We are, all of us, the latest rungs in a loose lattice that stretches to the dawn of time. Our parents, grandparents and great-grandparents, and all the generations that came before, can be found on other rungs further down the structure, with each contributing to the inherited DNA that imbue our genes with traits we deem unique. Other rungs are parallel to ours, of course, the latest steps in similar ladders. The further back we go, it becomes obvious that we’re all products of a shared past.
In the United States, for instance, some 40 percent of Americans can trace their lineage to ancestors who arrived on these shores via Ellis Island, the famed immigrant inspection station in New York Harbor that processed newcomers from 1892 to 1954. Aside from the indigenous peoples, however, the rest of us also arrived from elsewhere, too. My father’s side of the family, for example, relocated from Scotland to the American colonies in 1740, while the Swiss portion of my mom’s ancestral line came here about the same time. Her roots also trace to Ireland, with two ancestors—a husband and wife—immigrating to Philadelphia in 1843.
Of those immigrants who passed through Ellis Island: Some settled in the Northeast, most notably New York, Boston and Philadelphia, while others built lives elsewhere. In the case of singer Amanda Ekery, her Syrian-born great-grandfather was processed at the immigration center in 1913 and, after experiencing a relationship drama in New York, found his way to El Paso, where his nephew lived. That border town was also home to other members of the extended clan, including the woman, Aziz, he would marry; Aziz’s family, meanwhile, immigrated from Syria to Mexico before settling in Texas. There’s far more to the story, but in reading about it via a pdf of the art book that accompanies the LP, the similarity of the Ekery family history to most family histories is remarkable. They’re often messy and almost always complex, but leave us in awe of what our forebears endured.
The 12-track album itself also explores and celebrates Ekery’s Syrian-Mexican roots in ways that make us think of our own ancestral lines. It’s ostensibly jazz-pop with elements of other genres sprinkled in, and accented throughout by her velvety vocals. “Sky Rooted,” the opening cut, sets the theme in near-ambient fashion, while “Yenobak Eih”—a song she learned from an 80-year-old 78 RPM record found stored with others in her grandparents’ backroom—digs into a heartbreak most everyone, regardless of ethnic origin, will identify with.
“Three Days” shares the story of a Lebanese woman who, at age 20, moved from Massachusetts to Texas after a whirlwind “romance” with a Syrian businessman in 1915. “Between,” which follows, is a pithy look at the xenophobia that has plagued America from its earliest years: “How does one decide/Who’s better here, unwelcome there/Who belongs elsewhere?”
The stirring “Double Faced”—a mesmerizing piece that features wordless vocals—takes its cue from a quote by Dr. Philip Hitti, a noted Arab-American scholar (and Princeton professor) who authored the well-regarded History of Arabs in 1937: “But we are more than Syrians. Like Janus, the old Roman god, we are double-faced—and that in no slanderous sense. We have one face looking backways and another forward.”
Another highlight: the acoustic “Proud to Be,” which digs into a sentiment that most everyone will identify with: “I can be proud and ashamed of where I come from and what they do/Angry and content of what has passed and what they’ve yet to prove/It is what it is, and it’s not what we preach/But if this is who we are, what are we proud to be?” To me, it ranges from oft-hypocritical government policies to people treating those they deem different with disdain, not to mention the stereotypical portrayal of “others.” The whitewashing of history for reasons that serve no one, really, also gets my goat.
In short, Árabe is a tremendous album and book that are as entertaining as they are informative. They share stories, traditions and songs that every descendent of an immigrant—no matter how many rungs removed—should identify with, and relays them via words and melodies that linger long after the music has faded to silence.
The Old Grey Cat 