December, Baltimore: Celebrated Summer / Hypnotic Guitar of John Ondolo

When I lived in Chicago and Milwaukee was an hour away, I rarely heard of anyone's day trip to Milwaukee. Living in the D.C. area, you find that most people have a solid sense of Baltimore (also an hour away) and can name a few favorite spots there.

And I kind of get it. I can see how a Chicagoan (rightly or wrongly) would think of Milwaukee as being the same...but much less so. Baltimore, however, is an entirely different animal than D.C. Baltimore isn't the smaller version of anything. It's just big enough to be on the national stage, so to speak, and just small enough to have the chip-on-its-shoulder pride that smaller big cities have.

Baltimore, I am a fan. And not just because of The Wire--a show largely shot on streets the likes of me will probably never see. (But, god damn, The Wire was something.) The neighborhood "up there" that I'm most likely to find myself in is Hampden. Once a haven of funky thrift shops, it has sense evolved into a haven of well-regarded gastropubs. A bit of a shame, but I also recognize that me and my shopping dollars are partially to blame.

I headed up to Hampden a few weeks before Christmas. One particular block of rowhouses in this neighborhood goes all-out with the lights...and while we've all seen gung-ho Christmas decorations, the totally of this particular block is really something.

(I wish I could take credit for that photo...not sure who took it.)

Also located in Hampden: Celebrated Summer Records.

At first glance, this place is pretty cool. At continuing glances, it maintains that cool without much trouble.

I will admit I most enjoyed picking up records that I already knew all too well. Operation Ivy, for one. This Styx record, for another...this may well be the first LP I ever set a needle to.

As with so many of these outings, my family was waiting on me to make up my mind. I had a copy of Talking Heads 77 in my hand, but then swapped it out for this:

What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good album cover. I knew nothing of this fellow and his hypnotic guitar, and part of me will always be foolishly nostalgic for the days when you bought an album with basically no means of already knowing what it sounded like.

I will admit I was hoping for something purely instrumental (which is to say: no singing, please). Something like this cool and evocative series. This album, however, has some singing. And it sounds lovely.

Now, here's the thing...the truly bizarre relation to music and lyrics. I love the first Sigur Ros album. Damned if I know what that dude is singing about. And even when people do speak the language, it's still plenty easy to not catch the meaning (exhibits A and B). 

This album is catchy, ebullient, and undeniably pleasing to hear, yet I realized that not only did I not know what the guy was saying...I couldn't even guess what language he was saying it in.

This had me thinking of this video, which is one of the most fascinating things I've ever seen: Two people who don’t speak English, having a full conversation in what, to them, sounds like English.

We all could probably riff a sentence or two in something that sounds like French, German, or Italian. Or some sort of deeply offensive hybrid of Chinese and Japanese. All of that comes much easier than trying to riff a few lines of faux-English. Hearing someone pull it off is jarring in a singular way.

John Ondolo, I learned, was from Tanzania (a massive country of which I know next to nothing) and he sang in Swahili (a language in which I cannot say a single word).

Much has been said and written about the fractions in our country having to do with the "browning" of the world...i.e., white people shifting from a place of dominance to simply being one of several groups. "You will not replace us," being the protest chat at Charlottesville, Virginia before a statue of Robert E. Lee was taken down.

I fancy myself as being on the right side of this divide. But what does that entail? And what should it entail? I mean, beyond voting and not saying stupid things?

I'm realizing that one small thing it ought to entail involves how a guy like me approaches a record like this. Which is to say: it should entail listening to the Hypnotic Guitar of John Ondolo simply as music--not as a foreign curiosity. 

Luckily, this particular record makes it easy. It's a fun one to get lost in. I may not get around to running the lyrics through Google Translate, but I know how the record feels. And I recommend giving it a listen. You might feel the same way.