D e s e r t E x p o s u r e 
January
2008
BAYOU SECO'S ROLLING POSTCARD
Peppers Without Borders
Berets and balconies, chile ristras and fast accordion music in Basque country.
By Jeanie McLerie and Ken Keppeler
Editor's note: We're delighted to once again be able to share a "rolling postcard" from the popular Silver City "chilegumbo" musical duo, Bayou Seco. This issue, they write us from Basque country in Spain and France.
Sometimes we are amazed how far we can travel on the wings of a good old New Mexican polka. We arrived in Euskal Herria — Basque country — on a Thursday morning in early November, after 20 hours of flying and changing planes three times. A low-lying fog covered the ground, but a lot of mountains were visible above the clouds, and then we could see the sea shining in the early-morning sun. It looked quite magical and alluring, and when we saw the terminal in Bilbao, which was designed to evoke a dove of peace, we knew we were in for a special time. We had been invited by the fantastic accordionist, Joseba Tapia, to take part — two 15-minute sets — in a Diatonic Accordion Festival of duos.
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Bayou Seco: Jeanie
McLerie and Ken Keppeler at the Rue des Basques in Bayonne. |
Diatonic button boxes play a different note, depending on whether you push or pull. Accordion and tambourine is the traditional format for the local trikitixa (pronounced "trikitisha") music. So, along with us, there was an accordion duo from Belgium and Catalonia; a duo from the French Basque country who played accordion and fiddle, a bandoneon (Argentinean style of squeezebox) and electric guitar; a 20-year-old Italian powerhouse named Simone Bottasso, who didn't need a partner; as well as four local groups.
There was no time for jet lag because every moment of the weekend was heavily programmed. But fortunately for us, the nighttime hours were like our day, since we were eight hours ahead of New Mexico, so it wasn't too hard to stay up late — between 2 and 3:30 three nights in a row.
We caught a nap the first afternoon, and then it was off to the cider house for a evening of regional entertainment. First, everyone in our group went into a room full of vats of cider in various degrees of fermentation. The spigot was opened, and everyone lined up and made a pass with a wide-mouthed glass under the stream of cider, catching a couple inches of the delightful, not-very-alcoholic brew. There were 17 floor-to-ceiling vats. The old ones were made of wood, the newer ones of stainless steel. Everyone drank and then ceremoniously dumped the dregs on the floor before heading back to the table to eat the first course of reconstituted salt cod, cooked with eggs in an omelet fashion. We were not given plates, only sharp knives and cloth napkins, but the lovely small round loaves of bread on the table were cut into fourths, and we conveniently used them to catch the juices between the serving plate and our mouths. The second plate was a type of fresh white fish, grilled with green peppers. Delicious! Then came the "big meat," as our host Joseba Tapia called it — hunks of grilled beef on the bone, very rare and tender, and well salted. In fact, we never saw salt and pepper on the table while we were in Euskadi, because everything was well-seasoned before being served. It wouldn't be a good place for a low-salt diet, though. All the while, we made return visits to the vats of cider, trying different batches of various ages.
The finale was plates of Etorki, sheep cheese from the nearby Pyrenees, with big slabs of membrillo, which is like a hard jelly made of quince or apple. There were baskets of walnuts, which some folks cracked open with their bare hands! We were told not to cut the cheese, but to break off a piece before using the knife to trim off the rind.
After all this we went upstairs to the bar and had a rocking jam session of trikitixa music with four accordionists, and as many tambourine players. They all sang together in full harmony, and it was absolutely gorgeous. At this point we were happy with water, but the drink of choice seemed to be Coca Cola and red wine mixed together. I had never heard of that one, and frankly didn't want to taste it, either.
The music was beautiful. It is such a treat to be in a place where the traditional music is well loved and very popular, and happening all the time in the town squares, bars, at fiestas and so forth. There are a lot of bands, some with fairly young players. Even though the TV and radio blast out the usual Europop and American stuff, it seems this vibrant tradition will stay alive. (Here is a link to a site with two young guys playing Basque music on the accordion and tambourine.)
The next day we were picked up by Joseba at the hotel at 11 a.m. and made the one-hour drive back to Bilbao from Lasarte near Donostia (St. Sebastien) where we were staying. After lunch came the sound check, getting to know all the musicians, trading CDs, and finally the concert at 8 p.m. It was great to hear all the different music. Our "Chile Verde, Chile Rojo" song went down very well in this land of peppers.
The next morning we left at noon and went into the beautiful port town of Donostia to the Kursaal, a 600-seat theater/convention hall. We put our instruments in our dressing rooms and left for lunch at a nearby cafe — with roasted peppers alongside the main dish, as usual. Then it was back to the theatre for sound checks and TV coordination, since it was all filmed. Each group was asked a question in the Basque language and had to answer in their language. Ken told everyone in Spanish why the accordion is so popular in the cultures of music we play: "It is because this is a music you play by ear and from the heart, and you can't learn it from written notes because it is almost impossible to write down."
There was a huge TV screen behind us on stage showing closeups of the musicians' hands and fingers. Luckily we couldn't see it while we played. But we all watched on the TV monitors from underneath the stage — especially fun when the performer was exuberantly tapping his foot.
Afterwards was another reception, more formal, with 80 people being served a very nice five-course, traditional meal. Entertainment followed, with some elderly men playing the older "triki" style with accordion, tambourine and gaita (a bagpipe without the bag.) Later on, the younger kids started playing and many people danced the fandango, the wild, very old dance of the region — both arms held up in the air, fingers snapping and feet moving very fast. We got to bed at 3:30 a.m. and were plenty tired.
Sadly this festival was now over. But the next morning we found that our photo was on the whole front page of the only Basque newspaper, Berria, which means "New." (We had been billed at the festival as coming from "Mexico Berria.") What an honor! By now we had begun to realize how warm and wonderful these people are, and how lucky we were to have been invited.
We slept in on Sunday and then met Joseba and his family for a relaxed afternoon of eating (of course) and sightseeing in the nearby mountains. Lots of berets (mostly black) on people's heads. This is not a cliche, but a good type of head covering for any type of weather.
It was amazing to see what was growing — begonias, cyclamen and geraniums everywhere, even though the nighttime temperatures dropped down to close to freezing. The garden across from the restaurant had a lot of lettuce and chard, and still a few beans on the vines. The tomatoes had frozen only on the top of the plant. The peppers were still going pretty strong. All the houses and apartments have balconies full of flowers and colorful drying laundry.
Monday morning we said goodbye to Pas Vasco, and drove north to Biarritz to visit Kiki Borda, one of the festival musicians we had met. He gave us a good tour of the area, the highpoint being a visit to the town of Ezpeleta, the chile capital of the French Basque area. There were ristras hanging on all the walls of the houses. It was beautiful sight to our New Mexican eyes! The seeds of the piment d'espelette (mildly piquant) were brought to the area by travelers from South America in the 1700s, and they continue to be an important part of the Basque cuisine.
The next day we played music in the French Basque school (Ikastola) that Kiki's daughter attends. The kids appreciated our music a lot, especially when Ken clog-danced to "Cluck Old Hen." We ended the program by getting them to dance La Raspa. They already knew it! Ah, the far-reaching cultural crossover of dances and tunes. We also taught them a Navajo song, and how to make a New Mexican grito (exuberant yell). It's not too different from the high-pitched, bloodcurdling "triki" yell that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck.
We learned a few important words in the Basque lanquage — Egun on (hello), mesedez (please), eskerrik asko/milesker (thank you — depending on if you are in the south or the north), ontsa zizte (how are you?), adio (goodbye) and several others. Bai (the b is more like a v) means yes, but it is almost never said only once: Baiiii, bai, bai, bai, bai is more like it. Although this area has never been its own country, it is very proud and separate, and everyone speaks Basque. The language is ancient and predates the Celts and all the Indo-European languages. It has lots of x's and z's and k's. When you enter a town, the name for the town is always in Basque as well as French or Spanish — but often the name not in Basque was blacked out. And you must never say you like this part of Spain/France because it is neither; it is Euskadi. We know some Basque-origin people in New Mexico, and it has been fun to see their beautiful, fertile homeland, and learn about the customs here. We have also been impressed with the warmth and friendliness of everyone here.
Our next stop was north of the Pays Basque in Gascogne — Les Landes — a large, flat area south and east of Bordeaux that is all planted in pine trees for lumber. Before the trees were planted, we are told it was more like Louisiana — swamps and mosquitoes.
We visited the parents of fiddler Gilles Apap's accordionist for lunch en route. Josette and Gilbert Lafargue are such lovely people (our age), proud parents of a musician, and they served us all local food — foie gras, smoked ham, goose confit and sheep cheeses. We then continued on to Villandrault to spend our last three days with our longtime musician friend, Didier Oliver. The music of this area is also played on bagpipes, fiddles and accordions. Didier set up some workshops and a dance for us. I couldn't see traveling all the way to Europe for two 15-minute sets of music, plus we had never been to this part of France.
At the cole de Musique in the Centre Cultural des Carmes in Langon, we gave a New Mexican dance workshop, and two fiddle and accordion workshops. I had 16 kids, ages seven to 14, in my first two-hour class, and the next one was mostly adults. Ken had 10 accordion students, many of whom had never played "cross-key" (a bluesier way of approaching the melody, playing the accordion like a blues harmonica).
At the Grand Bal on Saturday night, five of my students joined us on stage and played five tunes with us that they had learned that morning — New Mexican, Tohono O'odham and Cajun. I told them they couldn't use any sheet music on stage, and I knew they could do it, if they put the tunes in their hearts. And of course they could, and they did. Now those tunes belong to them as well, and will be kept alive in their repertoires and passed on. Our New Mexican dances — the Broom Dance (origin possibly France), La Vaquera (Portuguese?) and La Valse de los Panos (Poland?) — were embraced by the dancers. We shared the evening with Didier's local group. We loved watching the dancers whirl through the mazurkas, rondeaus and bourres, and finally Ken joined the locals towards the end, dancing up a storm.
Alas, the next day we hit the road south to Bilbao — a four-hour drive on the motorway. We stopped in Lasarte to return to Joseba the three-row accordion that Ken had borrowed (so he wouldn't have to bring two boxes on the plane), and we spent our last night in a lovely Basque hotel perched high on a hill overlooking the twinkling lights of Bilbao. Unfortunately, there was no time to visit the Guggenheim museum there. But our new Basque friends wondered why we might want to go to that place, anyway. They said there is no art or history of their people in there. Could that be true? I'll find out next time. We had a light supper of pintxos (tapas) in a nearby bar, and the bartender had seen us on TV the night before. Fleeting moments of fame.
The next morning we returned the car, a Peugeot Partner — kind of like our favorite Renault Kangoo but not as nice — and caught the planes to Paris/Atlanta/Albuquerque. Twenty-four hours later, we collapsed into bed in Albuquerque, with all the tunes and tastes, friendships and sights of the past two weeks spinning by: "Ah, the Rolling Postcard, watch it all roll by. When I get on home to my own sweet bed, I can still watch it all roll by."
Bayou Seco's annual 12th Night Dance will be Saturday, Jan. 5, 7:30-10:30 p.m. at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship Hall, 3845 N. Swan St. in Silver City. The dance is a benefit for the Silver Nights Concert series. All dances will be swiftly taught and children are welcome. Ken Keppeler and Jeanie McLerie will be joined by some of their Las Cruces and Albuquerque band members as well as The Fiddling Friends and other surprise guests. $6 at the door, children (5-12) $3. For more information, call 534-0298 or email bayouseco@aol.com
Bayou Seco's Rolling Postcard adventure continues in April when they head back to the British Isles; expect to read about their travels in a future Desert Exposure.