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Fall 2000ARTICLES
COLUMNS
TUNES
ARTICLE EXCERPTSOrigins of Gypsy Fiddlingby Michael SimmonsThe earliest written mention of the Gypsies, or Roma, as they call themselves, appeared around 950 in an Arab book called Shah Nameh (The Book of Kings). It tells the story of how a 5th century Persian king named Bahram Gur brought 12,000 musicians from India to entertain his people. According to the story, Bahram Gur gave the musicians, who were known as the Luri, cattle, donkeys and seed corn as a reward. But within a year the Luri had eaten the cattle and corn and Bahram Gur decreed that from then on the Luri were to load their donkeys with their possessions and wander throughout his country making their way by playing music. Although modern scholars dismiss this story as a romantic fiction, it does contain a few nuggets of truth. The Roma are from India, they are wanderers, and they are famed for their ability to make music. The most reliable scholarship has the Roma leaving Northern India in a series of migrations starting around 1000. Their reasons for leaving are obscure but probably include warfare, food scarcity and natural disasters. The Roma first began to arrive in Europe in the 14th century. There are records showing their arrival in Serbia in 1348, Croatia in 1362, and Bulgaria in 1378. The local populaces they passed through called the Roma a variety of names. By the time the Roma arrived in England in 1514, people believed they were pilgrims or magicians from Egypt, and the name "Egyptians" was corrupted over time to Gypsy. In their travels, the Roma learned that they were not always welcome but that music could lessen the hostility. The Romani aphorism "Stay where they sing; evil people would have nothing to do with songs" reflects this hard-won knowledge. As the Roma passed through Europe, they adapted the local instruments to their own music. In Spain, for example, they excelled on guitar and in Greece they were famed for their skill on the clarinet and other wind instruments. But it was in Bulgaria, Romania and particularly Hungary that the Roma became associated with the violin. The Roma have numerous legends about how the violin was magically created for them. One tells of a young Romani girl named Mara who was in love with a Gadje (non-Gypsy) who didn't love her in return. She called on the Devil, who promised to make the young man love her, if she would give her family to him. She did so and the Devil turned her father into a violin, her four brothers into the strings and her mother into the bow. She learned to play the instrument and attracted the Gadje to her bed, whereupon the Devil appeared and carried them both away. A young Roma passed by a few days later and found the violin and returned to his camp with it and learned to play it. And to this day, because the violin was born in such sorrow, even when a Gypsy plays a happy song on his instrument, it always has a sad sound. The first mention of Romani violinists in the Balkans is from the 16th century and in 1683 an early Hungarian novelist mentions that every Hungarian nobleman had a Gypsy violinist as part of his entourage. These early violinists played solo, or occasionally in duets with bagpipes. In 1773 a violinist named Mihaly Barna won a fiddle contest at the wedding of a Hungarian landlord and so became the first Romani violinist to be known by name. By the middle of the 18th century, the first Romani bands began to perform in Hungary. The first known group, which was led by a woman named Panna Czika, consisted of two violins, a bass and a cimbalom, a configuration that is still common today in the Balkans. Romani musicians were respected in the Balkans and by the end of the 18th century, Romani musicians were changing Hungarian music. The better musicians, who played for the aristocracy and performed for a wide variety of people at court, soon picked up tips about harmony and chord progressions from musicians visiting from other parts of Europe. The Roma began to blend the new musical ideas with the older melodies and came up with a new style of music called verbunkos. One of the great violinists from this period was Janos Bihari, whose band played all over Hungary. He was described as a captivating musician with a passionate delivery. His arrangements of folk melodies helped create a vogue for Gypsy music among the Hungarian middle class and even the aristocracy. Franz Liszt was great admirer, and was inspired to compose his "Hungarian Rhapsodies" by Bihari's music. Bihari's descendents are still performing to this day. Although the "Hungarian Rhapsodies" were composed for piano, the success of Liszt's work created a vogue in Europe for Romani music. Romani bands began to leave Hungary for the rest of Europe and the image of the Gypsy as a passionate and fiery musician with a special attraction to the violin was born. By the early 20th century, Romani bands could be found in all of the major cities of Europe. Players such as George Boulanger, Lily Mathe, La Kazanova, Grigoras Dincicu and Miska regularly performed in classy theatres, nightclubs, cafes and restaurants. The success of the Gypsy violinists on stage led musicians such as Belá Bartók and Zoltán Kodály to head off into the Hungarian countryside to try and trace the folk roots of the style. The Romani have been playing violin in varioius European countries for centuries. Abram Wood, a Roma who showed up in Wales at the beginning of the 18th century, was said to have been the man who introduced the violin to that country. But it's the violin music of the Hungarian Roma that has captured the world's ear. Even as the style fades in Hungary, a victim of changing tastes among the younger generations, the descendants of the original musicians can be found playing in bands and as solo performers in cities all through Europe and America. The music has learned how to travel and survive, just as the musicians who played have done for centuries. And as long as there is someone who needs the mournful wail of a Romani violin, the style will never die. [Michael Simmons, Fiddler Magazine's Review Editor, is a guitar player and writer living in Mountain View, California.]
Brad Leftwich: Old-Time Fiddler, Natural Teacherby Bob BuckinghamBrad Leftwich has long been an important figure in the old-time scene. He has played in several bands and he and his wife, Linda Higginbotham, released a couple of well-received recordings in the 1980s. Recently, Brad has made a second volume of fiddle bowing instructions on Homespun Tapes and a book on Round Peak banjo, published by Mel Bay. Brad is a natural teacher. He has written several articles on bowing for The Old-Time Herald, and has written on southern Appalachian fiddling for Fiddler Magazine [Winter 1995/96]. He has made an in-depth study of old-time music and would be quick to tell you that fiddle and banjo are the two arms or the Yin and Yang of old-time music. These two components alone comprise the basic old-time band. It is the marriage of these two instruments in the later part of the nineteenth century that set the basis for what we call old-time instrumental music today. Most recently, Brad has released a second CD with musical partners Tom Sauber and Alice Gerrard where they explore the range of musical expression in old-time music. How long have you played fiddle? I think I was seventeen when I started fiddling, and I'm forty-six now. That would make it about twenty-nine years. It's hard to believe it's been that long. What was your original motivation to start playing fiddle? Actually, banjo was my first passion. My grandfather, Rush Leftwich, was a clawhammer banjo picker from Carroll County, Virginia, and hearing him and his brother George play banjo and fiddle together when I was a kid was what got me interested in old-time music. That traditional banjo-fiddle sound really excited me, and I had lots of happy associations with it from my childhood, visiting my grandparents on their farm. So I started playing banjo when I was about fifteen. I played all the time, and learned quickly. My interest in banjo of course brought me into contact with fiddlers and fiddling. I liked it all right at first, but in contrast to banjo, my interest in fiddling started out mild and grew strong gradually. It was several years before I really caught the bug and started to concentrate more on fiddle than on banjo. It helped, too, when I started meeting older fiddlers like Tom Fuller and Tommy Jarrell in person. Musicians of that generation had a real old-time sound which reminded me of my great uncle's fiddling, and it really hooked me. The other thing that got me going on fiddle was that in the early 1970s, when I began going to fiddlers' conventions in the mountains, I fell in with a bunch of musicians based in Lexington, Virginia. There were a lot of good banjo players in that group, and not many fiddlers. I found that I had a better chance of fitting in at jam sessions and music parties on fiddle. ... Who were your main influences? My biggest influence, hands down, was Tommy Jarrell of Surry County, North Carolina. Growing up just miles from my grand-parents' homeplace, Tommy represented everything that drew me to old-time music. On both fiddle and banjo he had the regional sound I wanted to learn, and his connections to the Leftwich family put me in touch with "lost" relatives who gave me a wealth of information about my family two to four generations ago. I visited Tommy every chance I got from 1972 to his death in 1985, and I spent years trying to understand the intricacies of his playing style. There were a number of other influences on my playing both before and after Tommy Jarrell, though. Tom Fuller, an Oklahoma fiddler, was an inspiration to me in the early 1970s. He was born in 1890 in the Indian Territory, before Oklahoma was a state. His grandson Mike was a high school friend of mine. Mike, knowing my interest in old-time music, introduced us at Christmas one year when his grandparents had come to visit. I visited Tom several times before he died and made some tape recordings of his fiddling. I learned a number of rare old Oklahoma tunes from him, but I was just a beginning fiddler at the time and I never really mastered his unique style of playing. A funny coincidence: just a few days ago I unexpectedly got an email from a woman I was friends with in high school. I don't think I've seen her for 20 years. She was reminiscing about how we went to Mike's wedding together, and teased me about how I abandoned her at the reception to spend the whole evening talking to an old fiddler (Mike's grandfather Tom Fuller, of course). Another Oklahoma fiddler, John Kennedy, had an impact on my music in the early 1980s. He lived in Pawnee, Oklahoma, about 15 miles from Stillwater, where I grew up. He was in his late sixties at the time, and his old-time fiddling was an anachronism amid the contest fiddling, bluegrass, and western swing that was then popular in Oklahoma fiddling circles. He was a self-effacing person who couldn't seem to believe that Linda (my wife) and I were really interested in his music. He played in a very traditional style with nicely crafted bowing, which he learned as a boy from a pair of old fiddlers, Tom and Tony Adams, who relocated there from Arkansas. I was influenced in a general way by a number of fiddlers I met in Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Missouri: D.J. "Fate" Morrison, Lee Stoneking, Lowe Stokes, Ray "Pick" Johnson, Violet Hensley, Lyman Enloe, Cliff Trissler, Ralph Noonan, Ed Sutherland, and Howe Teague to name just a few. The tunes I learned from them and others have special significance to me, and whenever I play them they conjure up a host of great memories and stories. Did anyone ever give you a real "Oh, Yeah!" insight during this time? Who and what was it? The biggest insight I ever got was from Tommy Jarrell, who made me realize the importance of bowing. One visit to him made me realize that it was something I should be paying attention to, but it took several years and a lot of smaller "oh, yeahs" before I really had a feel for what it was all about. Mostly, though, my understanding of traditional fiddling dawned little by little rather than by bolts of lightning from heaven. ... I know you were instrumental in influencing young fiddlers like Jake Krack. What do you think is the current status of old-time fiddling? Interest in old-time fiddling is as strong as it's been any time since I've been playing. There was a lot of interest in the 1970s, but it seemed to drop off considerably in the '80s. Now I think it's as strong as or stronger than it was in the '70s, with the added advantage that experience levels seem to be generally higher, there are more venues for performers, and more recordings and other resources available for people who are learning. Musicians of my generation who have been at it since the '70s or earlier are coming into their own, and I believe many of them should be recognized as masters in their own right. I was worried for a while that interest in traditional fiddling was related
to cultural climates of the '60s and '70s, sort of a musical "back
to the land" movement, and that it wouldn't continue when those climates
changed. But I'm seeing a lot of younger musicians at festivals now. There's
a lot of talent and a lot of potential, and in general I think the status
of old-time fiddling is looking pretty healthy. [Bob Buckingham of Pennsylvania is a fiddler, old-time banjo player, and leader of the Contra Rebels, an old-time stringband. He is on the writing staff of Fiddler Magazine and Bluegrass Unlimited and is a frequent contributor to the Old-Time Herald and The Devil's Box.] Homespun Tapes, Box 340, Woodstock, NY 12498; (800) 33-TAPES; www.homespuntapes.com Copper Creek, P.O. Box 3161, Roanoke, VA 24015; (540) 563-5937; copcrk@aol.com
Both Fiddlers Play Second Fiddle: Mexico's "Son Arribeño"by Lindajoy FenleyDespite blaring trumpets, violins still dominate mariachi music. And the devil's instrument is definitely the focus of huastecan trios and calentana conjuntos. But even though there are two fiddles in the traditional son arribeño quartets, poets toting large, eight-string guitars called huapangueras steal the show in the Sierra Gorda mountains of Central Mexico. One fiddle plays lead while the second weaves harmony above and below the melody line. But in a sense, both fiddlers in this genre play second fiddle to the man who backs up improvised verses with his large guitar. Groups are known by the poet's name: Ángel González y los Campesinos de la Sierra; Guillermo Velázquez y los Leones de la Sierra de Xichu; Tobías Hernández y los Xichulenses Like the poets with their huapangueras and a fourth member of the group playing a small, guitar-like instrument called a vihuela, the two fiddlers are talented marathoners who often play all night long. During holidays -- particularly at the end of the year -- they may stay up all night three or more nights a week and play an afternoon gig or two as well. The all-night gigs which go from dusk to dawn are called topadas. Two groups, each sitting on its own tall narrow platform on opposite sides of a dance area, alternate three-part performances of music and poetry. When their turn comes, fiddlers must follow rules which define the keys and melodies they play and their poet-leader must respond to his counterpart with a series of ten-line verses called décimas. Although the competition may seem aggressive as the night wears on, friendship between the combatants is evident when they finally climb down from the wooden platforms erected especially for the occasion. Son arribeño, as played in the Sierra Gorda mountains, has a unique sound even though this 6/8 rhythm can be found in many other parts of Mexico and Latin America. The arribeña version, less known than the flashier forms of son played by mariachi groups or huasteco trios, may seem tediously repetitive to outsiders when they first hear it. However, this music is likely to grow on anyone who appreciates good fiddle music, particularly if they also listen to the poetry that goes along with it. The musical form known as son varies from region to region, not only in style and melody but also in instrumentation. Son arribeño uses two fiddles, a large huapanguera guitar and a curved-back vihuela which is slightly larger than a mandolin. In the nearby Huasteca, huapangos or sones huastecos are played by trios with one fiddle, which is the lead instrument, a huapanguera and a small jarana. In the Tierra Caliente region of Guerrero and Michoacán, one or two fiddles also lead son calentano groups which include at least one guitar and a small tamborita drum (Fiddler Magazine, Fall 1998). Groups in Southern Veracruz playing son jarocho select from a wider variety of instruments including many sizes of jaranas jarochas (different from jaranas huastecas) and requintos as well as a harp and occasionally a fiddle or marimbol. In parts of Michoacán, one can hear son abajeño with harp, fiddle, guitarra de golpe and vihuela. Mariachi groups, originally from Jalisco but now well established all over Mexico and even abroad, play sones jalisciences, with three or more fiddles, two or more trumpets, a guitarrón and a vihuela. Cathie Whitesides, a Seattle fiddler who said son arribeño was one of the highlights of her recent trip to Mexico, describes the Campesinos de la Sierra, the arribeño group she heard: "The musical flow is never interrupted between a declamatory poem lauding the ancient art of the troubadour, commenting on life and politics, praising the climate, the hostess, the guests, issues of the day, etc., and fiery fiddle tunes somehow selected by the lead fiddle without hesitation and jumped on within two or three notes by the second fiddle in harmonyThe two fiddlers -- Perfecto and Higinio -- were in total accord, one consistently launching the tune and the other in tight harmony alongside. It wasn't clear to us how they agree which fiddle will start because both took turns at various performances, but there was no hesitation. Melodies seemed sometimes lyrical and other times punctuated by strong, fast rhythms and intricate bowings." While son arribeño (which could be translated as mountain, or highlands son) is played at parties, wakes, baptisms, weddings, etc., the showcase is the topada, a kind of musical confrontation programmed simply for enjoyment. Although competition focuses on the huapanguera-toting poets who improvise in décima, fiddlers also compete according to their own set of rules. The rules of the game The topada begins shortly after sunset, when the musicians climb up onto the narrow benches erected for the occasion. They tower above a crowd of attentive listeners, who not only judge the poet's improvised verses and the music, but who are also primed to dance all night. The first group to climb a ladder to the mini-platform begins the competition and carries "the upper hand" until the other group takes it away if possible. The poet sings verses thanking the organizers for their work and greeting members of the public. He will also establish a theme that both groups must improvise on during the topada. Although both the music and the poetry must adhere to a series of rules, creativity is also an important ingredient. Musicians and poets alike improvise until one group is clearly the dominant. This oral tradition indeed serves to sharpen the literary and musical skills of campesinos in this mountainous region of Guanajuato, Querétaro and San Luis Potosí. Major social events in the Sierra Gorda, topadas are also held in Mexico City, where immigrants from that region of Central Mexico have settled. Each son arribeño piece lasts at least fifteen minutes but can go on for more than half an hour. Obviously, it is not the right length for commercial recordings or commercial radio shows. Rather, it is people's music meant to communicate ideas. The long pieces heard at a topada can be broken into three distinct parts: 1) The poetry where the quatrain is presented by the poet. The fiddler listens to the troubadour sing his first four lines -- called the plant or base verse -- and then he accompanies him with a musical phrase which imitates the tone which was just been established. 2) The décima or valona which will include at least four ten-line verses based on the quatrain. When the poet sings during this part he will be accompanied only by his huapanguera and the person playing vihuela to his left. The fiddlers will provide musical interludes between each decimal (a specific form of ten-line verse), giving him time to compose. Higinio Ledesma describes the valona as the adorno, or decoration, of the troubadour's verses. Although considered one of the talented fiddlers of the region, Ledesma says he only knows eight of the twelve different parts to the valona. 3) The son or jarabe during which dancers will stomp their feet in the traditional zapateado. There are also musical customs. Son arribeño is always in a major key, usually D, A or G, each key belonging to a specific part of the topada. Perfecto López, a Querétaro fiddler who plays both son arribeño and son huasteco, notes that while son huasteco allows him to change keys and play in a minor key according to his whim, it's not so with son arribeño. López leads his own huasteco trio, but when he plays arribeño with Ángel González's Campesinos de la Sierra he is segundero, or second fiddle. Although he must follow lead fiddler Higinio Ledesma, López says he pays as much attention to the fiddlers in the other group as he would if he had the lead. In the all-night marathon topada, he never knows when he might have to take charge of the melody while his partner retunes or changes a string. Music for a topada, López explains, always starts in the key of D, progresses to A (or perhaps A mixed with E) in the wee hours of the morning and ends in G when the sun is about to break over the horizon. Fiddlers must also keep to the same key and same type of music as the lead group. Just as with the key in which the music is played, the theme should only be changed by the group which maintains "the upper hand." The two violinists usually play in harmony of thirds or sixths, although they also play in unison at times. ... Dancers are ever present If the topada starts at 9 p.m. or 10 p.m., the change in theme might not occur until 3 a.m., when a more direct competition, called the bravata or apporeón begins. During this phase the two poets will confront each other personally, with their verses. Though it isn't always clear who "wins" the competition, each group will eventually present a despedida or farewell, acknowledging his opponent, thanking the organizers and people still present. By then, the crowd may have dwindled. But there are always dancers until the end. "The music is happy, very happy," says Ángel González, a poet-musician from Xichu, Guanajuato. "Some guy that might be half asleep will get up and dance. It's happy music. And above all, we take advantage of the topada to inform, to deliver a message, to talk of real things." González also notes that while the dancers are listening to the musicians, the musicians are watching the dancers. "We like to see that the people are happy. If we play something that isn't pretty, people don't dance." The musicians, he explains, will respond to a listless crowd by recharging their performance. In a sense, no one plays second fiddle to anyone else. Although the poets with their huapangueras attract most of the attention, the fiddlers as well as the musician playing the vihuela are vitally important. And, as González points out, so are the dancers. [The town of Xichu, Guanajuato, ushers in the New Year with a topada on Dec. 31, which doesn't end until well after sunrise. Accommodations are extremely limited, but who wants to sleep when you can listen to the best of son arribeño in the town square all night long!] [Lindajoy Fenley is the director of Dos Tradiciones, A.C., a non-profit organization that promotes traditional music and cultural exchange in Mexico. For information about the association's annual festival in March, write lindajoy@laneta.apc.org.] For full versions of these articles, please visit Fiddler Magazine store to order back issues. |
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