Peruvian folk will win you no cool points. Of course, a plus side of this is that you may find your finger dexterity improves drastically from repeated attempts to sppedily close Spotify when people enter your room unannounced. But leaving a Soundcloud Peruvian folk playlist in full view of everyone in the Rad Cam will likely illicit nothing except vague contempt, or perhaps polite confusion, if anyone is bothered to look in the first place.

The Peruvian folk genre here encompasses a broad range of styles emerging from the sprawling Andean regions of South America.  Wind pipes predominate, as do small guitars called charangos; songs are often sung in indigenous languages such as Quechua or Aymara – celebrating these indigenous folk traditions has proved an important element in restoring dignity and hope to the marginalised indigenous communities of Latin America.

 And while Peruvian folk may lack the immediacy and visceral thrill of, say, EDM, at least it’s mercifully less fusty than English folk. So whether you want to relive the gap year or you just want to bring music back to its roots (maaaaan), Peruvian folk is an expansive and highly accessible genre. Exhibiting mellifluous harmonies alongside punchy basslines, Peruvian folk remains a powerful and unjustifiably maligned genre in today’s music milieu.

Wayna Picchu – Sisagu (San Juanito)

The Big Cheese (or should that be el queso grande) of the Andean folk world, Wayna Picchu is truly a folk God. With Sisagu’s  killer beat and ebullient choral overtones, things  will soon start to feel more Cuzco, less Tesco …

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiYnhxWzkoE&list=PL2A85A5980CDE3822

Oro Verde – Tankar Peru

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7qi-ky_qKDc

There’s a lot of ‘the human voice’ (I mean shouting) in this track; bathe in the vibes and witness some Peruvian inter-tribal dialogue first-hand.

Grupo Andes – El Condor Pasa

The most instantly recognisable folk song to come out of  the Machu Picchu environs; Simon and Garfunkel famously covered it, but for true authenticity, look no further than this version.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDmAQ45asyc

Huayno De La Roca – Los Incas

Showcasing the finest wind pipes west of Rio by another big name in the Andean folk world, this is pretty much as traditional as it gets.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhumvhOO6kE

Wayna Picchu – Pasion de Saya

Because one Picchu track is never enough.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PvBwOOlUbs&list=PL2A85A5980CDE3822

In Egypt, they’re all set to open an exact replica of the tomb of Tutankhamen. Fears about the tomb’s deteriorating condition have led authorities to create what is not a reconstruction of what it might have once looked like, but a copy of what it looks like now. Instinctively, I feel like there’s something wrong with this. If I’m visiting the tomb of Tutankhamen, I expect to stand in the exact place where the young king of Egypt was laid to rest. But it’s not like this is the only example.
The general reasons for using unauthentic copies for display – preservation of the original and/or lack of availability – seem perfectly reasonable, so why do I still feel like I’m being in some way cheated out of ‘the real experience’?

Think about other forms of culture. We still set great store by things like Shakespeare’s original manuscripts, which are on display in the British Museum, even though one might think that it’s really just the words that matter. Original Beatles vinyl records sell online for as much as £1,250, and sometimes even more; the new, remastered versions might sound ‘technically’ better, but they don’t provide the same air of authenticity.
This is because what we’re really looking for in our experience and reception of culture is something human. When I’m visiting the tomb of Tutankhamen, I’m not just looking at a nice piece of art, I’m experiencing an important moment in human history in the best way that I can. Studying cultural history can very easily remind us of how distant we actually are to these things. Reading an ancient Greek tragedy cannot tell us what it was like to watch it performed. That’s why we want to have a ‘real’ experience. We want to stroll through the actual streets of actual Pompeii, treading in the footsteps of people whose lives are incomprehensibly different to our own. When we experience culture through a copy or replica, we’re getting that much further from the art itself.

But how much does authenticity really matter? Clearly, we care about it deeply while we’re being offered the choice between a replica or the real thing, but what if we didn’t know? Pictures of the Tutankhamen replica, when placed alongside the original, show that there is little if any discernible difference between the two. If I were to visit, I’m sure I’d think I could tell the difference, but this would probably just be my imagination running away with me.

Let’s say that I think I’m standing outside the Pallazo della Signoria, looking at a lump of stone which a twenty-six-year-old Michaelangelo once carved into the Renaissance masterpiece which was, and is, the statue of David. Unfortunately, I’m unaware that it was replaced by a replica, and am therefore imagining myself to be experiencing all the culture and history of this magnificent work of art. It seems then that reasonably, authenticity doesn’t matter after all, as long as the viewer is unaware.

But in matters of culture, reason is surely a secondary issue. Even if I don’t know what the problem is while I look at this fake statue of David, the fact remains that from an outsider’s perspective there is a problem. Beyond thought and beyond reason, we care about authenticity. I can’t explain why it matters, but it really does.

BOOK – The last book that struck a chord with me was Elio Vittorini’s novel Conversations in Sicily. Written in 1930s Italy under the constraints of fascism, it is a subtly anti-fascist book which in very few pages explores themes such as the nature of humanity and social injustice. As there is little detail about Mussolini’s Italy, it is a timeless work equally relevant in any oppressed state. It deals with weighty issues but is a pleasure to read, with stunningly crafted characters and a lilting, lyrical language.

FILM – I can’t remember the last time I went to the cinema, which says something about Oxford life, but I recently saw Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and felt like everything was right with the world. My all-time favourite film is A Room with a View, the adaptation of Forster. It’s a period romance that really works, particularly with the star turns from Helena Bonham-Carter, Maggie Smith and Daniel Day-Lewis as you have never seen him before. It was also one of the films my parents went to see when dating…

MUSIC  –  My music taste is eclectic. Right now, however, I’m really enjoying the latest album Visions by Grimes, a Canadian musician who takes bizarre artistry to a whole new level. Apparently when writing the album she locked herself alone in her flat for three weeks, starved herself and alternated between cigarettes and amphetamines. Which should have made this album pretentious and self-indulgent. Instead it’s mesmerising, as though Bjork had written for Crystal Castles.
 
OPERA – I was desperate to see Bieito’s Fidelio at the Coliseum this year, but missed it. What I did  see was Grange Park’s interpretation of the Poulenc opera Les Dialogues des Carmélites. Written when Poulenc’s boyfriend was dying of TB in Paris, it uses the story of the martyred Carmelite nuns in the French Revolution to examine how to approach death. It is tense and atmospheric and deeply uncomfortable, particularly during the final Salve Regina, sung as the nuns mount the guillotine. It is a masterpiece.

 Dear Cherwell,

A Russian and Czech student’s third year is a good opportunity for him or her to go to Russia and the Czech Republic and speak some Russian and Czech; to encounter Russian and Czech people; Russian and Czech food; Russian and Czech music and Russian and Czech linen (unless he or she happens to value certain forms of cotton such as, for instance, the Egyptian type, and packs it in his or her luggage for the journey to Russia or the Czech Republic.)

Over the past few months, I have bizarrely found myself copying, step by step, the exact movements of a typical Russian and Czech student. It all started when I got so angry at my Uncle, who kept on tearing up and destroying mysterious letters addressed specifically to me and my cupboard-based bedroom, that I thought “screw it, I’m flying to Prague to study on a month-long Czech language course and then I’m going to teach English as a Comenius assistant in a 5000-population town’s primary school. That’ll show him”. So before I knew it, I was flying to Prague to study on a month-long language course.

Turns out that my rash, vengeful decision may not have been such a bad one. The month I spent in Prague was one of the cooler months I’ve ever spent anywhere, and I’m not talking about temperature! People had raved to me about it before coming – “Oh my God yah I went there on Inter-rahl it was so beaut mate. Also the Lobkowicz museum is the centerpiece of Czech national artistic heritage so you must go there”. I have to say though that I have since become Prague’s latest superfan.

It’s beautiful, impressive yet modest, not too big, fun, and immensely more enjoyable when wandered around with a really cool group of international students who all have at least one thing – the probably accidental learning of Czech – in common with you. Oh and about that, I learnt some Czech language too, for instance “Nevzpomínám si, jak jsem dostal šrám, mÄ›l jsem to celý můj život” means “I don’t remember how I got the scar, I’ve had it my whole life”. By the end of the course I was quite sad to leave, and travelling around Germany for a week helped remedy any post-Prague blues.

And what am I doing now, I hear a small group of family and close friends say just to avoid an awkward pause in conversation? Well, I’m actually in Budapest now. But normally I teach English in a primary school in a town called Rosice, which is a 30-minute bus ride away from the second biggest Czech city, Brno.

It’s a pretty mixed bag. I like the teaching part a lot and I’m a minor celebrity in the town as it is (merely by virtue of the fact that I’m English and living here), but in school it’s a whole other thing – the kids had never even seen anyone from another country before and now they’ve got someone from the same place as One Direction teaching English to them. Other bonuses include training with the B squad of a third division Czech football team (and all bragging rights attached) and the fact that it’s pretty easy for me to get out of the place when I so wish and meet up with friends in Brno. Yes, this does unfortunately mean that the town itself is heinously boring – it’s got a population of just 5000 people, a minimal selection of shops (one of which, to my initial amazement, is Tesco) and hardly anything to do whatsoever. What’s more, I’m living in the town’s only ‘hostel’ (a bunch of rooms above a restaurant) and I have no access to a kitchen meaning I eat all my meals in restaurants, or make do with cold sandwiches.

Despite those downsides, though, life out here has proved to be much more than bearable. I’d travelled for long periods in foreign countries before, but never for as long as this or completely alone – and that’s the big difference. Being alone for a long time, you’re forced to become the hyper-social person that you probably weren’t before, to try absolutely everything that’s put in front of you and to engage, willingly or not, with a totally foreign lifestyle. It’s been fascinating so far and I’m mega excited for the rest.

Love,

   Lazlo

     xxxx