Welcome to Alaw, my blog about music in Cymraeg. I thought it would be interesting for us to get to know each other better, so here’s the story of how I, a 22-year-old Portuguese woman, came to start writing about this topic:
Somewhere in 2005, in the north of Portugal
With my eyes fixed on the window, I was a spectator of a new world, which was passing me by far too quickly for me to take it all in. At just a dozen months old, the universe was still far too great for me to make sense of its vast existence, and so I simply contented myself with admiring the blurs of colour and the rain falling on the other side of the glass. Even if I stretched out my tiny, chubby fingers, my arms weren’t long enough to make the journey from my car seat to the landscape outside. I don’t know if I kicked my legs, or at what exact moment I turned my head to look round the car. All I know is that at some point, I must have preferred to see something familiar, tangible.
At the wheel was my father, who was talking to my mother in a low voice. The sounds they made were complex, compared to the simplicity of my crying or my laughter. Words, sets of words that formed sentences, sentences that were used to tell stories, or to express what they were feeling. All of these were still distant concepts to me. I’d never had to express myself like them in order for them to understand me, nor did I know how to do so. That was simply how we communicated. My parents spoke to me in a gentle voice, using those adult linguistic constructions, and I made noises that they deciphered.
However, there was one exception to this established order. When my father’s CDs were playing, I could speak the language of adults. The moment sentences became lyrics, the alphabet and the metaphors suddenly made sense. I could respond to the voice coming from the radio. I could sing.
The first time I managed this trick was sometime in 2005, on a day just like this, in the car.
“She’s talking!” exclaimed my mum. “No, not talking. She’s singing!”
I don’t know how melodious my early rendition of ‘Bang Theory’ by the World Leader Pretenders was. There have certainly been better first covers. I don’t even know why I took a shine to a song whose lyrics weren’t even in my mother tongue, Portuguese. What is certain is that my first words, or rather, my first verses, hinted at something that has become clear throughout my life. Music is my favourite way of communicating, regardless of the language. If I can’t speak, I sing.
With Cymraeg, my gateway was the same. Out of a deep fascination with the Arthurian legend, I’d already seen it written down. However, it was a song that finally made me want to learn it. Welsh voices I recognised had already been playing on the CD player in my parents’ car. Manic Street Preachers, Stereophonics and Catatonia were part of the soundtrack to our journeys, so I’d been familiar with them for many years. However, this year I wanted to find out what a Welsh song in Cymraeg would sound like, and the first one I came across was ‘Adferwch y Cymoedd’ by Hergest.
The feeling was similar to that of that afternoon in 2005. Faced with the impossibility of speaking, I tried singing. The grammar, pronunciation and rules were the world outside the car, so vast and difficult to take in, whilst Delwyn Siôn’s song was what filled the car, with a familiar and moving sound.
However, I’m now 22, and the comfort of the back seats is no longer enough for me. The music in Cymraeg that I’ve come across has completely captivated me, and so, as well as inspiring me to write about it, it has also motivated me to start learning the language. I don’t speak it well yet, and as you read what I write here, I hope you’ll also be able to see how that will change.
Diolch i chi am fod yma gyda mi.
Yn gywir,
Cari