I've been getting interested in reimagining folk songs and writing songs that should have existed but didn't, particularly around the Civil War when black voices were muted and only allowed particular channels.
Rhiannon GiddensRead
When I first heard the minstrel banjo - I played a gourd first - I almost lost my mind. I was like, Oh, my god. And then I went to Africa, to the Gambia, and studied the akonting, which is an ancestor of the banjo, and just that connection to me was just immense.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a deep connection between musical heritage and personal identity.
Rhiannon Giddens reflects on her initial emotional reaction to the minstrel banjo and how it led her to discover its ancestral roots in the akonting of Africa. This journey signifies not only a personal and musical exploration but also highlights the profound ties between culture, history, and the evolution of art forms.
In practice
During a presentation on cultural influences in music, I used this quote to illustrate the importance of ancestry in modern art.
I've been getting interested in reimagining folk songs and writing songs that should have existed but didn't, particularly around the Civil War when black voices were muted and only allowed particular channels.
I think it's important that everybody has access to music, and not just people who live in cities or who can afford to drive to the nearest city.
In order to understand the history of the banjo, and the history of bluegrass music, we need to move beyond the narrative we've inherited, beyond generalizations that bluegrass is mostly derived from a Scotch-Irish tradition with influences from Africa. It is actually a complex Creole music that comes from multiple cultures.
The question is not how do we get diversity into bluegrass, but how do we get diversity back into bluegrass?
Monet's garden must be included with his works, because he combined the magic of an adaptation of nature with the work of a painter of light. An extension of the studio into the openair, with color tones lavishly spread out on all sides to exercise the eye with seductive vibrations, from which a feverishly aroused retina expects unquenchable joy.
It is a skill we learn early, the art of inventing stories to explain away the fearful scared strangeness of the world. Storytelling and make-believe, like war and agriculture, are among the arts of self-defense, and all of them are ways of enclosing otherness and claiming ownership.
The poets who have written the best poems about war seem to be the poets whose countries have experienced an invasion or vicious dictatorships.
Every creator painfully experiences the chasm between his inner vision and its ultimate expression. The chasm is never completely bridged. We all have the conviction, perhaps illusory, that we have much more to say than appears on the paper.
Outlaws, like lovers, poets, and tubercular composers who cough blood onto piano keys, do their finest work in the slippery rays of the moon.
Generally, literary prizes are significant not for who the winner is but the discussion they create around books.
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