ZING EXPERIENCE

100_8229I surprised my friend Kathy with a visit to her Brooklyn home the other day. She was her usual gracious self. We decided to give her husband, C., an even bigger surprise by showing up at his gig. C. and his gigantic bass were busy accompanying Paul Beaubrun, lead singer of Zing Experience. A gifted percussionist dropped rhythms that bounced off BAM’s mega facade, and rocked Lafayette all the way to Flatbush Avenue.

The venue was packed, but Kathy and I managed to get a good table. I had a perfect view of the back of Paul Beaubrun’s head. His hair falls just above his waist. Nice. But the diri djondjon black rice was too heavenly for me to complain about anything at all. The trio filled the house with a soul-rocking sound.

Paul, Kathy, & katia d. ulysse
Ok. It’s not a great picture. Blame C.’s phone.

As soon as the set ended, C. joined us at our table. Naturally, we gave each other a hard time about nothing major; that’s our thing. When Paul “Zing Experience” Beaubrun walked by, C. called him over for an introduction.  I was a fan in seconds.

I soon learned that Paul’s family and my mother’s were/are practically neighbors. We looked at each other, and we were like family; conversation came easily.

Days later, I met Paul at C.’s recording studio, Kamoken. We listened to a few works-in- progress while we filled up on sushi and brain-busting wasabi.  When another musician dropped by to work, Paul, Kathy, and I went upstairs for the INNERview I had to have for VoicesfromHaiti.

In Kathy’s office, I proceeded to bombard Paul with questions. Throughout the interrogation, the singer remained as humble as he is gorgeous.  We talked, talked, and talked some more.

Kathy had forgotten the story about how Paul and his beautiful wife met. She threw the first question. (FYI: Paul has been happily married for almost a decade now. . .)

100_8243Kathy: Paul, how did you and Cynthia meet again?

Paul to Kathy: We met in NY in May, 2005. Shortly afterwards we decided to form Zing Experience. It was like our first baby together. We loved it as soon as it came into existence.

Katia: What exactly is Zing Experience? (I had heard about the  band. I’d seen posters of Paul all over the place; I knew musicians who said they respect Zing. I know Zing caused certain people to breathe a little heavier. I didn’t know much more).

Paul: It’s a mix of racine, rock, reggae, and many different styles. It is also a spiritual movement. It’s an awakening of the self. Zing Experience is a way to be proud of your culture.

Katia: Why did you call the band Zing Experience? Does Zing have a special meaning?

Paul: We call the band Zing Experience, because I was born a Zing.

Kathy: What’s a Zing?

Katia: Yes, what is a Zing? (I still didn’t have a clue).

Paul: A Zing is a spiritual messenger or a poet. We are born with little dreads on our heads. For example, in Haiti when you go deep in the mountains, they don’t know the word Rasta or Dread. When they see me, they call me Zing.  In the dictionary, Zing is defined as “vitality.” I embody those qualities, I hope: I am an artist with vitality.

Kathy: What inspired you to  become an artist? (She had to have known the answer. Paul practically lives in the studio. I was glad to hear his explanation just the same).

Paul: First all, I wanted to be a professional soccer player. I didn’t choose to be a musician, music chose me.

Katia: What instrument do you play? (Still didn’t know).

Paul: My first instrument is the tanbou; now I play the guitar.

Katia: Which of the two instruments do you think helps you express what you feel more?

zing
Paul Beaubrun. Katia D. Ulysse. Big Smiles!

Paul: That’s a good question. I think it depends on the music.  I need to feel the melody. Some songs ask me to use a particular instrument–I let the music guide me. The music tells me which instrument to use. It’s not something that I’m exactly conscious of. I don’t say: Ok I’m going to use this or that instrument. The music controls me. I let the music take me where it wants.

Kathy: Is there one person in particular who inspired you to become a musician?

100_8245Paul: I grew up in a musical family. My father and mother are co-founders of Boukman Eksperyans. So home was music school for me. I didn’t have to do much to get inspired–or inspiration didn’t have to look too far to find me. We’d always been one. My dad–like a great teacher–introduced me to many different artists: Jimmy Hendrix, Bob Marley, Angelique Kidjo–she is amazing! I’ll never forget seeing her in Central Park. When I went out on my own, I had a lot to draw on. Inspiration came from inside and outside. It was everywhere. Inspiration is everywhere.

Kathy: How has the band evolved since 2006?

Paul: Zing is like a baby growing up. I’ve had the chance to meet many great people since we began; learned from them. The band grew musically, intellectually, and spiritually.

Katia: Where do you see Zing Experience in five or ten years from now?

Paul: We’ve paid our dues, and keep paying them. You name the spot, we’ve played there; we took any gig we could get. We played in Haiti from 2007 to 2009. We are planning and seriously hoping to play in Haiti in December, 2013. Most of our dreams have come true. We’ll just keep doing what we do. We’ll continue to grow and bring all that we can to the stage.

Katia: What’s the next big dream for Zing?

Paul: The next big dream is definitely to play in Haiti this December. We are keeping our fingers crossed. Think good thoughts. Send good vibes, and plan to be there when the band plays.

Kathy (with a serious look on her face): One thing I always notice about you is that you invite all kinds of people to play with Zing. That’s a sign of a true artist. You are open to other interpretation and other travels. The more open an artist is, the bigger the experiences; the bigger the feeling. That’s how you grow. Paul has his core band, but other artists come all the time. That’s a cool thing.

Katia: Tell me about your core band.

Paul: The core band is myself, Cynthia Casasola, Chico Boyer, Peter Barr, and Morgan Zwerlein. It’s an honor to play alongside them. We have a certain chemistry. Together we are Zing Experience.

100_8229Katia: When can Zing’s fans expect the next CD. “Project Haiti”–the previous CD–received a ton of attention. People love Zing. When will you give them more?

Paul: We’re planning for 2014. We’re working hard. The music is leading us to a good place. And we’ll bring the CD to you, as soon as the songs are ready.

Kathy: Beside going to Haiti in December, any big dreams you’d like to see come true?

Paul: We really, really want to go to Haiti in December. Like I said,  send us good vibes. That might be the biggest dream of all.

Katia: Thank you so much for the INNERview. I think I’ve been Zingged. I can’t wait to hear you play again. I wish you much success for years to come.

Paul (big smile on his face):  Thank you for interviewing me. It’s been a pleasure. I appreciate the fact that people actually care about Zing. My dreams keep coming true.

High-fives went flying all over the place.  It was time to get back to the business of making music. Another artist stopped by. A mini-jam session ensued. Paul drummed with his hands on his thighs. His head swayed from side to side. A melody from faraway places reached out to him. Soon it would take a form we may hear. That was just a tiny taste of what it means to have the Zing Experience.

VoicesfromHaiti. Nou bèl. E nou la.
We are beautiful. And we are here!

Dr. Maya Angelou, MLK, Pres. Obama, Kita Nago, and Nadège Fleurimond?

393px-Angelou_Obama - We’re all connected. Yes. I’m not talking about Linkedin, Facebook, and other networking sites. We’re connected in the way that we’re not so different from one another. Dr. Maya Angelou, in her historic “Human Family” poem, puts it this way: “We are more alike, my friends, than unalike.” But what in the world could Dr. Angelou, MLK, President Obama, a new movement in Haiti called Kita Nago, and a certain Nadège Fleurimond possibly have in common? Come with me.

To say that Martin Luther King was just a guy who walked around (a lot), asking folk to treat one another fairly would be a transgression. Also, whether or not you voted for President Obama will never take away from the fact that he is not some dude who ‘tried out’ for president, and won. Twice.

We’re all part of the human family, but you’ve got to admit there’s something a little extra special about family members like Dr. King and President Obama. Don’t they seem to possess an extraordinary sense of. . .je ne sais qoui? People like that are beyond audacious and resolute in their mission. It’s almost as if they exist on a different plane.

Let’s step out of history books and ‘other planes’ for a minute. Zoom in on Brooklyn, New York. See that tomboy-at-heart lady in the pretty dress and uncomfortable high heels. Note how she scans the room to make sure everything is perfect. Here she is at so-and-so’s baptism, first communion, wedding, and a fancy event for some big-shot official. Her name: Nadège Fleurimond. What makes her more alike than unalike with. . . say. . .President Obama? Two words: Kita Nago (The ‘a’ sounds like alpha; the ‘o’ sounds like bravo).

Stay with me.

Haitian FlagIf you care anything about Haiti but have not heard of the Kita Nago movement, give it a little while. Kita Nago continues to sweep across our side of the island, gathering thousands of followers. “But what the heck is it?”

I read an interesting definition that included the words “mysterious” and “strange.” Ah, but that article has vanished from the Web. Now, that link takes you here. Not bad.

Others call Kita Nago a cross-like thing of mahogany that weighs close to a ton, which someone decided would make a great symbol for unity among Haitians. Thousands continue to carry it across the country. The destination is Ouanaminthe–a 430 mile trek from its place of origin, on foot! That’s roughly 17 back-to-back marathons.

People are confused by Kita Nago. Some are ashamed of it. Some are proud, and wish they could walk the miles with fellow countrymen. Some don’t like Kita Nago simply because of the words’ obvious connection to a certain ‘ancestral’ religion. One thing is clear: Kita Nago won’t stop until it reaches its destination. Google it.

Get a thousand online definitions, but if you want to know what Kita Nago really means, find that elderly Haitian in your circle, Ask, Seek and Knock–ask. Our ‘granmoun’ elders carry volumes of this stuff inside their heads. Run and get those stories before the undertaker comes. In the meantime, here’s what my own Haitian mother told me:

When people say: “M pap fè yon pa kita, yon pa nago,” they mean “I am not moving. I am not taking one step from where I stand. You cannot make me move. I shall not be moved. I am resolute in my belief. You cannot unravel this faith in me. M pap fè yon pa kita, yon pa nago. Nothing you do can force me to alter my course. The dream I hold is my life-mission. No army will deter me from accomplishing it. M pap fè yon pa kita, yon pa nago.”

Martin_Luther_King_Jr_NYWTSNow, focus your lens on a jail cell in Alabama not so long ago. See that man leaning on the bars? Can’t you hear Dr. King saying to himself: I shall not be moved. I will not relinquish this dream. No matter what they do to me, I will not abandon this mission. This movement is far bigger than I. They can kill me, but they cannot kill my dream. M pap fè yon pa kita, yon pa nago.

When President Obama ran for office the second time, Romney and Ryan wanted him to just go. Politely. They probably didn’t care where Obama went, as long as he abandoned the idea of being President of these United States. Again. Can’t you see Mr. Obama shaking his head? Can’t you hear him saying: No, no, not yet.  I’m not leaving. I will not be moved. Or removed. ‘And I am telling you, I’m not going. . .’ M pap fè yon pa kita, yon pa nago.

Let’s go back to Brooklyn, New York. Don’t forget we are all more alike than unalike. Wait. Adjust the rear-view mirror. Go as far back as 23 years. (If you weren’t born yet, don’t worry; Google it.) Nadège Fleurimond was a 7 years old kid then. Her father had brought her with him from Haiti. No one said the words, but everyone knew the little girl would grow up to be a doctor. A lawyer. Something respectable. She would make the family proud. She would realize what they had not.

Nadege Fleurimond Adjust the rear-view mirror again. Look closer. It’s now 2003. There’s a grown-up Nadège in starched cap and gown. Diploma in hand–courtesy of Columbia University. It was not easy to earn that degree in Political Science, but she had done it. She was on her way to a smashing career as a. . .cook!

“You’re crazy!” her father had screamed. “You get that big degree, and all you want is to be a vending woman. You want to be a mashann like the ones on those filthy streets in Port-au-Prince? You want to waste your life? For all my sacrifice, you dreamed only of being a maid?”

“We rarely speak to each other now,” Nadège allows of her relationship with her father. It’s complicated. “He had his dream for my life; I had my own.”

Not everyone dreams about becoming a world leader, a poet, a teacher, a doctor, a lawyer, or whatever. “I want to be who I am,”Nadège continues. “And when the opposition gets to be too  much, I believe in myself that much more.”

Fleurimond catering banannIt’s been 11 years since Nadège fought to fulfill her dream. Fleurimond Catering is now a thriving business; she could not be happier. “I am not here to save the world,” Nadège explains with her infectious smile. “I take pride in bringing people together and representing my Haitian culture the way I know how. I follow my heart. We need to allow children to dream for themselves. When everyone tried to shake my dream out of me, I told them No. This is my path. I believe in myself enough to work for this. You can’t make me move. You don’t have the power to stop me. ”

M pap fè yon pa kita, yon pa nago.

“Tell Them I’m Still Here” ~ Remembering 1/12/10

1-Hummingbird2 (1)-001“Mommy, Are These Real People?”

My daughter’s eyes were fixed on the red letters that flashed at the bottom of the TV screen: CNN.

I Can Live -- FranceskaI was glued to the couch, watching Andersen Cooper broadcasting the news from Haiti.

Here and again a reporter would put a microphone near someone’s mouth. The person—a Haitian—would say something in Kreyòl; a disembodied voice would give a creative translation that was nothing like what the person had said.

“No. No. That’s not what the person said.” I would shake my head. My mouth was dry. My eyes burned from not sleeping. I could not stop watching.  My daughter wanted to understand. She wanted to understand why I was suddenly so interested in the television—something I had banished to some corner of the house.

Ambulance

 

 

I agonized about allowing my little girl to watch the people wandering around Port-au-Prince with tragedy drawn on their faces like massive Ash-Wednesday crosses.

The blood and mud looked like old play-dough. I thought my daughter was far young to see these graphic images. I told myself she would have nightmares. Watching this horror would transform her. She is only five years old.

Five year-old children in Haiti are different; they’re older somehow. Surely there’s some type of math that would substantiate this, particularly when you factor in a 7.0 quake, 30 plus aftershocks, and the estimated number of casualties. The story developing in Mommy’s country now is a must-see. It’s an epic blockbuster.

Frank - 1I sat my daughter down next to me. She watched intently a pre-recorded news segment which showed dazed and dusty people wandering about aimlessly.  The bad thing had just happened.

There were no bandages to cover the scary playdough on survivors’ eyes, arms, legs. There were no shrouded human forms in the middle of the street—not yet. The heaps of half-dressed mannequins with muddy hair and missing limbs had yet to be piled in wheelbarrows and dump trucks.

The former Palais National photographed by kdu: March, 2010“Mommy, are those real people?” my daughter was confused, incapable suddenly of making a basic distinction. She blinked hard, adjusting her eyes.

“They are real people,” I explained. “They are real as you and I are.”

A man walked across the screen with a baby in his arms. The baby looked like an antique doll that had fallen off a shelf and lost a few parts.

“Is that little baby sick, Mommy?” my daughter wanted to know.

“Yes, the little baby is sick.” The truth would have to be rationed carefully– told in increments — over time.

“Tell Them I’m Still Here” words spoken by Maxo Simeon inspired a Short film by Katia D. Ulysse (Estimated release date, December, 2013)

“How can we help them? Do you think they need snacks? And juice boxes? Do you thing we can give them each a Happy Meal? And then they’ll be ok, right?”

“This will take a little more than snacks and juice boxes, honey. Not even a Happy Meal will fix this one.”

Katia D. Ulysse ~ February 12, 2010

 ___________________________________________________

Leslie Sauray’s “Untitled”

As the ashes clear and we move away rubble
you see my people still standing, still running
even if we stumble.

We’ve been down worse roads
We have broken many chains
Shaky grounds have been around
Long before the earthquakes came

The after shocks are the souls
of those in the after life
trying to wake us all up
so we can continue to fight

The te. . . levision can’t show
the smell and the screams
So you only got a small picture
even on a big screen

1/28/10

Akashic Books’ Johnny Temple & “Haiti’s Wonderful Literary Tradition”

Akashic Books’  Haiti Noir is now in French. The collection offers short fiction by Yanick Lahens, M. J. Fievre, Madison Smartt Bell, Edwidge Danticat, Ibi Aanu Zoboi, Josaphat-Robert Large, Katia D. Ulysse, Marie Ketsia Pharel, and others.  Now that Haiti Noir has received a second life, I wanted to ask Akashic Books’ publisher, Johnny Temple, a few questions. Here’s how our Q&A went:

Who is Johnny Temple?

Johnny Temple is a strange guy with a gorgeous wife and two beautiful children. For all of his perplexing idiosyncrasies,  he has impeccable taste in literature.

According to Akashic Book’s website, you are “dedicated to publishing urban literary fiction and political nonfiction by authors who are either ignored by the mainstream, or who have no interest in working within the ever-consolidating ranks of the major corporate publishers.”  What are the stories you would never read?

There are no stories I wouldn’t read. If there is a story that sounds aesthetically distasteful or politically wrong-headed to me, I may still want to take a look at it up close so that I can judge for myself.

What gave you the idea for the Noir Series?

The series grew out of the success of Brooklyn Noir, which was never intended to be the first in a series that now comprises over 60 volumes (and growing). The idea is to take a city—or sometimes a region or nation—and sketch out its hidden corners through darkly themed short fiction by a diverse array of authors. If the depiction of the place rings true for local residents, it stands a good chance of appealing to a national or international audience as well.

What made you include Haiti in the series?

One of Akashic Books’ missions is to publish top-caliber Caribbean literature, so when the Noir Series started expanding, it was only a matter of time before the arrival of Havana Noir (edited by Achy Obejas), Trinidad Noir (edited by Lisa Allen-Agostini and Jeanne Mason), Haiti Noir (edited by Edwidge Danticat), and most recently Kingston Noir (edited by Colin Channer).

What preconceived ideas did you have about the types of stories you would receive from Haitian writers?

The book was already in progress when the earthquake struck in January 2010, so the direction that the stories would take was unclear. I knew from the start that the stories would be very strong — because of Haiti’s wonderful literary tradition, and because of the level of excellence I knew Edwidge Danticat would bring to the project as the editor. Even so, the stylistic and thematic breadth of the full volume is pretty staggering.

Were you pleased with the compilation?

Beyond pleased. A percentage of the proceeds from the book have been donated to an important organization called the Lambi Fund of Haiti that supports sustainable development, so that has been a particularly heartening aspect of the book’s ongoing success.

When will we see Haiti Noir in Kreyòl?

We would love to do a Kreyòl version of the book. We don’t have any specific plans yet, but it’s something we are very open to!

Thank you, Johnny Temple, for answering a few questions. We look forward to the next Noir Book. And a Haiti Noir in Kreyòl!