Comedian Barry Ferns has performed at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe almost every year — coronavirus pandemic aside — since 1999. 

The very first year, his show played to sellout audiences, but he still walked away $6,500 in debt. 

The following year, he returned and ended up further in the red. Eight years after his first Fringe show, Ferns said, he was $45,000 in debt. By 2007, Ferns, who that year formally changed his name to Lionel Richie as a publicity stunt, was declared bankrupt.

“I had to put my hand on the Bible in the Royal Courts of Justice in London and say, I, Lionel Richie, do solemnly swear … Technically, I didn’t go bankrupt, Lionel Richie did,” he said.

Ferns added that he blames the festival for putting him in dire straits.  

Barry Ferns changed his name by deed poll to Lionel Richie as a publicity stunt for one his shows. Courtesy of Barry Ferns

The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, which runs through Aug. 26 this year, is the biggest performing arts festival in the world, and it has catapulted the work of some artists to the West End, Broadway and television. But the road to the festival is also littered with stories of career-ending performances, mental health distress and financial ruin.

Any artist can perform at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, which is now in its 77th year, but they must cover their own accommodation costs and the price of hiring a venue. 

Hotel and Airbnb prices in Edinburgh soar during the month of August as thousands descend on the city for the festival, practically doubling the capital’s population. Many artists say the festival is becoming prohibitively expensive for both performers and audiences. 

Ferns, who later recovered from bankruptcy and cofounded his own comedy club in London, continues coming to the festival because he said it has long been seen as the only way for comedians to break through in the industry. But it’s never been profitable for him.

One year, he said, he worked as a cleaner at the Gilded Balloon, the same Edinburgh venue that he would perform in each night to try and make ends meet. 

Barry Ferns’ poster from his performance titled “The Barry Experience.”Steve Ullathorne

“I’d be waking up at 6 in the morning and cleaning up vomit and emptying cigarette ashtrays, and then show up on stage at the same place later that day.” 

Comedians like Robin Williams, Stephen Fry and Bo Burnham are often said to have had their first big breaks at the Fringe. Others like Australian comedian Hannah Gadsby, one of the high-profile acts at this year’s event, have more traumatic memories of their early years in Edinburgh.

In 2006, Gadsby said they performed to fewer than 100 people during the entire festival run. 

“I lost an obscene amount of money and cried in public three times,” they said. 

Actor and writer Georgie Wyatt’s first show at the Edinburgh Fringe made it to London’s Soho Theatre, and she secured an agent as a result. 

But one good year is no guarantee of continued success. The following year, Wyatt returned to the festival with a new act, but in hindsight, she said she never should have gone. 

“It was a disaster, and I paid a big price for it financially and personally,” she reflected.

Actor and writer Georgie Wyatt saw her first show at the Edinburgh Fringe transfer to London’s Soho Theatre and subsequently secured an agent as a result. Kala Gowlett

The festival can also be a lonely experience for comics. Most acts have to pay for their own publicity, often handing out flyers for their own shows. The Fringe is highly competitive, Wyatt said, so it falls on a performer’s shoulders if their show fails. 

“If you don’t have a hold of your mental health or you’re feeling a bit fragile, just don’t go there — it will destroy you,” she said. 

Especially if people don’t show up. In 2019, she performed to an audience of just three people. 

The whole experience can be demoralizing, Wyatt said.

Still, Wyatt said few festivals like Edinburgh’s allow artists to perfect their craft to such an extent that they can perform night after night for up to a month in front of a live audience. 

One theater company this year has devised an almost foolproof way to stage sellout shows: performing to an audience of just one. 

Georgie Wyatt said that few festivals like Edinburgh’s allow artists to perfect their craft to such an extent that they can perform night after night for up to a month in front of a live audience. Kala Gowlett

Taste in Your Mouth, an Irish theater group, stages the show “You’re Needy (Sounds Frustrating)” in the bathroom of a house the company has rented. 

The venue also serves as the accommodation for the cast and crew during the festival. The single audience member sits on a chair as lead actress Laoise Murray performs the play in the bathtub. 

Murray said she tries not to think about whether her audience will leave during the show, and if they do, she would probably tell herself it was because the content was too unsettling. 

William Dunleavy, the company’s co-founder, said the play is an examination of the wellness industry and how it tries to control women’s bodies through capitalism. 

There are few places where a show of this kind can work, the play’s director Grace Morgan said, and the Edinburgh Fringe has turned out to be the perfect stage. 

The Irish theater group received a grant from Culture Ireland to bring the show to the Fringe, a benefit few of its British counterparts will have received, Morgan said. 

Still, the trio said they do not expect to make any money out of their first Edinburgh Fringe experience.

Brian Logan, comedy reviewer with The Guardian, who is also artistic director of Glasgow theater group A Play, A Pie and A Pint, said he believes that the festival organizers and city government itself could do more to help the artists. 

A lot of money pours into Edinburgh each August between ticket sales, hotel prices and bar bills. 

“It feels to me that the city of Edinburgh needs to stop strangling its golden goose and say, you know, how can we stop taking this thing for granted? It may not be here forever if artists are increasingly alienated from it,” Logan said.

Brian Logan is a comedy reviewer with The Guardian.Courtesy of Brian Logan

A spokesperson for the Fringe Society that organizes the festival said that “short-term accommodation costs have increased exponentially across the UK, and Edinburgh is no different.” 

The festival lobbies local government, universities and student accommodation providers to set aside affordable rooms for artists. The spokesperson said the festival has also created a fund that offers grants of $3,250 to 180 artists to make the festival experience feasible.  

But for all its troubles, Logan said, there is little that compares to the “carnival of creativity” at the Fringe. 

This year, there are over 3,600 shows, with thousands of artists coming from 58 countries. 

“Every year, there’s also at least a dozen new international acts that I’ll see that I haven’t seen or heard of before,” Logan said. “Yes, the festival has its problems — it’s also wonderful; both these things are true.” 

And, a number of Fringe shows through the years have gone on to be global hits on platforms such as Netflix — like “Baby Reindeer,” which originated as a one-man show at the festival in 2019.

“I’m a Fringe idealist for all its problems. And I do find it a tremendously inspiring place to be,” he said, with “art and performance from every corner of the world here.”  

Logan said he would like to bring his own show to the Fringe one day.

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A large painting of a three-armed girl was prominently featured at Hillside Gallery’s stand at the art fair Tokyo Gendai in early July. The girl was pointing at a red ball with the No. 2 on it. 

The title of the painting is “Two O’Clock.”

“Two O’Clock,” by Masaru Shichinohe, is one of the paintings that Hillside Gallery was showing at Tokyo Gendai. Gisele Regatão/The World

“I think he is trying to compress a period of time,” said Shengyu Tang, Hillside’s owner, explaining the piece by Masaru Shichinohe, one of three Japanese artists represented by the gallery he opened in Tokyo in 2017. 

Tang was actually born in China and he believes his international experience gives him an advantage in the art market, because he doesn’t think he could only sell domestically. 

“We realized, if we could try to find artists that we think could do well outside of Japan as well, we might have a chance,” he said.

Pace Gallery was making its debut at Tokyo Gendai showing the work of American artist Robert Longo. Gisele Regatão/The World

A few feet away from him, a major American gallery was making its debut at Tokyo Gendai.

Pace Gallery, which has offices in several cities including Beijing, Seoul and Hong Kong, is just opening its Tokyo branch in September — something it has been planning for decades.

“We are really among a very few number of international galleries with a presence here in Tokyo, you might be able to count them on both your hands,” said Joseph Baptista, a partner at Pace.

Pace’s arrival and the beginning of Tokyo Gendai last year — the country’s first major international art fair — are both happening as Japan has changed some tax laws, making it easier for international companies to operate, and allowing Japanese dealers to take a bigger bite of a market that moves $65 billion a year. 

To be able to launch Tokyo Gendai, organizers negotiated a deal for exhibitors, allowing them to pay a 10% tax after their sales. Gisele Regatão/The World

Many believe it’s about time. Even though it’s the third-largest economy in the world, Japan’s share of the global art market is just 1%, much smaller than China’s 19%. 

“Japan is quite rapidly accelerating towards the position that it should hold, which is one of the major art hubs anywhere,” said Magnus Renfrew, co-founder of Tokyo Gendai, which took place in Yokohama, about one hour by train from Tokyo.

To be able to launch the fair, organizers negotiated a tax incentive for exhibitors. Normally, international art galleries would have to pay a 10% tax up front.

“Which, of course, made it prohibitive,” Renfew said. “If they brought $10 million worth of art into the country, they would have to put down $1 million in cash.”

The increase of interest in Japanese art is also related to the popularity of anime and manga — Japanese cartoons and comics. Gisele Regatão/The World

The 38 international galleries that attended Tokyo Gendai this year — out of a total of 69 — were able to pay the tax after their sales. 

Renfrew said that was a game changer, and it will help catapult art sales.

“The market in Asia is in the very early stage of development, and there is huge room to grow,” he said. 

Japan’s art profile is rising as sales from other Asian countries are suffering. 

The US government has increased tax imports on goods from China. And Hong Kong, a major arts hub, is dealing with stronger Chinese control that is limiting artistic expression.

Aside from billionaires in Japan who have several homes, most people do not have spaces for large canvases or sculptures. Gisele Regatão/The World

The increase of interest in Japanese art is also related to the popularity of anime and manga — Japanese cartoons and comics — and the success of artists like Yayoi Kusama, known for her pumpkins with polka dots, and Takashi Murakami, who did the art for Kanye West’s “Graduation” album. 

Joan B. Mirviss, the owner of a namesake gallery in New York that specializes in Japanese art, particularly ceramics, said that, internationally, the interest in Japanese art has grown exponentially. 

“I don’t think a week goes by where I don’t get a request from a serious person, who I don’t know, or a surprise museum that suddenly wants to get started,” she said.

Tokyo Gendai is Japan’s first major international art fair. Gisele Regatão/The World

When Mirviss opened her gallery almost 50 years ago, she said, there were six museums in the US that were collecting Japanese ceramics. 

“Now, I have over 60 institutions in the United States alone, and institutions in Europe, Australia and elsewhere,” she said.

She explained that Japanese ceramic is pretty affordable; sake cups by young artists sell for $300 — or $1,000 if they are done by a celebrated master. 

But Mirviss believes the Japanese domestic art market has some challenges. Even though Japan is a rich country, she said the average person is more likely to save money than to spend on art.

“There isn’t that drive to collect, to build for status purposes,” she said.

Yayoi Kusama is one of the most-famous artists from Japan, and is particularly well-known for her polka-dot pumpkins like this one, located on Naoshima Island. Gisele Regatão/The World

Mirviss explained that aside from billionaires in Japan who have several homes, most people do not have spaces for large canvases or sculptures.

“Also, traditionally, in Japan, you don’t fill your house with art,” she said. “There’s specific spaces within the home where a work of art might be displayed. But it’s not like the West, where there’s, you know, paintings hanging in every room, and a sculpture on a corner. The Japanese don’t live like that.”

Baptista said Pace’s goal with the opening of a Tokyo branch is not only to sell to Japanese collectors, but to visitors who are flocking to the country, in part because they are interested in the culture and the art.

Tokyo Gendai took place in Yokohama, about one hour by train from the country’s capital. Gisele Regatão/The World

“There is so much interest in visiting Japan,” he said. “Culturally, it’s such a place of respect.”

Attracted also by a weak yen, almost 18 million tourists visited Japan in the first six months of this year, a record. It’s still unclear how that will translate to art sales.

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French Chilean rapper Ana Tijoux paused during a recent performance in New York to acknowledge flags propped onstage — of the Palestinian territories, and of Wallmapu, the ancestral territory of the Indigenous people in what is now Chile. 

“We believe in the liberation of any occupied territory,” she said during a concert that was part of Celebrate Brooklyn earlier this month. “I invite all the people in the crowd to not be afraid to talk about life and humanity.”

That message is in keeping with her music.

Tijoux is on a world tour featuring songs from her latest album titled, “Vida,” in Spanish (“Life” in English), which comes after a 10-year break and following the deaths of a handful of people close to her.

“Vida,” released earlier this year, deals with themes of conflict, death, motherhood, pollution and the end of the world. Though she doesn’t shy away from tough subjects, her album is filled with hope and meaning.  

Selena Fragassi is a freelance music writer and critic based in Chicago who has followed Tijoux’s work.

“What a time in history to reintroduce herself,” she said. “She is such a rebellious force in music, and she brings a lot of history, politics and feminism.”

Fragassi explained that some artists have played it safe in recent years, either because of the criticism they get on social media, or because they are trying to tow the line between different audiences with opposing views. 

Several people in the audience at Tijoux’s concert at Celebrate Brooklyn were wearing the Palestinian keffiyeh.Gisele Regatão/The World

“But Ana has never done that, and I think we need really strong voices in music entertainment,” she said. “Her words are just really meaningful right now.”

Fragassi said she appreciates that the album mixes hip-hop with jazz, R&B and Afro Cuban beats. 

And that it includes some ballads, showing Tijoux’s more sensitive side. 

“A lot happened in her life, maybe she got kind of tender on a few songs that were more autobiographical,” Fragassi said.

A happy vibe 

Some of the songs in “Vida” are political. “Busco mi nombre,” or “I search for my name,” is a ballad about those who disappeared during the dictatorship in Chile.

A few of the tunes are personal. 

“Vida” is Tijoux’s fifth solo album and it comes after a 10-year break.Gisele Regatão/The World

“Tania” is about Tijoux’s sister who died in 2019. As she was mourning, she said that she needed an outlet to “put all the hope, and to live life and to understand what life really means.”   

“Niñx,” or “Child,” is written for her daughter, who is 11, because Tijoux said she wanted to give her hope in a time of war. 

“I’m sure I sing that song also to myself, and for the inside child we all got,” Tijoux said. 

“To go back to that first emotion that we all had when we were kids when we were always assombrados, we were, ‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ and never lose that.” 

Ana Tijoux

Even her apocalyptic song, “Fin del mundo” (“End of the world”) has a happy vibe. That’s because the record is also inspired by her passion for dancing, an activity that she said she finds therapeutic. 

In June, Tijoux performed at Celebrate Brooklyn, a summer concert series in New York, for the third time in her career.Gisele Regatão/The World

“Dancers sometimes cry,” she said. “I love that mood of the movement of the body and the movement of the soul.”

“Vida” features several guests, including American rapper Talib Kweli, Puerto Rican singer iLe, and Chilean rapper Pablo Chill-E. 

‘The land of no-lands’

Tijoux became famous internationally in 2010 with her second solo album, “1977,” named after the year she was born, in France, while her parents were in exile because of the military dictatorship in Chile. 

Since then, the rapper has been nominated for three Grammys, won one Latin Grammy, and has become a role model as a Latina in hip-hop. 

Tijoux fell in love with hip-hop when she was still living in Paris. She was exposed to the genre while visiting African immigrants with her mother, who worked as a social worker.Javiera Gajardo

Tijoux said she fell in love with hip-hop when she was still living in Paris. She was exposed to the genre while visiting African immigrants with her mother who worked as a social worker.

“Hip-hop is the land of the no-lands. And that’s why I think it’s so popular around the world,” Tijoux said. “It’s a movement that was born with immigrants, with Boricua, with Haitians, Jamaicans, Afro Americans.”

The family moved back to Chile in the 1990s, and Tijoux started performing as a rapper when she was 18, first with the group Makiza.

For the past three years, Tijoux has been living in Barcelona, Spain, with her daughter, 11, and son, 19. She just turned 47 and said she’s not scared of aging.

“We change, and there is nothing wrong about that,” she said. “I understand that many people don’t want to say that they age, but in my case, I’m very proud of my age.”

Four months ago, Tijoux put a golden incrustation of the number 77, the year of her birth, on one of her tooth.Gisele Regatão/The World

In many ways, Tijoux maintains her rebellious, young spirit — as evidenced by her new tooth bling of the numeral 77. 

Nelson Rodríguez Vega, a music professor at the University of Concepción in Chile who has written about the history of hip-hop in the country, said Tijoux’s new album consolidates her career. 

“With this record, she is ratifying her position as one of the most-important female rappers of Latin America, if not the most important,” he said. 

Rodríguez Vega said Tijoux’s success has opened the door for other female rappers, like Flor de Rap and Zita Zoe.

Tijoux became famous internationally in 2010 with her second solo album, “1977,” named after the year she was born, in France, while her parents were in exile because of the military dictatorship in Chile.Gisele Regatão/The World

He said about one particular festival in the southern city of Concepción, “You can really say that women are making rap because, during six hours, 90% of the artists performing are women.”

That’s because of her talent as a singer, songwriter and activist, Rodríguez Vega explained. “Her lyrics go beyond. They address political issues or social commentary. So, from that perspective, she transcends.”

The post ‘She transcends’: French Chilean rapper Ana Tijoux finds hope and meaning in ‘Vida’ appeared first on The World from PRX.

Rabea Gebbler touches a blade to a fast-spinning piece of wood on a lathe. Shavings fly off in ribbons. And the wood takes the shape of a bowl — the kind used for miso soup. Gebbler is German and came to Yamanaka Onsen about two years ago to study the town’s specific style of woodturning. 

“Yamanaka means in the middle of the mountains. So there’s a lot of wood,” said Gebbler. 

Rabea Gebbler turns a wooden bowl on a Yamanaka-style lathe. Hannah Kirshner/The World

For hundreds of years, Yamanaka artisans have been turning that wood into tableware and teaware. Sometimes, the woodturners apply a finish themselves. But often, their products become a canvas for artisans from Wajima, a northern city in the Ishikawa Prefecture on the Noto Peninsula that is famous for lacquering. 

In Wajima, lacquer specialists apply urushi — lacquer made from the sap of urushi trees. Wajima lacquerware — called Wajima-nuri — is influenced by its proximity to the sea: it’s especially strong because the urushi is mixed with local diatomaceous earth. 

Pigmented urushi on the Shirota’s work table. Hannah Kirshner/The World

In each of these towns, a specific craft is part of the identity of that place. And these places are part of the identity of their crafts. 

On Jan. 1, a major earthquake rocked the Noto Peninsula, and Wajima was one of the hardest-hit areas. The earthquake shook the continuity of Wajima-nuri and upended the lives of its makers.

Producing one piece of Wajima-nuri can take five craftspeople and more than 100 steps. 

“You’ll have someone making the base material. You’ll have someone doing the base coats, the middle coats, and the top coats, and then even the person for the sanding in between,” Gebbler explained.

The result is shiny opaque lacquer, usually black or red. 

An assortment of Ayano Konishi’s maki-e works, displayed on her kitchen table. Hannah Kirshner/The World

Moreover, sometimes another craftsperson applies maki-e. Maki-e is a painstaking process of painting detailed illustrations with urushi and sprinkling gold (or other precious mineral) powder onto the design. Tiny bits of pearlescent shell or iridescent insect wings are also used: imagine making a mosaic from individual pieces of glitter.

Ayano Konishi is a maki-e artist who had her studio in Wajima until the earthquake earlier this year.

In her Yamanaka kitchen, Ayano Konishi shows a lacquerware cup decorated with hydrangeas.Hannah Kirshner/The World

Her studio was attached to a family lacquerware shop that had been in business for around 250 years, since the Edo period. The shop was on the same street as Wajima’s famous morning market, where vendors sell fish and produce. All along that street were lacquerware shops and studios.

The shop run by Ayano Konishi’s husband and father-in-law before the fire. Courtesy of Ayano Konishi

“On Dec. 31, as usual, our shop was open,” said Konishi. “I took my children for a walk, and we went to the vegetable auntie to buy mandarin oranges and fruits. Everyone greeted us, and the children had a lot of fun.” 

But on New Year’s Day, everything would change. 

Konishi and her family were relaxing at their apartment just outside town. 

“There was a tremendous shaking. I really thought the apartment was going to collapse. I really thought we would die,” she said.

Aftershocks kept coming, and in downtown Wajima, a fire broke out. 

Fire consumed downtown Wajima on Jan 1. Courtesy of Ayano Konishi

“The earthquake caused the ground to rise, so there was no water anywhere,” said Konishi. 

Pipes broke and the river and fire cisterns drained, so firefighters couldn’t draw water. Wajima’s morning market and all the lacquerware shops and studios around it burned.

Ayano Konishi’s view of the Wajima morning market, before and after the fire.Courtesy of Ayano Konishi

Six months later, much of Wajima is still uninhabitable. Craftspeople have scattered around the country, staying with relatives or in temporary housing. Some Wajima craftspeople have given up, especially the older ones. 

But Kazuya and Kasumi Shirota, a couple who are both maki-e artisans in their 70s, are determined to continue. After the earthquake, their son urged them to come to live with him in Hyogo prefecture, far from Noto. 

Kasumi Shirota at her work table in Yamanaka.Hannah Kirshner/The World

“I thought, I’m already old, so if I go to my son’s place, I’ll become senile,” said Kazuya Shirota.

Within days of the earthquake, a lacquerware craftsman called the Shirotas from Yamanaka Onsen, the woodturning town. He invited them to come right away and promised to help them start working again.

Now, the Shirotas live and work in an apartment complex in Yamanaka. At the desk they share, Kazuya Shirota works on ornate designs decorating ceremonial objects used in Buddhist temples or during a tea ceremony. On an incense box decorated with a hen and rooster, each feather has been painted one by one, textured with tiny lines, and finished with seven different types of gold powder.

Kazuya Shirota’s works in progress. Hannah Kirshner/The World

The Shirotas say they wish they could return to Wajima. They can get money from the government to tear down their damaged house, but they would have to rebuild at their own expense. It could take years. At 70, they don’t think it’s realistic.

Ayano Konishi, who had her studio near Wajima’s morning market, also ended up in Yamanaka, just a few doors down in the same apartment complex. She explained that tools are often passed down from parent to child or teacher to student. Some types are no longer in production. And even when Konishi bought new tools, she modified them to suit her hands and way of working. She lost most of these in the Wajima fire. 

Ayano Konish’s tools for sprinkling powdered gold and other precious metals.Hannah Kirshner/The World

There has been an outpouring of support for Wajima artisans. Craftspeople from all over Japan sent tools, and crowdfunding campaigns received donations from around the world. Because of all that attention, the Wajima artisans who can work are busier than ever. In turn, Yamanaka woodturners are busy making bases for them.

“We are aiming to return to Wajima eventually,” said Konishi. 

But it will take years to clear the rubble and rebuild.

Wajima after the earthquake and fire. Courtesy of Ayano Konishi

For as long as she lives in Yamanaka, Konishi wants to get inspiration from her new environment. Her work draws from nature and is influenced by the people she collaborates with. She recently ordered some wooden bases from a craftsman she met in Yamanaka.

Earthquakes are part of life in Japan. The crafts seen as traditional now were shapedvents, natural resources, and people’s movement. If more Wajima artisans start working in Yamanaka, these two towns and their crafts may become even more interconnected. Some craftspeople are hopeful that this will strengthen them both and allow them to by historical e continue to evolve.

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The sounds of the Amazon echo through an exhibition called “The Imaginary Amazon,” newly launched at the University Art Gallery on the campus of San Diego State University. 

The exhibition features artwork by contemporary artists, many of whom are Indigenous inhabitants of the forest. Their intent is to address some of the stereotypical Western perspectives of the Amazon.

“Terrazo Vajo,” 2020, made by the artist Abel Rodríguez, from Colombia. Marco Werman/The World

The exhibition reminds viewers of the Amazon’s mass expanse — it’s roughly the size of the United States’ lower 48 states. And it has an equally large hold over many people’s imaginations.

“All different kinds of groups of people have different images of what the Amazon means,” curator Gillian Sneed said, adding that a lot of those images are based on stereotypes and unflattering perspectives trafficked for centures by the so-called Global North.

The exhibition hopes to be a counterweight to those inaccurate portrayals. 

A poster displayed at “The Imaginary Amazon,” an exhibition at the University of San Diego featuring works by contemporary artists who hope to address some of the stereotypical Western perspectives of the Amazon.Marco Werman/The World

“There are other kinds of imaginaries, the imaginaries of the Indigenous people who live there, their cosmologies of how they see the world or their ritual belief systems.”

Gillian Sneed, curator, University Art Gallery, University of San Diego, California 

“There are other kinds of imaginaries, the imaginaries of the Indigenous people who live there, their cosmologies of how they see the world or their ritual belief systems,” Sneed said.

Top: “Ushipi Fruits.” Bottom: “River’s Banks.” Both works are acrylic on paper, made by the artist Sheroanawe Hakihiiwe, from Venezuela.

The art exhibit offers social commentary on depictions of the Amazon throughout history.

In 1941, Walt Disney famously traveled to Brazil, where he met an accomplished illustrator named Jota Carlos, who had created a parrot character with human traits. Disney returned to Hollywood and introduced his character, José Carioca, a kind of “man about town” parrot from Brazil.

Brazilian artist Sergio Allevato deals with Disney’s plagiarism through his own portrayal of parrots, painted on earthy linen to stay true to the actual fauna of the Brazilian Amazon, he said.

His portraits are more Audubon than Disney, reversing some of the negative stereotypes that came with the Carioca character, who was portrayed as having a “bad personality,” and was “unfaithful,” Allevato explained.

“Papagaida,” from the series BraZil, 2019, oil on linen, by the artist Sergio Allevato, from Brazil. Marco Werman/The World

“Parrots are intrinsically connected to Brazilian history.”

Sergio Allevato, artist, Brazil

“Parrots are intrinsically connected to Brazilian history,” Allevato added. The Portugese called Brazil “the land of the parrots,” or — terra papa gali. Allevato said these parrots were taken by the thousands to Europe, and were exploited.

“That’s all folks!” from the series BraZil, oil on linen, 2021, by the artist Sergio Allevato, from Brazil. Marco Werman/The World

Allevato said he wants to make clear that the “The Imaginary Amazon” show is not just about how people who live in the Amazon see their world. It’s really about the rest of us.

“It’s about being together, everybody together, fighting for the whole planet. That’s it,” he said. 

Gillian Sneed and Sergio Allevato stand together at “Imaginary Amazon,” an exhibition at the University Art Gallery at San Diego State University.Marco Werman/The World

“The Imaginary Amazon” will be on display at San Diego State University’s art gallery until May. 

The post ‘Imaginary Amazon’ exhibition counters negative stereotypes through contemporary art appeared first on The World from PRX.

The classical music world has lost a towering figure. Seiji Ozawa, who led the Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO) for nearly three decades, died this week at the age of 88, in his home country of Japan.

The World’s host Carolyn Beeler spoke to Brian McCreath, who broadcasts the Boston Symphony Orchestra on WCRB in Boston, to discuss Ozawa’s life and legacy.

Conductor Seiji Ozawa stops to greet a young child in the audience as he arrives for a reception for himself and the other Kennedy Center Honors honorees in the East Room of the White House in Washington, Dec. 6, 2015.Andrew Harnik/AP/File photo Carolyn Beeler: Seiji Ozawa was born in part of Japanese-occupied China in 1935, before the end of World War II, and I understand his career took off here in this country in the ’60s. Tell us how that all got started.Brian McCreath: It really kind of started in Europe. He won a competition in France which caught the notice of another legendary Boston Symphony music director. That’s Charles Munch, who invited Seiji to come to Boston, really to study at Tanglewood at what was known as the Berkshire Music Center at the time, now called the Tanglewood Music Center in western Massachusetts, where the Boston Symphony spends the summers along with its academy there. Seiji was one of the conductors there who studied with Munch and with others and won the Koussevitzky Prize, which is kind of a big deal, given to the best conducting student of the summer every year. And so, that brought him to the attention of a ton of people. And then, his career really took off through the 1960s.And when he joined the Boston Symphony Orchestra, in the early 1970s, how big of a deal was it to have a conductor from Japan in a role like that?It was, maybe not unprecedented, but extremely unconventional. So, Seiji was coming in at a time when the orchestra had gone through a few years of music directorship of William Steinberg, a German conductor, and previous to that, several years had been spent with Erich Leinsdorf, an Austrian conductor. So, there’s this very heavy Central European focus that the BSO had, both in its sound approach and in its, sort of, profile internationally. So, you bring in Seiji, who is extremely gifted, sort of supernaturally gifted almost, as a conductor. And he brought with him an audience in Japan and throughout Asia. And all of a sudden, there was a new group of people paying attention to the Boston Symphony. It launched the Boston Symphony, already an international orchestra, to a new level of renown around the world. And frankly, the audience connection to the Boston Symphony in Asia remains to this day.I gather that there was a sense among classical music critics that someone from Asia couldn’t really understand Western classical music back when he took the helm of the BSO. And I was struck by this quote in The Boston Globe back in 1999. Ozawa SAID: “I know I’m a test case. Everyone wonders how much I can learn, how much I can understand.” Can you put that into context for us?Well, there is a bias, especially back in the 1960s and early ’70s, such a prevalent bias of, sort of, tradition and heritage being part of classical music, that you must come from a certain part of the world to understand the soul of classical music. And frankly, a lot of Europeans felt that way about the United States, too. So, when Seiji comes along, not only does he disprove this comprehensively, what he brings as well is a brilliance of conducting that very few conductors have ever matched. He brought a physicality to his art that was almost, as I’ve heard it described, like a ballet dancer. Everything he did physically communicated what he wanted from the musicians in the nuance and the interpretation of the music they were playing.I think you said that his conducting was like watching a ballet dance. Can you tell me a little bit more about what it looked like to watch him conduct?Yeah, I mean, he wasn’t a large man physically. He was a little bit on the diminutive side, but he had this, for most of his career, he had this big hair, kind of a mop-top hair, right? And so, when you watched him, he was graceful. His body would bend in certain ways and move in certain ways in time with the music. Now, sometimes we in the audience watch conductors, and it’s almost as though they’re performing the music physically. That wasn’t the case so much with Seiji. It all had a meaning. In fact, one BSO executive at one point told me that he watched in a masterclass Seiji teach students to begin pieces of music like, say, Beethoven’s “5th Symphony,” actually one of the hardest pieces of music to conduct at the very beginning. He would teach his students to do that with no hands, no arms. They would have to do it basically with their eyes and facial expression. That’s the kind of thing that he could pull off. Now, of course, he did use his hands and arms when he conducted that music in a concert, but that was the the extent to which the physicality of the music moved through his body and communicated to the musicians in the orchestra.Wow, conducting just with a raised eyebrow or a glance sounds very powerful.Yeah, yeah, exactly. Seiji Ozawa of Japan, assistant conductor of the New York Philharmonic, leads the orchestra, March 29, 1965.Marty Lederhandler/AP/File photo You mentioned that Ozawa revitalized the Boston Symphony Orchestra and really developed a big fan base in Asia and other parts of the world. Can you tell me more about that international legacy?Yeah, absolutely. I mean, Seiji, again, he had a huge following in Europe. The orchestras there, by and large, loved to have him come in and be a guest conductor. But along with the fan base or the audience that you might find in Japan and throughout Asia, he also had the backing of major corporations in Japan, which had its own benefits for the Boston Symphony, which wasn’t in terrible shape in 1973, but like a lot of the economy at that particular time, it was a bit rough. Seiji opened the door to corporations like Sony and TDK and Nippon Electric supporting the orchestra with their sponsorship. So again, the affection for Seiji in Japan and throughout Asia spread to the rest of the world everywhere classical music was heard.I know you didn’t know him personally, but were there any aspects of Ozawa’s personality that he was especially known for?He became very well-known around Boston for his enthusiasm for our sports teams. And you can find dozens of pictures of Seiji wearing a Red Sox hat or Red Sox jersey or coat. And he was constantly showing up at Fenway Park. Also a big fan of the Celtics and every other sport that was in Boston; the orchestra would make sure that he had access to the latest scores wherever he was. You know, how the Red Sox were doing in the standings, all of these.Oh, those kinds of scores?Yeah, of course, they supplied him with the scores he needed for his job, too. But yes, he was full of life. When you hear people talk about him, they speak of someone who was warm and generous. He was not uncontroversial, though. I mean, he made some moves during his time with the Boston Symphony that were hard-edged and almost ruthless. And so, there is that side of him as an organizational leader where he took difficult decisions, was not well-received at times, but that’s part of the game of being a major league music director of a major orchestra.

This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.

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The entrance of Miami’s Little Haiti is hard to miss. A bright and colorful mural by Haitian artist Serge Toussaint welcomes people into the neighborhood. Toussaint chose to highlight neighborhood icons, such as Ray Bell, the first Little Haitian female to receive a black belt in karate, or local dancer Ajhanou Uneek. Front and center are Maria and Viter Juste, considered to be the founders of Little Haiti.

The couple moved to Miami in the 1970s, after spending a decade in New York City. Their arrival marked a before-and-after for the neighborhood — which became known as Little Haiti, a name coined by Viter Juste. They helped thousands of Haitian newcomers settle and integrate into the city over the course of several decades and become part of a community.

Winnick Blaine poses in front of the mural that features his grandparents, Maria and Viter Juste, who are considered to be the founders of Little Haiti in Miami. Tibisay Zea/The World

But little remains of the neighborhood that the Justes founded, said Winnick Blaine, one of their grandsons. “It’s like our history here is vanishing,” he said.

The area has been redeveloped by new investors, who are attracted by the neighborhood’s proximity to the beach and new fancy restaurants and shops, as well as its elevation above sea level, which protects it from flooding.

Blaine said the new development has brought some good things to the neighborhood, including less crime, and a modern look for several buildings that were deteriorating. But he added that it’s also changing the essence of Little Haiti.

People gather at the Haitian Cultural Center in Miami.Tibisay Zea/The World

“Investors also bring in their culture and style of living, which in many cases is different to that of Haitians,” Blaine explained.

Schiller Sanon-Jules, owner of the Haitian restaurant The Vegan Marie, said there aren’t as many Haitians in the area any longer.

“Before, you used to go to people’s houses, play dominoes, play soccer at the park, eat Haitian food. … You don’t find that here anymore.”

Schiller Sanon-Jules, owner of the Haitian restaurant The Vegan Marie

“Before, you used to go to people’s houses, play dominoes, play soccer at the park, eat Haitian food … You don’t find that here anymore,” Sanon-Jules said.

Schiller Sanon-Jules is the owner of The Vegan Marie, a Haitian restaurant in Miami.Tibisay Zea/The World

He and his wife had to downsize their restaurant and move it to a different part of the neighborhood after their rent more than doubled a few years ago.

Largest Haitian diaspora in the US

Florida is home to the largest Haitian community in the US. More than 300,000 people with Haitian ancestry reside in the Miami area, according to the US census, but many believe that number is an undercount.

Little Haiti’s population has remained unchanged since the beginning of the century, with about 30,000 people, but the neighborhood experienced a 13.5% decrease in family households in that period, according to a study by Florida International University.

Also, while Blacks still represent over 70% of Little Haiti’s inhabitants, there has been a significant shift in the growth of other racial and ethnic groups, including “white alone” (49.6% increase) and “some other race” (69.1% increase), according to the same study.

Gentrification didn’t happen overnight. In the late 1980s, some investors bought properties with the vision of selling them in the future at a higher price, when the area became valuable, and they did. Also, the descendants of Haitian immigrants who settled in Little Haiti left the neighborhood and never came back.

Solange Biem-Aime has been the owner of the Lakay Tropical Ice Cream bakery since the 1990s.Tibisay Zea/The World “They lost interest in this neighborhood,” Blaine explained, saying they perceived it as unsafe and underdeveloped.

One of the most iconic symbols of gentrification in Little Haiti is a $1 billion redevelopment project called the Magic City Innovation District that passed in 2019.

There are still some Haitian-owned shops standing in the area.

Lakay Tropical Ice Cream is a bakery hosted and run by its owner, Solange Biem-Aime since the 1990s. Her business has survived in part because she owns the land. “I get phone calls, letters and visits from investors trying to convince me and my daughter to sell the property,” she said. “But we don’t want to.”

However, Biem-Aime worries about the future of her business, as many of her longtime customers have left.

Bringing people to Little Haiti has also been a struggle, said Abraham Metellus, one of the co-founders of Tap Tap Tours, the only tour company in Little Haiti. “We started this tour because no one was coming here,” he explained.

 Abraham Metellus is one of the co-founders of Tap Tap Tours, the only tour company in Miami’s Little Haiti.Tibisay Zea/The World

Metellus said more than 500 people have taken his tour since he started back in 2019. He offers tours every Saturday, twice a day, where he brings tourists to historical landmarks and traditional businesses in the area. 

One of the stops is at the Haitian Cultural Center, which features galleries with exhibitions, classes for traditional dance and Caribbean percussion, and live music concerts.

The Haitian Cultural Center in Miami features galleries with exhibitions, classes for traditional dance and Caribbean percussion and live music concerts.  Tibisay Zea/The World

Metellius is also now requesting local government authorities to protect several buildings in Little Haiti by declaring them as cultural heritage of the city.

Related: ‘It’s an act of resistance’: Haiti’s jazz festival opens in Port-au-Prince despite security challenges

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International Guitar Night, a touring guitar festival in its 24th year, highlights a wide range of guitar sounds from across the globe, from classical to Australian blues slide.

As part of the festival, which highlights “the dexterity and diversity of the acoustic guitar,” according to IGN materials, guitarists perform solo and in duets and quartets. 

This year’s lineup, curated by IGN founder Brian Gore, brings together several returning artists and a newcomer, including: Luca Stricagnoli, an acoustic rock interpreter from Italy who returns to IGN for the fourth time; Vietnamese classical guitarist Le Thu; Brazilian Marco Pereira, a master composer and performer who first toured with IGN in its early days; and Australia’s Minnie Marks, a blues slide guitarist and singer.

The North American tour runs through March. Here’s the tour schedule, below.

 

January

31 W Gesa Power House Theater, Walla Walla WA

 

February

1 TH Washington Center for the Performing Arts, Olympia WA

2 F KENTWA Performing Arts Center, Kent WA

3 S Whiteside Theater, Corvallis OR

6 T WYO Theatre, Sheridan WY

7 W  The Ellen Theater, Bozeman MT

8 TH The Myrna Loy, Helena MT

9 F Wheeler Auditorium, Aspen CO

10 S Lone Tree Performing Arts Center, Lone Tree CO

13 T Tower Theater, Bend OR

14 W The Reser, Beaverton OR

15 TH Peery’s Egyptian Theater, Ogden UT

16 F Sheppard Auditorium, Pinedale  WY

17 S Warren Miller Performing Arts Center, Big Sky MT

18 SU Wachholz College Center, Kalispell MT

20 T Musical Instrument Museum, Scottsdale, AZ

21 W Fox Theatre, Tucson AZ

22 TH Herbst Theatre, San Francisco CA

23 F Bankhead Theater, Livermore CA

24  S Montalvo Arts, Saratoga CA

27 T James Madison University, Harrisonburg VA

28 W Wolf Trap Barns, Vienna VA

29 TH Wolf Trap Barns, Vienna VA

 

March

1 F Bloomsburg University, Bloomsburg PA

2 S The Gordon Center, Owings Mills MD

3 SU The Manship Theatre, Baton Rouge LA

6  W Butler University, Indianapolis IN

9  S Goshen College, Goshen IN

10 SU McAninch Arts Center, Du Page IL

 

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Anyone who has been to Haiti knows that Haitian culture is immensely rich — and despite serious economic and security challenges — the arts are still flourishing.

Take, for instance, Haiti’s annual PapJazz Festival.

Last year’s festival drew thousands of fans. This year marks the 17th edition of the annual international jazz festival that begins on Jan. 25 and goes for four full days. The popular event draws jazz fans from all over the world from Martinique to Miami. The festival includes 42 concerts, 29 of which are free. 

The annual jazz festival draws huge crowds every year. Josué Azor/Courtesy of PapJazz Festival

Festival organizer Melina Sandler said they are very excited to see the festival return to Port-au-Prince after they held a festival in Cap-Haitien last year due to ongoing violence in the capital. 

The festival is international in scope, but the gathering also serves as a form of mentorship for young Haitian musicians, who get to play alongside superstars during after-hours jam sessions. 

Haitian vodou priest, dancer and singer Erol Josué and Cubain pianist Omar Sosa perform at Haiti’s PapJazz Festival.Josué Azor/Courtesy of PapJazz Festival

Despite heightened security concerns in Port-au-Prince, Sandler said the festival serves as an “act of resistance” for the people. 

“The people of Port-au-Prince need that festival. They need food, they need security. They need everything. But they also need a space of conviviality, of hope. They need to breathe. And this festival brings that to the people.”

Milena Sandler, festival organizer, PapJazz Festival

“The people of Port-au-Prince need that festival. They need food, they need security. They need everything. But they also need a space of conviviality, of hope. They need to breathe. And this festival brings that to the people,” she said.

Grammy award winner Cécile Mc Lorin Salvant, Haitian French American, sings at the PapJazz Festival in Haiti. Josué Azor/Courtesy of PapJazz Festival

Over the 17-year period, the festival only got canceled twice. 

Singer and guitar player Paul Beaubrun performs at the Haitian PapJazz Festival.Josué Azor/Courtesy of PapJazz Festival

This year, Sandler said that they are taking additional security measures by holding the festival in a hotel rather than a public space. 

“Social cohesion only happens in this country very rarely,” Sandler said, but she is confident that the public will show up for jazz. 

“It’s a music that that elevates you. The festival is all about that.” 

Click the player above to hear the full interview with festival organizer Milena Sandler.

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In Estonia’s capital, Tallinn, the vibrant industrial warehouse district of Telliskivi is a trendy musical hub once the site of a locomotive repair factory. Inside a venue called Must Saal, the harmonies of four Estonian women musicians brought the crowd to an instant hush during the Tallinn Music Week festival.

The quartet’s name, 6hunesseq, means “humidity” in the South Estonian language of Võro. During the concert, they sang old folk hymns in traditional Baltic-Finnish styles known as runo to a standing-room audience. The vocalists were accompanied by a keyboard and an instrument called Hiiu kannel in Estonian or Tagelharpa — a horsehair harp that’s also played in Sweden.

The small Baltic nation of Estonia is experiencing a folk music renaissance of sorts, with young musicians bringing traditional songs and instruments to the forefront. Much of it involves reasserting a unique Estonian identity and preserving the country’s ancient heritage.

From left to right, vocalist Marion Selgall, Greta Liisa Grünberg on horsehair harp (called a Hiiu kannel in Estonia) and Maria Mänd on fiddle.Courtesy of Maxim Dubovik

The musical group’s keyboardist and organ player, Kaisa Kuslapuu, explained how the band formed.

“There was an event in Estonia that brought together all the folk music students from different music universities,” Kuslapuu said. “I met these two amazing singers. And I immediately fell in love with their voices. And I thought, I need to combine this and find a way to do something with them.”

The music group 6hunesseq formed because of their fascination with old Estonian folk hymns, and they are releasing a new album this year.Courtesy of Ekvilibrist Vocalist Marion Selgall added, “What brought us together was also the material that we chose to do. It was the Estonian old folk chorales, or folk hymns, because we all find them really fascinating because just the melodies are so beautiful and ornamented.”

In their music, the women of 6hunneseq also weave in the uniquely Estonian tradition of regilaul — a poetic rhythm based on the continuous repetition of eight-syllable verses in a style known as runo.

“It’s hard to say how old [runo music] is, but it’s more or less 2,000 years old,” Selgall explained. “So, it really has some old mythical elements in it. It’s also meditative, and the melody is usually quite simple. So, it’s something really nice, also to just go into and let it carry you away.”

Greta Liisa Grünberg sings and plays the horsehair harp for the band. “It was just a yearning for connecting with my culture, with my past, just connecting with my roots,” she said. “And I’ve always searched for something with a deeper meaning. So, I felt that folk music is the way to go.”

An independent culture

For centuries, music brought communities together in Estonia. “Music has been a tool for being able to just forget all the hard field work and managing the farm,” Grünberg said. “In the olden days, it was crucial to have this thing to balance [life], and people would play so much music at home.”

After five decades of Soviet occupation — from 1940-1991 — Estonians became intensely proud of their heritage and tried to highlight how they represent a separate and independent country and culture. This led to a revival of music that is deeply rooted in Estonia, much of it going back generations.

On the far right, Kaisa Kuslapuu plays the keyboard on the “Folktronica” stage during Tallinn Music Week.Courtesy of Tanel Tero

The resurgence of folk music began in the late-1980’s, a few years before Estonia gained independence from the former Soviet Union. In recent years, it’s become popular among a younger generation that is adding newer sounds.

Oliver Berg, a young Estonian cultural expert, described the popularity of folk music today. He works for the Tartu 2024 Foundation in the southern Estonian city of Tartu, which has been chosen as the European capital of Culture for 2024.

Maria Mänd plays the horsehair harp (called a Hiiu kannel in Estonia), an instrument that’s regaining popularity among young folk musicians.Courtesy of Maxim Dubovik While historic churches dot Tallinn, most Estonians do not practice Christianity. Berg explained, “Estonians really aren’t big on institutionalized religion. We’re pagans by heart. It’s this connection to these old pagan roots and this symbiosis with nature that is channeled in this folk music scene, and where you feel that we have this urging for these ancient roots.”

He said that under Soviet rule, Estonians used music as an act of rebellion. For example, Estonians revived their forbidden national anthem in front of Soviet authorities as a form of protest.

“We are a singing nation,” Berg said, continuing, “some of the songs had a very strong, patriotic background that kept the spark of a collective identity alive. Through what we refer to as the singing revolution, we managed to sing ourselves free. Well, of course, it was [the] global political system that made the window of opportunity happen. People started gathering for songs at the song festival grounds.”

These days, Estonia’s University of Tartu Viljandi Culture Academy teaches the country’s next generation about musical heritage and folk music. The town of Viljandi is also home to the Viljandi Folk Music Festival, which draws tens of thousands of people annually.

In their recorded single, “küläkene väikokõnõ,” the women of 6hunesseq blend their voices into a richly textured melody as they sing folk verses accompanied by traditional instruments.

The song turns into a lively yet contemplative piece that slowly builds into a crescendo with the strings and then softens into a quiet hymn.

“Maybe our music makes people think or feel something that they haven’t felt for a long time,” Grünberg said, “like a connection with something very beautiful.” 

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