L O N D O N G R I P . . . un point de vue français
&
the Community
The Arts are transformational, they can change lives and communities. Look at Marciac.
Marciac is a small town of some 1400 souls set in the Gers in the South West of France. Thirty three years ago, Jean Louis Guilhaumon, at that time teaching in the College in Marciac, had the idea of starting a Jazz festival. The rest is history. The Marciac Jazz festival (held at the beginning of August) is now one of the best known in France, attracting the highest level of performer from all over the world.
However, the festival has had a more profound effect upon the community than those crowded two weeks, as my visits to the college at Marciac illustrated. I talked to the Principal, Christian Pethieu, at some length, and also sat in on some of the classes for the students, and found the experience illuminating and invigorating.
In France, College covers the four academic years from the ages of 11-15, after which time students attend Lycée where they study for the Baccalauréat.
In 1993, the Marciac College had a population of about 90 students, in other words, hardly sustainable. The then Head and his supporters applied to the Jazz festival to help them fund what is now known as the AIMJ (Atelier d’Initiation de Musique de Jazz), a specialist option for the college. Sixteen years later, the school has 211 students, about 50 of whom take the option in Jazz. The college also has an internat (a weekly boarding section) since the music students are taken from all over the region.
In order to qualify for the AIMJ, the students must be coping very well in their ordinary academic subjects, since the AIMJ does not replace any of the other parts of the curriculum, it is in addition to it. While their contemporaries are doing homework or using the library, the Jazz students are taking part in their music sessions. They have to find the time to complete their projects or finish their homework out of school hours. Learning about music is no soft option.
To Christian Péthieu the musical speciality of the College is more important than introducing young people to a new skill; it is at the heart of what he sees as his mission as Principal. The years at College are crucial. It is the social benefits of playing music that are of interest to Christian Péthieu.
M’sieu Péthieu tells me, “When the pupils arrive they are little children, and after their time in College they are adolescents, with all the accompanying challenges. We can leave a trace, make a real difference to them.” One of his definitions of becoming adult is learning how to manage frustration. Participation in the arts helps the individual to build these skills in a lateral and participative manner. In order to play together, it is necessary to listen actively, to concentrate, and also to trust your fellow performers; these qualities are more important than musical excellence. Few of the graduates of the College go on to make a living from music - this is not the aim of the AIMJ. Human interaction is key. “These young people are going to replace us,” he told me. “We have a responsibility to equip them properly.”
To Christian Pethieu, Jazz is the perfect form to make use of the beneficial effects of learning music, for not only do you have the discipline of learning interdependence – chords and rhythm - but there is the magic touch, the possibility of improvisation. To him, this is the extra offering of Jazz, the opportunity to be truly creative.
Christian Pethieu’s enthusiasm for the Jazz option is infectious. When I asked him if he was musical, he laughed. He doesn’t play any instrument, but through sport, especially football, he became interested in all things Brazilian, which led him to Stan Getz, and Jazz. He also told me that he had learned a great deal from punk music. It gave him the belief that anyone could play anything! This is another of the cornerstones of the music option at the College, not the possibilities of punk, but the idea that anyone can play if they are sufficiently motivated.
I sat in on sessions for the music students for the sixième (11 year olds) and the cinquième (12 years old). Since I have little or no musical ability, I had no idea what to expect. How do you start teaching the rudiments of Jazz to an 11 year old? By providing berets and dark glasses?
In Marciac, you teach Jazz as you would any other subject. You start with the principles, you explain notes and chords on the whiteboard, you teach them different sequences, you continually ask them questions about what comes next. At first it seemed somewhat academic and far from active music to me. However, when I dropped into the class half an hour later, the pupils were already putting together those squiggles from the board, and were playing the beginnings of a set.
In the cinquième class, the students began by talking about their ‘plan’, they agreed their roles and parts. They appeared casual, at times disorganised, then all of a sudden, this motley group swung into a confident and pacey rendition of Summertime. Most played at least two instruments, switching from guitar to drums, piano to voice, sax to clarinet with little apparent difficulty. I witnessed in action some of what Christian Pethieu had described to me as the mission of the college, discipline and shared creativity. The distance those students had travelled in a year, their skill, their ease with the music was truly impressive. Of course there were those who were ‘naturals’, and others who found the experience more difficult, even stressful at times, but as a group they managed to play together convincingly. Their teachers expected much from them, they heard those who were struggling, encouraged those at more ease to try a little improvisation. They were exigent, encouraging and demanding at the same time.
Cara Lynch came with her family from Ireland to live in the area four years ago, she and her younger sister Emily both qualified for the AIMJ. Emily is in her first year, and Cara in her third.
Both sisters were matter of fact at what they had accomplished. It’s an achievement for any student to be accepted for the AIMJ, let alone for those whose first language is not French.
When I asked how they had managed, leaving friends and family, adjusting to a new language and culture, they shrugged their shoulders. “It wasn’t so bad,” they told me, then thought again. “Well, it was at the beginning, but you soon adjust.”
The strictness of the regime in the College offered security when they first arrived, although now Cara is beginning to find the structure irksome at times. She wants to try new ideas, different ways of doing things. Listening to her talking about some of the music she was encountering, and wanting to try, I could hear Christian Péthieu talking about the importance of discipline as a base for creativity. Cara certainly demonstrated all the confidence and motivation that he had described to me as being the result he wanted and expected from the AIMJ.
Without the AIMJ, it is likely that the College at Marciac would have closed, depriving the town of local education for those aged between 11 and 15. Not only has the Jazz festival enriched the lives of those attending the College, but also the town itself. During the winter there are monthly concerts from visiting musicians, and the commune this year has embarked upon the construction of a new music centre to accommodate and encourage more performances. The town also boasts two art galleries with studios attached, used by the College as part of their arts curriculum, and there is a cinema - not bad for a small community.
The college, the galleries, the cinema, the concerts, all attract visitors to Marciac which perhaps unsurprisingly also has several restaurants. There’s nothing abstract or airy-fairy about the effect on the town, it means employment and income.
Do the Arts change lives and transform communities? Ask anyone in Marciac.
Text & photos: ©Clare Doyle, July 2010
the Burqua
the Oirish:
Thoughts about
National Identity
Late last year, the French government instituted a debate on the nature of French national identity. As an outsider living in the country, I thought, ‘Why bother?’ The French know who they are, they have a history of making such definitions, and they have a three word logo which expresses what they are, or aspire to, what more do they want?
As with many such initiatives, it was not that simple. The debate was more about trying to switch votes from the right wing National Front to the ruling party, than it was about having a genuine exchange. As it happened, the entire enterprise backfired, and in the run up to the regional elections (in which the governing party lost badly), the discussion was back-pedalled, and eventually came to a stuttering halt. In a moment of what appears to me sheer lunacy, the government decided to change the debate. The notion now is to bring in a law banning the wearing of the full burqua in public places.
Part of the justification of passing such a law is on grounds of feminism, i.e. protecting the rights of women. This makes me feel extremely uneasy. I reckon you should never trust a man who says he’s a feminist, or a woman who says she isn’t, since it’s in neither of their best interests. The sight of these besuited, overwhelmingly male legislators making declarations about what is best for women rings alarm bells. There is another strand to the ban, which is around security, that no one should stride the streets of France with their face covered. However, I imagine the ban will not be extended to those who wear motorcycle helmets that cover their faces, and what about the parades around Carnival when revellers celebrate by wearing masks?
Perhaps I’m bigoted (to use the adjective of the moment), but underlying the statements about protecting women, I suspect an unexpressed racist undercurrent. What in effect is being said is that wearing this outfit is un-French.
My own confusion about race, identity, nationality, explains some of my unease. I was born and brought up in England of Irish parents who met in Argentina. Most summers we left the comfort of our little seaside resort, and exposed ourselves to the ritual of holidays with the Irish cousins. In England we were the Irish family (noisy, numerous), in Ireland we were the English (funny accents, no real understanding of the 600 years of oppression, or was it 700?). It was confusing but there were advantages. At least we could play both sides. We had no responsibility for the aftermath of the civil war in Ireland or the ravages of the IRA in England.
When I went to University in Ireland (Trinity College Dublin) I found it equally disconcerting. To some of my English contemporaries my accent meant that I was one of them and for the same reason, to many of my Irish friends I was also one of ‘them’, the Imperialists. For a while I decided to sound ‘more Irish’ but it felt uncomfortable. I wanted to be listened to for what I said, rather than the way in which I said it.
Where did I feel most at home? Hard to say. As a cradle Catholic my discovery of the Church in Ireland was a voyage of incredulity and shock. My revolutionary cousins, who thought nothing of threatening all kinds of retribution for all the wrongs they had suffered at the hands of the perfidious English, sat in the pews and listened like lambs to ill thought out, ignorant opinions and rules about how they should behave. In England I was appalled by the blithe dismissal of the ‘Ahrish’ as somehow quaint or faintly dangerous. I came to the conclusion that the English claimed a sense of history whereas they only had tradition. In Ireland there was nothing but history, but no real appetite for the future.
Ten years ago in London I sat drinking coffee with various tradesmen who were working on our house. The conversation turned to immigrants and who they liked or didn’t. The Asians came first. They didn’t really understand them but generally it was agreed they were alright, they worked hard, ran the corner shops and kept themselves to themselves. The men worked their way through the various ethnic groups - the West Indians, lazy but good cricketers, the Chinese, the Poles, the Jews, all had something in their favour. Finally one of the group spoke up. ‘The ones I really can’t stand are the Irish. Look at all the trouble they cause.’ There was a general nodding of heads in agreement around the table. I started to laugh. One of the men turned to me politely and asked, ‘Do you know many Irish people, Madam?’ ‘No,’ I replied a little acidly, ‘only my mother and father.’ There was a sudden scraping of chairs as they hastily made their way back to work.
So where does that leave me? I’m basically disoriented; I have no real sense of place or nationality. I often wonder had my parents emigrated to any other country, especially one which did not share a language, whether my own national identity would be clearer. I also wonder if it matters, especially now when borders mean less than they did. Generally I’m comfortable with the discomfort.
The discussion continues here in France, and the notion of ‘national Identity’ will meander its way around the political debate and possibly there will be some sort of conclusion. I hope as part of it, they drop the Burqua law.
I don’t think you can beat liberté, egalité, fraternité. It says it all. What does it mean? To me it says that it’s more important to have ideals about how to treat one another than it is to feel a sense of place.
© Clare Doyle
July 2010
Clare Doyle’s
JAZZ/FRANCE
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Clare Doyle
is a bi-lingual freelance writer and management consultant based in south-west France. She has worked in the diplomatic service and elsewhere, and has lived in London, Brussels, Mexico City and the USA. Now she combines some of her previous experience with an ambition to grow the best tasting tomatoes . . . and then there's always the novel!
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Also by Clare Doyle in London Grip:
interviews visiting Cuban musician ROBERTO FONSECA.
and
in New Orleans & Marciac, 2010.
and
and