Lá no morro...

Last night, in a heavy rain I made the trek over to the National Center for the Korean Traditional Performing Arts. Every Saturday they have a mixed recital of various traditional. Most of Korea's "traditional music" seemed pulled from the court music of the rigidly neo-Confucian Choseon Dynasty, whose whole mien reminds me of 18th century Vienna. Light and fluffy, ready to decorate a box of candied pralines. The best by far, although I couldn't understand a single word, was the pansori narrative of the Jeokbyeokga, an epic war episode from Chinese history narrated in a popular dialect from the south.

A single singer stood and in a combination of extemporaneous-style speaking and singing narrates the story to the accompaniment and cries of encouragement from an onstage drummer. It seemed so much more immediate and magical than the strange and sometimes repetitive musical langauge of a virtuoustic flute place displaying long breathing cycles (although it helped during the slower moments that everyone was dressed in a really exotic looking Korean costume).

Today Korean Catholics remember the death of Fr. Kim Taegon (whose Christian name was Andrew; coincidence, I think so). I finally located my local Catholic church, which was nicely indicated by an English sign by Hanam City hall. It felt like Catholicism 1979. Church was packed, a few women were still covering their heads, mostly traditional Protestant-sounding hymns were sung, and the service was a whole 2 hours long and it wasn't Easter Vigil.

Some peculiarities: shaking hands, raising hands in the air, even the sign of the cross is on occasion replaced with a reverential bow. Also, when they take up the collection, two jars are left on the altar and parishioners have to come foward and drop in their contribution - what a great way to see who's stingy when it comes to giving.

They had a mammoth play detailing what I guessed was the life and times of some of the Korean martyrs. I didn't really understand anything, but it was very intense, very much resembling a period Korean soap opera with lavish costumes and hammy acting all taking place on the altar . There was even some really cheesy epic music plus dramatic drumming for effect at key moments in the drama.

Anyway, I was hoping with all the bruhaha that there would at least be some free lunch, but no such luck.

I'm listening to my library of Brazilian music today. It's actually quite appropriate in a lot of ways. The words of Cartola's famous samba seems so appropriate with the mountains that surround Hanam: Dawn, there on the mountain, what beauty. No one cries, there is no sadness. No one feels displeasure... You also remind of the dawn when it comes illuminating the roads that are so lifeless. All that's left is so little, almost nothing but to live wandering a lost road.