Imagine a flamenco-and-latin-music-influenced version of a mix of Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen and Leonard Cohen, and you kind of get the picture. This is Joaquin Sabina, whose music I was introduced to a few years ago by Helena, our Spanish friend in Oxford. 
       Yesterday, we went to see him and Joan Manuel Serrat, the two most important Spanish singer-songwriters (‘cantautores’) of the 60s/70s/80s, in concert at the huge Bilbao Exhibition Centre. Sabina is now 64 and Serrat is now 70. About ten years ago, Sabina had a stroke and Serrat had cancer, so there was a sense that this was a special occasion – possibly a last chance to see these ‘national treasures’ perform. However, on last night’s evidence, they’re still going very strong.

Both Serrat and Sabina made their names in the 60s as anti-Franco socialists influenced by Spanish and Latin American love poetry, political poetry and protest songs, and both went into exile because of their anti-Franco activism and protests. Serrat didn’t only protest against Franco’s politics; he also insisted on singing in his native Catalan, not a popular move with Franco.

For a taste of Sabina, see this page: http://albokari2.wordpress.com/2008/11/07/joaquin-sabinas-guess-who, where you’ll find a video of a 1981 satirical song about Franco’s funeral called “Adivina adivinanza”, which means something like ‘Guess who?’. (The English translation provided is not too good, but good enough, and has useful notes explaining the topical illusions.)

One of my favourite Sabina songs is ‘Nos sobran los motivos’, a song which is very much in the Spanish tradition of dramatic songs about the devastation of failed love. I can’t find a decent translation, but it’s a game of metaphors, and includes the line ‘My heart so bruised and battered is closed for demolition”. You can see him singing it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6TnOWTQUSzs

I find Serrat less interesting, but here is his most famous song, ‘Mediterraneo’, in a video from 1974: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fa8l1XrYuew. There’s an excellent translation and the original words at:
http://www.ce.berkeley.edu/~coby/songtr/serrat/medi.htm

And by the way, if you like this kind of thing, you might like one of my favourite singers, the Italian ‘cantautore’ Fabrizio de Andre, who died at the age of 59 in 1999. Here are three of his best songs:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEN_-q2fGZI&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vf1RYOW7jpQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uid_qhVS8Ag

Have you ever had that experience of waking up and not remembering that it’s a bank holiday and wondering why everything is so quiet? Well that’s happened to us three times since arriving – except that it wasn’t a question of not remembering: we just didn’t know. The day after I arrived (31st July) was the Feast of San Ignacio. August 15th was the Feast of the Assumption (‘Ferragosto’ as it is know in Italy). And August 24th was the official holiday for the Bilbao Fiesta (Semana Grande).  (I now have a list of holidays: apart from the days at Christmas, New Year and Easter, they seem to have an additional seven days here!)

Last Wednesday, however, was even quieter, and although we were initially puzzled by this when we woke up, we soon remembered that it was the day of the General Strike, called in the Basque Country and Catalunya to protest against the cuts. It really was exceptionally quiet all day in the Casco Viejo: no shops open, but even more extraordinarily, no bars or cafes or restaurants open. The streets – usually teeming with people eating and drinking – were silent. Even ours, one of the noisiest in town, was silent, and the street looked quite imposing without the throngs.

It wasn’t quite so quiet on the other side of the river, though, in ‘El Ensanche’, the new town. There were helicopters overhead and a massive march – thousands of people – made its way down the tree-lined main avenue, the Gran Via. You will have read about violent protests in Madrid on the same day. This wasn’t violent, but it was a BIG march. (Below, some pictures I took.)

Socialism (of a rather purer communist/anarchist kind than that which is generally embraced in the UK) is a strong force up here in the industrial north – and has been especially since the heady anti-fascist days of the Spanish Civil War – and that of course is one reason why the protests against Rajoy’s conservative government are particularly strong here (and in Catalunya). It’s notable that the only two parts of Spain to hold a general strike last week were Euskadi (Basque Country) and Catalunya. (There was a big national general strike in March). It’s worth noting too that because the Basques – whilst having always been a very distinct culture and people – have never constituted a formal nation, or had a monarchy or much in the way of an aristocracy, there’s arguably a higher level of social equality/cohesion and a lower level of hierarchy here than in much of Europe.

Of course nationalism has as much to do with it as socialism. Franco was not only a fascist but also did everything possible to suppress the two main nationalist threats to the Spanish union, Catalunya and the Basques, partly by setting out to destroy their languages and culture, and so the powerful combination of socialism and nationalism developed here. Both here and in Catalanya recent protests against the government in Madrid have had strong nationalist overtones, especially in Catalunya. A couple of weeks ago in Barcelona there was a massive pro-independence demonstration, and they have declared their intention of holding a referendum for independence: the parallels with Scotland are clear.

The situation is now so serious that the King stepped in last week and warned Catalunya that independence is not possible within the Spanish constitution and that a referendum would be illegal. It’s a historic moment, seen as the biggest threat to Spanish unity since the post-Franco settlement in the 70s. And whilst the King has been a powerful force for democracy since Franco left – he led the establishment of a parliamentary democracy when he took over at Franco’s death – people have not forgotten that the monarchy, aristocracy, church and military formed the conservative anti-democratic alliance of the civil war, and their influence remained strong during the Franco years.

One of the main tensions at present is to do with the fiscal arrangements that exist between Madrid and the autonomous regions around the country, each of which has its own parliament. The Basque Country is the only one of the regions which is allowed to collect its own tax. The arrangement is that the Basque government collects tax and pays some of it to Madrid, whilst in the other regions, Madrid collects the tax and pays part of it to the regions.  At a time when sweeping cuts are being imposed by the central government, Catalunya, the wealthiest area of Spain along with the Basque Country, clearly wants to cut free of government fiscal control and have the power to control its own taxation and spending.

Both Catalunya and Euskadi have called early regional elections in the autumn, too, a move designed to elect an even stronger anti-conservative, anti-austerity alliance. We’ll see what happens.

Speaking of the parallels between Scotland and Catalunya and the Basque Country, I recently came across the trailer for a new film (made by a ‘bertsolari’ – see last post for definition) about a cross-cultural/political exchange between Basques and Scots focused on sheep (!), folk music and ‘country sports’ –  all things which the Basques and the Scots share (cf Highland Games, caber-tossing, etc., and the Basque proclivity for such things as stone-lifting and bale-tossing). It’s focused on a group of farmers and cheesemakers from the village of Idiaziabal – where the iconic Basque sheep’s cheese comes from. (It’s the Basque equivalent of Cheddar, if you like; it’s very good, and we eat a lot of it!).

You can see the trailer for the film, with English subtitles, here:

http://www.gaztazatibat.eu/berriak/trailer-english-version

It’s only three minutes long, and you’ll hear the Basque language and see some classic Basque faces, along with a bit of Scots! The film is called ‘Gazta Zati Bat’, translated as ‘A Peace [sic] of Cheese’. It was shown recently in the Inverness Film Festival, apparently. Below, the poster for the film, plus a shot from the film of some Basque dancers called Joaldunak on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. (They wear sheep-like costumes with bells etc - see www.nabasque.org/Pages/Ihauteria.htm to see what it all means.) And below that, a shot I took of a Basque sheep and shepherd dance at the fiesta in Bilbao...

A lot has been happening. We’ve just come back from a week away (from Bilbao to Basel by train via Barcelona – a nicely alliterative trip); my parents have been staying here (now gone); and we’ve both had a lot of work to do. So now I’m really piling up things to blog about. For the moment, I’m going back to the fiestas, which finished a couple of weeks ago.

The fiesta week gave us an opportunity to experience something of Basque folk culture, a major part of the fiesta programme. Folk dance, music and verse happened in various parts of the old town each day. (There were also some ‘country sports’: we briefly caught sight of some bale-tossing and some stone-lifting, but alas there didn’t seem to be any espadrille-tossing on display…)

Did you know that there is an ancient Basque oral tradition of improvised verse-chanting? Neither did we – and this turned out to be the most surprising and fascinating discovery of the week.

The tradition of ‘bertsolaritza’ is quite unlike anything else I’ve seen, although it is in some ways related to popular rhythmic traditions such as rap, or poetry slams, or even religious chant. The singers are called ‘bertsolariak’ (plural of 'bertsolari') and the verse they sing is called ‘bertso’. (In case you’re wondering, the etymological origin of the word ‘bertso’ is the same as the English 'verse', Latin ‘versus’: Basque is NOT related to Latin in any way, but has borrowed many words from Latinate languages.)

In the events that we saw (see pictures below) four bertsolaris (who appeared to be fairly ordinary young people who might or might not be students / intellectuals – not sure…) stood on a stage and performed in front of a sizeable audience (of all ages) in the square in front of the cathedral. There was also a compère of some sort, who introduced each part of the performance. First, all four singers performed on stage together, each one appearing to respond to the one before. Then they performed in pairs, again appearing to respond to each other. Then they performed alone. Apparently, it was a competition. The audience followed intently and appeared to know the chant-tunes and the closing lines of many of the chants, which they joined in with. Each day, a new group of 4 performers participated.

Wandering around town during the fiesta, we also stumbled several times across bertsolaritza happening in more informal situations - for instance, a single bertsolari performing to a group of people after a meal.

Of course, I couldn’t understand a word of any of it, since it was all in Euskara, but the whole phenomenon seemed fascinating. I had to go away and read to find out what was going on. Here is a basic explanation from a very interesting essay I found: (http://www.criticalimprov.com/article/viewArticle/939/1610, ‘Resisting Poems: Expressions of Dissent and Hegemony in Modern Basque Bertsolaritza’, in case you’re interested.)

“The practice of bertsolaritza is based on the ability of the performers to improvise, in Basque, a sung verse on a pre-determined theme while respecting a set of strict rules determining rhythm and rhyme… A typical performance will feature two or more improvisers as well as a ‘game leader.’ The game leader announces the theme (which may pertain to a large variety of local, national, or international matters and is usually addressed in either a poetic or humorous tone) and imposes a rhythm to be followed by all of the performers. It is then up to the bertsolaris to choose a suitable melody (typically selected from a corpus of well-known traditional tunes), find the proper rhymes, and elaborate the content of their bertso.”

Bertsolaritza might happen “in informal settings (spontaneous performances by amateur or student performers), at more formal social events (weddings, funerals, village balls), or at competitions”, and a typical event might include four different types of ‘games’, such as at the national championships, where performance was structured as follows:

“A type of role-play where each improviser acted as a pre-defined character; an exercise where bertsolaris were asked to improvise the rest of a poem after being given the first verse; another exercise where they had to create a four-verse poem based on four given words inspiring each verse; and finally, a game where each bertsolari had to improvise three poems on a single theme (the same theme applied to all contestants).”

What is the origin of all this?

“The practice of improvised sung poetry is an old Basque tradition. The first written records of a bertsolaritza performance date back to the mid-fifteenth century… Its original setting was rural, and performances often had a clear social function, occurring at village balls, funerals, or weddings. The role of bertsolaris has always been to provide entertainment in addition to commenting on social conditions. As Jon Sarasua explains most eloquently: “the role played by the verse-maker is a cross between that of communicator and poet, leader and jester, newspaper columnist and satirical cartoonist, while at the same time he or she is also an ordinary participant in that social environment”.

(Like many Basque things, it’s quite possible that the tradition goes back many centuries further:  it’s now believed, apparently, that the Basque people may have been living in the Basque country as far back as the stone age!)

And what is its cultural significance in modern Basque society? Is it quaint old stuff like morris dancing in England, or is it something with more cultural clout (as seemed to be the case in the events I witnessed)? Well, the conclusion of the essay is as follows:

“Many bertsolaris are cultural and sometimes political activists at odds with the French and Spanish governments that refuse to grant the Basques full self-determinacy… Bertsolaris, as masters and promoters of the Basque language, often either self-identify or are perceived by their audiences as patriots, nationalists, or even separatists.”

 “…In today’s Basque world, the role of bertsolaritza is two-fold. On the one hand, it consolidates the ideals of a Basque national identity based primarily on the Basque language (Euskara), and its popularity has reached hegemonic proportions. On the other hand, to the outside world, Basque oral improvised poetry represents Basque singularity by positing an ambiguous, yet undeniable, discourse of resistance to other, transnational forms of political, economic, and cultural hegemonies.”

With further research online, I found the following fascinating video (do watch it:  it’s really excellent., a trailer for a longer documentary, with English subtitles!) which focuses on modern bertsolaritza, and shows footage of the national championship – in a huge arena with thousands of people in the audience: http://vimeo.com/9355066/ - some pictures below:

And here is a picture from the 1930s:

It’s clear that this is a BIG thing here.

And indeed, this is one extraordinary thing that we are learning – that the degree of popular engagement with Basque culture of all kinds (sport, music, dancing, festivals, etc.) is exceptionally high, and of an exceptionally high quality, and this clearly has a great deal to do with aspirations to nationality. It also seems to produce a very high level of social cohesion – but also potentially of social exclusivity.

Yesterday, we went to the seaside town of Bermeo (more on this trip later.) By chance, the town’s fiesta was on, and there were thousands of people on the streets. We noticed how extraordinarily mono-ethnic the population was (far more so than in relatively multi-cultural and metropolitan Bilbao): for instance, almost every single person had the black hair that is typical of the Basques. This is a people that has probably lived here since the stone age, and has never been fully occupied or invaded (the Basque country, for instance, was one of the very few parts of Spain not to have been conquered by the Arabs.) – and yet do not have their own nation. No wonder the local culture is so powerful.

We felt very much like outsiders – a feeling intensified by the fact that almost every one of the thousands of people in town was wearing blue clothes and blue neckerchiefs – blue being the colour of the local rowing team, competing in a regatta in the harbour that afternoon. The only exceptions were a few unsuspecting tourists like ourselves – and the African immigrants who (as in Bilbao) appeared to be there only to sell their wares to the fiesta-goers. (Pietro actually bought a blue t-shirt in a local shop as he felt so conspicuous wearing light brown!)

And all this is of course related to the question one is constantly made to think about here: nationalism, good or bad? Catalunya has been in the news this week – following the Spanish government’s latest package of austerity measures, there was a massive demonstration of 1.5 million people in Barcelona, with polls showing 50% of the population of the region pro-independence- despite the already high levels of autonomy that Catalunya already has. And the Basque Country is not far behind.

What does all this nationalism signify? (We might ask the same about Scotland, too.) To what extent is it propelled by a legitimate struggle for self-determination against a restrictive conservative mainstream (which in the case of Spain has still not distanced itself adequately from Francoism) and the historical imposition of arbitrary borders? To what extent is it propelled by ethnic exclusivity and economic materialism? (Catalunya and the Basque Country are the richest regions of Spain: one can’t help feeling that part of the problem is that they don’t want to share what they have with the poor South – although one hesitates to make comparisons between attitudes in the fascist-tending north of Italy, and the socialist-tending north of Spain!)

Answers on a postcard, please….

Next time: Txistulariak….

A serious post to follow, but meanwhile this:

At a pretty seaside town on the Basque coast. Pietro decides to go for a swim in the harbour. Choppy water. Changes into swimming trunks. Poised to jump in. Still wearing glasses.

G: You can’t wear your glasses. They’ll come off and you’ll lose them.
P: No they won’t.
G: Yes they will.
P: No they won’t.

Pietro jumps in. Two minutes later he gets out.

G: Where are your glasses?
P: I’m wearing them.
G: No you’re not.
P: Where are they then?
G: Perhaps they came off and you lost them?

P: Oh dear, yes, that must be it.

G: Groan [Not sure whether to laugh or cry.]

Glasses remain in the sea, lost forever.

And there you have it.