Inspired by the journey of his immigrant father from Cuba to the United States in 1959-60, Bryan Senti‘s La Marea takes on new relevance in the face of recent U.S. crackdowns. Once proclaiming, “Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” the nation – despite being founded by immigrants who cleared a path for colonization by killing the natives – has now turned its back on immigrants and refugees, especially those of color.
Senti recalls a different time, an era of hope and idealism, during which people often made the wrenching decision to leave the communities and nations they loved in order to provide better lives for themselves and their children. The music is infused with a dual feeling of longing: longing for what one has left behind, and longing for what lies ahead. Aiding Senti in this venture are bassist Spencer Zahn, cellist Noah Hoffeld and the Czech National Symphony, while the closing piece – an alternate version of “Saloma” and the only track featuring vocals – is written by Antonia Torres Aguëro and sung by Edward Parks.
The music starts quietly, like an idea: the first moment in which one considers leaving their nation behind. There’s a certain sadness in these early moments; can it really be so? The strings and bass are in conversation, asking each other the right questions, offering encouragement. Soon a pulse develops, like resolve. The decision has been made. In some circumstances, this involves a hike, a flight, a raft. The journey – physically and emotionally – will not be easy. As the pulse recedes, it reveals a sound like breath, the human element poking through. Then the major theme emerges, laid atop a loping beat like luggage on a mule.
The title track is the album’s longest, beginning with a rustle like rain. The music is lulling, rocking gently recalling rickety journeys by sea. In many areas, such journeys are still taking place; even now, there may be a raft of refugees somewhere, praying to find port. Only in the closing minutes does the orchestra enter, amplifying the drama. Have the refugees found safe haven, or have they been turned away? The sky brightens a bit in “Saloma,” a Janus-like piece that wrestles with the new identity while struggling to maintain a semblance of the old. The tug of emotions is conveyed through the early reluctance and late resolve of the strings. As the orchestral elements blossom in the fourth minute, the heart fills to overflowing.
While the vocal version of “Saloma” lends the set a sense of completion, we view “Tersura” as the finale. The word means smoothness or flow, and the music connotes a tentative, yet fragile peace. In this narrative, an immigrant has arrived safely, and after many struggles has become part of a new community in a far-away land. Yet across the borders and oceans, there still remain untold numbers who are yearning to breathe free. And who will allow them entry? (Richard Allen)