My real “Canadian experience”
Some memories about becoming part of Cantemos/UCC
By Jacinto Salcedo
Cantemos, 2019
I came to Canada in the fall of 2007 with my wife and two daughters. We landed in Toronto with big hopes for a better future. Coming from Venezuela – a tropical country, with a different language and an unstable political situation – it was both a beautiful adventure and a cultural shock.
We tried to make the experience as rich and engaging as possible. We were sponges in the quest to absorb the culture, ideas, and values of this country.
In our first winter here, we played with snow like children, walking with our mouths open to feel the flurries melt in our mouths. We had to wait for 45 minutes at a bus stop in the middle of winter, painfully cold because we didn’t know how to read the times on the transit schedule.
Come spring, we loved the “yellow flowers” that bloomed everywhere – only to learn later that dandelions are considered a weed. We thought that raccoons were the cutest masked urban pets. We loved collecting maple leaves – the leaf in the flag – in the fall, only to be overwhelmed a couple of weeks later with the number of leaves we had to rake! We cried at Tim Horton commercials, we bought our bicycles at Canadian Tire, shopped for winter boots at The Bay, and spent countless days at the ROM and the AGO.
One special memory stands out. Our daughters were in the choir of West Prep Public School, and they got to sing the national anthem at a Jays game, only seven months after we arrived.
Immigrating is a process that shakes your identity. There are so many preconceptions that come with your own culture, the perception of family, money, your contribution to society, and the unwritten cultural norms.
Small things, like meeting someone in Caracas (in a friendly environment), and you give them a kiss on the cheek. It’s customary. Can you imagine giving a kiss to every person you meet in Toronto? They will think you’re a freak!
Even as we dipped our arepas in maple syrup, when everything was still new and exciting, we craved to have conversations beyond small talk about the weather. We so badly wanted to belong.
Cantemos performing at Pedestrian Sundays in Kensington Market, Toronto 2011
And then, the cultural shock
All immigrants know the stories of medical doctors, engineers and lawyers coming to Canada and having to get survival jobs driving taxis, cleaning houses, cooking. Although there is nothing wrong with that type of work, we thought that it was tremendously unfair for professionals to leave their country, and their families, invest a lot of time and money to start a new life and still have to start from scratch. It felt dreadful. Luckily for us, being graphic designers, the skills of my wife and I were easily transferable, so it wasn't as hard in our case.
“You need Canadian experience” or “you are overqualified” were the standard answers to almost any job application. I remember clearly saying to my wife “How can I have Canadian experience if nobody gives us a chance?”. Of course, after a few attempts, that changed. We found someone who gave us a chance. Some would debate that – being overqualified and underpaid – but nevertheless, it was a chance.
Naturally, our first friends here were Venezuelans, people with whom we pretty well shared the same life story. Each of us had our own struggles and rewards. Fast-forward to three years after our arrival, and we were employed, and putting down roots, making new friends and connections. We started to be "famous" amongst our friends for throwing backyard parties with Venezuelan food and music.
One day I got a phone call that changed my life. He said, “Hi my name is Ray. I am Sara’s friend, and she told me that you are a Tenor.” Ray (Raymundo Musa) told me about this choir that specialized in Latin American choral music. He said that the Upper Canada Choristers featured music from Venezuela in a concert (From Aurora Borealis to the Amazon: Featuring music from Canada, Scandinavia and Latin America, 2008), and that had prompted the realization that there was enough material and singers to have a separate, auditioned ensemble; however, they lacked tenors (what’s new?).
Cantemos, 2012
Fed by tradition
In Venezuela, there is a well-established choral tradition. It was part of the nationalist movement, in the early 20th century. Huge efforts were put into compiling and arranging all kinds of music that included Spanish, Afro-Venezuelan and indigenous influences. Much of it inspired choral arrangements, with chants that were either religious or pagan (since that had become part of Venezuela’s folklore). Maestros and composers such as Vicente Emilio Sojo led the movement and were part of the democratic transition.
Everyone in Venezuela sings. At family parties, in schools, and in churches. Singing is engrained in our culture. There is even an "institutional” aspect to choral singing, as many corporations have their own choirs. There are a few famous bank choirs, university choirs, oil company choirs, and ad agencies choirs. It is a way for employees to bond.
I started singing in children's choirs at both school and church. As a teenager, I took some music classes at the conservatory and then had the chance to sing at a higher level when I went to college. I auditioned for the “support choir” of the Municipal Orchestra in Caracas. We sang impressive mass choir pieces like Carmina Burana or Verdi’s Requiem. I have to confess that I was never a good music reader, so I memorized my part and faked by flipping the pages.
When I received that phone call from Ray, I hadn’t sung for at least 15 years, so the prospect of singing again, and singing Latin American music, in particular, was really appealing.
I was so eager to jump in and sing, that I brought my cuatro (a traditional guitar-like instrument from Venezuela) and bought new bongos, but then another set of cultural shocks hit me. I had never studied music in English, so there were new terms and contexts that I didn’t know.
For instance, until today I don’t understand why it is written “BASS” but is pronounced “BASE”. Why are “sharps” and “flats” not a more translatable version of “sostenido” and “bemol”. Was this a conspiracy to confuse me?
Jokes apart. I felt that studying music again made me younger… that my brain was making new synapses.
I remember with particular fondness the time we were learning to sing Venezuelan music written in 5/8 time. For the non-Venezuelan members of Cantemos it was a steep curve, learning how to count, on what beat to feel the rhythm, and so on. For us Venezuelans, it was a musical pattern that is engrained in our soul as most of the aguinaldos (Christmas music), as well as the very first song I learnt to play on the cuatro, are in 5/8.
Cantemos, 2013
Belonging. No, better than that, thriving
Brené Brown talks about the difference between fitting in and belonging: “Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn't require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.”
When I joined Cantemos I felt seen, or should I say heard? For the first time since immigrating, I felt that my cultural background was appreciated and celebrated.
Laurie’s appreciation and curiosity for Latin American music is a constant motivation. With her respectful and caring style as an artistic director, she has allowed us to provide insights into the music we grew up listening to and singing. The content of the lyrics, the nuances of the musical styles, the search for an authentic representation and not a “whitewashed” version. All of a sudden, I was some sort of expert in aspects of my culture that felt so natural to me.
I consider myself an “OK” singer, so being part of Cantemos felt like a “life promotion”. I don’t even have words to describe the privilege of singing side by side with “real singers” from other Venezuelan choirs that I actually went to see performing at concert venues.
Amongst my peers there are singers that belonged to Venezuelan cultural institutions such as the Schola Cantorum, the Cantoría Alberto Grau, Cantarte, the Orfeón Universitario and the Universidad de Carabobo choir.
Furthermore, singing in a choir is a communal activity. It’s part of the nature of getting together and sharing. So, the social aspect of rehearsals is equally important to me. I’m always looking forward to seeing my fellow choristers, sharing a coffee, catching up on our lives and events.
Cantemos behind the scenes in Singing Together, Toronto 2017.
This friendship has given me a sense of family. A safe place where I can be myself and express my vulnerability for a piece of music that touches my soul so deeply.
It is not uncommon that in the middle of a rehearsal we burst into tears. The remembrance of the struggle in Latin America for social justice or simply the sheer beauty of the music we’re singing that’s so close to our hearts. I particularly remember singing Te Quiero by Mario Benedetti and struggling to hold back my tears, only to notice out of the corner of my eye that Otto and Ray were doing the same. We just had to let it all out and hug each other.
And if any of these accomplishments weren’t enough, I had the wonderful opportunity to have two of my poems used for new choral commissions – Cantando Flores (Stephen Hatfield) and La Rosa de Los Vientos (César Alejandro Carrillo). This is a huge item off my bucket list!
Time passed, I changed jobs, I divorced, my daughters graduated from college, I moved several times… and through it all, the choir has been the only constant in my life.
Before coming to Canada, people told me that “Canadians were not as friendly as Venezuelans at the beginning, but once they warmed up to you, you’ll have a friend forever”, and oh boy, these Canadians have kept my heart warm, season after season.
Cantemos’ rehearsal, 2018