Frantz Casseus

From Philosopedia

(Casseus around 1964 - Photo by Melvin Unger)

Frantz Casseus (1915 - 1993)

Casseus, acknowledged as being the father of Haitian classical guitar, was born in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. When his aunt died, and because of a custom that belongings from those who died of illness should be discarded, Casseus according to Marc Methalier, editor of Essai Bibliographique sur la Vie de Frantz Casseus (1995), said,

• The sight of [Aunt Andree's] mandolin perched on what seemed a pile of garbage - alongside the memory of her music - has never ceased to haunt me . . . I burned with desire.

He not only retrieved the mandolin but also taught himself how to play it as well as a guitar. In time, he became known for his distinctly Haitian classical guitar music, much as Heitor Villa-Lobos and Béla Bartók had become known for their Brazilian and Hungarian folk songs.

After performing in Haiti and Latin America since 1941, in 1953 he made his debut in New York City's Town Hall. In 1956 he was the first black to play classical guitar at New York City's Carnegie Hall. When accompanying Lolita Cuevas on a Folkways disk, Haitian Folk Songs, the Times reviewer remarked, "The taste of both performers is excellent. At another concert, however, a Times reviewer complained of his "unreliable intonation and an erratic sense of rhythm."

Frantz became a skilled woodworker and luthier - during his life, he hand-made more than 150 guitars to supplement his income.

Contents 1 Memories By Marc Ribot 1.1 In the Beginning 1.2 The Afro-Carib Label 1.3 Merci Bon Dieu 1.4 His Death 2 Obituary in The New York Times

Memories By Marc Ribot

One of Casseus's students, Marc Ribot, wrote that during his youth Casseus lived at a time (1915 to 1934) in which Haiti was being occupied by the U. S. military and when "its cultural integrity must have felt threatened."

In an editorial Casseus wrote "Our Méringue Is Dying," in which he complained that "Some with indifference, others with an indignant sadness, have witnessed the disappearance of one of our most delicious national dances which is like a precious pearl ornament of our folklore." The Haitian méringue "invites [one] to dance, contains a subtle and delicious melody. . . . [Its] character, its simple and limited form, made it a dance with noble stature, and even a classic." (Frantz Casseus, "Notre Méringue se muert," Haiti Journal, 1944).

Ribot discussed his teacher in Bomb Magazine:

In the Beginning

Haitian classical guitar repertoire [had been] completely determined by what was being performed in Europe. Frantz looked instead to Haitian folk forms: "I believe it is the artist's function to render articulately and with beauty the soul of the land of his origin and also the world that he experiences. . . . As you may know, my work is considered an expression of the Haitian spirit. Yet, critics have stated (and this has been my hope) that it transcends regionalism and enters the realm of transnational art." (Interview with Ira Landgarten, Frets Magazine #17, 1989)

This leap of imagination may seem obvious from a contemporary standpoint, but in the Haiti of the late '30s and early '40s it was anything but. Aimé Césaire was only just articulating the Negritude Movement. To imagine a fusion of the European classical tradition and Haitian folk music, to imagine the "Haitian spirit" as relevant and necessary to "the realm of transnational art," was bold and shocking.

Before Frantz could incorporate Haitian folklore into the tradition of the classical guitar, he first had to study it. As the relatively protected son of a civil servant (his father headed the Department of Water Supply), Frantz had had limited direct experience of Haitian folk culture. He dropped out of law school in order to become a full-time guitarist. He then set out to make contacts "with certain griots and people initiated in our culture. Thus strengthened, I overflowed with rhythms, forms, lyrics of my future compositions."

Frantz's relation with the U.S. occupiers was complex. He'd heard jazz on the soldiers' radios and phonographs. Although his sense of musical mission emerged from a desire to protect Haitian music from this cultural intrusion, he was also attracted to jazz. Frantz told me he came to New York to meet Fats Waller. The meeting never took place; Waller died within a year of Frantz's arrival in 1946. But the influence is audible in Frantz's stride piano/jazz harmony - inflected composition "Romance" and was visible in his appreciation of well-made hats. Frantz initially stayed at the Sloan YMCA and various Upper West Side addresses before settling at 312 West 87th Street, where he completed Haitian Suite, the masterpiece he recorded in 1954 for Folkways Records.

The Afro-Carib Label

Ribot continued:

What did Frantz do? To quote from the upcoming Tuscany Publications book of Frantz's works for solo guitar:

• In the late '60s Casseus began to compose again for voice and guitar, publishing the album Haitienesques. In 1969, he released the recording Haitiana on the Afro-Carib label (now available on CD through Smithsonian Folkways as Haitian Dances, Haitian Suite).

Supplementing Ribot's account is the following, by Warren Allen Smith, co-owner of Variety Recording Studio:

• During the late 1960s and early 1970s, Casseus booked sessions at Fernando Vargas's and my Variety Recording Studio in Times Square. Frantz found it difficult to afford even our studio's moderate rates, and because we recognized he was extraordinarily talented we invited him to record an album for free, one which we would distribute and would share any profits 50-50. Casseus chose Méci Bon Die [Mèsi Bondye in Kreyòl] and the other songs to be included, brought an attractive girl to sing them, and we put out an LP under the independent label which we named Afro-Carib Records just for the one album. Library Journal reviewed the LP favorably, but distribution was difficult and the LP was not a financial success. It was one of the rare times that we entered into such an arrangement, which was common practice with other studios that often went out of business, but we stayed in business from 1961 until 1990, charging hourly rates and not working "on spec."

Although Casseus continued to compose through the 1980s, his career as a performing guitarist was hampered from 1970 onward by an increasingly debilitating tendon problem in his left hand. This eventually forced a premature retirement from concertizing, which, combined with the unavailability of his recordings, contributed to a loss of Casseus's visibility on the U.S. classical guitar scene. Afro-Carib had gone out of business and Folkways was highly disorganized in its later years.

I noticed Frantz's increasing difficulties only gradually, from the distance I'd placed between my family and myself. At that time, I felt my studies with Frantz had been at best a quaint diversion from the electric path my music had taken. At worst, I cursed the frustrating right-hand slowness of execution resulting from my failed 15-year attempt to play electric guitar classical style, without a pick. It was only beginning to dawn on me that the economy forced on me by that slowness had been my aesthetic salvation, the frustration itself a connection to a frustrated no-wave musical moment.

I was plucked from my self-absorption by a phone call from Rhoda: Frantz was in trouble. For years, he'd been in a state of denial about the increasing clumsiness of his left hand. Current medical expertise would most likely have recommended a respite from playing. At the time, Frantz thought that he just needed to practice more. But the more he practiced, the clumsier he got, till he could hardly play at all. He believed, had to believe, that he was making progress. Eventually his delusion collided with the world: Frantz accepted a concert engagement in honor of his contributions to Haitian culture from the Societé de Recherche et de Diffusion de la Musique Haitienne in Montreal.

My aunt's plan, seemingly stolen from one of the musical comedy scripts she'd pitched (and sold) to Broadway producers, was for me to act as the unofficial understudy in case things went badly. I'd already learned some of Frantz's pieces as his student; I started practicing the rest. Frantz took off for Montreal about five days before the concert. On day three, Rhoda, who had somehow made herself available to the concert promoters, began to receive calls of increasing urgency. I got on a plane to Montreal and stayed up most of that night with Frantz correcting my interpretation of his pieces. The next evening, after having survived an early-morning audition before representatives of the Societé, I played Frantz's repertoire in concert.

It wasn't a brilliant concert - classical guitarist is one of those jobs, like professional football linebacker, in which one doesn't dabble - but it was okay. My relief was tempered with regret; it wasn't quite right that by default I had wound up as Frantz's main interpreter. And I was concerned over what Frantz must actually be feeling as he accepted the audience's applause.

Back in New York, Frantz's tendon problems, in spite (or because) of an operation on his wrist and other medical interventions, didn't improve. Another composer might have shifted to piano as a tool and continued writing. But Frantz's attachment to music was through the guitar. "Of all musical instruments, classical guitar is closest to the human voice," Frantz liked to say. In no way, of course, is this objectively true, but it was true for Frantz; it was his human voice.

Merci Bon Dieu

There was another source of discouragement: he wasn't receiving much income from what he'd written. The work was generating income: his vocal version of "Merci Bon Dieu," one of the Haitian Suite pieces, had been recorded by Harry Belafonte, French vocalist Gilles Dreux and others. But Frantz was the victim of a classic music-biz malaise. He had, over the course of his career, signed publishing deals with various companies that had been sold and resold. My mother, Harriet Ribot, had offered to help Frantz untangle this knot in order to both generate income for him and clear the rights to publish Frantz's work in book form. The process took over a decade. My mother's persistent inquiries uncovered one old account of over nine thousand dollars, ostensibly never paid because the publishers were unable to reach him - though Frantz hadn't moved in 30 years and was listed in the phone book. Publishing royalties aren't just a prize for a composer, they're a sign that someone out there is listening, a note of encouragement from the world. Would Frantz have written more in a fairer world? Looking at the decades-late check, Frantz told my aunt, "I had thought my contribution was without value."

His Death

By that time, the point was moot. A series of strokes and heart attacks left Frantz increasingly debilitated during his last years. We were in close touch during that time - Frantz supervised my recording of his solo guitar pieces for the Disques du Crépuscule label from his 87th Street nursing-home bed. Although paralyzed in half his body and often finding it difficult to form words, Frantz was mentally alert and able to make insightful critiques of the work. During this period Frantz was visited by friends, family and well-wishers from the Haitian cultural scene, where his status as a major composer is well established. In 1992 he was honored as "a living testimony of Haitian cultural survival with authenticity" by the Recreational, Artistic and Literary Haitian Club of New York. In Haiti itself, bootlegs of Frantz's recordings are still circulated.

Frantz Casseus did what he'd set out from Haiti to do. In order to do it, he chose a life of great solitude, imposed on himself a type of exile, forfeited (although he was by no means celibate) the pleasures of a wife and children, spent his life on the edge of poverty, and lived as a black man in a United States whose southern racists wouldn't let him stay in the hotels where he performed and whose northern liberals had difficulty accepting his work as classical, preferring to hear it within a "folk" context when they heard it at all. He carried these burdens with such little complaint they seemed not to matter. Those who knew Frantz knew better. But Frantz chose this life because he loved composing, he loved playing the classical guitar. Love's burdens are lightly borne.

Frantz died in June 1993. Before he did, my aunt, my mother and I promised him that we'd look after his work. The first print book of Frantz Casseus's complete works for solo classical guitar will be released by Tuscany Publications.

Obituary in The New York Times

Frantz Casseus, a guitarist and composer, died last Thursday at Mount Sinai Hospital. He was 77 and lived in Manhattan.

Harriet Ribot, a friend, said the cause was heart failure.

Mr. Casseus was born in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, in 1915 and began studying the guitar on an instrument he built himself when he was 12 years old. In the 1930's he studied music with Werner Jaegerhuber, a musicologist.

By the time he moved to New York in 1946, he was also composing works that combined Haitian rhythms and melodic figures with classical harmonizations. His "Haitian Suite" became one of the centerpieces of his repertory, and he recorded it for Folkways Records. Another of his compositions, "Merci Bon Dieu," was recorded by Harry Belafonte and Hugh Masekela. Mr. Casseus toured with Mr. Belafonte.

He is survived by two brothers, Jean Claude of Brooklyn and Pierre of Mount Vernon, N.Y..