Scotland celebrates Violeta Parra’s centenary. Escocia celebra el centenario de Violeta Parra
Valentina and Voces del Sur pay homage to renowned Chilean singer/songwriter and artist, Violeta Parra. 2017 sees 100 years since Parraâs birth and this is the first event to celebrate it in Scotland. The evening is presented by Valentina Montoya MartĂnezâs band Voces del Sur with special guests directly from Chile, the much loved Chilean group âLos Hermanos Millarâ. The programme includes many of Violeta Parraâs own songs as well as songs that she collected during her many voyages throughout Chile (which she made in order to preserve the countryâs cultural heritage, against a backdrop of a systematic attempt to erode local culture). There will be readings from her memoirs.
Here is a note from Valentina about the impact of Violeta Parra in her own life:
Violeta Parra has been a fundamental cultural figure in my life. I want to thank her on the centenary of her birth by paying homage to her outstanding lifeâs work. We are singing for Violeta Parra! For more details go to Celebrating Violeta Parraâs birth centenary.
I have grown up listening to Violeta Parra. Her music was not something I âdiscoveredâ or stumbled upon. Violeta, like my mother, was always there, from my earliest memories. Her music, alongside that of VĂctor Jara and many other Chilean artists from the Chilean New Song Movement, was part of my household. I lived and breathed it. It formed a beautiful part of our lives, which I like to synthesize into a singular image, that of VĂctor Jaraâs smile. Then came the dictatorship, my fatherâs imprisonment, our exile. Violetaâs music came with us, as did the music of the New Song Movement. Bereft of our homeland, music became our life source as did the cultural evenings, marches, meetings, handcraft making, jumble sales, hunger strikes and singing. As I reached adolescence in a foreign country Violeta Parra became my umbilical chord to my land of birth. Initially songs like âGracias a la Vidaâ often had me in tears â too heavy a weight of melancholy on my young shoulders. But the older I got the better I was able to raise above the sadness and truly listen to it. The more I engaged with it the fresher it became and the more it healed my soul. Who could fail to be moved by âRun Run se fue paâl norteâ, to put oneself in Violetaâs shoes, to link it to our own realities? And have we not all felt, at one point or another, like cursing and sending it all to hell like she does in ‘Maldigo del alto cielo’? Yes, Violeta cursed but she also gave light, gave insight, gave strength. Letters were always important to us, particularly in the early days of exile. I remember one winter evening, whilst we carved little wood figurines in our council house in England, the song ‘Me mandaron una carta’ began rolling from a tiny cassette. We had recently read a letter with the news that a relative had been ambushed by the Chilean secret police and killed in a shower of bullets. The song, in this new context, shook me to the soul. I didnât cry. The waves roared internally, gnawing up and down my chest whilst Violetaâs voice expressed what I was too young to say. (Extract from my work-in-progress book âCafĂ© Ceroâ).
En español:
CrecĂ escuchando a Violeta Parra. Su mĂșsica no era algo que âdescubrĂâ o algo con lo cual me topĂ©. Violeta, como mi madre, siempre estuvo ahĂ, desde mis primeros recuerdos. Su mĂșsica, junto a la de VĂctor Jara y muchos otros artistas chilenos, formaban parte de mi hogar. La vivĂ y la respirĂ©. FormĂł una parte hermosa de nuestras vidas, cosa que me gusta sintetizar en una imĂĄgen singular, la sonrisa de VĂctor Jara. Luego vino la dictadura, el encarcelamiento de mi padre, nuestro exilio. La mĂșsica de Violeta vino con nosotros, al igual que la mĂșsica del la Nueva CanciĂłn chilena entre otras. Despojados de nuestra patria, su mĂșsica se convirtiĂł en nuestra fuente de vida, al igual que las tardes culturales, marchas, reuniones, trabajo artesanal, mercados de pulgas, huelgas de hambre y el canto. Al llegar a la adolecencia en una tierra extranjera, Violeta Parra se convirtiĂł en el cordĂłn umbilical que me conectaba a mi paĂs natal. Canciones como âGracias a la vidaâ a menudo me llenaban de lĂĄgrimas, un peso de melancolĂa extraordinario para mis frĂĄgiles hombros. Pero en cuanto mĂĄs crecĂa mejor era mi habilidad de alzarme mĂĄs allĂĄ de la tristeza y mayor era mi capacidad de escuchar verdaderamente su canto. Mientras mĂĄs me sumergĂa en esa ternura infĂnita mĂĄs fuerte sanaba mi alma. ÂżQuiĂ©n podrĂa dejar de ser conmovida por âRun Run se fue paâl norte’, de ponerse en sus zapatos, de atar el tema a nuestras propias vidas? ÂżY acaso no hemos sentido todos en algĂșn momento ganas de maldecir todo, de mandar todo a la mierda como en la canciĂłn âMaldigo del alto cieloâ? SĂ, Violeta maldecĂa, pero tambiĂ©n daba luz, daba visiĂłn, daba fuerza.
Las cartas siempre fueron importantes para nosotros, especialmente en las primeras etapas del exilio. Recuerdo una noche invernal en Inglaterra, mientras tallĂĄbamos pequeñas figuras de madera en nuestra casa council, la canciĂłn âMe mandaron una cartaâ empezĂł a rodar desde un minĂșsculo cassette. HabĂamos leĂdo recientemente una carta con la noticia de que un pariente habĂa sido emboscado por la CNI y habĂa muerto en una lluvia de balas. La canciĂłn, en este nuevo contexto, me sacudiĂł hasta el alma. No llorĂ©. Las olas rugĂan internamente, carcomiendo mi pecho de arriba a abajo mientras la voz de Violeta expresaba lo que yo era demasiado joven para decirâ. (Extracto de trabajo en proceso, mi libro â CafĂ© Cero)
