving the people swarmed over and through any gates that police refused to use as exits. So many lines of Zack de la Rocha's militant poetry could describe this evening perfectly, like when we watched the chain-link fence being hauled down as he was raging:

"Yes I know my enemies,
they're the teachers who taught me to fight me
Compromise, conformity, assimilation,
submission, hypocrisy, brutality, the elite
All of which are American dreams,
all of which are American dreams..."

But the most fitting of all had to be when the entire crowd screamed along with him at the climax of Killing in the Name of... and if you don't already know those words by heart, I suggest you download the single:-)

One of the great albums

Today I listened to Strangefolk's 'Lore,' and was reminded how great an album it is. It is truly one of my all time favorites of any genre. Released in 1997 by the Vermont jamband, it's not just the catchy songwriting, great vocals, slick guitar riffs and precision drumming that make it so smooth. On headphones, the bass sounds amazing, bouncy and full of creativity, and I realized that the mix on this album is just perfect for my taste. The whole album is imbued with the joy and happiness of playing music and living life simply, close to nature; things I love best about places like Vermont, New England, Alaska, Africa and Norway. The refrain of the last song might as well be my mantra:

"...I may grow old that's what I'm told but I ain't never gonna die,
cuz we live in and of each other we will remain,
and we give and so discover we will remain."

Vitali Maembe's music

Our good friend Vitali Maembe is teaching this year at the University of Agder in Kristiansand, Norway, after winning a competition in Zanzibar last February. He is a gifted musician and artist whose work is dedicated to social justice, and his voice needs to be heard. Here are links to two of his videos, Asalaam Aleykhum and Afrika Shilingi Tano (filmed by Anette!). Enjoy, and please pass them on:

http://www.soundclick.com/bands/default.cfm?bandID=630408&content=videos&vidID=7557

http://www.youtube.com/user/adklose#play/all/uploads-all/0/yz_vh08qnlQ

A Taste of Scandinavia and Spain in NYC

We concluded our US vacation with an unforgettable weekend in New York to celebrate Anette's 27th birthday. Mom, Dad and Granny drove up from DC, and Anette, Olivia and I took the metro from Brooklyn to the city, where we met up at The Scandinavia House for a traditional Norwegian dinner. Afterwards, we took a cab to the Winter Garden theatre, where the huge marquee for Mamma Mia (music of Sweden's ABBA) stood out against the black skyscrapers and bright neon lights.

The show was phenomenal, with a great storyline and some hysterical acting, and a wonderful time was had by all. After the show we walked through Times Square, our eyes as wide as the horizon, trying to comprehend the enormity of light, sound and speed, amused by the people lounging in beach chairs in the newly created pedestrian section. I was so happy to walk with my grandmother, 91, at my side, and watch her enjoy the spectacle.

We said goodbye to the "old folks" at their hotel and continued on to W 38th and 8th, where we spotted a dimly lit marquee for the Roy Arias Theater on the side of a nondescript office building. We had come to see our flamenco dance teacher, Jorge Navarro, a native of Granada who's been in NY for 25 years, perform with some of his friends. We took the elevator to the 6th floor, and walked out into a haze of smoke, sweat, loud conversation and guitars strumming. We entered the small, darkened room to find a lively audience of about 100 and a small stage with two guitarists, a singer, and three dancers.

What ensued was the most intimate, intense flamenco show I've ever seen. It is beyond me to describe every footfall, every touch of the guitar, every modulation of the singer's mournful voice, or the passion and emotion of the performers. Olivia, Anette and I were enthralled, in awe, sharing a delicious feeling of having stumbled upon this most underground and most authentic of Andalucian experiences, right in the middle of NYC. Viva la Gran Manzana, y viva el flamenco jondo!

Flamenco in Iringa: A first?

Dear readers, please forgive the self-indulgence, but this post will not give you any further insight into Tanzanian culture – I simply want to talk about my first solo guitar performance, which was tonight.

Organized by Susie Hart of Neema Crafts (one of the greatest development projects on the planet) the evening featured five amateur acts: two pianists, two guitarists and a gospel choir. It was held in a tiny church that was tastefully decorated and lit with candles, and there were about 75 people in attendance (yes, it was almost the entire white community of Iringa, but hey, this is where we live).

The night began with a young pianist from the UK, followed by a German classical guitarist, and then a German pianist. After a short intermission for cake and sodas, I was up. I had already gone through all the stages of nervousness that are so familiar to me from my years of swimming – the butterflies, the bad stomach, the cold sweaty hands, etc. – so all that was left to do was to play. Problem is that cold, sweaty hands go away when you hit the water and your body takes over, but this time I had to rely solely on my freezing fingers.

Somehow, I made it through my four pieces (Sevillanas, Siguiriyas, and two Alegrias) without any major mistakes and I was quite loose and happy when I reached the finale: the (in)famous mariachi song from Desperado, which I played and sang at Susie’s request. I was grateful for the warm applause, and felt downright giddy as I took my seat next to Anette in the audience.

Egotistically, I’m wondering if this is the first flamenco performance Iringa has ever seen. We know that there are, and have been, plenty of Spanish NGO workers and missionaries here, but classical music nights in Iringa are as rare as Africans who don’t pick their noses in public, so maybe just maybe, this is some kind of a first.

Anyway, I’d like to close by thanking my three flamenco teachers – Juan Jose Socorro de Ayamonte, Torcuato Zamora de Washington DC, and David Gutierrez de Berkeley. I also have to mention Jake Thomsen, who’s been teaching me about music ever since the days of Meridian, and my voice teacher and choir director from St. Mary’s, Michael Ryan and Larry Vote, respectively.

What I want to express by mentioning all these people is that we really can’t do anything alone in this life. I derive the deepest pleasure from learning from other people, being inspired by them, emulating them, and then putting my own twist on it until it rings with the sound of my own voice. I’d like to think that all of my teachers were here with me tonight, helping my fingers on their way across the fretboard.

Bagamoyo’s Artists

Each time we are in Bagamoyo we take ngoma lessons. Ngoma is a Kiswahili word that encompasses drumming, dance and traditional music. Ally Zakoo and Shabani Mbatta (whose father is a teacher at the College of Arts) know ngoma inside out – they were born in Bagamoyo and have been playing the traditional music of Tanzania their whole lives. Now in their mid-twenties, they have set up a drum and dance workshop to teach cultural history and social issues to local schoolchildren.

Ally and Shabani play with incredible skill and pure joy, and they make their own drums; we play amidst piles of coconut wood shavings in the shade of a mango tree. On our last trip to Bagamoyo, Anette and her brother André played every day and gave excellent performances at the end of each lesson. After three days with these master teachers (who don’t have teaching degrees, mind you, just an infectious passion for what they do) André went from total beginner to confident drummer.

Vitali Maembe is a different kind of ngoma artist. A unique singer-songwriter in his early thirties, he writes socially conscious songs dealing with corruption, political violence, poverty and AIDS, among many other themes. A radio station in Dar “lost” his album after the firing of President Kikwete’s cabinet, and at a recent performance attended by several government ministers the microphone was taken away from him when he began singing ‘Afrika Shilingi Tano,’ a song enumerating the reasons Africa is perpetually drenched in blood.

In one part of the song, Vitali describes a conversation between Chinua Achebe and a writer from Sierra Leone, who laments that the white man came and killed his father and raped his mother. Chinua responds: “at least you haven’t lived to see the day that your own African people do those very same things to your family.” I guess this type of honesty isn’t what government ministers want to hear.

Vitali is also a painter. He sketches his ideas whenever they come to him but only paints once a year, filling 30 or 40 canvasses during a two-week reverie. His paintings depict the same themes that are present in his songs, and they are wonderfully colorful and sensual.

Mwandale Mwanyekwa is a sculptor who studied in Bagamoyo and is currently featured with other women in an exhibition entitled “Women are Creators” at the National Musem of Culture in Dar es Salaam. It’s hard to say what was more beautiful, her style or her art. Her clothing, jewelry and sculptures are all expressions of the same spirit – the spirit of the African woman, strong and beautiful.

The exhibition was unique because only female sculptors were represented, and all the pieces focused on the world seen from a woman’s perspective: the special relationship between a mother and her child, daily tasks such as fetching water or cooking, all done with a baby wrapped to her back. One of her most striking pieces was a wooden African continent on which she carved her own profile encircled by the words “Women can create change.” As she told us, the goal of her art is to empower women by celebrating their strength, grace and wisdom, qualities that are imprinted in each of her sculptures.

Artists like these are fundamental to change in any society. Where would we be, for instance, without Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Arlo Guthrie, Neil Young and the countless other musicians who helped change American consciousness in the 1960s? Artists, like all people, draw inspiration from working together, and as their ideas merge and evolve, events like Woodstock are born. For this reason, Bagamoyo’s College of Arts is so important to the future of Tanzania - all the more so because there are so few schools like it in all of Africa.

Ally, Shabani, Vitali and Mwandale all studied at the College of Arts and have worked together on each other’s projects, just as Federico Garcia Lorca, Luis Buñuel and Salvdaor Dali formed their artistic identities while living and working together at La Residencia at the University of Madrid in the 1920s.

Much of Garcia Lorca’s energy in his last few years was spent touring with his theater company to culturally isolated parts of rural Spain. Interestingly, graduates of the College of Arts are meant to take their art to other parts of Tanzania to give workshops and set up schools of their own. Unfortunately the government doesn’t have the money to employ many of the graduates, but judging by the enterprising nature of Ally, Shabani, Vitali and Mwandale, Bagamoyo will continue to produce amazing artists for generations to come.

Bagamoyo: The Berkelee of Tanzania

A crescent moon of sand reaches gently out into the Indian Ocean as if trying to touch Zanzibar, 20 kilometers to the east. Palm trees with gracefully arced trunks line the beach creating the perfect sunset panorama. Fishermen sit on buckets scaling their fish while women crowd around in their colorful kangas bargaining for the best price. A 15-foot hammerhead was caught today, sprawled on the beach it still seems alive with otherworldly power. A herd of insanely long-horned cattle are driven down the beach and into the surf by a couple of barefoot teenagers. Having never seen cattle on a beach, we asked the locals what was happening.

“They’re going onto the boat.”
“The boys?”
“No, the cows.”

In Norway, picturesque cows dot the mountainsides that crash down into the fjords, and you can imagine that if a Norwegian farmer ever decided to move his cattle by water, he’d have a big iron ship waiting to transport them. But this is Bagamoyo, Tanzania, East Africa, and the boats here are still made the same way they were thousands of years ago. The long wooden dhow with its single sail gave medieval Arabs supremacy over the Red Sea trading routes, and is still used daily along the Swahili coast from Somalia to Mozambique.

Historically infamous as the starting and ending point of the Arab slave route across Tanzania into Central Africa, Bagamoyo (which means “lay your heart down”) is fast becoming one of our favorite places in Tanzania. We first came here in December on the recommendation of my good friend Jake Thomsen, who found out about Bagamoyo when he came to Tanzania in 1999. Jake took six weeks of drum lessons and was told by his teacher of a music school where the students start their day by drumming on the beach at sunrise, singing into the wind, then diving into the ocean. He then called his parents and said he wouldn’t be returning to Brown for his junior year.

Fortunately for me, Jake came back and taught me how to play the djembe. After college he enrolled at the Berkelee School of Music and I was enticed to move to Boston so I too could play music 8 hours a day. Bagamoyo’s Chuo cha Sanaa (College of Arts - LINK) is Tanzania’s answer to Berkelee. Founded in 1981, it is one of very few arts colleges in all of Africa. Its teachers comprise the Bagamoyo Players, who have performed the music of Tanzania’s 125 ethnic groups at concerts all over the world. For those interested, I highly suggest that you download their 2006 release “Tramo” on iTunes.

Every year, the College of Arts hosts the Bagamoyo Music and Arts Festival (LINK), an event that draws performers from all over Africa and tourists from all over the world. It’s a week of round-the-clock performances and bonfires on the beach, and we’re determined to make it this year. It will be October 14-18, anyone want to join us?!

As if this weren’t enough to make us fall in love with Bagamoyo, it turns out that Norway has been supporting the College of Arts for about a decade now. There is an exchange program for students and teachers of the University of Stavanger to study and work in Bagamoyo, and NORAD (LINK) money helped produce the “Tramo” album. Consequently, many locals know how to say “kjempebra” and “tusen takk,” and we share many a laugh while sitting under the stars at the local café, mixing languages after a day of drumming and singing.

The Operator

A slightly revised, faster, more eclectic version of what we played in high school...


Just as I prioritized flamenco over school this spring in Berkeley, this weekend I prioritized Meridian 2007 over grad school. Here is another one of our "classics" from twelve years ago - maximum respect to Eric once again for his incredible studio skills as a drummer, bassist, beatbox artist, and professional producer. The three of us played from midnight until 3am on Saturday, then from 10pm until 1am last night, and we had way too much fun. Then Jake and I got up early this morning to go to grad skool, where I gave yet another presentation. Finally going to finish the Master's on Friday - ole!! Always gotta make time for music, though. Thanks for staying tuned, y'all, I'll be posting from Tanzania soon...

The Funkmaster J.I.S. and his Big Red Wrench

This one's a little sloppy, but we were really tired last night...


OJO!!! ALL THESE SONGS WILL SOUND BETTER IF YOU HAVE GOOD SPEAKERS!!!! (my computer speakers are terrible).
Check out the new rhymes at the end of the song - but don't be alarmed when I talk about the developing world. All I'm trying to say is that it's a euphemism that makes it okay for us to go on eating our dinner in front of the TV and not do anything about the situation. Read my second-ever post on this blog (from 2005) if you want to learn more, and see pics of Ali and Baboukar.

Original Meridian Pics from '95-'96

Just got back from twelve days in Norway: swimming and fishing in the fjords, and singing country songs with Anette (video to come???). Anyway, now I've started grad skool again (just three weeks to go) so I'll be too busy to post regularly, but in the meantime, here are some old pics of Jake and me and our band. Listen to Da Spanish Song, look at the pics, and that's pretty much what we were like back in high school!!

Da Spanish Song

Meridian 2007



Escucho mucho porque esta es
La canción con dos frijoles
Negros y también sabrosos
Bueno para nosotros si comment tallez vous

Yo no puedo caminar en el agua
Porque la cocina está muy blanca
Bananas y papel, siempre soy fiel
A mi guitarra y mis lagrimas can’t you tell?

Quiero decirte que yo te quiero
Que el amor es eterno en el cielo
En la tierra vivimos muy bien
Los sueños tragicos vil du vaere min venn?

Espero que a ustedes les gustó mi canción
Ahorita tengo que ir para romper mi corazón
Pero no se pongan tristes - todavía viviré
En los ritmos del tambor de la Gran Madre

OK, this is absolutely too much technology in one day for a Luddite like me. That being said, I'm embracing it wholeheartedly because it's at the core of my summer project - recording the classic songs from my high school band, Meridian. Today I went over to the Thomsen house and recorded this song with Eric, who's a boss when it comes to studio work. Not only is he an amazing drummer and musician, but he's transformed the basement from the dungeon it was when we practiced there ten years ago into a professional-grade studio, complete with shag carpet! We recorded this in three takes using Pro Tools, which we then transferred into ITunes, and then burned to a CD, and finally posted to the blog. I have to say I'm rather proud of myself, but really it seems that anyone can create and publish their own art because technology is making it so easy.

Clownin' in the Yay

It's my last night in Cali
my time is done
I love the Bay
but this ain't where I'm from

I play the guitar
I beat the drum
People call me mister
but I been known to go dumb

Got my stunna shades on
I'm a push you all in
Be at the casino all night
cuz I'm here to win

Just got a suitcase on Shattuck
Throw some deez on it

I be rollin' in Berzerkeley
with my punked out hair
I ain't no vegan
and I just don't care

Gonna move to Tanzania
where they call me mzungu
you don't know about me
cuz you don't come from where I do -

The suburbs
yeah I'm stacked like that
it don't matter
cuz I'm black like that

Baboukar Sallah
Gambian Boss
I pray to Allah
when I'm at a loss

Yo I'll come to your block
But I'm a stay in my car
and keep my doors locked

Una noche flamenca

So I think I got my flamenco name tonight - obviously enough, it's Alejandro Cerca. One of my fellow guitar enthusiasts hosted a night that began with accompaniment for Roberto Zamora, a well-known Bay Area singer whose story you can read at
SF Flamenco. The six of us played for two hours, and then some more of our friends from the local dance classes came over for tapas caseras. David Gutierrez, my guitar teacher of the past six months, gifted me with a tape (recorded from an LP) of La Familia Montoya from 1970 and Pepe Habichuela from 1983, which we listened to in awe. The roads that led each of us to flamenco are very different, but our love for the music and our desire to continue learning connect us as we strive to improve our technique and style.

Many of us told stories about Spain, and it's amazing to me to hear how I describe my life in Sevilla to other people. It sounds like a dream, but it was only four years ago that I left. What a romantic year it was! The wonderful thing about the flamenco community is how musical and cultural knowledge is passed on through personal relationships, and how careers and adventures overlap. Most of the people sitting around the table tonight were thirty years my elder, and although Sevilla has changed a great deal since Franco's death, the bridges and cobblestones are still the same, and many of the flamenco clubs and peñas have endured. And so we have common points of reference as we share stories and pieces of music with each other. A fascinating example of this is that I played David a couple of Bulerias falsetas that I learned from Juan in Sevilla, and David recognized the "aire" because he had taught another student who also studied with Juan at Taller Flamenco. Juan's compositions are that distinctive, and David's ears are that discerning. Que mundo mas pequeño, no?

Whole Earth?

Caught a ride to Davis last night to see a couple of bands perform at the annual Whole Earth Festival. On the way, we stopped at the quintessential Berkeley co-op, The Cheesboard, and listened to a great jazz trio (who always perform in the store) as we stood in line waiting for our garlic pesto choclo cilantro pizza.

I always enjoy going to Davis because it connects me with rural California, which is an amazingly short distance in any direction from the Bay Area metropolis. Nick worked his usual shift at Little Prague, 3pm til 3am, but I woke up when he came home at 4:30 and we talked for a while about our respective stations in life. I told him how after two and a half years of public school teaching a missing piece of my humanity has been restored - namely, the non-white piece. However, even though I've become a more understanding white person, and learned how to be an ally to non-whites, I am increasingly despondent about the fact that I am at the absolute top of the social ladder as a straight white male. This may sound like a conradiction, but I feel like I'm part of a woefully disconnected minority of people who are out of touch and out step with the rest of the peoples of the world. Straight white males are like overstretched empires and kings gone mad with greed, we sit alone on the throne in an empty castle while the rest of the world laughs (at us) and enjoys a life we're not capable of knowing. Maybe this is the source of my desire to learn other languages, travel, and be a part of other cultures. Maybe not. Probably a mix of reasons. Anyway, we agreed that the next step is to read Tom Wolfe's Bonfire of the Vanities (recommended by Olivia when I explained to her my dilemma).

Now then, this realization doesn't mean I'm going to go around carrying the burden of white guilt. On the contrary, I'm going to continue being me and being open to all people I meet. Case in point: I took Amtrak back from Davis today and then got on the bus in Berkeley to go up University Ave to my apartment. After one stop, a man sat down next to me, and of course, I ignored him. Then he suddenly asked me how to get to campus, and if the bus would stop there, and it became apparent that he was a stranger in my town. I soon found out he had just arrived from India at 1am in the morning, and was in the USA for his very first time. As soon as he told me this, I grabbed his hand, shook heartily, and said, "Welcome to America!"
Keep in mind that ust a few weeks ago I invited a panel of immigrant students at Berkeley High to talk to my class, and they said they were miserable here, and that no one had ever given them a proper welcome, as they would have naturally done for any newcomer to their native communities.

The Indian man - whose name I asked but did not properly understand nor can remember - and I continued talking, and I told him a bit about Berkeley's political history. We got off at Telegraph Avenue and I walked him up to the student center. We shook hands again and he went off to meet his Indian friend, also a PhD student studying here for the summer. Small world, or whole earth?

Ravi & Anoushka Shankar

Anoushka played the first set alone and she was mesmerizing, swaying back and forth as her hands moved ever more quickly along the enormous fretboard. Fascinating as it was, I must admit that in my first live encounter, I found classical Indian music somewhat unaccessible. It was repetitive yet hard to follow. I got lost. I got bored. Everyone was so still. By the end of the evening, however, I was completely entranced, as the music finally began to sound familiar and the complicated rhythms began to fit together in my head.

Ravi came out for the second set assisted by one of his students, and he explained that he has to sit on a low wooden platform because he can no longer sit cross-legged on the floor after his bout with a virus that nearly killed him six months ago. In his words, he said he was "going, going," but his wife and family took such good care of him that he recovered. He is 87, and he looked so frail; his hands shook as he began playing, and many of the notes were inaccurate. As the hour went by, though, he warmed up - as if impelled by the amazing tabla player from Calcutta, with whom he had a seamless connection - and he regained much of his old vigor and virtuosity. His hands began to dance more quickly and powerfully up and down the neck of his sitar, and suddenly he was playing the most difficult runs without any sign of effort. He and Anoushka traded solos, mimicking each other and creating new conversations, calling and responding, as they built a thirty-minute raga to an unbelievable crescendo. The tabla player soloed like a madman for a good two minutes straight, and immediately upon finishing, he responded to the thunderous applause by simply pressing his hands together in prayer and touching them to his forehead. What a wonderful touch of humility - a requirement for any aspiring musician.

At the end of the show all the performers bowed to touch Ravi's feet before hugging him, and as they led him off stage, it was impossible to think that just minutes before he had been the source of all that sound! Now he was just a frail old man smiling and waving to the crowd.

Salif Keita

DeAndre and I went to see Salif Keita at Cal tonight, and it was without a doubt one of most moving, energetic, beautiful, and profound performances of live music I've ever seen. The layers of sound and rhythm from the nine musicians accompanyng him onstage were mesmerizing...kind of like Smashing Pumpkins meets Baba Maal. Yeah, that's right, Salif's music is so universal that it encompasses everything from grunge to hyphy to gospel and more. His regal, humble presence on stage, the brilliant and flowing clothing, the incredible range of his voice from guttural to operatic to flamenco, it all serves to put a spell on you.

Of course, everyone was dancing in the aisles, but the most amazing moment of the show was halfway through when the beats were heavy and the crowd was in a frenzy; all at once everyone left the stage, and Salif came back on, sat down, and began quietly playing a hollow-bodied jazz guitar. He sang two melodic, prayer-like songs, and his voice alone filled the cavernous auditorium with as much energy as when the entire band had been playing.

Then the band came back on and it was nonstop until the end. The kora player shredded like Jimi Hendrix, sliding across the stage on his back, playing upside down and behind his back to the delight of the crowd. Next several women jumped up onstage and began dancing in step with the drummers, and finally, Salif invited more people up on stage, and what transpired was a unique mix of Berkeley Rapture and African Radiance. A dreadlocked Berzerkleyian had brought his sax just for the occasion, and he got up on stage and started soloing to the band's delight. More and more women flaunted their African styles - many were African, many were RPCVs. The whole stage was filled with people dancing, and the music just kept on...

And to put the perfect touch on the experience, DeAndre was able to meet Salif after the show and get a cd signed personally!