I discovered the music of Mercedes Sosa in college in the early 90s, as I was digging through the CD bins of my dorm's library and happened upon a compilation album titled Gracias a la Vida. This was around the time I was also taking an intensive Spanish course and learning about Latin American social and political movements in my literature classes; and so Sosa's music became part of my awakening to an entire family of cultures that felt both distinct from and yet achingly resonant with my own.
Sosa was at the forefront of a cultural revolution herself as one of the pioneers of the nueva canción movement (about which Wikipedia has a lot more information if you're interested). But even before I understood the context for her career, or the enormous impact she had in her native Argentina and in Latin America in general, I was immediately drawn to the musical style -- rooted in folk rhythms and yearning melodies that reminded me of traditional Filipino ballads -- and to the lyrics, which (even in my imperfect grasp of Spanish) connected the daily details and emotions of individual existence to a larger sense of community and history. Somehow I recognized that, much like the Filipino activist musicians I grew up listening to -- Freddie Aguilar, the band ASIN -- she was a Voice of the People. And what a voice! Powerful and tender by turns, weighted by pain and loss, made light by love and exultation, full of memory and courage and hope: hers was a voice that could croon an infant to sleep, or raise an army.
"Gracias a la vida" was originally written and sung by Violeta Parra of Chile (a giant in her own right), but it became Sosa's signature song. As the title suggests, it's a prayer of gratitude to life, and it shifts constantly between the private and the universal. The singer gives thanks for her eyes, which can behold the sweep of stars in the firmament as well as single out her lover in a crowd; for her ears, which can hear all the sounds of the world -- crickets, hammers, waterfalls -- as well as the soft voice of her beloved; for her feet, which has crossed cities and deserts and mountains, and which lead her to her lover's door; for her heart, which beats faster when she considers the fruits of human endeavor, and when she looks into the clear depths of her lover's eyes. The final verse breaks the fourth wall as the singer expresses gratitude for laughter and tears, the two ingredients of the music she shares with us -- her listeners -- and with all the world. Her song is ours, and ours is hers.
Mercedes Sosa sings this exquisitely. The video below is a live performance for a small studio audience, and I love how every word is deeply felt, the clarity and purity of her voice like a direct line to her soul: intimate and confessional when singing of a lover, then swelling in strength and solidarity when turning to larger concerns.
The audio-only link below (which is what I'm including in the Spotify playlist) is a little different. It's the live concert recording that captivated me on the album I came upon decades ago, a performance for what sounds like a stadium crowd -- hushed at first, then roaring their love for her at the end, their adulation raising up her mighty voice like a banner.
Lyrics and a beautiful translation here (along with video of the original singer, Violeta Parra). There are more versions of "Gracias a la vida" out there, by everyone from Joan Baez to Plácido Domingo to the indie band Deerhoof, though I think Sosa sang it best. Whichever one you enjoy, it's a good reminder that even in these times there are still blessings to be grateful for, however large or small, and that we're all part of the same song: El canto de ustedes que es el mismo canto Y el canto de todos que es mi propio canto. -----
Listen to the Spotify playlist here.
Watch the YouTube playlist here.