In Celebration of Rumi

By Derek Beres

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field.
I will meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn’t make any sense.
—Rumi, from The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

Thanks to a former University of Georgia poetry/creative writing professor with a penchant for Sufism, the name Rumi went from an esoteric otherworldly moniker to common parlance in America. Coleman Barks began studying this small sect of Islam in 1977 and has since translated thousands of the famous poet’s works into English. And considering the man formerly known as Mawlana Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi is celebrating a rather special anniversary—800 years young—the entire spectrum of Persian culture is throwing a party.

Born in what is now a region in Afghanistan and passing on in Turkey, Rumi’s name alone has become synonymous with a region often looked upon with misunderstanding and scorn. Considering that major media outlets look at this area as an addendum to and co-conspirators with a country Americans are at war with, the propagation of a poet whose entire career was about the bonding forces of humanity is a timely, and important, occurrence.

To read more on Rumi & Persian music on PopMatters, click here

The Right to Stay Silent

By Derek Beres

When an industry superpower begins to lose power, they do not go down gracefully. Very often large corporations go through a process of reversion, displaying tendencies and attitudes applicable to three-year-old children that throw hissy fits because they cannot get their way. Such is the story of Viacom.

The business giant, which counts MTV as one of its main sources of revenue, is suing Google for $1 billion. The basis is of the suit is that some 160,000 “illegal” clips from Viacom-owned networks are free floating in cyberspace on the Google-owned site YouTube. They’re claiming Google does not monitor what is loaded online, and does not enforce strict-enough policies regarding copyrighted material. They then use the amount of traffic on their site as a basis for advertising revenues.

Basically, they’re doing what Viacom wants to have the power to, but didn’t figure it out first.

While no superpower is free from sin, Google is the closest thing to a widespread democracy existing online. They have created a search engine that is used by hundreds of millions of people daily, weaving adverts into the actual content in a way that we both know is there and yet is not offensive. They bought a true democratic machine in YouTube: an online network where people (although, as the industry would dub us, “consumers”) can share and explore, learn new things, hell, even laugh once in a while.

The unfortunate weight of copyrights is the massive struggle for intellectual property. Whether Viacom owns a show or an idea, they are vehement in keeping it their own. Unfortunately, this form of greed is by no way limited to that company. The technological era coincides with the rise in the fight for ownership; America has become a tense, terse little brat of a nation in many ways. We have an idea and before thinking it through, the first thing we do is copyright it. Problem is, ideas, like all forms of property, eventually disintegrate; the other problems is, of course, there are a lot of bad ideas floating around. The best ones are open for everyone to explore.

Big ups to Google for creating a network that is accessible and enjoyable and, in the truer senses of the word, democratic. Underneath the mounds and mounds of paperwork they’re going to have to sift through to deal with this and other similar suits, I can only hope that underneath all the verbatim and contracts, the judge sees a human heart beating beneath.

Stop the Earth

By Derek Beres

ZEB
Stop the Earth, I Want to Get Off! (Wonderwheel)

While the music of India has made a slow and steady climb into American consciousness over the last four decades, little is known of Baul culture, a group of Bengal mystics that use their songs as transmissions spreading social and spiritual philosophies. Outside of two collaborative efforts between the excellent vocalist Paban Das Baul - with British guitarist Sam Mills (Real Sugar) and UK-based DJ/producer Sam Zaman/Stage of Bengal (Tani Tani) - few Baul scribes have made their way to Western ears. And then Zeb came along and dropped the hottest track imaginable.

Known under many guises - such as The Spy From Cairo, The Pleb and, more rarely, Moreno Visini (his birthright) - Zeb has been dropping guitar and oud lines at New York’s best dance parties (including, most recently, his residency at Turntables on the Hudson) for years. Yet his deeper layer of genius occurs in the studio, where he applies a globally focused intent across the board. Often citing his gypsy heritage to the manner in which he makes music, one can immediately recognize the connection. Just as the original Rom culture traveled from India through to Persia and Spain, and up the Balkans into Eastern Europe, Zeb offers incredible insight into these seemingly disparate threads, most notably on this latest release. Like a master weaver, his tapestry is a brilliant display of colors that evolve over time; as the carpet becomes worn and earthen, new textures that were not apparent appear. This is the foundation of his music.

To read full review on EthnoTechno.com, click here.

Peru in Dub

By Derek Beres

NOVALIMA
Afro (Quango)

Using the platform of rural slave and work songs performed by African slaves in Peru, this four-producer/DJ collective based in Lima and London have created one of the most beautiful examples of history and electronica. Their sophomore effort, Afro, by far trumps their commendable (though somewhat flat) debut. Here they turn the bass up and allow percussion – led by the cajon, a box-like drum originally made from shipping crates, as well as the quijada and congas – to let the imagination fly. And Afro is certainly that, maintaining a dream-like quality through their excellent use of musical space, once again proving the theory that less is more. Afro spans styles as easily as generations, the producers acquiring local legends as well as proficient innovators of more youthful age. The opening “Chinchivi,” features the melodious, rapturous vocals of Milagros Guerrero (who contributes throughout the record). Her voice tantalizes on the club-ready “Mandiga” and captures a brilliant jazzy inflection on “Ay Bembe.” Along side the male vocals and percussive effort of Juan Medrano-Cotito, the two dominate the lyrical edge of Afro. The duo adds the soulful, poetic aspect, while the four producers (Ramón Pérez Prieto, Grimaldo Del Solar, Rafael Morales, and Carlos Li Carrillo) keep the digital dynamic meaningful and inspired. Especially relevant is their use of deep, dubby bass lines, which sets the tone for atmospheric synthesizers, as well as adding weight to the predominant percussion. Their ability to weave these newer technologies into centuries-old songs has created one of the most unique future folk efforts anywhere in the world, subsequently one of the most gorgeous albums of 2006.

Tangled Web

By Derek Beres

Just posted the commercial for my upcoming book, Tangled Web: The Best Music Tour You Never Heard Of (OTB Publishing). The book is a daily journal from my month on the road with Yerba Buena, Voltio, Akwid & Radio Mundial. What the tour started out aspiring to, and what it turned into due to horrible management, is the crux of this journey. This video touches the topic…

A Human Price on Drugs

By Derek Beres

My eyes were really opened to the problems of malaria in Africa when being asked to produce an album by Malian artist Vieux Farka Toure. The label, an hungry upstart in Brooklyn called Modiba Productions, made sure each record they release supports a population other than our own. Their first charity outing raised over $140,000 to date for relief funds in Darfur, and considering the weight of Farka Toure’s name - and that his debut, licensed via World Village, is the highest-selling album in the first month in that label’s history - their efforts to directly buy 15,000 mosquito nets for residents in Niafunke is quickly becoming a reality.

Their preventive efforts are astounding, but do not help those already stricken the illness. As Jesse Brenner, president of Modiba recently said on a radio interview we did on WNYU’s Passport, malaria is easily treated - if you have the money for medicine. Hence, the problem. So I was extremely relieved to read about French drugmaker Sanofi-Aventis’ move to create a medicine specifically for malaria-stricken Africans that cannot afford proper treatment. They will be selling the medicine at cost, making absolutely no profit from the drug (except in areas of the world that can afford to pay for the medicine, which is a fair exchange). As Jill wrote about in a previous post, it is up to corporations to balance profit sharing and use their leverage to help those in need of their science and technology. Helping others in need isn’t charity, it’s common sense. Nice to see that quality dawning upon some of the big players in these industries.

The Big Picture

By Jill Ettinger

Yoga has had a profound impact on my life in many ways. In 2001 I spent a month living at an ashram in upstate New York to complete a teacher training certification program. Though I had a full time job in the natural foods industry, I felt the intensity of this program would have a myriad of benefits.

I’ve this pattern of throwing myself into the fire of passions and curiosities, with heart and intuition as my guides, always hoping that by the time my mind catches up it’s too late to talk myself out of anything. I think it’s worked in my favor, in most cases.  The unknown is often frightening, and outsmarting myself in the weeks prior to my inward journey saved me such questioning anticipation.

There is a saying in yoga that one doesn’t find yoga - yoga finds the student when they are ready. It’s one of those karmic paths that some of us are bound to, and others not at all. I don’t question much about my journey anymore, definitely not after the month of September 2001.

Right from the start I was blasted with the reassurance I needed about being there. Arriving the first night just as dinner was being served, a tall man dressed in white, with long dreadlocks and full beard, asked if he could sit next to me. He seemed familiar. During the drive up from Miami, I had stopped along the way visiting friends and family, slowly transitioning from the fast-paced environment of home, rather than a quick three hour flight which would have seemed just to short a preparatory period. One of the books I had been intensely reading was Ram Dass’s Be Here Now. The man sat down and introduced himself: “My name is Bhagavan Das.” He was, indeed, the same Bhagavan that had introduced Ram Dass to his teacher, causing him to eventually write the book I was reading. In the book, Bhagavan had stayed behind in India when Ram returned home. No trace of him known and there, he sat next to me, the book in my bag on the floor between us both. That was September 8th.

As the sixty students began morphing into a collective, getting to know each other and ourselves in new and profound ways, just 72 hours after settling into the ashram, news came of what had happened in Manhattan. Many students among us were from the city and had friends and family that worked in the towers. Our world was already in a surreal state, but this seemed unfathomable. Our hosts made the decision not to cancel the program or feed into the media frenzy that all of America was absorbed in. We meditated. We sat in the stillness of the horror doing our best to understand the bigger picture. Not just what this meant for America, for the victims of this cruel attack, but for each of us and why it was we had all come together to be here now.  To this day, I’ve only seen footage of the attacks twice, in the films Fahrenheit 911 and Loose Change. (The latter I highly recommend.)

In 1999, I started working with a natural products brokerage company called SGN (standing for the Sikh yogi, Siri Guru Nanak; but as my boss used to say, “Some Good News!”). We represented top brands, like Clif Bar, Organic Valley, Yogi Tea and Peace Cereal. The organization was actually a subsidiary of the same parent company as Yogi Tea and Peace Cereal that Yogi Bhajan founded, Golden Temple. I worked for hardcore Yogis. Their managerial and operational style is profoundly different than most any other job I’d ever worked. They brought something to the table often talked of, but rarely ever practiced: flexibility and honor.

In June of 2001, I made a trip out to Denver. My grandmother was in the hospital. Again. She had been battling several illnesses, but old age was her dominant enemy. A petite and delicate woman, she was a lover, not a fighter. The years had been good to her; she took age with grace and dignity. The thought of losing her true self to the “longevity” practices of modern medicine had no appeal, and when I saw her this trip, both of us knew it would be our last. We were extremely close, and not just grandmother/granddaughter closeness. We were genuine friends. After we said goodbye, something major shifted for me. Almost immediately I wrote to my employers asking them to grant me time off to pursue some answers I was hoping to find in an intense month of yoga. Taking that much time off is quite a task for most organizations to manage, but for the yogis, happy, healthy employees is far more valuable than ornery ones muddling through the day-to-day. (As it turned out, the weeks following my departure would be paralyzed by the tragic events of 9/11, as all business virtually halted.)

Seventeen days into the program, I was pulled out of our philosophy class and handed a note that read, “Call your father. It’s urgent.” I was on a flight the next day, on my way to Denver. The haze over NYC as we took off from Newark was an ominous outward reflection of everything going on inside of me. What in the world was happening? I lacked any shred of proof that it was coming, but I could only hold on for the light at the end of this dim tunnel. Two days later I was back at the ashram as it poured and poured, my tent completely flooded, and all I could do was nothing. I just sat there with it. I don’t even think I cried. One of the daily chants we practiced just kept repeating itself in my head, “ I am not this body, I am not this mind.” Objectivity is critical, not only in my personal life, but my professional one as well. That’s not to say that emotion and preference don’t influence, but in the face of intensity being able to respond with flexibility and honor are critical tools for navigating successfully.

It’s that mind-bending month I call on often to remind me of what really matters. Last night while speaking with a good friend in this industry, we were both in awe of the pettiness competition often breeds. Her company is so committed to the transition our planet is undergoing, as well as giving people and farmers the opportunity to make radical shifts. Sadly some organizations lack the patience or foresight. They get caught up in ego chest-pounding righteousness. Like this slightly annoying article in the New York Times that questions whether Whole Foods’ core mission is being lost in its rapid growth. Do they not realize that the organic food business represents less than 4% of total US food sales? That within the other 96% is a country mindlessly consuming without making any connection to what they are eating, or  what that means not only for their health but also for our fellow humans, animal friends and precious environment?

Of course Whole Foods and companies like them have to grow in order to be an entry point for the other 96%. It takes steps and stages. I came across strange news focusing on Al Gore’s electricity consumption implying he’s greedily gobbling up kilowatts just for the heck of it.  Calling him a hypocrite is like calling George Bush a pacifist.  But I receive this all with a slight grin as I’m reminded of my favorite Gandhi quote: “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they attack you, then you win.”  So that would make us, let’s see, yep, checkmate.