| Mélissa Laveaux — Radyo Siwèl (23 March, 2018) |
Mélissa Laveaux — Radyo Siwèl (23 March, 2018) 
Birth name: Mélissa Michelle Marjolec Laveaux
Born: 9 January 1985, Montreal, Quebec, Canada
Genres: Indie rock, folk rock, pop rock
Location: Paris, France
Album release: 23 March, 2018
Record Label: No Format!
Duration: 40:28
Tracks:
01 Lè ma monte chwal mwen 3:32
02 Nan fon bwa 3:21
03 Angeli~ko 3:39
04 Kouzen 2:21
05 Simalo 2:55
06 Jolibwa 2:55
07 Tolalito 4:29
08 Twa fey 4:29
09 Legba na konsole 2:45
10 Lasirèn la balèn 1:12
11 Nibo 3:17
12 Panama mwen tombe 5:33
Review
Nigel Williamson April 9, 2018, Overall rating: 9
→ The Parisian Canadian offers bewitching songs of love and Haiti.
→ Haiti has long been one of the poorest nations in the western hemisphere — and perhaps the most unstable, with a history littered with slavery and brutality, invasions and occupations, coups and dictators and a litany of natural disasters from hurricanes to earthquakes, which seem to reduce its people to a semi~permanent state of emergency.
→ Yet such calamities have fostered a resilient spirit expressed in a rich cultural legacy of song and dance — and vodou. It is this heritage that Mélissa Laveaux dramatically explores on Radyo Siwèl. Born in Canada to black Haitian parents, Laveaux grew up listening to an eclectic soundtrack of jazz, blues, rock, hip~hop and R&B, ranging from Billie Holiday to Joni Mitchell and from Nina Simone to Aaliyah.
→ Her debut album Camphor & Copper received an international release in 2009 and Dying Is A Wild Night — taking its title from an Emily Dickinson poem — appeared four years later.
→ Both were smart indie records, ranging from covers of Elliott Smith and Eartha Kitt to her own original compositions, which drew liberally on her influences. Yet both hinted at something more interesting beneath the surface, with passing references to her Creole heritage, particularly on “Dodo Titit”, a song associated with Martha Jean~Claude, a legendary Haitian singer and civil rights activist who was imprisoned in the 1950s and then forced into exile.
→ As a fellow ex~pat, Laveaux identified strongly with the Haitian singer and in 2016 she landed in Port~au~Prince to research an album that had been gestating in her mind for a decade. Her original intention was an entire set of Martha Jean~Claude songs, but once in Haiti, she discovered a broader treasure trove of indigenous music and her ambition expanded.
→ In particular she was struck by the resonant spirit of the songs from the dark days of the American occupation in the first half of the 20th century, when the world’s first independent black republic — which more than a century earlier had emancipated itself from French slavery — was once more tormented by the unwanted presence of a colonial power.
→ Popular songs, rich with layers of Creole allegory and symbolism, became weapons of resistance, as the vodou divinities, known as loas, were summoned to protect the Haitian people in the fight against their oppressors.
→ Back home in Paris, where Laveaux now lives, she teamed up with the French production team A.L.B.E.R.T. and set about processing the trad tunes, vodou anthems, stories and scraps she had uncovered, and reupholstering them with her own strikingly contemporary soundtrack of reverberating indie guitars and rock’n’roll rhythms.
→ http://www.uncut.co.uk/
Review
Neil Spencer, Sun 18 Mar 2018 07.00 GMT / Score: ****
≡∩≡ Haiti’s turbulent, often unhappy history is studded with splendid music, most of it little heard by comparison to its Caribbean neighbours. Mélissa Laveaux, born in Ottawa to Haitian parents, plays neither the lavish orchestral music called compas, nor the rootsy, drum~heavy style of groups such as Boukman Eksperyans. Her previous two albums have mixed folkish originals with indie rock, and even a cover of Eartha Kitt’s I Want to Be Evil.
≡∩≡ Here, she delves into her Haitian heritage, restyling Creole folk songs dealing with the capricious pantheon of Vodou deities, and numbers made famous by precursors such as Martha Jean~Claude, who protested (subtly but dangerously) against the US occupation of Haiti between 1915 and 1934. The album sounds far from folky, however. Laveaux’s spiky electric guitar is to the fore, abetted by Drew Gonsalves of the redoubtable soca band Kobo Town, while French producers Albert supply an eclectic backdrop that veers between the trip~hop grooves of Nan Fon Bwa, the Parisienne pop of Totalito, and the angry fuzz guitar of Nibo. On top, Laveaux’s vocals dance, yelp and croon in joyous, idiosyncratic fashion. It’s easy to forget there’s plenty of protest going on; Jolibwa, the one Laveaux original, celebrates a murdered journalist. A seductive, original piece of work. → https://www.theguardian.com/
→
Other info:
≡∩≡ Canadian singer~songwriter and guitarist Mélissa Laveaux has built a loyal following for her rootsy indie melodies and finger~style playing, ever since her 2006 debut album — but there’s also a sense of fresh discovery in her new album, Radyo Siwèl.
≡∩≡ This collection explores 33~year~old Laveaux’s Haitian heritage, inspired by her first trip to her parents’ homeland for 20 years, the strength of its Creole language and people, and the vintage works of Haitian singers Martha Jean~Claude and Emerante de Pradines.
≡∩≡ …Laveaux’s third album is themed around the US occupation of Haiti — but is a lilting, joyful record about omens, civil treachery and sexuality …a lilting, burnished, joyful full~band collection that combines Haitian kompa guitar with calypso and soca, courtesy of Toronto~based Trinidadian guitarist Drew Gonsalves.
≡∩≡ Born to Haitian parents in Ottawa, Laveaux moved to France 10 years ago when Paris~based label No Format offered to release her music. Immersion in Creole culture was one of the prompts to make this album. The other was a childhood love that Laveaux’s parents did foster, of the Haitian singer and activist Martha Jean~Claude. Laveaux first heard her aged six, and started playing her songs after she got her first guitar following her first trip to Haiti, aged 12. “When I moved to Paris, one of the artists that still carried me was Martha Jean~Claude,” she says. An invitation to perform her songs at a benefit for the 2010 Haitian earthquake didn’t pan out, but it did turn into an obsessive research project.
≡∩≡ But the more she learned about Jean~Claude, the bigger the project got. She hadn’t known that the country was under American occupation between 1915 and 1934. “Nobody had told me!” Laveaux says. “I felt very cheated by my parents.” She decided to make her second trip to Haiti, researching at institutions including the Centre d’Art, still in a state of disrepair following the earthquake. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be claimed by other Haitians, but people kept thinking I was somebody’s daughter, and urging me to speak Creole. I felt claimed,” she says. She took pride in finding that her music had been bootlegged, distributed and stored in the National Archives.
≡∩≡ Laveaux returned to Paris overwhelmed with books and CDs of traditional songs: voudou spirituals such as Legba Na Konsole, and folk songs, including Kouzen, which Jean~Claude recorded during her exile in Cuba. She decided to parse the “chaos”, as she calls it, by taking inspiration from sci~fi and refashioning her own narrative of the US occupation from the songs she found, referencing omens, civil treachery and voudou’s exuberant, complex depiction of sexuality, which the occupiers had tried to suppress. The album contains one track of her own, Jolibwa, about the population protesting the imprisonment of journalist Joseph Jolibois by dancing outside his cell (Jolibois died in jail in 1936). She was pleased by recent footage from New York that saw a group of Haitians protesting outside Trump Tower by dancing in the streets after news emerged that the President had allegedly called Haiti a “shithole”.
≡∩≡ …a reworking of Frantz Casséus’ original composition, Nan Fon Bwa blends the Haitian with this indie aesthetic, stripped down during the verses but warmed with the addition of synth lines in the chorus, the beauty of the track really lies in Laveaux’s vocal, which drapes itself over your ears, and almost whispers directly to them
Interview
By Laura Snapes
The Canadian singer’s striking new album is themed around the US occupation of her parents’ homeland — but is a lilting, joyful record about omens, civil treachery and sexuality.
Queen Creole: Mélissa Laveaux on telling Haiti’s story through folksong, spirituals and Vodou
→ On a dull January afternoon, Mélissa Laveaux arrives at her record label’s Paris office apologising for her lateness. Disorganisation is, she says, a lifelong affliction.But the 33~year~old is in the middle of so many self~directed projects that it’s hard to take her claims too seriously. It takes a polymath to simultaneously mastermind a play about Haitian spirits, a multimedia project about a 19th~century sculptor and an album about the American occupation of Haiti in the early 20th century.
→ The album is Radyo Siwèl, Laveaux’s third: a lilting, burnished, joyful full~band collection that combines Haitian kompa guitar with calypso and soca, courtesy of Toronto~based Trinidadian guitarist Drew Gonsalves.
→ Laveaux moved to France 10 years ago when Paris~based label No Format offered to release her music. Born to Haitian parents in Ottawa, she describes her childhood as traditional, though with one missing aspect — her parents wanted Laveaux and her sister to assimilate and speak perfect English and French, so refused to teach them Creole. “All the cool Haitian kids spoke Creole. It felt like a sorority we didn’t have access to,” says Laveaux. “It felt like something was missing.”
→ Immersion in Creole culture was one of the prompts to make this album. The other was a childhood love that Laveaux’s parents did foster, of the Haitian singer and activist Martha Jean~Claude. Laveaux first heard her aged six, and started playing her songs after she got her first guitar following her first trip to Haiti, aged 12. “When I moved to Paris, one of the artists that still carried me was Martha Jean~Claude,” she says. An invitation to perform her songs at a benefit for the 2010 Haitian earthquake didn’t pan out, but it did turn into an obsessive research project.
→ But the more she learned about Jean~Claude, the bigger the project got. She hadn’t known that the country was under American occupation between 1915 and 1934. “Nobody had told me!” Laveaux says. “I felt very cheated by my parents.” She decided to make her second trip to Haiti, researching at institutions including the Centre d’Art, still in a state of disrepair following the earthquake. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be claimed by other Haitians, but people kept thinking I was somebody’s daughter, and urging me to speak Creole. I felt claimed,” she says. She took pride in finding that her music had been bootlegged, distributed and stored in the National Archives.
→ Laveaux returned to Paris overwhelmed with books and CDs of traditional songs: voudou spirituals such as Legba Na Konsole, and folk songs, including Kouzen, which Jean~Claude recorded during her exile in Cuba. She decided to parse the “chaos”, as she calls it, by taking inspiration from sci~fi and refashioning her own narrative of the US occupation from the songs she found, referencing omens, civil treachery and voudou’s exuberant, complex depiction of sexuality, which the occupiers had tried to suppress. The album contains one track of her own, Jolibwa, about the population protesting the imprisonment of journalist Joseph Jolibois by dancing outside his cell (Jolibois died in jail in 1936). She was pleased by recent footage from New York that saw a group of Haitians protesting outside Trump Tower by dancing in the streets after news emerged that the President had allegedly called Haiti a “shithole”.
→ Despite its heavy historical themes, Radyo Siwèl is a beautifully light record. Levity is key to sustaining the energy to fight, says Laveaux, who calls France “a super~sexist country” and says she wasn’t at all surprised by the recent backlash against #MeToo by certain French actresses. “This meme keeps going around online, ‘I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams’ — and I’m like, I hope I am! They couldn’t have gone through all that sacrifice without thinking something better’s gonna come.”
→ Laveaux struggles with her place in an industry where she doesn’t see herself represented. “There’s not a lot of visibility for black women with guitars unless you’re playing blues or singing gospel. And if I wasn’t playing guitar, then people are like: ‘Cool, R&B!’ If I don’t make R&B, do I have any longevity in my career?” But she keeps the faith that “if I just make really good work, people will listen to it”.
→ In the absence of contemporary peers, Laveaux is looking to history for inspiration. She recalls as a child seeing an image of Sister Rosetta Tharpe. “Without that, I wouldn’t have thought I could play music.”
→ Last summer, she participated in a Rome residency to pursue a project related to Italian culture. She chose as her subject Edmonia Lewis, a black, queer, Ojibwe sculptor who moved from New York to Rome in 1866 and became a noted artist, despite being fetishised and tokenised by the locals. “That resonated with me so much,” says Laveaux, who interviewed other black artists working in Italy for a film that will accompany an eventual record. “They had similar hurdles to what I read in Edmonia Lewis’ diary. In 150 years, nothing had changed.”
→ She laughs as she says this, more bemused than crushed. On her right arm is a tattoo of Cleopatra in tribute to a Lewis sculpture, surrounded by a Kara Walker image of a young girl setting herself on fire, and Tina Turner astride Ike, inspired by the tarot card for strength. “That card is about taming your demons and having guidance from the spiritual world to overcome a great fear,” says Laveaux.
→ Until the gods stage a divine intervention, she has another idea of how to challenge racism and cultural imperialism. “One of my dreams is to write a song for Eurovision.” she says. “You can influence millions of people’s ways of listening to music.” If anyone can fit it in, she can. → https://www.theguardian.com/
BIO /Notes:
≡∩≡ Avril 2016. Mélissa Laveaux part pour Haïti, la terre natale de ses parents. Vingt ans qu’elle n’y a pas remis les pieds, depuis ces vacances, les seules, passées dans la région du Cap Haïtien. Elle n’avait alors que douze ans. La voilà donc, femme, musicienne, étrangère à ce pays qui fait pourtant partie d’elle et de son histoire. ≡∩≡ D’Haïti, elle ne connaît que les expressions créoles imagées que sa mère échange au téléphone avec ses tantes, lorsqu’elles se racontent les zins, les derniers potins. Mais surtout, ce qui la lie à cette terre, ce sont les chants de Martha Jean~Claude, qui, exilée à Cuba dans les années 50, chantait l’Haïti chérie qu’elle avait du fuir. Comme le feront les parents de Mélissa, des années plus tard, pour s’installer au Canada. Les disques de Martha Jean~Claude ont bercé l’enfance de leur fille, dans le froid d’Ottawa. Cette voix, la petite la connaît depuis toujours, et la suit encore lorsqu’elle explore, des années plus tard, les rues de Port au Prince. Elle y cherche les échos d’un extraordinaire patrimoine : celui des chants folkloriques qui, depuis des décennies, nourrissent les artistes haïtiens. Ces morceaux de poésie populaire, qui tissent les métaphores et jonglent avec le double sens, renferment l’identité d’un peuple dont la résistance est la seconde nature. Souvent anonymes, ils sont nés dans les Bann’ Siwèl, les orchestres de troubadours champètres qui les colportaient au gré des fêtes de village.
≡∩≡ En Haïti, on lui confie donc des enregistrements, des cahiers, on lui indique des témoins... autant de morceaux d’une mémoire éparpillée, et pourtant si vivante. Ces vieilles chansons, sans cesse réinventées, ont accompagné la longue et tortueuse histoire d’Haïti. Un épisode particulier de cette histoire intéresse Mélissa : l’occupation de l’île par les Etats~Unis, de 1915 à 1934. Sombre période, qui vit la première République noire,~ celle qui s’était affranchie de l’esclavage et avait arraché son indépendance~, vivre les affres de la colonisation. Les chansons populaires devinrent alors des armes de résistance. Réveillées et réinterprétées par une nouvelle génération, elles reprenaient tout leur sens en ces temps d’oppression. Les divinités du vaudou, expertes à terroriser les esclavagistes, y étaient réhabilitées, rappelées en renfort.
≡∩≡ C’est d’ailleurs dans ces années sombres que naquirent Martha Jean~Claude et Emerante de Pradines, qui toutes deux chantaient Dodo Titit, berceuse traditionnelle que Mélissa reprendra bien plus tard dans son tout premier album (Camphor & Copper, Nø Førmat 2008). Dodo Titit était déjà le premier bourgeon d’un arbre qui s’épanouit aujourd’hui, dix ans plus tard, dans Radyo Siwèl. D’Haïti, elle est revenue avec des sons, des mélodies, des ambiances et des histoires de temps évanouis mais jamais révolus, et autant de couleurs d’un tableau qu’elle s’est sentie libre de composer. ≡∩≡ Et c’est bien ce dont il est question dans Radyo Siwèl. Une re~création à partir de bribes, de phrases, d’airs anciens, d’hymnes vaudous, assemblés comme un patchwork identitaire au gré de l’imaginaire de Mélissa. Libre de les draper de son énergie rock, de guitares nerveuses et profondes, et de leur donner vie sous le voile singulier de sa voix. Le tout, baignant dans un halo surréel que les touche~à~tout du studio A.L.B.E.R.T. ont su imprimer à ces méditations sombres ou lumineuses, avec la collaboration remarquée de Drew Gonsalves, pilier du groupe trinidadien Kobo Town, qui darde ses rayons mélodiques à la guitare et au tres.
≡∩≡ Les racines peuvent donc libérer, si l’on ne veut pas en rester prisonnier. Pour Melissa, Haïti était comme cette voix sortie d’une radio dont le signal se brouille avant de revenir, ne livrant à l’auditeur que quelques mots épars... mais du même coup, la liberté d’inventer ceux qui manquent. Mélissa a réinventé le passé, pour mieux s’ouvrir un avenir de possibles. A partir des racines, elle a choisi les branches et les feuilles de l’arbre qu’elle continue de faire pousser. Son arbre donne des petites prunes, qu’en Haïti on appelle sirouelles, ou Siwèl en créole. Radyo Siwèl, voici le troisième album de Mélissa Laveaux.
Albums (full length):
→ Camphor & Copper (Malleable Records, 2006)
→ Camphor & Copper (No Format!, 2009)
→ Dying Is a Wild Night (No Format!, 2013)
→ Radyo Siwèl (2018)
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/melissalaveauxoff
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| Mélissa Laveaux — Radyo Siwèl (23 March, 2018) |
Mélissa Laveaux — Radyo Siwèl (23 March, 2018)
Birth name: Mélissa Michelle Marjolec Laveaux
Review
Review
Other info:
Born: 9 January 1985, Montreal, Quebec, Canada
Genres: Indie rock, folk rock, pop rock
Location: Paris, France
Album release: 23 March, 2018
Record Label: No Format!
Duration: 40:28
Tracks:
01 Lè ma monte chwal mwen 3:32
02 Nan fon bwa 3:21
03 Angeli~ko 3:39
04 Kouzen 2:21
05 Simalo 2:55
06 Jolibwa 2:55
07 Tolalito 4:29
08 Twa fey 4:29
09 Legba na konsole 2:45
10 Lasirèn la balèn 1:12
11 Nibo 3:17
12 Panama mwen tombe 5:33
Nigel Williamson April 9, 2018, Overall rating: 9
→ The Parisian Canadian offers bewitching songs of love and Haiti.
→ Haiti has long been one of the poorest nations in the western hemisphere — and perhaps the most unstable, with a history littered with slavery and brutality, invasions and occupations, coups and dictators and a litany of natural disasters from hurricanes to earthquakes, which seem to reduce its people to a semi~permanent state of emergency.
→ Yet such calamities have fostered a resilient spirit expressed in a rich cultural legacy of song and dance — and vodou. It is this heritage that Mélissa Laveaux dramatically explores on Radyo Siwèl. Born in Canada to black Haitian parents, Laveaux grew up listening to an eclectic soundtrack of jazz, blues, rock, hip~hop and R&B, ranging from Billie Holiday to Joni Mitchell and from Nina Simone to Aaliyah.
→ Her debut album Camphor & Copper received an international release in 2009 and Dying Is A Wild Night — taking its title from an Emily Dickinson poem — appeared four years later.
→ Both were smart indie records, ranging from covers of Elliott Smith and Eartha Kitt to her own original compositions, which drew liberally on her influences. Yet both hinted at something more interesting beneath the surface, with passing references to her Creole heritage, particularly on “Dodo Titit”, a song associated with Martha Jean~Claude, a legendary Haitian singer and civil rights activist who was imprisoned in the 1950s and then forced into exile.
→ As a fellow ex~pat, Laveaux identified strongly with the Haitian singer and in 2016 she landed in Port~au~Prince to research an album that had been gestating in her mind for a decade. Her original intention was an entire set of Martha Jean~Claude songs, but once in Haiti, she discovered a broader treasure trove of indigenous music and her ambition expanded.
→ In particular she was struck by the resonant spirit of the songs from the dark days of the American occupation in the first half of the 20th century, when the world’s first independent black republic — which more than a century earlier had emancipated itself from French slavery — was once more tormented by the unwanted presence of a colonial power.
→ Popular songs, rich with layers of Creole allegory and symbolism, became weapons of resistance, as the vodou divinities, known as loas, were summoned to protect the Haitian people in the fight against their oppressors.
→ Back home in Paris, where Laveaux now lives, she teamed up with the French production team A.L.B.E.R.T. and set about processing the trad tunes, vodou anthems, stories and scraps she had uncovered, and reupholstering them with her own strikingly contemporary soundtrack of reverberating indie guitars and rock’n’roll rhythms.
→ http://www.uncut.co.uk/
Neil Spencer, Sun 18 Mar 2018 07.00 GMT / Score: ****
≡∩≡ Haiti’s turbulent, often unhappy history is studded with splendid music, most of it little heard by comparison to its Caribbean neighbours. Mélissa Laveaux, born in Ottawa to Haitian parents, plays neither the lavish orchestral music called compas, nor the rootsy, drum~heavy style of groups such as Boukman Eksperyans. Her previous two albums have mixed folkish originals with indie rock, and even a cover of Eartha Kitt’s I Want to Be Evil.
≡∩≡ Here, she delves into her Haitian heritage, restyling Creole folk songs dealing with the capricious pantheon of Vodou deities, and numbers made famous by precursors such as Martha Jean~Claude, who protested (subtly but dangerously) against the US occupation of Haiti between 1915 and 1934. The album sounds far from folky, however. Laveaux’s spiky electric guitar is to the fore, abetted by Drew Gonsalves of the redoubtable soca band Kobo Town, while French producers Albert supply an eclectic backdrop that veers between the trip~hop grooves of Nan Fon Bwa, the Parisienne pop of Totalito, and the angry fuzz guitar of Nibo. On top, Laveaux’s vocals dance, yelp and croon in joyous, idiosyncratic fashion. It’s easy to forget there’s plenty of protest going on; Jolibwa, the one Laveaux original, celebrates a murdered journalist. A seductive, original piece of work. → https://www.theguardian.com/
→
≡∩≡ Canadian singer~songwriter and guitarist Mélissa Laveaux has built a loyal following for her rootsy indie melodies and finger~style playing, ever since her 2006 debut album — but there’s also a sense of fresh discovery in her new album, Radyo Siwèl.
≡∩≡ This collection explores 33~year~old Laveaux’s Haitian heritage, inspired by her first trip to her parents’ homeland for 20 years, the strength of its Creole language and people, and the vintage works of Haitian singers Martha Jean~Claude and Emerante de Pradines.
≡∩≡ …Laveaux’s third album is themed around the US occupation of Haiti — but is a lilting, joyful record about omens, civil treachery and sexuality …a lilting, burnished, joyful full~band collection that combines Haitian kompa guitar with calypso and soca, courtesy of Toronto~based Trinidadian guitarist Drew Gonsalves.
≡∩≡ Born to Haitian parents in Ottawa, Laveaux moved to France 10 years ago when Paris~based label No Format offered to release her music. Immersion in Creole culture was one of the prompts to make this album. The other was a childhood love that Laveaux’s parents did foster, of the Haitian singer and activist Martha Jean~Claude. Laveaux first heard her aged six, and started playing her songs after she got her first guitar following her first trip to Haiti, aged 12. “When I moved to Paris, one of the artists that still carried me was Martha Jean~Claude,” she says. An invitation to perform her songs at a benefit for the 2010 Haitian earthquake didn’t pan out, but it did turn into an obsessive research project.
≡∩≡ But the more she learned about Jean~Claude, the bigger the project got. She hadn’t known that the country was under American occupation between 1915 and 1934. “Nobody had told me!” Laveaux says. “I felt very cheated by my parents.” She decided to make her second trip to Haiti, researching at institutions including the Centre d’Art, still in a state of disrepair following the earthquake. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be claimed by other Haitians, but people kept thinking I was somebody’s daughter, and urging me to speak Creole. I felt claimed,” she says. She took pride in finding that her music had been bootlegged, distributed and stored in the National Archives.
≡∩≡ Laveaux returned to Paris overwhelmed with books and CDs of traditional songs: voudou spirituals such as Legba Na Konsole, and folk songs, including Kouzen, which Jean~Claude recorded during her exile in Cuba. She decided to parse the “chaos”, as she calls it, by taking inspiration from sci~fi and refashioning her own narrative of the US occupation from the songs she found, referencing omens, civil treachery and voudou’s exuberant, complex depiction of sexuality, which the occupiers had tried to suppress. The album contains one track of her own, Jolibwa, about the population protesting the imprisonment of journalist Joseph Jolibois by dancing outside his cell (Jolibois died in jail in 1936). She was pleased by recent footage from New York that saw a group of Haitians protesting outside Trump Tower by dancing in the streets after news emerged that the President had allegedly called Haiti a “shithole”.
≡∩≡ …a reworking of Frantz Casséus’ original composition, Nan Fon Bwa blends the Haitian with this indie aesthetic, stripped down during the verses but warmed with the addition of synth lines in the chorus, the beauty of the track really lies in Laveaux’s vocal, which drapes itself over your ears, and almost whispers directly to them
Interview
By Laura Snapes
The Canadian singer’s striking new album is themed around the US occupation of her parents’ homeland — but is a lilting, joyful record about omens, civil treachery and sexuality.
Queen Creole: Mélissa Laveaux on telling Haiti’s story through folksong, spirituals and Vodou
→ On a dull January afternoon, Mélissa Laveaux arrives at her record label’s Paris office apologising for her lateness. Disorganisation is, she says, a lifelong affliction.But the 33~year~old is in the middle of so many self~directed projects that it’s hard to take her claims too seriously. It takes a polymath to simultaneously mastermind a play about Haitian spirits, a multimedia project about a 19th~century sculptor and an album about the American occupation of Haiti in the early 20th century.
→ The album is Radyo Siwèl, Laveaux’s third: a lilting, burnished, joyful full~band collection that combines Haitian kompa guitar with calypso and soca, courtesy of Toronto~based Trinidadian guitarist Drew Gonsalves.
→ Laveaux moved to France 10 years ago when Paris~based label No Format offered to release her music. Born to Haitian parents in Ottawa, she describes her childhood as traditional, though with one missing aspect — her parents wanted Laveaux and her sister to assimilate and speak perfect English and French, so refused to teach them Creole. “All the cool Haitian kids spoke Creole. It felt like a sorority we didn’t have access to,” says Laveaux. “It felt like something was missing.”
→ Immersion in Creole culture was one of the prompts to make this album. The other was a childhood love that Laveaux’s parents did foster, of the Haitian singer and activist Martha Jean~Claude. Laveaux first heard her aged six, and started playing her songs after she got her first guitar following her first trip to Haiti, aged 12. “When I moved to Paris, one of the artists that still carried me was Martha Jean~Claude,” she says. An invitation to perform her songs at a benefit for the 2010 Haitian earthquake didn’t pan out, but it did turn into an obsessive research project.
→ But the more she learned about Jean~Claude, the bigger the project got. She hadn’t known that the country was under American occupation between 1915 and 1934. “Nobody had told me!” Laveaux says. “I felt very cheated by my parents.” She decided to make her second trip to Haiti, researching at institutions including the Centre d’Art, still in a state of disrepair following the earthquake. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be claimed by other Haitians, but people kept thinking I was somebody’s daughter, and urging me to speak Creole. I felt claimed,” she says. She took pride in finding that her music had been bootlegged, distributed and stored in the National Archives.
→ Laveaux returned to Paris overwhelmed with books and CDs of traditional songs: voudou spirituals such as Legba Na Konsole, and folk songs, including Kouzen, which Jean~Claude recorded during her exile in Cuba. She decided to parse the “chaos”, as she calls it, by taking inspiration from sci~fi and refashioning her own narrative of the US occupation from the songs she found, referencing omens, civil treachery and voudou’s exuberant, complex depiction of sexuality, which the occupiers had tried to suppress. The album contains one track of her own, Jolibwa, about the population protesting the imprisonment of journalist Joseph Jolibois by dancing outside his cell (Jolibois died in jail in 1936). She was pleased by recent footage from New York that saw a group of Haitians protesting outside Trump Tower by dancing in the streets after news emerged that the President had allegedly called Haiti a “shithole”.
→ Despite its heavy historical themes, Radyo Siwèl is a beautifully light record. Levity is key to sustaining the energy to fight, says Laveaux, who calls France “a super~sexist country” and says she wasn’t at all surprised by the recent backlash against #MeToo by certain French actresses. “This meme keeps going around online, ‘I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams’ — and I’m like, I hope I am! They couldn’t have gone through all that sacrifice without thinking something better’s gonna come.”
→ Laveaux struggles with her place in an industry where she doesn’t see herself represented. “There’s not a lot of visibility for black women with guitars unless you’re playing blues or singing gospel. And if I wasn’t playing guitar, then people are like: ‘Cool, R&B!’ If I don’t make R&B, do I have any longevity in my career?” But she keeps the faith that “if I just make really good work, people will listen to it”.
→ In the absence of contemporary peers, Laveaux is looking to history for inspiration. She recalls as a child seeing an image of Sister Rosetta Tharpe. “Without that, I wouldn’t have thought I could play music.”
→ Last summer, she participated in a Rome residency to pursue a project related to Italian culture. She chose as her subject Edmonia Lewis, a black, queer, Ojibwe sculptor who moved from New York to Rome in 1866 and became a noted artist, despite being fetishised and tokenised by the locals. “That resonated with me so much,” says Laveaux, who interviewed other black artists working in Italy for a film that will accompany an eventual record. “They had similar hurdles to what I read in Edmonia Lewis’ diary. In 150 years, nothing had changed.”
→ She laughs as she says this, more bemused than crushed. On her right arm is a tattoo of Cleopatra in tribute to a Lewis sculpture, surrounded by a Kara Walker image of a young girl setting herself on fire, and Tina Turner astride Ike, inspired by the tarot card for strength. “That card is about taming your demons and having guidance from the spiritual world to overcome a great fear,” says Laveaux.
→ Until the gods stage a divine intervention, she has another idea of how to challenge racism and cultural imperialism. “One of my dreams is to write a song for Eurovision.” she says. “You can influence millions of people’s ways of listening to music.” If anyone can fit it in, she can. → https://www.theguardian.com/
BIO /Notes:
≡∩≡ Avril 2016. Mélissa Laveaux part pour Haïti, la terre natale de ses parents. Vingt ans qu’elle n’y a pas remis les pieds, depuis ces vacances, les seules, passées dans la région du Cap Haïtien. Elle n’avait alors que douze ans. La voilà donc, femme, musicienne, étrangère à ce pays qui fait pourtant partie d’elle et de son histoire. ≡∩≡ D’Haïti, elle ne connaît que les expressions créoles imagées que sa mère échange au téléphone avec ses tantes, lorsqu’elles se racontent les zins, les derniers potins. Mais surtout, ce qui la lie à cette terre, ce sont les chants de Martha Jean~Claude, qui, exilée à Cuba dans les années 50, chantait l’Haïti chérie qu’elle avait du fuir. Comme le feront les parents de Mélissa, des années plus tard, pour s’installer au Canada. Les disques de Martha Jean~Claude ont bercé l’enfance de leur fille, dans le froid d’Ottawa. Cette voix, la petite la connaît depuis toujours, et la suit encore lorsqu’elle explore, des années plus tard, les rues de Port au Prince. Elle y cherche les échos d’un extraordinaire patrimoine : celui des chants folkloriques qui, depuis des décennies, nourrissent les artistes haïtiens. Ces morceaux de poésie populaire, qui tissent les métaphores et jonglent avec le double sens, renferment l’identité d’un peuple dont la résistance est la seconde nature. Souvent anonymes, ils sont nés dans les Bann’ Siwèl, les orchestres de troubadours champètres qui les colportaient au gré des fêtes de village.
≡∩≡ En Haïti, on lui confie donc des enregistrements, des cahiers, on lui indique des témoins... autant de morceaux d’une mémoire éparpillée, et pourtant si vivante. Ces vieilles chansons, sans cesse réinventées, ont accompagné la longue et tortueuse histoire d’Haïti. Un épisode particulier de cette histoire intéresse Mélissa : l’occupation de l’île par les Etats~Unis, de 1915 à 1934. Sombre période, qui vit la première République noire,~ celle qui s’était affranchie de l’esclavage et avait arraché son indépendance~, vivre les affres de la colonisation. Les chansons populaires devinrent alors des armes de résistance. Réveillées et réinterprétées par une nouvelle génération, elles reprenaient tout leur sens en ces temps d’oppression. Les divinités du vaudou, expertes à terroriser les esclavagistes, y étaient réhabilitées, rappelées en renfort.
≡∩≡ C’est d’ailleurs dans ces années sombres que naquirent Martha Jean~Claude et Emerante de Pradines, qui toutes deux chantaient Dodo Titit, berceuse traditionnelle que Mélissa reprendra bien plus tard dans son tout premier album (Camphor & Copper, Nø Førmat 2008). Dodo Titit était déjà le premier bourgeon d’un arbre qui s’épanouit aujourd’hui, dix ans plus tard, dans Radyo Siwèl. D’Haïti, elle est revenue avec des sons, des mélodies, des ambiances et des histoires de temps évanouis mais jamais révolus, et autant de couleurs d’un tableau qu’elle s’est sentie libre de composer. ≡∩≡ Et c’est bien ce dont il est question dans Radyo Siwèl. Une re~création à partir de bribes, de phrases, d’airs anciens, d’hymnes vaudous, assemblés comme un patchwork identitaire au gré de l’imaginaire de Mélissa. Libre de les draper de son énergie rock, de guitares nerveuses et profondes, et de leur donner vie sous le voile singulier de sa voix. Le tout, baignant dans un halo surréel que les touche~à~tout du studio A.L.B.E.R.T. ont su imprimer à ces méditations sombres ou lumineuses, avec la collaboration remarquée de Drew Gonsalves, pilier du groupe trinidadien Kobo Town, qui darde ses rayons mélodiques à la guitare et au tres.
≡∩≡ Les racines peuvent donc libérer, si l’on ne veut pas en rester prisonnier. Pour Melissa, Haïti était comme cette voix sortie d’une radio dont le signal se brouille avant de revenir, ne livrant à l’auditeur que quelques mots épars... mais du même coup, la liberté d’inventer ceux qui manquent. Mélissa a réinventé le passé, pour mieux s’ouvrir un avenir de possibles. A partir des racines, elle a choisi les branches et les feuilles de l’arbre qu’elle continue de faire pousser. Son arbre donne des petites prunes, qu’en Haïti on appelle sirouelles, ou Siwèl en créole. Radyo Siwèl, voici le troisième album de Mélissa Laveaux.
Albums (full length):
→ Camphor & Copper (Malleable Records, 2006)
→ Camphor & Copper (No Format!, 2009)
→ Dying Is a Wild Night (No Format!, 2013)
→ Radyo Siwèl (2018)
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/melissalaveauxoff
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