This is the Colombian performer Toto la Momposina with a song from her album 'La Candela Viva', which I had delivered from Amazon on Saturday. I must admit to a prejudice against South American music - there you are, you see, lumping it all together under one generic heading is the very essence of prejudice. If I thought of it at all, I always had in mind maddeningly noisy, hyperactive braying - all brass, maraccas, whistles and hysteria. Sorry, South America, I was all wrong. I was getting a bit weary of the wailing, Middle Eastern minor mode melopees and ululations that make up about sixty percent of my CD collection, and this is the perfect antidote. If she doesn't make you drop your narghile and get off your sandalwood-scented divan and dance, you are probably dead.
El pescador habla con la luna
El pescador habla con la playa
El pescador no tiene fortuna
Solo su attaraya
The fisherman talks with the moon
The fisherman talks to the beach
The fisherman has no fortune
Only his net.
I ordered another Mompesina album, which arrived this morning (4 April) Mistake - this one is much more like the Latin music I knew and loathed: frantically upbeat, relentless rhythms, and horror of horrors, brass. How I loathe the sound of trumpets.