CHANGO SPASIUK
POLKAS FROM THE PAMPAS
by Jorge Fernández
Chamamé is the most popular and representative genre/dance style of the Argentinean North East, bordering Southern Brazil and Paraguay. Out of the many styles that emerged from the Argentinean folklore, Chamamé is the funniest, rhythmic and frenzied, though it could be melancholic as well. It's impossible to date when it emerged as a definite style, but it's the product of many cultures which inhabited the area. Firstly populated by an aboriginal tribe, the Guaraní, the arrival of Spanish people led to the apparition of the Creole -a hybrid of European and original culture. Then, at the end of the XIX century, Germans, Ukrainians, and another inhabitants of Eastern Europe settled in the area. Out of this melting pot emerged Horacio 'Chango' Spasiuk, a 36 year-old virtuoso of the accordion, the instrument around which Chamamé is based.Raised in the little town of Apostoles, in the province of Misiones (Argentina), Spasiuk, of Ukrainian descent, learned to play polkas at a very early age, while listening Chamamé on the radio, whichever side of the dial he did turn to. When he grew up, Chango would play Polkas with his family and then could join a Chamamé group when invited to a party. As a result, his utterly original style is an unbridled mixture of all his influences, and the style itself evolved as Chango added elements of classical composition, another of his early tastes in music.
Finally, when Spasiuk reached public exposition, around 1988, all of these elements where in place. With time, he came to be recognized as a refined player and composer of Argentinean folk music; he was an innovator, though he always evaded the pigeonholes created by journalists and the high-class musical intelligentsia. He feels closer to popular music and the people who attend his concerts. It is perhaps best to understand that, in the weeks prior to his final series of concerts in Buenos Aires, before retirement to recording studios, none of his albums were available in the city.
Before the last audition of his concert started, a girl standing in the corridor was selling Chango's Polcas De Mi Tierra ("Polkas Of My Land," Spasiuk's fourth album) like hot bread. I've never seen such hunger for records; people gathered like flies around the pie, never shy to show their disillusion when informed that the most searched for album, Chamamé Crudo ("Raw Chamamé," from 2001, his sixth and last album), was sold-out. Similarly, there was excitement inside the room, even more curious for a folk concert at 1 AM. "Tonight, I'm particularly inspired," he said to the audience. "I saw Mrs. Felisa's daughter seated among you, and Mrs. Felisa bring me a lot of memories from my childhood in Apóstoles. She was our neighbor, and I used to visit her house when I was a child. It's nice to have visions of that moments coming back, and I like to have visions during my concerts," he added. And after a couple of songs (one a mellow polka, and another a febrile Chamamé, where Chango extolled notes from his accordion like a blond Jimi Hendrix), he called for an intermezzo. And so this interview was done.
Spasiuk: "My music has a lot of images, not because I intended it in this way. I saw myself only as a conductor of the greater universe that's the Argentinean North-East; both geographically and culturally speaking. Kandinsky spoke about the sound of colors, that he could get an aural perception of what he painted. That kind of thinking influenced me a lot. I like the idea in reverse: the visual perception through musical experience. This doesn't means that I'm going consciously that way. But, undoubtedly, I'm expressing myself in this context. It's not something I'm doing on purpose, but my music creates climates and atmospheres naturally. I want to make atemporal music; sounds that will survive me. Besides, I don't measure my concert in any number of songs but in terms of sensations. I could go to different planes, improvising towards something melancholic, funny, fierce and tranquil in the span of the same song. It doesn't matter if it takes one or three songs. What matters is the climate, the atmosphere. I'm after that."
Chango's records have a cinematic feeling, similar to the Americana dreams engineered by Neil Young, Cul De Sac or Ry Cooder –to get the picture, you've only got to change the blue open skies and macadam for tropical weather and red-clay roads. Unsurprisingly, he has worked on soundtracks for Argentinean movies like El Astillero (based on Juan Carlos Onetti´s novel of the same name) and Arregui, La Noticia Del Día. He also composed songs for the movie Vagón Fumador, and is currently involved with new projects. His last record, Chamamé Crudo ("Raw Chamamé"), is also full of images. "Genesis Del Chamamé" invokes the sound of water and wind heard in the Litoral area, between the rivers Paraná and Uruguay. In order to achieve that ambience, Spasiuk (in particular, since his third album, Bailemos Y..., from 1993) is keen on drawing elements from different sources like classical music, jazz and Brazilian rhythms. In fact, his new work is the most cohesive he has ever done. Including bandoneon, violin, two guitars, percussion and double-bass, Chango confides that it fits perfectly with the music he has in his mind.
Spasiuk: "I feel that I grew a lot, musically speaking. I like to compose music for films like (Pino Solanas's) El Exilio De Gardel, which wouldn't talk about tango but about other realities in Argentina. Also, I'd love to compose music for ballet and orchestra. I am quite interested in classical music; I use a lot of classical arrangements. I have a lot of music in my head, but I'm very alert if those elements became my music instead."
Internationally, Spasiuk is seen as part of a young generation of avant folk accordion players –one that also includes Finnishians Maria Kalaniemi and Kimmo Pohjonen, Brazilian Renato Borghetti, and Slovenian/Rock In Opposition player Bratko Bibic. In Argentina meanwhile, Spasiuk has been pigeonholed as a vanguard artist, something that he denies. This notion came after several events, and not just local ones. In the '90's, he was invited by Charlie Gillett to perform in the BBC program he conducts, and Chango has also played along with Cyro Baptista and John Zorn in New York's Knitting Factory, as part of the performances of Baptista's very idiosyncratic homage to Brazilian composer Heitor Villa Lobos.
Spasiuk: "Something that bothers me is the abysmal gap that critics draw between the song and the so-called intellectual, instrumental music. Probably, the lyrics gave (the songs) something more direct and palatable, but I believe that there are images in every kind of music (which is) well done. So, this approach generates ghettos in Argentina, even when we're far from having a big market for music making. People lose perspective and access to a lot of information and content."
About his work with Baptista, Chango recalls that "Cyro called me to play on Vira Loucos (1997), a record produced by John Zorn, with me, Zorn, Marc Ribot and Nana Vasconcelos guesting, among others. It has Villa Lobos' music played Cyro's way; it was my first recording outside Argentina and a rewarding experience. Then we played in Austria, and we write each other very often (now). I remember Zorn as a masterful musician, but there's a lot of interesting people around the world. And I try not to disperse my energies, concentrating them instead on my own music. You know, when I played in the Montreal Jazz Festival I was mentioned as a musician who performed with Mercedes Sosa, Cyro and Zorn, forgetting everything about my own work."
Spasiuk's language is inextricably linked with bonds to popular music. In concert, he could make everybody silent and drop their jaws by addressing the soul of Chamamé pioneer Tránsito Cocomarola. In talk, he always goes to the roots, without mention to Argentinean players who currently work in Europe like Dino Saluzzi and Raúl Barboza. All of which suggests an interesting link between Chamamé and blues. As blues came from the Mississippi Delta, Chamamé came from the North-East Litoral, a piece of land placed in between the Uruguay and Paraná rivers. Argentinean Litoral also has a traditional mythology of characters, like the above mentioned Cocomarola, Isaco Abitbol, or Blas Martínez Riera –a long haired and silent man who used to intertwine feathers in his head. For some, their weird stories are not very far from the tales that surrounded the lives of Skip James, Charley Patton and Robert Johnson. And though they were the prime of new Argentinean folklore, they were ignored by the Argentinean media.
Spasiuk: "Those people had an intense fiber, one that is lost when somebody tries to develop their music. And I want to preserve that raw sound, that simple aesthetic, though, as I said before, I do not fear to dip into classical music. In Buenos Aires, people used to turn up their noses when some of those people played. They thought this was music from "negros." "Gronchos," as they used to say. I guess urban people discriminate what they fear, as Chamamé represents other forms of beauty, dressing and fun. So, those musicians lived through that. They had a lot of strength, but the marginalization they suffered was mirrored in their faces. I don't know if they felt resentment, but why shouldn't they? It's true that they were beloved in the Litoral, but they enriched a lot of companies and weren't paid in return as they deserved- not only economically, but with respect. So, whenever I can, I invite some of those marginal players to perform with me. And not all my public likes them. But I reckon they (the public) could gain something if they intend to see things another way."
Unlike highly prized musicians like Astor Piazzolla, Chango keeps firmly rooted to the basics of popular music. His introspective vision could unravel unheard sounds and melodies, weird emotions usually kept hidden for popular consumption. Without a doubt, this has a lot to do with his upbringing, playing polkas with his parents, and playing Chamamé with his friends. And of course, this also has a lot to do with Chamamé's own tales of mixed-up traditions of race and music.
Spasiuk: "I'm the product of a big mix of influences. I'm not a specialized musician; not the kind of shit critics like to talk about. It's simpler than that. For instance, Polcas De Mi Tierra is not a recording of Ukrainian music; it's a record of Argentinean music. The plan was: I wanted to make the connections. Around 1800, polkas were like rock'n'roll. It was a style played everywhere, but not exactly played everywhere. Strictly speaking, polka belongs to bohemian Czechs, but there were a lot of styles. Then, very rudimentary farmers from Eastern Europe arrived to Argentina, Paraguay and Brazil. They played polkas with accordion and violin, and I like to term what they did as 'rural polkas,' because they played in a style that didn't obey any rules and at the same time embraced all of them. Undoubtedly, the big difference between a European and a rural polka is that the latter sounds Chamamé-influenced. It's something new for our traditional music. Something newer than Chamamé, which is an aesthetically dominant form over polka. And then there are other rhythms, like Chamarritas and Rancheras, a rural, simpler kind of 3/4 waltz. But Chamamé is the dominant form over them. So, I went to my homeland to show what happened. Polcas De Mi Tierra talks about my grandparents, but it intends to be Argentinean music. As I said, a new kind of folklore."
At face value, as an ethnic-musical document, Polcas is an artistic achievement that brings to mind (and rises to the heights) of Glenn Gould's The Quiet Land. As Gould solitarily explored the Mennonite Community of Manitoba, Spasiuk unveils the past and present of his own community in the province of Misiones. His work succeeds in several ways. The field recording of tales narrated by Ukrainian descendants and his own taping of rural polkas brings a raw quality, enjoyable in its sincerity and expressive sound. But he surpasses his own achievements at the end of the record, with the same supernatural mysticism of the Mennonite recordings. His ancestors are heard in the choir of a Byzantine Church, intoning a Slav traditional song to the Virgin. The spectral echoes are further invoked by the bells of San Nicolas De Las Tunas, and Chango enters the Church mesmerized, improvising some out-of-this-world melodies, offered to the Virgin of Hoshiuv. His accordion reaches moving heights, pitching atonal trebles, and the ambience (some would call it 'pretty music') ends circularly with the Centenario De Apóstoles choir intoning "Borode Tse Divo," the Ukrainian Ave Maria in version of Ukrainian composer M. Fedoriv. Chango made a journey outside and inside of his self, and returned as glad and changed as anyone can be after such an experience.
Spasiuk: "In concert, I never try to be accepted. My only purpose is to make something unique; to create space where something special could happen. And that's a scenario that could never be made by me but by everybody in the audience. There are a lot of aspects that can't be found on the surface but it's important to contemplate them. It's impossible to intellectualize it. I perceive the vibes of the audience and change my track listing according to that. Also, I could talk to the public if necessary. I seek the moment when everybody is connected with something unusual, away from the mundane. I'm after the magical moments, when something absolutely different happens. But bear in mind that this sensorial thing has nothing to do with mysticism. It has a lot to do with practice."
As soon as the talk is over, Chango continues with his performance. After a couple more tracks, I left myself free to participate in the flow of sounds of his little band. Relaxed, I perceived no more barriers between both of our worlds. Then, I felt invited to inhabit the warm and cheerful world of his childhood. His remembrances became mine, and I felt the heated clay under my feet, walking straight to the wonderful house of Mrs. Felisa.