The Road To Marrakech

I missed a few days of blogging because we have been traveling, and obtaining internet access has been costly. Look at me talking about blogging, last week I wasn't even clear about what a blog was. Now I think I understand its place in our fast paced, technological, impersonal society. It's helping me keep tabs on what I did the night before, a journal of sorts. I must say, as I get older, and day-to-day events become meshed and mushed, it is a good way of sorting and recording my life (especially on the road). Yesterday, we were on the road to Marrakech. Our reason for being there was to perform a concert and meet with a well-known Moroccan hip-hop group (Fnair). They looked more New York than we did. You could put them on any corner in BK, the BX, and they would have blended right in, multi-colored Nike's, Designer jeans, oversized tees, and polo shirts. The concert was held at Dar Ettakafa Theater. When we arrived there in the afternoon we meet with Fnair and we rehearsed a number we were to perform with them at the end of our set. They were mad cool, but there was this cat there that was playing Steven Spielberg, trying to direct the end results of our show. Basically, he was getting in the way, frustrating everybody. The performance went fine, but I have to say it reminded me of an Award show finale. You know, when they put, Bruce Springsteen, Snoop Dog, Steveie Wonder, Tom Jones, and Aretha Franklin on stage together to sing the "we are the world" segment. Later that night we headed out to the Medina, one of the young ladies in our enterouage got her ass grabbed. Definitely not cool. But all the travel literature tells you that this kinda shit might happen, and that it would be a big mistake to retaliate or engage. So we kept that New York shit in our back pockets. One of the highlights of the evening and the entire Morocco trip has been the food. The travel literature also tells you don't eat this, wash this, don't drink that, but our friend, Abdelkirim from the State Department chipped away at our apprehension by exposing us to tasty breads, tajin, mutton head, camel hump, cinnamon ginger tea, and more bread. I know I am leaving some stuff out, but most importantly, Abdelkirim, Charles, Mars, and Abdul were gracious and caring host. I was re-introduced to my Islamic roots, and we all have grown fond of Morocco. Now it's time to pack, and head off to Tunisia. We'll be back, one day.

Salam,
Gamal Abdel Chasten

Roadside Signs

This Morning we drove out to Ben Silmane, a one-hour drive into the countryside of Morocco. The road was lined with vineyards, cows, sheep and lush green landscape. You may have similar sights in the countryside of upstate New York, Wisconsin, or California, but here, in Morocco, the roadside signs point you in the direction of French, Spanish and Moroccan dialects. We arrived at a conference for the Moroccan Association of Teachers of English, who we were to present our work and discuss the topic of teaching English through music and hip-hop. After a brief sound check we waited underneath the shade of orange trees hiding from the glare of the country sunshine until show time. They received us well, and at the close of our ten minute performance they applauded us with a chant of sorts, it made me feel more appreciated then the clapping of hands ever have. Afterwards we returned to the shade of the orange tree, where we took pictures and Mildred received a lesson in singing an Arabic song from our driver Abdul. Not our driver in the sense of “Driving Ms. Daisy”, more like the brother that’s been driving us around Morocco and we are sharing special moments with. I should have said our friend Abdul. So why don’t I just edit that part out, because I’m an American and sometimes my roadside signs point me in the way of arrogance.

Secular Detours

I am Musilim born but took a secular detour. A New York baby found in a Moroccan playland Holding Foggy memories of Islamic Prayers, Hassan II recieves my salat, as I Kneel in awe. Facing Mecca on Sunday. Then I praised God alonside Gawa Fusion,
Clapping drums, singing ancient guitar strings
boom boom boom bap
boom boom boom bap
boom boom boom bap

Allahuakbar

New York to Morocco

I left behind the familiar for adventure, the skyline for the airline, the love of my life, for the love of Moroccan children. Although they are not cheering for us (it's a photo op). Here's some trivia for your ass. Where was the character Radio Raheim in Spike Lee's "Do The Right Thing" fashioned after? The answer is our guide, Abdelkirim, at least that's what he told us. He used to be a professor at Duke University, and was at Rutgers when he met Spike Lee. AbdelKirim brought us to the Sidi Moumen "Cultural Center where we had the pleasure of jamming with Gawa fusion, a home grown Moroccan band, who played congas, jembe drums and an array of other percussion instruments. As quite as it's kept music is an emotion, and these boys were feeling it. After the jam we went to buy cell phone and sim cards. I was told I would need to have my phone rigged on the black market in order to bypass Tmobile. Before we came we were instructed to not eat raw vegetables, but we did. Day 1, we ain't get sick yet. See you tomorrow, unless I'm sick.


Peace,
Gamal

Reflection

So a few days have past since an amazing afternoon. Always moving forward, that's my motto. Our publicist set up a meeting with the Vice President of Writer/Publisher relations at SESAC, a Performance Rights Organization. Basically they are the Music Mafia. They make sure artist recieve compensation and royalties owed to them (no horses head). After hitting at Dizzy's club, I didn't think things would get much better, but then we got blessed with an invitation to become affiliates of SESAC. Not only is it an honor to be asked, but it will also help establish us in a new market (the music industry), and that's all good! But good means nothing without good people to share it with. See ya'll when I land in Morocco.

Always moving forward,
G

In Dizzy's Room

When I was a kid and my Dad was unwinding with the likes of The Modern Jazz Quartet, Rashad Rolan Kirk, Mongo Santamaria and Dizzy Gillespie. I had no idea that one day I would somehow be connected to that legacy. In no way am I comparing myself, my songs or my poetry to the brillance of those "cool cats" I just mentioned, but I am acknowlegding my accomplishments. This past Saturday along with my group Universes I was blessed with an opportunity to perform at Dizzy's Club inside Jazz at Lincoln Center. About six months ago Universes auditioned for Jazz at Lincoln Centers Rhythym Road, which gives Musicians from the U.S.A an opportunity to travel the globe as Cultural Ambassadors.
Thank you Dad, and Thank you Dizzy.