MUSIC IN OTHER LANDS

In 2019, American five-string fiddler Casey Driessen and his family took off around the world for nine months for his music-sharing project Otherlands: A Global Music Exploration. In a tantalising snapshot of his journey, often into the musical unknown, he recalls meeting and playing with some of the great regional music masters in seven diverse countries

Casey Driessen returning home to the Blue Ridge Mountains, North Carolina

ARTHUR DRIESSEN

Dad/husband. Global music. Rhythm project. Collaboration. These were my top four sticky notes – out of a dozen priorities and things I was doing to survive as an independent musician. Could I combine them? I was hoping that this exercise in achieving my life goals would give me focus.

International music trips have always left me inspired: the sounds ask me to re-examine my music, and cultural immersion deepens my awareness of how we’re connected and what makes us special. I had continued to look for these experiences for myself and my family, and when the opportunity arose to serve as a director at Berklee College of Music’s campus in Valencia, Spain, we jumped at the chance.

After four years in Spain we began considering our return to the US and decided to take the long route, travelling the world as a family for a year and making music along the way. We allowed ourselves one suitcase and one backpack each, while I also had my fiddle and a case of gear. My Otherlands project began taking shape. The basic idea was simple: meet with musicians and share our traditions, documenting when possible. As a constant travel photographer with audio engineering skills, I figured I could also handle some video. I assembled a mobile rig that fitted in one case and a backpack, but didn’t tip the airline scales.

STOP 1: SPAIN

We kicked off our journey while still in Spain – part ‘goodbye trip’ but also a way to test everything on solid ground. It was September 2019. In preparation, I had a few lessons in flamenco music with guitarist Ricardo Bustamante near Valencia and glimpsed the future. It was challenging and exciting to interpret unfamiliar styles and techniques from different instruments on my fiddle in a short amount of time. I filmed the journey, and set my new rig on a cajón drum to record the song I’d learnt. The project had begun.

Our first stop was Seville, a flamenco hotbed down south in Andalusia. Somebody recommended I go to hear guitarist Javi Gómez, who gigged at the tablao (flamenco venue) Casa dela Guitarra. I approached him after the show and introduced the idea of the project – an informal sharing of traditions, we’d see what happens. I’m sure I was awkward, a tourist pitching someone in basic castellano about playing music. Something must have gone right. On our terrace I showed Javi how I’d adapted an American tune to a bulería flamenco rhythm. He wanted to learn it and added a farruca flamenco guitar melody, further entangling our traditions. My brain was everywhere: learning music, engineering audio and video, trying to communicate and be present.

My family rolled north-west to Galicia, to the green countryside around Vigo. In a simplistic sense, I heard a geographic crossroads of northern Celtic rhythms and instruments with Roma harmonies. I had my first encounter with a zanfona (Galician for hurdy-gurdy) played by Anxo Pintos. Our instruments sounded like magic together with our shared C strings as we played a ‘cubist’ xota (or jota) of his. For one that considers my sense of rhythm a strength, I had times in many collaborations when my tradition suggested a different down-beat from where locals felt it.

STOP 2: IRELAND

Our six weeks in Ireland were spent traversing the west coast’s Wild Atlantic Way. We hit the jackpot when it comes to rainbows, bogs, welcoming personalities, and tunes.

I could find jam sessions (simply ‘sessions’) any night of the week, and often did. Musicians string together tunes for hours, oblivious to the roar of people, until someone sings an unaccompanied ballad. The whole pub shushes, listens, then returns to gabbing. I’ve picked up a few tunes, but the challenge is knowing enough of them. Just as I’m getting the melodic shape, they’re on to the next. So I join the rhythm section until I recognise one.

I captured the pub session vibe of an unhinged November night in Doolin with uilleann piper Blackie O’Connell and Cyril O’Donoghue on bouzouki. My bow arm nearly fell off. We agreed on two tunes that I knew for a set, and in the middle, Blackie surprised me by inserting one I didn’t know – so it’s back to rhythm and wait for the next. In a funny turn, I went to an old-time American jam in Cork where I got schooled in tunes I didn’t know. So many tunes, so little time.

I HAD A FEW LESSONS IN FLAMENCO MUSIC AND GLIMPSED THE FUTURE. IT WAS CHALLENGING AND EXCITING TO INTERPRET UNFAMILIAR STYLES AND TECHNIQUES ON MY FIDDLE

Casey with flamenco guitarist Javi Gómez

CASEY DRIESSEN

Sunday pub session at The Crane Bar, Galway

STOP 3: SCOTLAND

December started in the Scottish Highlands, where I committed us to a remote peninsula reachable by hiking (20 hours) or ferry (weather permitting). There’s one paved road, a café, a pub and a tiny food essentials shop with an ‘honesty box’ to leave your money and take change. Knoydart is the area, and it’s amazing. If you continue reading, you agree to tell no one about it…

Unpredictable winter seas stranded us on the mainland, so we went to a session. I was surprised by how few tunes I recognised, having an unreasonable expectation after Ireland. We were invited to stay at someone’s home that night, and by light I saw it was an unbelievable manor. My daughter felt like royalty, and Arisaig House became a haven whenever the weather turned.

I had two lovely collaborations in the Highlands. An afternoon at the home of fiddler Eilidh Shaw and guitarist Ross Martin brought my first Scottish fiddle tunes. Days later we were recording at the Arisaig House bar. Then I was introduced to (now) 90-year-old fiddler and national treasure Aonghas Grant. In his dining room in Fort William, he shared tunes and stories of their origins. I played his grandfather’s left-handed fiddle from 1771. I could feel a very special intergenerational cultural moment, and then the doorbell rang. His next student had arrived.

STOP 4: INDIA

At the start of January 2020, ten hours into India, we were riding north from Kolkata in the north-east of the country towards Natungram village for their wooden doll carving festival. I was joining three local musicians for a set of folk music. After a lesson on eating with my hands, we jam rehearsed and took the stage. Like many experiences I was to have in India, it was an exhilarating whirlwind that cemented friendships.

My senses feasted: colours, smells and tastes; architecture, geography and vegetation; dogs, cows and other animals on the streets; myriad forms of simultaneous transportation and traffic; poverty and pollution. But it’s the warmth of the people and mutual curiosity that stand out. Early on, my ten-year-old daughter became aware that people were staring. We experimented: if someone stares, smile. People smiled back. This led to many conversations and portraits on the street.

AFTER A LESSON ON EATING WITH MY HANDS, WE JAM REHEARSED AND TOOK TO THE STAGE

In the bar of Arisaig House, Scotland, with Eilidh Shaw and Ross Martin

IRELAND PHOTO EZRA PENLAND. SCOTLAND AND INDIA PHOTOS CASEY DRIESSEN

Just before leaving Kolkata, I was in a hired car, zipping through communities, dodging people, cows, bikes and ducks (most of the time) on my way to a village outside Shantiniketan. Rina and Dibakar Das Baul, a revered Baul (Bengali mystic minstrel) family, had invited me to their home. The language barrier was the biggest of the trip, and it’s one of my most cherished memories. We shared home-cooked meals and Dibakar gave me a tour of the area on the back of his scooter. We jammed at their house and members of their community joined in. Before the evening music began, I was still setting up my gear when more people arrived and it started before I’d finished. I rushed, with barely time to tune to D flat, and proceeded to lose and find myself. Everyone sang a song for each other, including Rina’s father. I woke the next morning to music in the distance and walked the village, greeting people, children and animals starting their day. Please listen; Rina’s voice will mesmerise you.

Baul singer and dotara player Dibakar Das Baul

Jamming with khanjira (frame drum) master Bangalore Amrit

Essential equipment for a pub session in Glasgow, Scotland

A Finnish wedding tapestry – complete with fiddler

A party on wheels, known as a ‘picnic truck’, in West Bengal

Meeting fiddler Aonghas Grant in Fort William, Scotland

In Galicia, Spain, with zanfona (hurdy-gurdy) player Anxo Pintos

CREDIT PHOTOS CASEY DRIESSEN. PICNIC TRUCK PHOTO MOLLY DRIESSEN

For the second half of our eight-week stay in India, we headed south to Bangalore to visit singer Raghu Dixit. As I shared with him my hope that collaborators would be willing to experiment and grow in the way that I was aiming to do, he grabbed a book of poetry by Da Ra Bendre, which he’d been putting music to on the side. One was about leaving home looking for more, and then returning to find everything there from the start. When Raghu opened his mouth to sing, his power nearly knocked me out of my chair. We locked – and then it was over. The chemistry was superb, but I also felt something happen for me, improvisationally: I’d been in India for six weeks, absorbing, playing, living – and I was beginning to synthesise.

The most difficult collaboration of my trip happened on a rooftop with master of the khanjira (frame drum) Bangalore Amrit. For the first time, I wasn’t with another ‘melody’ player and knew I was diving into the rhythmic deep end. We spent our day on a Karnatak subdivision concept, adapted to an American tune. I regularly lost the beat, my camera overheated and there was construction going on. I wasn’t sure what I ‘had’ for the project except a bruised ego.

Reminder to self: Otherlands is about adventure, challenge, sharing, personal connection, inspiration – the input, not necessarily the output. Being present was most important. In this sense, my day with Amrit was perfect.

By late February 2020, the world was learning of Covid-19. Family thought we shouldn’t go to Japan, but our flight and stay were non-refundable and not even masks were a thing yet. We would remain vigilant, knowing we might need to cut the trip short.

STOP 5: JAPAN

On previous international travels, my reference point was US culture. By travelling and living within countries in succession, I compared them with each other. India to Japan was quite the shift. The colour palette now was subdued. It was quiet. People crossed at corners. Everything felt carefully measured, even wires on utility poles. And when walking down the street, I no longer received eye contact. We had become used to an incredible controlled-chaos rhythm to life, which was very exciting but also exhausting for a newbie. Japan asked us to slow down.

Two weeks into our stay, the country was still top of the Covid concern list but remained stable. We decided to get ahead of it and go early to Europe – but only after a bullet train ride to the surf town of Kamakura to meet biwa (Japanese lute) player and singer Reisui Ban. The instrument has four silk strings, yellowed with turmeric to repel pests, and is played with the largest pick I’ve ever seen. In the back of a small café, Reisui, in her ‘casual’ kimono, showed me how she bent pitches and struck the top of the biwa with the pick for amazing percussive effect. I mostly listened, not knowing the scale or form, afraid to ruin the moment. I couldn’t resist trying, but immediately when I joined, the scale changed!

With singer and biwa player Reisui Ban

YUIKO INOUE

Two days later, on 11 March 2020, Covid-19 was declared a global pandemic. I took the train to Tokyo for one final meet-up and passed the world’s first quarantined cruise ship, in Yokohama. I had a project double date with genre-blending shamisen (three-string fretless plucked lute) player Yutaka Oyama – one song for him, one for me. I thought I’d learnt his beforehand, but apparently the down-beat was an eighth note (e) later than I felt it. Rhythm! Then Akihito Obama arrived, master of the shakuhachi (bamboo flute). The three of us would play a mountain song, a 150-year-old Japanese classic not considered ‘traditional’ yet, and we would improvise. The dynamics of the shakuhachi were startling. The intensity of our listening was palpable. Ten minutes later we were cheering. We didn’t need to play it again, but we couldn’t resist.

By mid-March, when we departed Japan, the world was changing rapidly. Our ‘safe bet’ of Europe looked rough. Italy and Spain were hit hard. Norway and Estonia, two countries on our list, had already locked down. Our destination of Finland was still open, but one day after touching down, their borders closed too.

STOP 6: FINLAND

After 30 hours’ travelling, we arrived in Kaustinen, a small town known for its fiddling. Our initial two weeks in a small Finnish cabin ended up being two months. Winter turned into spring. Long nights became long days. We puzzled and gamed, checked in on friends, hiked the countryside, chopped wood and took saunas. My wife taught herself the ukulele. My daughter did art. I practised. Lockdown.

The family packed and ready to travel home, Finland

A session with kantele player Maija Pokela and guitarist Antti Järvelä

CASEY DRIESSEN

ESKO JÄRVELÄ SHARED FINNISH TUNE BOOKS WITH ME, HIGHLIGHTING FAVOURITE POLSKAS. THE MANUSCRIPTS WERE MELODY-ONLY SO I EXPERIMENTED A LOT WITH HARMONY

My first socially distanced hang was with five-string fiddler Esko Järvelä at Pelimannitalo, the local fiddle house. He shared Finnish tune books with me, highlighting some favourite polskas (group folk dances). The manuscripts were melody-only so I experimented a lot with harmony. When recording, we decided not to coordinate our chords, preferring an arrangement that morphed with our interpretations.

Vocalist and kantele (plucked zither) player Maija Pokela and guitarist Antti Järvelä were also in our Covid pod. I sloshed my way down logging roads to their house for food and music. Maija sang traditional songs from the area, and I particularly liked an uplifting love song with measures of different lengths. Then Antti told me that it was a 3/4 polska all the way –I was feeling accents as new down-beats. We had a good laugh, and I went on counting it my own way.

Unlike many countries, Finland fared all right during the first Covid phase and we were so grateful. But the prospect of travelling anywhere else was over and after two months in our cabin, it was finally time to head home.

STOP 7: HOME

It was surreal. Deserted airport. Barricades. Motionless escalators. Lights off. Shops closed. The one flight on the board was ours. Masks were a thing now. Empty hotel. Touchdown. We had a 90-minute drive towards quarantine in the Appalachian Mountains. Dining options were McDonald’s or Popeyes. Strange to be home in America.

Ten years ago, we bought a little mountain land in Madison County, NC, and joked that we’d go there if everything went to hell. Now, for two rainy weeks, we split time between our pop-up camper and a tiny house my brother-in-law built. My daughter had grown out of everything she started the trip with, and my wife now played the uke. I’d grown a beard.

We’d sit at night, wondering what’s ahead. Jobless. No industry. The school year was a huge question mark. Our nation was bitterly divided with the election approaching. George Floyd was murdered. People were protesting across the globe. Looking back, Otherlands feels like fantasy. Was it real? Honestly, it was unbelievably amazing and everything I’d hoped it would be – not a vacation, but an adventure. Nine months of travel and cultural immersion, living in six countries with my wife and daughter. Seventy musical collaborations and as many new friendships. A series of 26 short films. A record. Thousands collaboration: between nature and myself. I chose an American melody I was reminded of at the  of photos. Countless stories and memories. It may have been cut short, but we did well, really well – especially considering we’d almost planned the trip for 2020.

Before leaving the woods, I wanted one last old-time jam in Ireland called Ways of the World, and I paired it with a song of the Carter Family (they came from just over the border in Virginia) titled I Ain’t Goin’ to Work Tomorrow. A project focused on collaboration and travel would close this first chapter at home in solo isolation.

I parked up my neighbour’s driveway to access a remote spot on our property. There was a great view of our holler from a downed and once majestic tree I wanted to play upon. I met my neighbour afterwards and he said I was lucky he recognised my truck, otherwise he would have shot out my tyres and asked questions later. Welcome home.

Otherlands: A Global Music Exploration takes in six countries in nine months, 70 collaborations, 26 short films and an album. For short films, music, photos, stories and playlists, visit Otherlands.fm