This turning point marks the beginning of Haiti, a pivot that ensured its diverse musical life. “We would not exist, if it weren’t for that month,” reflects Richard Morse, the driving force behind RAM. On August 1791, the group’s seventh album, the band harnesses all the elements that came together and led to the country’s unprecedented founding: the African and the Creole, the rural and the urban, the Christian and the vodou, the traditional and the exploratory.
“When Haiti won its revolution back in 1804, the majority of its citizens had been born in Africa. That's one reason so much diverse African culture has survived there. RAM draws on those traditions but also takes liberties with Haitian music, treating it as the living, morphing thing it's always been.” --NPR
“...jubliant music to defy grim conditions.” --The New York Times RAM’s musical evolution proved as multifaceted and unexpected as the traditions it draws on. Morse’s tastes were forged in the downtown New York scene of the late 70s and early 80s, the post-punk no-wave days, but he grew up steeped Haitian music thanks to his mother, a notable singer who performed songs like “Negrès Katye Moren” for Haitian dignitaries as a young artist.
They use the sounds that were there at Haiti’s birth--the single-note rara horns, the drums and singing of vodou rituals--and absorb traditional lyrics and ideas that have been too often left by the wayside by Haitian pop, such as the old practice of herbalism at the heart of the rocking “Otseya.” They point out key lessons in Haitian history, as in the high-energy “Dawomen Dakò,” about the historic pact between African and Creole communities to fight together for what would become Haiti. “They had to come together to succeed, and this song remembers that,” Morse remarks.
Even as they sift through the past, they experiment, adding electric guitars to drive the energy or striking instruments like clavinet (“Kongo ede’m priye”) to increase the emotional impact. Often, arranging and composing become acts of bricolage, taking a folkloric rhythm and running it under a ceremonial song (“St. Jak O”) or building a longer piece from two shorter songs, a practice common for bands creating carnival numbers, extended musical compositions that can last for half an hour or more.
Though their sound rocks, their foundation goes back to that moment in August 1791 that turned the tide. “The rhythms and songs we perform were performed back then at that time. If the French had won, none of this would have been remembered. Because it succeeded these traditions were preserved,” says Morse. “The fact that we add guitars and other contemporary elements can make it so you don’t hear that right away. If you strip away the modern instruments, you have this music.”