Previews: FULL FRAME Documentary Film Festival, April 6-9, 2017

Has it been 20 years already? Full Frame Documentary Film Festival rounds out its second decade in the heart of Durham, opening this Thursday (4/6) at the Carolina Theatre and other downtown venues, and running through Sunday (4/9).

They say cada cabeza es un mundo, and in the documentary universe, every film grants us access to a world we don't normally see: from Holocaust survivors, to Aleppo's White Helmets; viral Internet celebrities, to escaped victims of Boko Haram; LGBT folks, to people with disabilities; tribal leaders, to solitary caretakers; poets, dancers, and musicians, to outsider artists and nomads. Documentaries have a way of mining even ordinary lives for their not-so-ordinary revelations--and blind spots.

Check out the vast subject matter, complete lineup and schedule at Full Frame's website:

FESTIVAL LINK:
Full Frame Documentary Film Festival

Selected reviews:

Thursday Screenings

Still Tomorrow, dir. Jian Fan, China, 88 min.

   Viral Internet poet Yu Xiuhua rejects labels--whether it's being hailed as the "Chinese Emily Dickinson," discriminated against as a person with cerebral palsy, or tagged as "bad in a former life" by the local shaman. She has said in interviews: “I am first and foremost a woman, then a peasant, then a poet; but if you forget to ask about all my labels when you read my poems, then I respect you.”
   Rising from rural obscurity in 2015, the 40-year-old poet trapped in an unhappy marriage earns new fans, and sets all of China talking--about talent and disability, sexuality and empowerment. Will freedom and independence (sexual, personal, financial) lead Yu to a new kind of despair? Or can she learn to walk through the waves without falling?
   I liked this film more than I was expecting to. Although I don't speak Chinese, I fell in love with Yu Xiuhua, her honesty, and the way she uses poetry to exist. There are too few films about 40-year-old women, their struggles, their love lives, and their art. Especially given that the Internet--the medium of Yu Xiuhua's fame--is a young person's game.

Timberline, dir. Elaine McMillion Sheldon, US, 13 min.

   What happens when a US Naval base goes up for sale? The tiny town of Sugar Land, in remote Pendleton County, West Virginia, is about to find out. Meanwhile, a mountaintop NSA listening station, known as Timberline, continues to operate nearby, in near-total secrecy--since Wikileaks revealed some of its operations.
    This film is a nifty vignette, leaving some dangling question marks about what our government is up to, but maybe, like the residents of Sugar Land, we don't have to worry about it so much. I loved the coincidental documentary aspects of the film, capturing residents' homey interior decor, and the way they talked--whether it was to the camera, to each other, or to undercover federal agents.

Friday Screenings

All Skate, Everybody Skate, dir. Nicole Triche, US, 20 min.

   The Topsail Beach Skating Rink is open every night from 7 to 10, care of Doris Jenkins, who is also the local Postal clerk. In an airbrushed t-shirt emblazoned with her name, the almost-octogenarian spins scratchy 45s and rents out skates to kids of all ages, in this sweet slice of americana (which is always local) on one of the more humble of North Carolina's Outer Banks islands.
   The disco ball may have a few cracked mirrors, but just like Doris, it still takes its nightly spins around the rink, seemingly unstoppable.

Anatomy of a Male Ballet Dancer, dir. David Barba, James Pellerito, US, 83 min.

   Professional ballet is a rarified world of exaggerated theatricality, physical discipline and perfection. At 37-years-old, American Ballet Theater star Marcelo Gomes is pushing the envelope on what a great partner dancer can do. We learn about the family history and career of this Brazilian, and openly gay man, known for his special ability to connect with female ballerinas. The "anatomy" of the title becomes all too real through the course of the film, as we watch him struggle against the inevitable limitations of his aging, though still magnificent body.
    I feel like the film lacks something in terms of cinematography and narrative arc:  there are too many talking heads, telling us what a great dancer Marcelo is, testimonials that would seem to fit better on an artist's web resume. We travel from city to city with the globetrotting artist, ho hum, predictably earning rave reviews in each. For awhile, I wondered if this guy was going to have any problems; and then the ruptured relationship with his father was introduced. However, this just remained a source of unresolved tension; it does speak to a powerful source of stress in LGBT lives, i.e. the rejection by family members. All in all, Marcelo is a complex character, whom I felt I was only just beginning to get to know by the end of the film.
   The best scenes by far were the closing ones, shot in Central Park, taking us outside the theater for a moment and into nature, where Gomes' sheer physicality and emotional sensitivity finally came together into a memorable image. It made me wish the whole movie had been framed differently, to show more, rather than to tell quite so much.

The Kodachrome Elegies, dir. Jay Rosenblatt, US, 11 min.

   Looking at Kodachrome home movies feels insanely personal. I almost quivered with existential grief, watching the director's own family home movies in Part 1. It felt like I was watching my own parents, my own sheltered childhood--because our home movies looked exactly like this:  same colors, same clothes, same vacations, same interior design, and those same, self-conscious and funny ways we staged ourselves for the clickety-clack handheld camera. Part 2 taps the wider world of educational and commercial films, the safe, sanitized zone of public life. Then comes Part 3:  raw Zapruder Film footage, images we have seen so many times, that we can no longer "see" them, anymore than we can "unsee" them.
    The narrative arc thus created--exploding "safety" and nostalgia--may be simplistic, but delivers the intended primal shock.

The Original Richard McMahan, dir. Olympia Stone, US, 21 min.

   Miniaturization is something we associate with doll houses and model makers--but does it belong in a museum? Can a "Mini Museum" constitute a grand narrative about humanity's drive to create? Flea market employee Richard McMahan thinks so, so he huddles over the kitchen counter of his childhood home in Florida, building tiny versions of furniture, sculptures, paintings, and technological artifacts from all times and places in human history. Each item and brushstroke tells a story, not only of the object, but of Richard's depth of study into the artist's motives and methods, and his utter commitment to handiwork in the age of digital reproduction.
   There are several short films about Richard McMahan already on YouTube, so this subject begs for a feature-length treatment--this is a delightful point of entry, following Richard along his daily rounds, and to a serious exhibition of his work at the Halsey Institute of Contemporary Art in Charleston.

Saturday Screenings

The Botanist, dir. Maude Plante-Husaruk, Maxime Lacoste-Lebuis, Canada, 20 min.  

    Like a Tajik Michelangelo--or post-Soviet Luke Skywalker--Raïmberdi combines traditional wisdom of Kyrgyz elders with his university science training to create a small renaissance:  a hydroelectric generator, built literally out of junk. His ingenuity makes life more comfortable for his family, but what he really wants is to work as a botanist again. Tales from the forgotten fringes of empire, with bleakly beautiful views of the mountainous Shaymak region of Tajikistan. 
    Gorgeous visuals; I wanted to watch this film again so my eyes didn't have to search for subtitles.

Dysphoria: Inside the Mind of a Holocaust Survivor, dir. Joseph Edward, UK, 16 min.

   A small upright figure walks along Brighton beach, surrounded by a beautiful, but harsh environment: crumbling chalk cliffs, an impervious sky, and waves that have pounded striated rock for centuries. Ladislaus Löb, a Transylvanian Jew in British exile, looks back over his life, as slow dolly shots take us back down the streets and train tracks of his memories--from his hometown, where anti-semitism was routine, to the Hungarian ghetto, and eventually Bergen Belsen. Ladislaus escaped the notorious death camp, through a twist of fate, and lives with a kind of survivor's guilt, or dysphoria.
    A brief film that covers a lot of ground, connecting us effectively to distant times and places through intimate testimony and self-examination.

The Great Theater, dir. Slawomir Batyra, Poland, 30 min.

   Peek behind the scenes at the Teatr Wielki--the Grand Theatre of Warsaw--and discover the inner workings of a small city unto itself, or perhaps a giant spaceship: a hive of machinery, otherworldly in scope, with a well-coordinated army of technicians, mechanics, engineers, costumers, carpenters, shoemakers, maids, musicians, and actors. Directing it all, like the voice of consciousness itself, is an omniscient stage manager who ensures seamless operations.
    Witty, fascinating, and purely visual, like an industrial sci fi movie made before cgi.

Shredding in the Desert: Tinariwen @ Cats Cradle 3.20.14

"Welcome to the desert," said Tinariwen's Abdallah Ag Alhousseyni, the singer in palest blue robes who orchestrated our clapping with his elegant gestures and spacious dance moves. The Carrboro, North Carolina audience swarmed in unison as if to say, "Yes please. Take me to your campfire."

Frontman and founder Ibrahim Ag Alhabib, he of the trademark loose mane, was missing, as on other recent U.S. tours. I heard it said it's due to visa problems. Fear not, though, filling his lead guitar and vocalist shoes is Sadam Iyar Imarhan, who sounds and even looks eerily like a younger version of Ibrahim. Sadam doesn't speak much English, but a Mauritanian friend helped me to understand he's been with the group for just one month, and is a cousin of bandmember Hassan (not currently on the tour). All the rest of Tinariwen are long-time members.

 

There was exciting chemistry between Sadam and bassist Eyadou Ag Leche. Roostering about with their axes, they played off each other and even broke into occasional smiles, causing slight ruptures in Tinariwen's usual onstage demeanor--a powderkeg of reserve, ecstatic awareness rippling beneath a calm surface.

"Desert Blues" is at once perfectly evocative, and yet somehow a woefully inadequate label to describe the the Tuareg sound. The analogy makes historic and visceral sense but only gets you part way there. There's call and response singing, and what seems (to this unstudied observer) to be quite elaborate polyrhythmic and formal structures. Above all, the poetic trancey vibe is unlike anything else, and highly addictive. But as trancey as it gets, it always feels like the songs follow ancient forms. Nonetheless, there's plenty of room in there for ecstatic transport, and a quality of being fully in the moment.

This kind of jibes with something Eyadou told me after the set. Still looking incredibly youthful after 15 years with the band, he told me Tuaregs think differently about age and time.

"In the desert, we don't [celebrate] birthdays. I am living today. Every day is my happy birthday." 

--Tinariwen bassist Eyadou Ag Leche

For the encore set, Abdallah took up guitars and lead vocal for some acoustic and electric stuff. Here's a few moments featuring bass and guitar solos from Eyadou and Abdallah:



The new album is called Emmaar; the vinyl edition with free CD inside sold for $25 at the merch table.

LINKS:

Tinariwen band webpage

The Great Peace: KAIRABA releases 2nd CD at Cats Cradle, 3/14

Diali Cissokho & Kaira Ba had the audience it deserved Friday night:  a Cradle full of people who know the band, and passionately share in its music. This CD release party for its eponymous second CD, which translates “Kaira Ba” as The Great Peace, turned out more of a euphoric frenzy. Fully in command, the 6-piece plus special guests enjoyed the richly deserved moment, three years since their inaugural show at the Nightlight in February 2011.

The throbbing pulse of Orquesta GarDel had only recently faded, and salsa dancers ebbed from the floor, as we waited for Kaira Ba to set up and go on. GarDel played a strong opening set, with its out-of-town members Brevan Hampden (timbales) and Andy Kleindienst (trombone), both on sabbatical to attend grad school, in the house and representing. Some of these faces—conguero Atiba Rorie, saxophonist Tim Smith—would stick around to lend an assist later.

Two koras with their gourd shells ornamented, one with a beautiful painting of Africa, the other studded with the name KAIRABA, leaned in repose at a place of honor center stage. Corralled around them:  a panoply of hand drums of different sizes and origins—sabar, thiol, djembes, congas, dundun, calabash. Amps, guitars, drumset and upright bass set the stage to ready mode. Grabbing prime spots near the edge of the stage, Kaira Ba’s international fanbase came ready to party in looks that ranged from jeans and beards, to palazzo pants and sequined halter tops, tweed hats and hand dyed finery.

The members of the band came onstage drumming, also sporting diverse attire from skinny ties, pearl-button shirts and Converse to bare feet and vibrant patchwork garments. The same Senegalese patchwork fabric provided the cover art for the album, and probably speaks to the band’s grown together, hybrid Carolina-African roots.

Running tunes from the new album took us to Senegal right away, starting with the upbeat “Fallou” and “Bamba Wotena.” Some Americans pogo’ed, while a few Wolof speakers in the crowd got Cissokho’s references to people and places back home and sang along. For the third tune, Cissokho’s wife Hilary emerged to sing soprano backup and maintained that role. Cissokho’s kora and John Westmoreland’s guitar conversed back and forth, and the percussion powerhouse of Austin McCall, Will Ridenour, and at times even bassist Jonathan Henderson, was shored up by the group’s newest member, Mame Cheikh Njigal Dieng. Dieng, a professional musician from Senegal, recently moved to Durham and recorded on The Great Peace.

“We had the music written by the time Cheikh came in, but there were a few songs where we had hit some walls,” said Ridenour, post-show, about the Fidelitorium sessions. “He said, ‘why don’t you try this?’ Suddenly there were no walls anymore.”

Gabriele Pelli recreated his role as a guest on the session at the CD release party, adding haunting fiddle motifs to the spiritual tour de force “Alanole” (“No One Can Know God.”) Cissokho paused then to say his thank yous, while Ridenour retuned his kora for another intense slowburner, “Mere Khadi.” A horn set followed, with trumpeter Zack Rider, trombonist Quran Karriem, and saxophonist Tim Smith elevating the soul revue aspect of tunes like “Al Hadji” and “Mbolo.” If anything, this move was even more successful live than on the album, and one can hope to hear more brass in Kaira Ba’s future.

An encore set began with “Sida” (“AIDS”), an understated reverie featuring kora, guitar and Pelli’s violin, before taking a turn for the rambunctious. The band pumped a carnaval-like backbeat as a shirtless Cissokho bathed his face and body in a pile of broken glass, jumping and rolling around in a fearsome display. The celebratory night closed with “Jabu,” a rouser from the first CD Resonance, which ties Cissokho’s love for his family in Senegal to the love he feels for, and from, U.S. audiences.

The post-show love fest included not only friends, but total strangers offering the band members their thanks, pressing the flesh and getting CDs signed. A lot of bands say they are going to take their sophomore album to the next level; Diali Cissokho & Kaira Ba worked hard to actually do that, and it shows.

LINKS:

Listen to the CDs at Kaira Ba Music

Bio Ritmo Rises with new CD, "La Verdad"

Bio Ritmo gave a fresh first set at the joint party with Orquesta GarDel on October 14 at Durham's Motorco. I didn't take a lot of video, but here's a look at pretty much the whole band, during "Seguiras Criticando," a salsa tune with a heavy afrobeat coda from their last album Biónico:



Of course, we were here to celebrate the CD release of La Verdad, which has been gaining tons of favorable press at the national level. This month, Bio Ritmo is featured in vinyl collectors' mag Wax Poetics (in an issue with Eddie Palmieri on the cover), on the radio on PRI's The World, garnered a great album review on PopMatters.com, and is currently charting #4 on CMJ's World Music Chart.



I'm writing my own story now on the band's undulating 20-year career curve, and what makes these Richmond heroes so special. Stay tuned....

Goran Bregovic @ Duke CONCERT REVIEW

Goran Bregovic BLEW THE ROOF off Page Auditorium Friday night (10/14). My reflections boiled down to this, a review essay which I originally wrote for another blog, but which finds its home here instead:

Goran Bregovic: Unplugged, and All Together Now

by Sylvia Pfeiffenberger

The name of Goran Bregovic’ “Wedding and Funeral Orchestra” is part satirical—a grand joke on the part of the perfectionist, prankster, film composer and former rock star—but it also promises a return to our unamplified, tribal human past, a time when social rituals were marked with big gatherings and live music, and individuals were suspended, not in ethereal social networks, but in the gelatinous broth of clan, nation, and religion.

Of course, there’s a dark side to this sort of nostalgia: tribalism and nationalism have exacted a high price from human societies, and none have paid more dearly or more regularly than the Balkan region, and former Yugoslav republics, from whence Bregovic hails. Sarajevo, at the borderline between Catholics and Muslims, Jews and Gypsies, Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean, is “a place where nothing is really pure. It’s always a mix,” says Bregovic in an interview with his publicist. Centuries of war have shaped the “small” regional culture of the Balkans into a sort of “Frankenstein,” he says. In the 1990s, war again forced the retired rocker into Parisian exile, which proved a stepping stone to creating his own global form of folk music, attuned to the large and small screens of the IT age.

The listening experience we had in Page Auditorium Friday night (10/14/11) was unlike anything you can hear outside of a church, a classical concert hall, or a movie theater nowadays. Who’s got the budget to commission composers and produce large ensembles of live instrumental and vocal musicians anymore? Only institutions that run on charity donations, and Hollywood. Bregovic’s orchestra was actually a multicultural collective, made up of four sections: a string quartet, an all-male choir, the Bulgarian vocal duo the Radkova sisters, and a Gypsy vocalist with brass band. Each unit operated independently at times but cooperated as a seamless unit, like a four-chambered, polyphonic heart. The some-time soundtrack composer ‘conducted’ while facing the audience, from his guitarist’s chair, one hand frequently aloft to signal timing, entrances and phrasing. It was like hearing a miniature Mahler symphony, blown through Surround Sound.

Photo (c) by Andrew Shpak; courtesy of Pomegranate Arts.

Bregovic built up the evening’s set like a cinematic-depressive fairy tale, an episodic ride that vacillated between drunken exhilaration and island-of-the-damned sobriety. Capturing our attention from the get go, Bregovic mumbled a few introductory words, then let single narrators (guitar, clarinet, violin) lock in our attention. Just as we were getting comfortable in our seats, the Gypsy brass band announced itself from the back of the hall and marched down the aisles, horns blazing, waking our senses in a visceral rush. Suddenly, in that moment, we became one audience: the polyphonic heart had found a body. For the rest of the night, waves of sound flooded us with animal joy, and uneven folk meters jogged our human jelly like a friendly reminder of mortality.

Bregovic clearly relished the role of conductor, and ultimately his instrument was us, the kinetic collective that responded to his every direction, be it to clap and rally to our feet, or to hush and listen to his next bit of storytelling. The ruckus was loudest in the cheap seats, but firm fan footholds were scattered throughout the room, as bodies swayed and hands danced in the air, Mediterranean-style. Shouts in Slavic languages rang out occasionally; next to me, a Turkish couple mouthed the words to Bregovic’ Emir Kuristica soundtracks. Did they understand the words? “Not really--it’s close to us,” they shrugged, electric grins lighting up their faces. On the other side of me, a couple of Duke alums, here simply because they had bought $5 tickets to every show of the season right before they graduated, radiated the same ecstasy.

They say that conductors have one of the highest job satisfaction ratings, but that role is typically dictatorial. Yet, while directing sound with hairline precision, Bregovic brings something fundamentally rebellious to the role. This goes back to his roots as a teenage bass player in the band “Bijelo Dugme” (“White Button”). Under Communist rule in the former Yugoslavia, just playing rock music at all was an act of rebellion, and Bregovic learned how to walk the line of cultural resistance without getting thrown in jail. Back then, backed by a rock band, he might have parodied Marshal Tito’s uniform on stage; now, in a silky cream suit and backed by his ethnically diverse orchestra, he delivered impure rants about sex and dying, and antifascist ditties such as the Italian partisan hymn “Bella Ciao.” Bregovic rejected classical music training as a child, when he was forced to take violin; today, he says, he chooses to play with folk musicians out of the same sense of rebellion against formal high culture. With rock star excess, Bregovic kept one-upping his encores, announcing, “it would be a shame to go to bed after that.”

Through the aperture of the Balkans’ “small culture,” where impurities are a virtue, Bregovic has created a sense of global belonging out of his own exile and displacement, genetically modifying folk music so that it feels like our pop and movie music. It’s not even a metaphor at times, such as when Bregovic plays zydeco covers and tunes he wrote for Iggy Pop. Is that breakneck Balkan number smuggling a ska beat, ‘50s rock and roll, or a Mexican quebradita? It’s a question that doesn’t really need answering, because Bregovic has hit the folk/pop dancebeat button in a way that feels universal, or rather: in a way that feels local, in every language and cultural tradition. With the vision of a film director, Bregovic reconnects us with the unamplified roots of his particular folk cultures, making space for us to feel social connection through “big,” live music in an increasingly digital world.

As it turns out, the musicians on stage had been only intermediaries in Bregovic' raucous ode to sex and death; the human orchestra was us.

“You’re a beautiful audience. Good night.”

Photo (c) by Mikhail Ognev; courtesy of Pomegranate Arts.

Africa Calling: Angelique Kidjo SUNDAY (10/16)

Afropop Amazon: Angelique Kidjo (photo: Andrzej Pilarczyk)

There's been such a wealth of great African music in town this month. Although I had to miss Bassekou Kouyate at Duke this Friday, I did this preview for dP's blog The Thread.

I did get a chance to see most of the Mau a Malawi: Stories of AIDS project at UNC that same evening. What a dedicated group of musicians, student actors, and volunteers. To mention only some is to slight all, but the vocalists in particular are so wonderful; I'm now a huge Lizzy Ross fan. To read more about the Mau a Malawi concept album, see my Indy story about it here. To visit the Stories of AIDS webpage, go here, where you can download the album for a donation to the arts-based charity Talents of the Malawian Child. It's for a good cause, yes; but just as importantly, it's great original music that deserves to be widely heard.

As a preview to that evening, Peter Mawanga, the Malawian co-producer of Mau of Malawi, gave a sweet, free show at The Station on Wednesday prior. Some of the guys from Kairaba backed him up, as well as others from the show. I got to get a good look and listen to Peter's "Jozi," his custom-made South African guitar. He and Mau a Malawi collaborator Andrew Finn Magill are still actively songwriting, and they played one song that they had written only 2 days before, dedicated to "those women who go through so much," in Peter's words, "before being forced to sell their bodies on the streets in a country that is ravaged by HIV and AIDS. This song is for those ladies." How rare and moving it was to hear a man speak about sex workers with such compassion; I felt like I was understanding the song, although the lyrics were in Chichewa. That IS the univeral power of music to communicate beyond language, a gift Peter has in great measure.

Kairaba played an opening set, intense as usual; one hears them growing in confidence, as they are about to head into the studio this week to record a first album. Kairaba's spiritual head, Diali Cissokho, always wins a crowd. His euphoric moment in the show this time came when he (somehow) balanced his kora upside down, and still managed to played it. I didn't have the stamina to take in Kairaba and Toubab Krewe out at Shakori Hills last weekend, but from what I hear, Diali did a surprise, walk-on vocal with one of Toubab Krewe's songs--the instrumental just happened to be a song he knew from Senegal. I wish I could have been there to see THAT. Lesson learned--always expect the unexpected from this charismatic griot of Carrboro.

The African music streak ain't over. Beninese singer Angelique Kidjo hits UNC's Memorial Hall this Sunday (10/16). Here's my Indy pick writeup about her. I saw Kidjo a few years back, touring with Santana at Walnut Creek. The global pop diva still commands respect as a strong voice from, and for, Africa. I was really stunned by this bare, unplugged duo performance that shows just how strong that voice is:



LINK:

Angelique Kidjo @ UNC Memorial Hall, Sunday (10/16) at 7: 30 pm; tickets $10 (student) to $39 price range.

MORE INFORMATION ON AFRICAN MUSIC:

Listen to Bonjour Africa, Sundays 4-6 PM on WNCU 90.7 FM with host Bouna Ndiaye

Raleigh Rally: Hopscotch

This was the first year I really applied myself to delve into Hopscotch, which transformed Raleigh into a downtown funzone the second weekend of September. It was really fun to walk the distance between venues and to see a ton of people on the streets, popping in and out of clubs. I'd definitely say (as a Durhamite) that there's been an uptick since in my comfort levels with going out in Raleigh; Spark.con's freebies the following weekend served as a booster shot.

FRIDAY NIGHT @ LINCOLN THEATER: The Foreign Exchange.

SATURDAY NIGHT @ POUR HOUSE: With an all-club wristband, I milled about for awhile seeing various indie phenoms, and slowly figured out (DUH) that I probably needed to go to the Pour House, where it was all horn bands. I didn't manage to see that full lineup, but heard fantastic things about Fight The Big Bull (out of Richmond), and my good pals Peter Lamb and The Wolves. I arrived during the set of D-town Brass, a band with quite a few guys in it I know from thar and yonder, but had somehow never heard before. It was experimental and groove-based, kind of nerd-funky, and reminded me of movie scores. The sheer size of that horn-line is devastating, both as an audio and a visual. Orchestral in scope, the front line was like a Noah's ark of trombones, trumpets, saxophones, and clarinets. I'm not sure what all percussion they had back there, but congas for sure, marimbas maybe. Sonorous and intense.


D-town Brass


Budos Band

It started to really fill up as the clouds gathered for Budos Band. These guys brought an unrelenting Latin fusion groove all night. Hopscotchers pitched glowsticks on stage--landing right in the bell of the bari sax player's horn at some points--and instead of getting pissed, they seemed revved by the friendly dose of aggression. They rained glowsticks, and powerful Latin funk beats, right back at us. I really liked Bobby the conga/bongo player's setup and slap style, idiosyncratic and well adapted. "We're the black sheep [of the Daptone label]," these guys told me later, "but people like us, so they can't get rid of us."




Raleighites raise a beer to Hopscotch

CMF: The Remix

Carrboro Music Festival, you are always so beautiful. My review comes a week late, but I've spent all that time soaking in the good energy that overflowed into the streets last Sunday (9/27).


Celtic Tim Smith




Reggae Tim Smith

Everyone has their own CMF, whether one targets bands to see, or just wanders the 25 in- and outdoor venues for hours without a plan. I did a little of both; saw both Tim Smiths get together (that could have ruptured space/time, but we were lucky), and found myself strangely attracted to bluegrass and oldtime music. It's all that fingerpicking and harmony.


Rough Cut


The Gravy Boys



The Gravy Boys are high on that list. They practice something that old-time salsa and Latin bands used to do, a phenomenon I call "three men on a mic." There's something sweet about that ear-tuned harmony and close attention to group dynamic. Sing it for me, Gravy Boys:



Looking at their calendar, I see The Gravy Boys are coming to The Blue Note Grill on Bus. 15-501 in Durham, this Thursday, Oct. 6--a free show, from 7-9 pm.


These two videos capture that freewheeling, Weaver Street spirit. I am informed that the hula hooper accompanying Tim's band is Julia Hartsell Crews:

Tim Smith Band


Climb Jacob's Ladder


It was my first time seeing Climb Jacob's Ladder, a band I've never been able to figure out how it sounds just from reading descriptions. I can see why: extremely eclectic and socially conscious, the band alludes to Stevie Wonder, Bob Marley, and other 70s landmarks, but never stays in one place for very long.

Saludos Compay at Tyler's Parking Lot has become an 8 pm tradition. I don't have any photos or videos (it was dark by then) but a good time was had, as always.

LINKS: Joan Soriano Review & Interview

Bachatero Joan Soriano was at Motorco on 9/23--but rather then tell you all about it here, I'm going to save my breath and repost this live review I wrote for dP's blog, The Thread.


Photo by Lisa B.

There's this interview too, which I did by phone with Joan in the Dominican Republic.

Bull City Leans Forward for Shana Tucker, Peter Lamb @ Casbah (8/20 Review)

forward-leaning jazz: Peter Lamb & The Wolves

If you were at Casbah on August 20th, you know that Shana Tucker's double bill with Peter Lamb and The Wolves was remarkable. People came to this show with a certain hunger for a serious listening experience, and they got it: two of the Triangle's most innovative acoustic jazz groups, together in one night for the first time ever.


chambersoul: Shana Tucker Quartet

The chambersoul songstress and her cello opened, backed by Stephen Coffman (drumset), Mark Wells (piano) and Darion Alexander (acoustic bass). Shana's banter between songs, rambling, funny, and animated, brought the receptive crowd in even closer. It was a pretty ravishing set; highlights included Roberta Flack's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face," and Bill Withers' "Who Is (S)he and what Is (S)he To You?" both of which featured strong interplay (musical and satirical) with her bass player.



She burned down the house, at least among all the ladies present, with a new original tune about a certain type of annoying phone call and/or text message (it may not have an official title yet, but she jokingly called it "The Booty Call Song"). Wolves Peter Lamb (sax) and Al Strong (trumpet/flugel) came out early to solo on "Bye Bye Blackbird" while Shana sang. Here's one of Shana's originals from her album Shine, a song called "November" that hits me every time:



After an intermission, Peter, Al, Mark and Stephen returned, joined by George Knott (double bass/bass saxophone) and guest Brevan Hampden (congas), to play The Wolves' set. I've never heard the horns sound better, in fact sound overall at Casbah (Sound by Evan) was peachy. If one had a request, for the artists' sake as well as the audience, it would be the installation of central A/C in this important venue. Near the stage, and especially on it, the heat from lights, etc. made for trying conditions. That said, nothing was going to stop this from being a glorious, expansive night of music. Here's "Mona Lisa," veritably busting with incredible solos by Mark Wells on piano, Peter Lamb on sax, and Al Strong with the melody on flugelhorn:



The Wolves did their usual powerranger-morphing through Astor Piazzola, Ray Charles, Nat Cole, et al. A lot of older, jazz/pop standards have cryptic Latin cover versions, or vice versa, and sitting at the bar, one popped out at me that night that, for some reason, I had never noticed before: "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" and "Veinte Años," the latter best known in a version by the Buena Vista Social Club. The former is credited to songwriters Harry Warren/Al Dubin, the latter to Maria Teresa Vera.

I'm not sure who deserves the first credit, and they differ enough past the distinctive opening bars to probably legally qualify as different songs. But my instincts lean toward Maria Teresa Vera, who was born in 1895, and wrote "Veinte Años" as a habanera (the Cuban style of contradanza, whence tango got its bassline). Nat King Cole did "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" with a Latin percussionist (Jack Costanzo), and the English lyrics not only treat a similar theme (broken dreams/long lost loves), but also mention an "old Cathedral town," which seems like an allusion to Latin America.





In any case, the really important question is this: Has anyone merged these songs? How breathtaking would that be? Wolves, you have your mission...

Danke schön, in the meantime, for restyling my brain to take in this German drinking song, "Du, Du Liegst Mir Im Herzen," sung by with Mark Wells as if he were Jeff Buckley at an Oktoberfest. This was a juicy encore:



If you missed it, you missed it.

Peter Lamb and The Wolves and Shana Tucker both have new albums; listen and learn more at their websites.

Enchanted Ballroom: GarDel on the Haw

Drive west out Highway 54, way out, past the Cane Creek Reservoir. Just when you think you've gone too far, turn left at the sign for "Saxapahaw." Keep driving south, down the Saxapahaw-Bethlehem Church Road, until you enter this rural dell. There, rising on your left, is not the moon, but a glowing, propped-open, industrial dye kettle--it doubles as the sign for the Haw River Ballroom.

A ballroom, in the wilderness? Surely, this is a fantasy only Hollywood could have dreamed up, right?

Wrong: Walk inside the former Dye House to a cotton mill, over a grate lit up from below, and you step into a ballroom in the truest sense, fit for Tito Puente--or Orquesta GarDel, who performed at the Ballroom last Friday (8/26). Two levels--wooden dancefloor below, balcony-like seating area above--and a complete stage with beautiful lighting and sound. This may be the most perfect Piedmont venue to book a salsa band.



Dancers and GarDel stalwarts did turn out in pretty good numbers, though it's hard to say if Irene fears might have kept some home. It really didn't hurt the party any, which had critical mass and then some. Taking advantage of ideal filming conditions, GarDel had its own videographers there, so hopefully some pro video of the show will eventually emerge. Paso gave a dance lesson before the opening set, and Felix Padilla led some social dancing in the casino rueda style. (It was particularly fun dancing rueda to one of GarDel's timba tunes.)



Some recent changes in the orchestra: former conguero Jose Sanchez is officially no longer with the band; the Winston-Salem resident performs all over the Carolinas with a host of Latin groups, and had to pull back his energies somewhere in order to keep his family a priority. We wish him all the best! Looks like Atiba Rorie, a local leader in African percussion, will be filling the gap. Atiba has gigged in a number of Latin bands in the Triangle, and his powerful playing and cool presence are a welcome addition to GarDel.





The dance energy was pretty explosive. Here's the last jam of set 2 (except for an encore descarga). The tune is Ray Barretto's "Indestructible"; Brevan Hampden (timbales) and Atiba Rorie (congas) both solo:







On the GarDel event horizon:

Friday, October 14 - a long-awaited double bill with Bio Ritmo, celebrating Ritmo's 20th anniversary release party, at Motorco in Durham.


LINKS:

Worth the drive: Haw River Ballroom

Review: Isti & the Mysti Experience; Mysti Mayhem TONIGHT (8/9) @ The Cave

My friend Isti Kaldor did a new painting on Friday night, at the trendy, rococo-themed wine bar Six Plates in Durham. Mysti Mayhem, a soulful singer/songwriter with a powerful voice, played guitar and sang.



Let me explain. Isti only paints to live music, in front of a live audience. His bio and artist statement can be found here, on his website. His paintings capture an evanescent moment, in which we are all involved.



This became literally true that night, as some of the avatar-blue paint Isti loaded in hefty dollops onto the canvas mysteriously spread itself around the room, via hugs, handshakes and kisses perhaps, transferred from skin to black marble countertops, to the insides of elbows, under chins, and onto cheeks. I unwittingly imprinted myself in this manner, hilariously so. A tactful barman pointed this out as I sipped samples of their xtakoli and cidre.

Luckily, a little soap, hot water, and scrubbing with the red, cloth handtowels provided in the ladies' bathroom, removed all the physical paint from my skin and possessions. But it was a tangible reminder that one doesn't so much watch Isti create, as become implicated in an infectious act of group creation. I love what this says about art, and the way it pulls the isolated visual artist into a communal relationship with music and with an audience.







I didn't take video, but you can hear Mayhem's music and see her calendar here. She performs again TONIGHT, Tuesday, August 9, at The Cave, 9 pm, opening for Jordan & The Sphinx. The cover is $5.




LINKS:

Isti Kaldor artist website

Mysti Mayhem artist website


Completed canvas by Isti Kaldor, up for raffle.

Tercer Divisa Nacional @ Ritmo Latino Fest

Raleigh rockeros Tercer Divisa Nacional had a lonely 12:30 spot atop the program at Cary's Festival Ritmo Latino this year. Nonetheless, they rocked it out for the first few festival goers huddled in the heat at the Sertoma bandshell in Bond Park.





Now a quartet, Tercer Divisa Nacional has changed its membership in recent times, but not its m.o.: politically conscious, blues and metal-influenced, Mexico City-style rock. They label themselves "rock 'n' roll urbano," a reference to the Distrito Federal origins of half its members, but "rock en español" also fits--depending on what that says to you. The band follows much more in the tradition of nationally known Mexican rock bands like Maldita Vecindad and El Tri, rather than the internationalized pop sounds of a Juanes or a Carlos Santana.







So what's new? As recently as 2009, the band had swollen to 7 members, all male. Now, its four-member core is halfsies damas y caballeros. That's no coincidence: Cyndra, a trained jazz singer, is married to drummer and co-founder Luis "El Italiano," while bassist/ co-founder David is romantic partners with lead guitarist Meagan. While they are all flamboyant salsa dancers in the street-flavored DF style (which one rarely sees anymore amid the flush of mambo and rueda schools), you won't hear any of that in Divisa Nacional; what they play is more like a form of immigration blues, empowered by joyous rock energy.



I had something else to do midday, but arrived back at the festival around 6ish see what headliner Tropic Orchestra has been up to these days. There have been some changes to the lineup; "new" was Cesar Oviedo on piano, Cesar Cordero on congas, and Abdala Saghir on timbales. The repertoire was pretty much unchanged; there was a merengue I don't recall hearing before (but might have), and a 'stone soup' cha cha chá, throwing together progressions and coros from a bunch of familiar danzones and boogaloos. Their usual salsa standards included "Rebelion," "La Murga," and "Todo Tieno Su Final." There was an initial delay for soundcheck, pushing the dance over until 7 pm; the PA system was a bit loud and distorting, but salsa dancers had their usual good time.


Tropic Orchestra

Check out these adorable little kids, dressed up and ready to perform with one of the folkloric dance ensembles at the Festival. Preciosura!

Sierra Maestra on US Tour: DC Concert

It still feels close to miraculous to see Cuban bands touring again in the US. Sierra Maestra performed at the Artisphere ballroom (near Washington, DC) Tuesday night (7/19), with all the simple, rural majesty of the mountain range itself.


Los cantantes: Jesus Bello, Alberto Valdes, and Luis Barzaga

In person, they sound exactly like their records, which are also notable for a distinct, steadfast sound over the years. There are many son bands, but you would never mix up any other with Sierra Maestra. Due in part, I think, to their signature vocalists, but also their arrangements that feel both classic and fresh. With very little effort, they seem to be getting every ounce of vibration out of the ensemble, as if sounding all the seeds in the maraca. There's something about the amplified acoustic son band, vs. a salsa band or big band or timba band, that retains a very organic energy: skins, wood, gourd, seeds, strings, and a little metal; it's a very lively, pleasing texture. Instantly transcultural, maybe because we were all close to the land once, at some point in our history.



They played two beautiful sets, in this huge ballroom (4,000 sq. ft.) that feels intimate because of its wide orientation and low, thrust stage. There's also a viewing balcony; I'll bet the sound would have been great up there, but I stayed near the dancefloor. Nice crowd for a Tuesday night, a lot of couples and families as well as DC casineros, dancers and deejays representing.



I talked briefly to tresero Emilio Ramos, and happened to catch video of a couple of his solos. Cool style, and an interesting pickup on the instrument. In the background of these photos, you can see the two percussionists switching off on bongos; I didn't talk to them but I think they are founding member Alejandro Suarez (above) and Eduardo Rico (below). I don't know if hand drummers work harder in a son ensemble, or if you can just hear them better than you would in a salsa band, with all the horns and timbales. I wouldn't doubt it. These guys percolated hard all night, and traded hot solos on a few tunes.





After the show, Jesus Bello (above) and Luis Barzaga were nice enough to record WXDU station IDs for me on my audio recorder. Jesus was very friendly with fans and stayed in the hall during the break, and post-show, to chat and take pictures.



The youngest member, I'm sure, must be 28-year-old trompetista Yelfris Valdes. The band is known an incubator for Cuba's top trumpet talent, keeping the traditional style of son playing alive. Its former horn players include Jesus Alemañy and Julito Padron.



In back, in the rhythm section, there's a dedicated guiro player (I love that), Carlos Puisseaux, and leaning in close to the drummers, bass guitarist Eduardo Himely. Both are founding members who've been with the band since its founding in the 1970s.





The genres they played included son (fast); son (slow), which is not cha cha cha, but hardly recognized as such by dancers outside of Cuba anymore; sucu sucu ("Felipe Blanco"), a genre someone from La Isla de la Juventud once told me is native to that island; changui, from Guantanamo; and even a conga santiaguera (marking the first time in my life I actually joined in a conga line--and enjoyed it).

These rumberos, who are active in the Afro-Cuban cultural scene in DC, were taking advantage of the last exuberant song of the night. Dancers: Oscar Rousseaux (white pants), and Adrian Valdivia:



Note to local arts presenters: Sierra Maestra would be a fantastic Cuban band to build in to your next arts season, whenever they may be touring again. I guess we have to go back to Buena Vista and start from ground zero, in terms of building audience recognition for Cuban music again, but that is what makes this group a perfect segue. And, if possible, make it a DANCE and find a venue that will welcome those of us who love and honor this cultural tradition as our own, not just your high-end concert series subscribers.

For example:

COMING UP:

Duke Performances has booked Joan Soriano, "El Duque de la Bachata," into Motorco this coming September 23. Bachata, a Dominican folk form that is a direct spin-off of son, is best presented where it can be danced, as well as listened to, so kudos goes to Aaron Greenwald and his staff at DP for getting it right. Looking foward to that show.