I Just Read About That…

SOUNDTRACK: iLe-Tiny Desk Concert #874 (August 3, 2019).

It’s not very often that you hear a song that is all percussion.  But the first song of this set is only percussion and (Spanish) vocals.

iLe is a singer in the Puerto Rican band Calle 13.  Her most recent solo album Almadura:

is filled with metaphors and allegories about the political, social and economic conditions in Puerto Rico.

When vocalist Ileana Cabra Joglar and her band visited the Tiny Desk, they’d just arrived from the front lines of the historic demonstrations taking place in Puerto Rico. Two days earlier, they were part of a crowd of tens of thousands who were on the streets calling for the resignation of embattled Gov. Ricardo Rosselló. (Rosselló recently stepped down, effective August 2.)

Right from the start, it was clear what was on iLe’s mind in her song “Curandera” — “I am a healer / I don’t need candles to illuminate / I bring purifying water to cleanse / Removing pains so they never return” — as congas and percussion shook the room with an Afro-Caribbean beat.

This is the song in which all of the band members play percussion–primarily congas although Ismael Cancel is on the drum kit.  While everyone plays congas, it is Jeren Guzmán who is the most accomplished and who plays the fast conga “solo.”

In the chorus of the slow-burning “Contra Todo,” iLe sings about channeling inner strengths and frustrations to win battles and remake the world. Her lyrics are rich with history, capturing the spirit of the streets of San Juan even as she stood, eyes closed, behind the Tiny Desk. Her entire performance is a startling reflection of this moment in Puerto Rican history.

“Contra Todo” has a rich deep five string bass from Jonathan Gonzalez and two trombones (Joey Oyola and Nicolás Márquez). Two guitars (Bayoán Ríos and Adalberto Rosario) add a kind of percussive strumming and a quiet song-ending riff.  Jeren Guzmán plays the congas with mallets, something I’ve never seen before.

By the time iLe and her band launched into “Sin Masticar,” they’d already captured the full power of protest, as their musical arrangements raged with the intensity of a crowd joined by a shared cause and pulse.

“Sin Masticar” has a super catchy chorus, perhaps the best way to get people involved in a protest.

[READ: August 2019] Midnight Light

Two years ago Dave Bidini co-founded The West End Phoenix, a newspaper that is for people in Toronto’s West End.  It’s print, it’s old school, and it’s pretty awesome.  I don’t think I’ve ever been to the West End, but I find the writing and the content to be interesting and really enjoyable.

It’s no surprise that Bidini has worked in journalism and loved and hated it.

I’ve always loved newspaper: the smell of the ink and the rough of the newsprint weighted in my hands, their broadsheets flapping like Viking sails.  When I was a kid, our family read them all–the Globe and Mail, the Toronto Star, The Sun, and before that The Telegram–at the kitchen table with each person drawing out whatever they needed: comics, sports, business, entertainment (and yet never Wheels, the Star’s automotive supplement).

He started writing before he picked up a guitar.  When he was 11 he submitted a poem about a hockey player to The Sun‘s “Young Sun” section.  It was accepted and he won a T-shirt.

In 1991, he was asked to write a regular column for a Star satellite weekly called Metropolis.  The day his first piece was to be in print he waited at the nearest newsbox for the delivery man.

But he had no stamina and fewer ideas and he was eventually let go.  Which led to writing books.  But he still wanted to write for the paper and then he remembered: Hey, Yellowknife had a newspaper.

This book is about journalism.  But it’s also about the Canadian North.  And while the journalism stuff is interesting–and the way it ties to the North is interesting too, it’s the outsider’s perspective of this region of the world (that most people don’t even think about) which is just amazing to read about–the people, the landscape, the conditions.  It’s fascinating.

Bidini begins the book by talking about Yellowknife–Canada’s least celebrated capital city.  No one has ever written a popular poem or song about the place.  And when the mayor was on TV to give a message to Canadians, he shouted “People live here!”

Bidini went to Yellowknife in 2014–he was invited to read at the NorthWords literary festival.  He says getting to Yellowknife and the Northwest Territories isn’t especially challenging.  A plane will take you there or you can drive 18 hours from Edmonton.

Yellowknife is isolated.  The Dene have lived there for ten thousand plus years, but most inhabitants now were outcasts from down South–Canada’s last resort in many ways.  Dene Nation come about from “De” meaning flow and “Ne” meaning Mother Earth.  Their origin story is, like any good oral tradition, a bit complicated and confusing, but the crux of the matte is that the medicine men believed that the people should communicate through words rather than force.

• Love each other as much as possible
• Don’t harm anyone with your voice or action
• Don’t make fun of each other, especially in in the matter of sex.

The name Yellowknife comes from the “Copper Indians” or T’ atsaot’ ine whose name was Anglicized.  In the 1700s to early 1800s Yellowknife was ruled by a chief named Akaitcho, meaning Bigfoot.  The Yellowknife were recruited for the Franklin Expedition.  And of course there are stories and divided opinions about the relationship between the two leaders

When it came to the Dene, Dave was given a clear instruction by a less than clear-headed friend:

When you write about [Native Peoples] try not to fuck it up.  That’s the least you ca do.  I mean, they’ve been fucked over enough.  And what did we ever do?  Nothing!

The land is beautiful but also somewhat uncared for–the place is often garbage strewn.  In 2014 Yellowknife had Canada’s highest violent crime per capita and a large homeless population. The RCMP has no oversight and the city don’t even have a 911 service.

The most famous place in Yellowknife is The Gold Range, built in 1958.  The inside lighting felt like a January night even in the middle of summer.  It sold more beer than any other tavern in Canada in the 1980s.

But the real takeaway is the land: “time, scale and distance were their own concepts.”

The newspaper is The Yellowknifer.  It came out twice-weekly and was barely as thick as a single section of most newspapers.  But it was the only game in town.  His plan was to stay for the summer in Yellowknife and to write for the paper.  He made sure not to be close to the center of town–and the Gold Range–because he wanted to be close to the Great Slave Lake.  The Lake was named after the Slavey, an Athanaskan tribe that lived on its Southern Shore,   Nevertheless the people didn’t like the name.  In the 21st century no place should have the word slave in its name.

He marvels at the daily grind of a 9 to 5 job (oh those musicians).  He was now working with creative types as well as office types. And as with any office he got along better with some people than other (sports helps).

He spends some time getting to know the city and the people–with wonderfully colorful stories.  While much of the book is funny he does relate some harrowing stories as well.  Like Lydia Bardak. She is the executive director of The John Howard Society (a Canadian non-profit organization that seeks to develop understanding and effective responses to the problem of crime and prison reform) and former manager of the Dene Ko Day Shelter. She tells the story of one night working late in the shelter, a drunk or high man came in and choked her and tried to rip her clothes off.  The guy was so high that he didn’t know hat he was doing.  While trying to assault her he seemed to snap out of it and realized what he was doing.  He went into the kitchen and got a knife to try to stab himself.

Her reaction to this is amazing:

When you put it all together, this guy is not a bad guy. I knew that a drug high doesn’t last very long and I knew he would come out of it. I knew that I only had to survive until it was just alcohol I was dealing with…because drunks are easy to deal with…  There are many more [stories] out there.  Most victims don’t have the strength that I have…a lot of people, especially those on the streets, are alone. For me, it’s just sad that we can’t do better.

Wow.

He also meets Susan Chaffee, currently in her sixties but she was once the first female fishing guide on Great Slave Lake.  She fought against all kinds of sexism and wound up bringing back twenty-two pound catches an wining trophies.

Every chapter title has a payoff somewhere in the chapter.  The chapter “Fuck Elsewhere” comes from Dave’s inquiring why the Yellowknifer didn’t publish news from anywhere else.  The paper’s editor in chief simply replied.  “Well.  Fuck.  Elsewhere.”  Or how about this for an intriguing chapter title “A Not Boring Section about Rocks (and Fishing).”  It’s true.

The biggest surprise comes when the book suddenly develops a plot of sorts.  It’s obvious that Bidini didn’t intend for this to happen…how could he possibly have known?  But while he is working at the paper a local drama unfolds.  And while it in no way makes the book better or more interesting, it does provide some unusual momentum for a book that could have been much more prosaic (and would still have been interesting).

A veteran Toronto crime journalist, John McFadden had escaped to Yellowknife some years ago.  McFadden is an intrepid journalist fighting against the authorities who want to silence reporters (sound familiar?).  He is ultimately charged with obstruction by the RCMP and a trial about journalistic freedom ensues.

Dave gives some detail about McFadden, of course: he took up smoking at forty, despite a collapsed lung.  But most importantly Dave sees a newspaper lifer who couldn’t help himself and who didn’t know any better.  He was fired or excused at every level of media (CBC City TV, The Sun News Network and various local TV stations).  For the Yellowknifer he was the crime and court reporter, which suited him.  He was also the most-read reporter in the paper because of introductory paragraphs like this

A man who survived horrendous injuries on a night in which his best friend was killed said he is fearful the person who beat and stabbed him will come back and finish the job.

Despite people’s beliefs that he was causing trouble and being deliberately controversial, he was treating Yellowknife with the same respect he’d treat any city.

During John’s first year, he discovered that a man, Bobby Zoe–who’d been convicted of sexual assault–had been released from prison.  John felt he police should warn the public.  He headlined his story RCMP FAIL TO WARN PUBLIC ABOUT SEX ASSAULTS. The police said that warning the public makes the perpetrator go underground.  Well, there was no underground in Yellowknife.  And sure enough, Bobby Zoe repeated his offense about two weeks after getting out.

This led to the RCMP changing their policies and essentially making Yellowknife safer.

But rumors still spread; he was a loose cannon, a cantankerous drunk and unprofessional.

His arrest was something of the trial of the century in Yellowknife.  He told Dave while it was going on: “It’ll be a great ending for your book if I go to jail.”

You’ll have to read the book to see if that great ending happened or not.

Then there’s life in Yellowknife. It’s impossible to build in the winter so June through August is when people obsessively work on their homes and businesses.  There are two seasons in the north: winter and construction.

People get around mostly by float planes.  Which sound amazing.  Some of my favorite parts of the book are when Dave goes further north.  He went via Inuvik and took a float plane and eventually they went to Deline and Great Bear Lake to meet the Sahtú people.

This place is fascinating where people make things work out, rather than being antagonistic.  Like a hybrid Catholic/Dené church service that combined traditional drumming with scripture reading…when the drumming starts, the priest goes out for a smoke.  The people of Deline, unlike the people in Yellowknife did not care for Franklin, “Franklin was a bad dude…women were kidnapped by gunpoint and made to serve [his] crew.  He also murdered 32 Native peoples.”

Then he is off to to Tuktoyatuk because “all my life it felt like an impossible place I would never have a chance to visit.”  The way he describes Tuk it’s like you’re there (there are pictures in the book and I only wish they were in color because he describes it so wonderfully I want to see it with my own eyes).  There was a day in winter where winds reached 127 mph–how do you keep anything straightened with a that?   And this item:

Since there were no trees to frame the ocean–or frame anything–Tuk had a sense of openness and space, and because the buildings were squat and the population small (just over 800 in 2017) you could see the whole of the town wherever you were standing.  Tuk was surrounded in all directions by the sea.  As such it was at the mercy of the sea.  It lost eight feet of beachfront during a three-day storm.

Dave also gets to see the DEW Line The Distant Early Warning station–built by NORAD during the Cold War to warn North Americans of  Russians planes coming over the top to invade (of course he mentions the Rush song).

Speaking of music, no Bidini book would be complete without music.  The chapter “Playing Country Music with Ricky Kikoak in a Trailer in Tuktoyaktuk” fills in that otherwise missing piece.

Well, there is some more music–the annual Folk on the Rocks Festival takes place in July.  This year’s included Tanya Tagaq, Dan Mangan, Corb Lund and Terra Lightfoot.  And some local musicians too.

I love in the acknowledgements that he says a few time sequences have been compressed and he changed some names but most importantly, he has done his best “to maintain the spirit of dialogue even though many conversations happened in Yellowknife bars with bands playing CCR in the background.

This is an excellent travelogue and more great writing from Bidini.