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Tande-La
The Creole Choir of Cuba
Rogelio Rodriguez Torriente, Fidel Romero Miranda,Teresita Romero Miranda, Marcelo Andres Luis, Dalio Arce Vital, Emilia Diaz Chavez, Yordanka Sanchez Fajardo, Irian Esther Rondon Montejo, Marina de Los Angeles Collazo Fernandes, Yara Castellanos Diaz
Out now on Real World Records
A review by Mary Couzens for EXTRA! EXTRA!
Forget Christmas music. I’m not a Scrooge, but I mean what I say. Buy yourself something uplifting you can listen to all year instead, namely, Tande-La, by the marvelously soul-stirring, Creole Choir of Cuba. The Choir carries on the tradition of freedom songs passed down by their parents and grandparents, many of whom were misplaced Africans slaves on coffee and sugar plantations in Haiti, who either escaped to Cuba or migrated there as refugees fleeing more recent strife. Although their singing is largely done in Creole, (Cuba’s 2nd language), Desandann’s aka “The Descendents”, (the Choir’s Cuban name) passion and spirit comes across, so much so that you’re sure to be moved and inspired by them. ‘Edem Chante’, meaning ‘Listen to Us’ is a track without musical instruments save human voices, which start us off on an amazing journey, via the piercing soulfulness of Fidel Miranda who expresses himself boundlessly, drawing us in with plaintive cries, and female members of the choir who offer sweet but strong backup as other males act as a human rhythm section, rendering deep, bass sounds. But it’s not over until our lead singer articulates a throaty laugh, as the angelic voices of the women, seemingly gathering energy from his change of course, resoundingly support him. This soul-stirring track alone would make this CD worth buying! ‘Se Lavi’ begins with a woman story-telling through song so vividly, her emotions are almost palpable. Those angelic feminine strains appear to fluctuate behind her this time, wavering, as though they are not yet convinced. Congas clip clop along behind, adding dimension. ‘Ay, ay, ay’ our singer cries, as if her certain someone or something is proving too difficult to handle. Conversely, ‘Maroule,’ an extremely soulful, mournful song with a stunning range of variegated voices, could light whatever night you’re going through, and remind you that as long as you’re living, you’ve got a chance. The song is about a Drover who drives his cattle over lonely nocturnal landscapes. This instrument free track is deeply touching, and one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard rendered by a range of female voices. The female lead here is one who many could only hope to sound like. The males get a turn to tell their tale in ‘La Mal De Travay’ at which point, I realized that this is not an album in the ordinary sense of the word, but an extraordinary recording, destined to resound in your soul. The men sing, matter of fact, but liltingly as the women sound chime-like in the background, if it is possible for such an extraordinary range of voices to ever fade behind anything! The men too contribute texture through the smooth and rough of their vocal ranges. Drums lend assistance, as if any is needed, acting as a tropical metronome of sorts, which the singers sing around. It would be a job for anybody to try to select a definitive stand-out in this collection, as each song is a gem, but ‘Neg Anwo’ should speak volumes to anyone who loves choral music. The vocal layering here is nothing short of superb with its fluctuating volume, cadences and rhythms. Women and men contribute equally, as though sharing a burden of sorts, as a male singer intermittently sings over their interwoven cacophony. Maybe it’s because winter is nearly upon us, but at one point, I imagined the range of voices to be as falling snowflakes, gracefully by-passing one another, with each contributing to the whole. Simple drumbeats add definition where needed, and a chorus of female voices have the last word. ‘Peze Café’ is story told through song superbly, with the women outlining the bones before veering off into various directions, all invariably drawing towards the same harmonious conclusion. Peppered drumming signals a direction which all the voices veer towards, ever so subtly gaining momentum as they move, with one woman’s voice standing out above the others while another intermittently whoops. The song, which speaks of the difficulties of everyday life, concludes with a strong drum beat. Our sorrowfully singing woman is back on L’tibonite Oh’ - a track to savour. As drums break in, so do the singer’s comrades, lending support, bursting with gorgeous harmonies, as wild sounds, made by one of the women, lend tropical atmosphere. This song, which uses the rising and setting sun as a metaphor for life, is a deeply resounding one. ‘Hi,’ the group cries out in unison as drums draw the song to a close. ‘Tande’ features a lead male singer before the choir, with the women sounding out in the form of tightly sung, yet freeing harmonies. The drumming sounds tribal and the women’s chant like singing, ritualistic, like an incantation or affirmation, perhaps, reflecting on voodoo roots. The man calls and they respond. We are entranced as both factions give their singing their all. Firmly carved grooves strengthen this denouncement of the misery and suffering of the Haitian people under the Duvalier government. The wonderfully expressive female voice opening ‘Lumane Casimir’ is lush, lilting and vibrantly joyous, as if it says, ‘I don’t care what happens, I’m not going to survive, I’m going to overcome.’ As if to confirm that feeling, a man begins to sing with the rest of the women behind their leader, answering her or, commenting on his beliefs, by expressing his own. It makes for a sensational performance conjuring up many mental images, and it gets more resounding by the moment as the voices behind pick up the pace, and hand percussions and drums are heard. Topically/timelessly, it is about the fleeting nature of fame. On ‘Fey’, a traditional vodou folk song, (released after the 1991 military coup which ousted democratic president Jean-Claude Aristide) a woman sings solo at first, then with a vibrant group of male and female voices lending emphasis. This sounds like a favourite of the Choir, and it’s got the enjoyable sound of singers moving within the boundaries of material they know well but are expanding upon, putting their own stamp on it in the process. The woman sings in a way suggestive of distance and perhaps between herself and a person and/or place she loves. As the voices fade, we hear her saying what sounds like the word ‘sigh.’ Dubbed an unofficial anthem of support for Aristide, the song was banned in 1992. ‘Dule Embelezo’, sung in Spanish, definitely deals with affairs of the heart, comprised only of a tapped rhythm (like two sticks) accompanying a richly harmonic group of male singers. For some reason, it made me miss Mexico, though I have not gone there for many years, and my Spanish is very rusty! ‘Chen Nan Ren’, meaning ‘chains around the waist’, closes this collection on a fitting note of defiance, protesting as it does against ‘continued exploitation and suffering of the poor, from colonial slavery to modern neo-liberal times.’ Additionally, this track, on which the whole choir sings, lead once again by Fidel Miranda, is a crowning blending of vocal harmony and resonating rhythms, lead by a male voice that is earnest and impassioned. And it is a track you will want to revisit again and again. Amazingly, the same could be said of any track from this album, however random your selection. At this customarily hectic time of year, do yourself a favour and pick up a copy of Tande-Le to revisit as needed. And, in keeping with the spirit of ‘good will,’ advise everyone you know to do the same. It’ll soon become one of the highlights of your holidays, whatever the season.
http://soundcloud.com/realworldrecords/chen-nan-ren http://www.creolechoir.com/
Editor’s Note: I would have happily cited additional soloists of The Choir had their names been available.
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