world music (&style) wednesday: PASSA PASSA

in 2007, new york art, architecture and cool kids mag, prophecy magazine published my piece on jamaican dancehall culture, passa passa: kingston's toughest hood hosts the greatest show on earth. the rhythm of the caribbean has been a constant in my life. my parents were born in guyana, south america. my bro, sister-cousin, and i were all born in new york city in the 70's. on the one hand my parents were both good assimilationists--the picture of hard working caribbean immigrants. on the other hand, they were way into disco and partying, and through food, language, and music, they instilled in me a great caribbean pride. living in europe makes me feel more american than anything. in the states, i feel a deep well of difference between my caribbean self and my african american self. (like a triple consciousness.)

anyway. back in '07, my best friend was jamaican, my boyfriend was an italian in whose presence i somehow felt very caribbean, and the passa passa parties, those wild street shindigs that would take over tivoli gardens every wednesday night into thursday morning, captivated me. i watched the dvd's, learned the dances, and new all of the dancers' names. so when a friend from TRACE magazine approached me about the piece, it was like writing MY story. i spent hours on the phone to kingston with dylan powe of the swatch international sound system, whose afternoon soundcheck-turned-street party started the whole craze. he explained the term passa passa, thus

"if you sleep with your sister's man, it's a passa passa, if it's a whole mix of different people, it's a passa passa."

and i broke down the event, thus-

"week after week, 3 years running, the party at 47 spanish town road reads like an erotic urban ritual featuring choreographed dances like the 'dutty wine', the 'chakka chakka' and 'the wackie dip', as well as simulated, but endlessly creative sexual gymnastics.'"

passa passa's notoriety comes from the outrageously sexual explicitness of the music and dancing. the jamaican government, run by very conservative people, are not feeling this. they've tried, so many times ban to this or that song; attempted to prohibit dances, footloose style. but music, sound system culture, has long been jamaica's most profitable export. at its peak, fashion dignitaries like tommy hilfiger were known to have attended. now the market has been saturated and there's a passa passa knock off for every day of the week (famous fridays is the newest) in every hood in kingston (and some in japan and italy as well).

the other night, i logged on to youtube to see if 'the greatest show on earth' was still in business. not only was it still in business, but one specific peculiarity remains. passa passa parties begin at about 2am and go until about 9, 10am. what about work, you say? well, what about it? for powe, so many jamaican 'yute' were jobless that those who couldn't work, would 'wuk'. 'wuk' is jamaican patois for work, and can also be used with sexual or party connotations. i noticed that these days, the crisis has not helped the situation. and this is a HUGE departure from the work ethic mythologized in the states as the main difference between us (caribbeans) and them (african americans).

when i spoke to powe, he'd hoped to make passa passa into an established economy for ghetto youth. he'd particularly hoped to use it to attract tourists. if the following video is any indication, mission accomplished. the tall italian in this video is enrico of jamaica dancehall tours, who's looking more and more to me like the interviewee of my article's follow-up.



bust how partygoers disrupt rush hour traffic with their own 'wuk'.


*downloading the article is totally a pain in the ass. i apologize, but i have yet to get a handle on this file hosting thing...

how to change the world 2

today is st. nicholas day, the day sinterklaas visits the netherlands (holland and belgium alike), accompanied by 'zwarte piet', his helper in blackface. i've been told that 'black pete's' skin is painted black not to approximate blackness, but because it's his job to slide down the chimney and invade people's homes. also may have something to do with the fact that sinterklaas and zwarte piet come from (oh so ironically) spain. spain, italy, and greece, i've noticed, are northern europe's darker others. or maybe, it really is just about the soot. and if it were [just about the soot and not some racialized thing] then damnit, why is it zwarte piet's job to kidnap the children who haven't behaved?

anyhow, i lived in belgium for a while; moved there in the midst of an 8-month long distance relationship with The Belgian--a rich, handsome divorcé, with salt and pepper hair, 7 motorcycles and a 7-year old girl child. i'll always have very fond memories of her. here's why: her cousins confronted her on the state of her dad's union. "so, your father's girlfriend is black, right?" "no." she answered with authority. "she's not black, she's just brown. AND she's american!!"

besides this being the most adorable expression of burgeoning antiracist sentiment since this little boy, it just goes to show that one positive interaction has the power to override the potential negative effects of any manner of fucked up racist cultural propaganda. 6 december '07 may have been kind of uncomfortable (for more reasons than just zwarte piet, as it was clear by then that the relationship was doomed), but i danced with her to zwarte piet's rap video and even bought shorty a gift for the occasion. because you know what? she'd given me more than a clown in blackface could ever take.

written on the body

i've got, it seems, the best of both worlds these days. i'm established enough abroad to have some stability (health insurance and all, baby), but i'm still living outside any boxes. i can do whatever the hell i want. and i LOVE getting into all manner of creative things. writing!! translating!! photos!! dancing!! got color, rhythm, life or poetry?? i'm on it. in it. all fucking over it. i'm the epitome of what my she-ro barbara sher would call, a scanner.

when my black german friend, julia, asked me to model some of the pieces from her song lyric-inspired line of jewelry, really, i didn't think it'd be much more than a few photos taken in her living room with a camera phone. but y'all know me. most people go to paris, go to a concert, and have a great time. i end up on stage at the concert, and in VIP with ball players.

of course, saturday i walked into this cavernous all-white professional photo studio on calle joaquin costa in the raval, and had the good fortune of working with felipe, a crazy einstein lookalike of a german, who also happens to be one of barcelona's premier photogs.

a projector covered my skin in song lyrics in german, spanish and english. including, 'the world is mine', 'i saw god and she was black', and i walked out with a ring bearing the title of a song by concha buika, 'jodida pero contenta' (screwed but happy).

"writing makes an exact man", as sir francis bacon once said. so 9 hours bathed in lights, cameras, and inspirational words, and i scored more than a cool ring and a photo op. i got my creative juices back. and just in time. got lots of cool projects on the horizon.

world music wednesday: ja imam talenat...

... is literally, 'i have talent' or, 'serbia's got talent'. this year's most celebrated candidate was by far, oliver katic. when video of his first performance on the show made the rounds on twitter earlier this year, i couldn't figure out what i appreciated more, katic's face or his chops. i think the judges felt the same. here's a translation of the judges' comments for those of you who speak less srpski than i:

OLIVER!! OLIVER!! OLIVER!!
(we're really impressed.)

phenomenalna!
(you're the shit.)

...najbolje...
(best or better or something. no, really.)

da! da! da!
(that's 3 yeses. no, really.)

so though he certainly went through to the next round, i don't know if he actually won. (if anyone does, please drop a comment on it.) in the spirit of thanksgiving, i just wanted to say hvala to the universe and all the gods within it, for hot, talented serbian men. enjoy.

barça's blackest month ever!

a few weeks ago, when concha buika plus afro-cuban band playing gua-guanco and the african film festival converged on barcelona in the same week, i thought this city had reached its pinnacle of blackness. then i looked around. whoa! this city is doing the cultural equivalent of tarring itself up bamboozled-style. let's take a look at the good, the bad, and the very ugly.

1.

this shop was most certainly not sitting at the sea-bound end of via laietana before i left for my 3-month sojourn in the u.s. of a. now we've got 'colmado afrolatino'. i'm not sure we need the 'afro-latino' and a cartoon of a black woman with a fruit bowl on her head in order to sell plantains and hot sauce, but okay.


2.

this anti-domestic violence ad sits outside parc ciutadella. it reads: 'of all the women in my life, none are beneath me.' the man is undeniably african and handsome, and it surprised the shit out of me to see him featured in a national campaign. don't worry, there are many ads with many different types of people affirming the equality of men and women. it's blackness done right. scratch that-- it's diversity done right. unlike...

3.

... this. an old school soda can being used to promote a club night. i don't know what to say about this.... anyone?

4.

i discovered this graf mural on a diverted walk to my school in the gracia neighborhood. the group, laboratori antiracista, actually exists; went into action just this year and works in conjuction with sos racisme-catalunya. what exactly do they do, you ask? i have no idea because the damned blog is all in catalan. do we really fight racism with language nationalism? that question aside, i know what laboratori anti racista does not do....

5.

... police its images. this part of the mural? the colored folks jumping out of boats and into bloody waters part? i'm not sure i'd call this image anti-racist. however, if even one person in that organization will speak on it in castellano, i'll be sure to report back.

and at the close of this very, very black month in barcelona, i'm left with one lingering question: are questionable to downright effed up images of blackness preferable to no blackness at all?

expat dating: persistent men

i spent my first days in spain, the madrid days. rediscovering my single self. keeping my head up, when i really just wanted to slouch. looking cute, when sweats more fit my somber, post-hellish-break up mood, saying 'yes' and learning what dating in spain would require of me. needless to say, i attracted more than my fair share of freaks. remember this guy? the italian stalker i thought i'd left in madrid when i moved to barcelona? he had zero contact information for me. but somehow, a month into being here, i was strolling down las ramblas and guess who's tapping me on the shoulder from? at first i thought it was just a coincidence. later that week, again. there he was, acting all surprised to see me. then the deluge of phone calls and the pleading (please, have a drink with me. let me talk to you! it's not like before!) and the lying (i missed my plane. i'm still in barcelona... please, just one drink!!) then the anger (i've never met an evil chick like you! have a nice life!).

perhaps it's my own fault; i did kiss him once. but it seemed that from the minute i decided that we weren't a match, he became more and more convinced that we could be a match. and from the minute i saw him again in barcelona, i was on fire. i complained to my friends and my mom, for hours about being stalked. and when i couldn't get anyone else to listen, i kept the conversation up with myself. i obsessed about his obsession for at least 5 days. meanwhile, he called and texted and texted some more. sure enough, i held one end, he held the other and we maintained the tension over 2 months and 2 cities. somewhere between his pleading and my blogging about it, i realized what i had to do: forget about him. i pressed 'publish', and got the tale out onto this blog and into the world, i dropped it completely. ignored every text. did not engage. and you know what? he disappeared.

not to get all the secret on you, but i find what carl jung once said to be true: what you resist, persists, and what you fight, you strengthen. it's like those people who try and try to get pregnant, and the minute they stop trying, they get drunk one night and voilá! they're knocked up. or when you're waiting at the supermarket for the line to move, cursing the slow ass cashier. you engage your fellow shoppers in a gripe about the lethargy with which the cashier approaches the job she's being paid to do. then you start to talk about the weather, or how expensive milk is right now. and then you're in a full blown conversation. and before you know it, you're bagging your shit. i don't know how it works. i don't know why it works, but it does. every single time.

i apply this principle to dealing with men who won't leave me the fuck alone. here are some tips: 4 ways to handle persistent men.

let them know you get it. freaks are like the rest of us. we all just wanna feel understood. if someone's harassing you, there are two possible reasons that fall under the auspices of 'comprehension'. first, there's the language barrier. perhaps he thinks you just don't understand what he's trying to say, so he repeats it. ad nauseum. 'you're so beautiful, you're so beautiful, you're so beautiful.' you need to reassure him that you got it. second, he may just feel like you don't understand the depth of his emotion. whatever it is he's said, paraphrase and repeat it. more than once if need be. make him understand that you understand: 'thank you for saying that i'm beautiful and that you want to take me home to your mom,' or whatever.

take control. be the one to suggest the next step. ask for his number. tell him you'll call him tomorrow for a cup of coffee when you have an hour or so. i find guys who don't like to leave you alone, need some reassurance. what will it cost you to give him that? not much. because it's that, or continue the annoying dance that the italian and i did for 2 months. who needs it, when you can just soften up, and find a way to give him what he wants (without sacrificing any principals or body parts in the process?).

take this guy, for example. a commenter asked how i got rid of him. the answer is that i took control. when i saw he had every intention of commandeering my little seat by the seine, i suggested an alternative. 'look,' i said, 'i'm supposed to meet friends tonight but we haven't made concrete plans yet. give me your number, and if i don't meet up with my homies, i'll call you and we'll get a drink or something. sound good?' he bit. gave me his number, completely confident i'd call and walked away. of course, i didn't call, and my suggestion had deniability: i could always say that i did, indeed, meet up with friends, which was true. and even if it wasn't, isn't all fair in love and war??

ask him to leave you alone. i find that sometimes the direct approach does work. especially when my patience is wearing thin. let him know he's harassing you and that furthermore, that's just not sexy. if he cares at all about appearing attractive to you, he may respond to this one. a simple, 'you're ruining your chances with me right now. you should go,' has worked for me in the past.

walk him to the police station. if all else fails. this is for extreme cases and especially if you're feeling threatened. i've fallen back on this one only twice in life, with men in the street who were following me or harassing me. nowadays, i make it a point to know where the police stations nearest me are. and i'll stay polite, all the while walking that sucker/stalker straight to the precinct. they're normally off your tail before you can get the 'off' in officer out of your mouth. even if you're not feeling threatened, but just not in the mood to be nice (happens to all of us) just head in the direction of the nearest precinct.

above all, stay calm. try not to be defensive or resistant. think about what he may need to hear in order to walk away. then you're learning not only how to handle persistent men, but how to communicate effectively with human beings. just remember jung's 'what you resist, persists.' this goes for anything you don't want in life including annoying men.

as usual, experiment! tell me what works for you! but most of all, remain open!

for language teachers worldwide

i'm now officially back to the teaching grind. which looks exactly like the cartoon above:

civil servant: what's your profession?

frazzled girl: um, motivator, educator, actress, teacher, psychologist, tour guide, companion, translator, speaker, linguist, psychiatrist, designer, pedagogue, writer, illustrator, gesticulator, idler...

civil servant: all of that is not going to fit.

frazzled girl: okay, just put "spanish teacher". it's the same thing . . .

*******

mastering your expat life post is coming tomorrow!

noblesse obligé

american black chick in europe is dope. her contributions to discussions i've begun on my blog have been informative and much appreciated. then she goes and gives me a kreativ blogger award!! as if i didn't love her enough!!

as with all honors, this one comes with responsibilities. (hence the title of the post). i'm supposed to tell you seven things you don't already know about me, choose 7 other blogs to receive this award, leave a comment on each of the blogs i've nominated, and thank the person who gave me the award. let's go!

SEVEN THINGS:
1. i watched 'girls just wanna have fun' every day as a kid and i know every single word of it like i wrote the screenplay. it's sarah jessica parker's best work.
2. in my high school yearbook, i was voted most likely to appear in a janet jackson video.
3. if you want to make me vomit, scramble me an egg. my worst nightmare is an egg.
4. whenever i'm feeling down, i watch this video.
5. for 5 months in '07, i lived (and was in love) with a billionaire.
6. i interned at the united nations from '99-'00. i was in the plenary session where it was argued that NATO's bombing of serbia would be illegal according to international conventions.
7. my serb looks fearsome on film. and it's a total turn on. (warning: this pic from the american film he's shooting now is kinda bloody and gross.)

as for MY kreativ blog picks?? the winners are:

my life in havaianas
i sang Loquina Guachinha's praises in this post. she doesn't allow comments on her blog, so i'll just say here: love your spirit and your cojones and when i had to pick 7, i knew you'd be the first... adelante!!
nyc/caribbean ragazza
i love ragazza's snapshots of life in italy, and i can't wait to see how her writing come to life on the big screen. also, i'm totally jealous of her EU passport. that's some next level expat-ness right there.
wish i could reach you in belgrade
maria in brazil doesn't post much, but it's always a trip when she does. we share a love of the balkans-- she hosts the biggest balkan-themed events, probably in all of brazil. and she's just a very cool chick.
babesmcphee
there's a cute, serendipitous story about how i cyber-met this "perky, prolific" playwright who lives in cali. i'll tell it another time. but when she's not having her tweets quoted in time magazine, or writing her blog series, '30 lessons from la-la land', she's sending me long ass emails about boys. love her. y'all will, too.
black girl on mars
i don't [cyber-] know leslie. i guess i'll meet her now. but i find her writing soulful and deliberate. and on top of it, she's an expat.
guyana gyal
every single time i win a blog award, i will bestow one upon GG. lightness, effortlessness and quirk belie the truth and profundity in her writing, reminding me of fables. she's like aesop with a caribbean accent. she really does inspire me.
my american melting pot
LT's kind of BEYOND blog awards--novelist, journalist, professor and all-- but i'm giving one to her anyway.

HUGS and THANK YOU's to ABCE!!

expat dating: it's all about momentum

last week, i went on a date. no, the serb and i are nowhere near breaking up. yes, i've been a little bit bad. but it wasn't cheating (in the least), it was research. so for the sake of this post, i started cruising men for a week like i was single. i started looking up and thinking about who would i be interested in under such circumstances. two days in, i saw cute, very spanish looking guy, whizzing past me in an awful hurry towards plaza catalunya. i didn't do more than look him in the eye and think, 'you're cute'. he doubled back. i spoke to him for a few minutes, and we exchanged numbers. three days later, we met up. the convo went something like this:

him: i have the feeling you're very successful with men.
me: what do you mean?
him: you know what i mean...
me: {{{{laugh}}}}
him: well, you're tall, beautiful and when i saw you . . . i should stop talking now.
me: go ahead.
him: do you know what made me stop and talk to you?
me: tell me.
him: i see pretty girls in the street all of the time, but when you looked at me, you gave me courage to stop.

maybe flowery spanish man talk, but the proof was in the pudding. he DID stop. and there we were, in a bar with old saloon decor and a guy with a clip-on tie playing show tunes on a baby grand. he turned out to be a good guy, who now knows i have a boyfriend; entrepreneurial and interesting, and y'all know how i love guys who can talk to me about european politics. but most of all, i know my dating and attraction muscles still work, which is always comforting (even in a relationship, it takes the pressure off). in the words of carrie bradshaw, 'it turns out all you need to get a date, is another date!'

this idea of building dating momentum, leads me to my second piece of advice: go out with anyone who asks.

my friend 'sparkly' got her nickname with her objection to this advice, launching into an explanation of why she couldn't go out with anyone unless she felt a spark. my eyes rolled into the back of my head. if you are single and unlucky in love (indeed, not even finding men to date), "sparks" may be short-circuiting your dating life.

bullshit. the whole 'spark' thing is bullshit. here's why: you need a spark to share a kiss with someone. to sleep with them. but to sit for an hour over coffee and conversation? you do not need to feel a spark for this. you do not need anything more than 5 euros and kick in the ass. the 5 euros i can't help you with, but a kick in the ass…

'sparks' are mechanics. they're hardwiring. some neurological connection between a biological feeling and a certain characteristic in another person created at some point in your life, without your knowledge or permission. and you never bothered to explore what that connection was made of. can you imagine? choosing a partner is one of the most important things you'll do in life and you're leaving it to some mechanic, involuntary reaction? doesn't that sound… crazy? relying on the mechanical and involuntary is cool for, like, your heart and the workings of other major organs, but when we're talking about the heart you fall in love with, well, that's not so cool. and if you don't have a history of successful dating, chances are your mechanics, those sparks chicks love to swear by, have been leading you astray. those sparks have been short circuiting your dating life.

the way around them, is to ignore them, just until your standards and dating habits reset in a more conscious way. i'm not saying have sex with everyone. and of course, please say 'no' to smack heads and gang bangers. but to everyone else, say 'yes'. one hour. a drink. a stroll. this allows you to get comfortable with dating, and you learn to assess men with consciousness and deliberation. this is not to say that 'gut' feelings shouldn't be trusted. but they are almost by definition, based on past information that may no longer even be valid or relevant. WHY BRING OLD HABITS TO YOUR NEW LIFE? why not experiment? and by experiment, i mean go out with anyone who asks.

hey, i even went out with a lesbian once. it didn't take long for her to realize i only wanted her friendship and was completely straight, but i loved her brain and her spirit. not only is she dating a boy now, she remains one of my best friends in the world. you never know who you'll meet and what impact they'll have on your life. in the end, i spent one hour talking to a guy who studied economy at the university of kiev during the fall of the freaking soviet union. and i got a free spanish lesson. and a post. and sparkly's "just dating, for the first time in [her] life!!". it's not about 'sparks'. it's about momentum.

world music wednesday: alicia keys and alejandro sanz

i didn't expect greatness, honestly, when i first heard that alejandro sanz and alicia keys had paired up on the bilingual, 'looking for paradise'. even though they've both written two of the most perfect pop songs of the last 15 years, in my book (corazón partío and no one). i also didn't expect for it to be borderline disastrous. indeed, it's damn near unlistenable. the visuals, including the final rooftop party scene are stellar. but you almost don't even make it to the party scene, because you want to pause after sanz starts yelling 'oh! my sister!' at 2:28. no. joke.

the song starts out sunnily enough, with some vintage A-keys riffs and the sort of clean minimalist production meant to foreground sanz's spanish-styled guitar strum. it isn't long, though, before we're hit with TEFL textbook call and response:

i'm singing for somebody like you/ yo canto para alguien como tú, baby!!

we're talking fromage con queso. really? much as i love pop music that mixes cultures, i'm not sure (outside of what latino artists like pitbull and daddy yankee are doing) that there's much hope for it. artists get caught up in literal translations, in making sure both sides get it and they forget what really makes a great pop song, in any language: the intangibles. those incomprehensible bits, like an mj 'hee!', that hint at the beyond. right now, bilingual pop trends towards the language lab which does NOT pop alchemy make. verdict? so NOT paradise.

anyone know any great bilingual pop songs to restore my hope?