15th June 2013 Prince Royce @The Coronet Theatre, Elephant & Castle, London

"Royce? In London?!?" was my first thought.

The freshly-minted event cropped up innocuously on Facebook and I couldn't believe my eyes. My mouse pointer made like Usain Bolt, sprinting to the link before it dropped off my news feed. If this were true, it would be the first time, at least in my memory, that an international bachata artist had played on these shores. Questions careened about crazily in my mind - What would the audience demographic be? How might the live performance bachata differ to recorded material? Would the consumption of bachata differ to salsa? If so, why? Could I hack a whole evening of the Dominican sweetmeat (ahem)? Would experiencing the artist's live performance practice inform my understanding of his music? Would it help in the deployment of bachata in my DJ sets?

A ticket was the portal to answers.

On a blustery, changeable summer's morning, I was transported bleary-eyed after two nights of hard DJing via a fleet steel carriage to the great capital in the company of four fellow Roycers of unique intensity. A smacking Malaysian lunch; a trot up the Mall to Buckingham Palace into the teeth of a deluge which would have had Noah reaching for his nails and saw; an exhausted refuge in a pub cellar, failed to dampen spirits. We joined the tail of people at the Coronet Theatre at the appointed hour.

And we waited. And we waited. In the coldly stiffening evening breeze.

Preliminaries
The minute-hand traced more than a full lap around the clock-face; its progress increasingly confirmed that the promoters, Ritmolatinobaby, had bitten off more than they could've organisationally chewed - there was no extra capacity for management to dispel uncertainty and misinformation. I crossed my fingers and gazed at the dishevelled blue cube of a building that was the Coronet Theatre, lodged as it was against the shoulder of London's unofficial hub of Latin American life - Elephant and Castle's shopping centre.

Venue
When we were finally loosed within, I was frisked after the metal detectors (a stark reminder of club life in the big city) and ushered past the box office where my name was crossed off a list. Inside the Coronet was much more promising. Its previous life as a place where actors trod the boards is still evident: the entry ramps brought us in at Circle level with a bar and facilities at the rear, Front-of House (FoH), DJ and lighting booths to the front. Steps on either side of the booths led down to the former Stalls area, now a well-proportioned dance space with obligatory security pit in front of the stage. Above was the Balcony area where the seating had been retained.

The sound quality was the first thing which struck me - it was good. Probably was a result of its former purpose, the acoustic coverage was even across both levels and without boom. A lack of sibilance from the flyers indicated the quality of the set-up, good enough for me to distinguish easily when lossless or data-compressed music was being played. The settings on the digital mixing desk reassured me that the band had been sound-checked, possibly the cause of our delayed entry.

Pre-show
Once the doors opened, the influx of people was steady and controlled. Taking a tour around both floors I estimated an attendance of five hundred souls; average age in the early twenties; more than a third Latin; 60% women; and socio-demographically class A, B and C1 due to the comparatively high ticket price. Looking at their movements, more than 90% of them were there to see the concert; there being just a handful of couples doing their fancy twirly salsa and bachata thing.

Which segues nicely to the Disc Jockeys.

There was a whole battery of 'em - all teen-aged, male, and facing directions contrary to that of their caps. "Since when did DJing become a gang activity?" I mused. What started off as poppy post-internationalisation bachata moved on to reggaeton then k-pop/latin-pop. At first instinct I felt it strange, but then looking at the demographic of young, probably first-generation British-born Latinas, it was well-judged. What was not well-judged was the quality of their music samples. Perhaps they'll learn their craft in time. An MC came on extolling the greatness of Dominican bachata, exhorting us all to worship at the altar of dance (or something like that), steering away from mention of hot-dogs or any Bronx-based artefacts from Royce's birthland. Then the MC in concert with the DJs colluded to drum up a couple of false starts, just to wind up the crowd.

I was feeling bear-baited.

Royce the Entertainer
At last the lights dimmed for real, an hour later than billed. The band musicians assumed their posts at their instruments: rhythm guitar, bass guitar, trap-set, conga-bongo-tambora, keyboards, güira-shaker, midi, and backing vocals. Then BAM! Geoffrey Royce Rojas aka. Prince Royce exploded onto stage in a blaze of reddened yellow light.

Clad in jeans and a leather jacket over a white tee, the young man opened exuding charisma and confidence. His manner of stage presentation and engagement was very much in the United States' school, of which Christina Aguilera is a prime example: slick, sure-footed, and well managed. Always mindful of the camera, his stage coverage was heavily biased to stage left where the feed to his video wall backdrop was shot from. He filled the room with most of his 'Phase II' numbers including "incondicional", plus stalwarts from his eponymous debut release like "corazón sin cara".

Prince Royce's songs all have a mid-tenor's tessitura and a vocal range hardly exceeding two octaves: singing which is all about accessibility, about feeling comfortable, not about virtuosity. His musical intonation was good, apart from a rough patch just past halfway through, when the band's in-ear monitoring systems failed. True to his professionalism, Royce gave little indication of this to his audience. I was actually pleased to hear that, because it indicated his confidence to perform without auto-tune's safety net, although I should add that more scale-work would give him better pitch stability.

Unsurprisingly there were no deep moments of personal revelation - he's not far enough along the road for the stage truly to be his home. Instead he went down the well-trodden routes of searching for someone in the audience and singing to her when he found her two songs later; and holding a mini-dance competition with the (unexpected) winner selected via the audience voting-by-applause. These activities were strategically timed to give his singing voice respite in a concert which lasted a good eighty minutes.

Bachata practice
Unlike in salsa, it isn't overtly clear that internationalised bachata's structure is capable of accommodating musical and lyrical improvisation, even though its ancestral genres were. Therefore in comparison to salsa, Prince Royce's performance practices resulted in music which:

• was closer to studio recorded forms;
• lacked the flexibility for new interpretations of musical and lyrical themes; and
• was compact, requiring more numbers to be played in the concert.

The primary mode of consumption was overwhelmingly passive - there was little participation in the interpretation-reinforcement of ritmo on the part of the audience nor was it encouraged from stage. In total, the experience highlighted an unseen division in this country; where the more avid consumers of bachata's music is by non-aficionado dancers, and the more avid practitioners of bachata's dance is by those somewhat indifferent to its music. This is far away from the Latin American cultural concept of 'ritmo' where dance and music are an inseparable whole.

And that Prince Royce's performance practice inherently lacked ritmo integration speaks volumes of his own cultural divestment, despite literature alluding to his Dominican authenticity.

Conclusion
I got my answers, although I must add the caveat that these general observations are not statistically accurate. I have a better feel for why Geoffrey Royce Rojas wrote his songs and what they mean to him personally - it has very much informed me as to how to deploy his music better in my DJ sets.

My friends and I found it strange that although his concert was billed as part of a "world tour promoting his 'Phase II' album", there was no merchandise on sale at the venue. It transpires that Prince Royce is now signed to Sony, leaving the label of his first two albums - Top Choice - on less that amicable terms, if reports are to be believed. It remains to be seen whether this will prove to be a wise move. Sergio George, owner of Top Choice, has an incomparable Midas touch in crafting hits. Sony, in my opinion, has had its fair share of slaying golden geese.

The experience of the concert was memorable and worthwhile; I would be happy to get the Royce treatment again. There are plenty more questions in search of answers.

Loo Yeo

2nd March 2012 Los Van Van @O2 Academy, Leeds

I wasn't sure about giving Cuba's veteran super-group second chance; so lacklustre was Los Van Van's (LVV) concert at the Roundhouse thee years ago to the week. What swung it in the end was that the concert would be happening in a town nearby (Leeds), and that I'd be catching up with a load of great salsa friends at the very least.

Once ticketmaster's palm had been crossed with silver, I headed on over (electronically) to my favourite Latin music shoppe and placed an order for the latest Los Van Van album they would be tour-promoting. 'La Maquinaría' turned up last month, and a good portion of four weeks was spent pitching a critical ear to the studio album. It was a bit of a slow burner. My initial impression was that a majority of the cuts followed a predictable formula established by songs from preceding albums 'Llegó...' and 'Chapeando'. It felt as if some of LVV's creative brightness had dimmed with the exit of César Pedroso. Nonetheless, there were two numbers which stood out straight away: 'La Bobería' and Yeni Valdés-fronted 'Que Tiene Ese Guajiro Que'. Although I've since come to appreciate 'La Maquinaría', I can't say that it's captured my imagination as much as 'Llegó...' did before.

In the run-up to the concert last Friday, Los Van Van suffered lineup upheavals which seems to have plagued them since Juan Formell took a back seat. The band's press release of 11th October 2011 announced the departure of Mayito Rivera, the only singer who displayed real passion that fateful night at the Roundhouse. I was dismayed, but cautiously welcomed the news that his space on stage had been given to Armando 'Mandy' Cantero, formerly of César Pedroso's ensemble. Then there was the tragic loss of their conguero Manuel Labarrera less than two weeks before tour, which triggered the departure of their bassist Pavel Molina not long after.

Gulp!

So I walked into the O2 Academy in Leeds not expecting too much - a combination of previous experience, and knowing the backdrop to the tour. The venue has a capacity of about fifteen hundred, of which more than a thousand tickets had already been sold; no mean feat, and largely due to DJ Lubi Jovanovich's titanic promotion efforts. This was our old stomping ground, where Lubi used to have his Thursday night Casa Latina residency  in the basement called the Underground. Above it would sit the Town and Country club which has played host to Eddie Palmieri and Issac Delgado (with a fledgling salsero me in the audience).

Now it's whitewashed, blue-LED lit, dark-floored, and modern.

Oops!?! Los Van Van still setting up after doors open

Much to my surprise, some of Van Van were on stage. That indicated to me that they'd probably only recently arrived, and that there might not have been a full sound-check. Okay... things were going to be interesting. A quick glimpse at the Front-of-House (FoH) desk told me that it was a Soundcraft Vi6, about forty-thousand pounds of digital mixer; the engineer had better know what he was doing to be let near the thing! I put all of that to one side and indulged in antics and banter, surprised to see the likes of Chunky - an  instructor with Red Hat Salsa - from as far afield as Reading. When all the introductions were said and done, the only thing left was the moment of truth.

The band opened up and the singers strode onstage.

I let out a breath that I hadn't realised I'd been holding. Los Van Van were hungry and they sounded like they'd appreciated the lengths to which some of their fans had travelled (I met a young lady who'd flown from Ireland). Their delivery was consummately polished and nimble, with the ensemble's powerhouses clearly being Samuel Formell (on drumset), Yeni Valdés and Mandy Cantero. The years have been kind to Yeni's stagecraft; she now exerts a commanding presence where she only showed glimpses of before. Mandy was the real surprise of the night, giving it as good as Mayito ever did; perhaps moving away from Pupy's group to LVV will prove to be the liberating challenge that his performance career needed.

The band didn't reprise any of their previous material. Neither did they play 'La Bobería'. I understand, because there had been only a few months for Mandy, less for some others, to learn the songs they had to sort their priorities out. And knowing U..K salseros' preferences for up-tempo music, it was also natural to expect them to shy away from the slower numbers. Although Los Van Van's performance lacked the rage of Maikel Blanco's (I think that their gig in London the night before took a lot out of them), they convinced me enough to be a concert-goer for them again.

But not at the O2 Academy.

Sadly, FoH sound failed to match the calibre of the band. The order of instruments which the sound engineer chose to tackle: brass, vocals, bass, keyboards told me he was unfamiliar with Latin music; and the opportunity to create a strong acoustic space for one of LVV's key assets, the lead vocals, (and well within the Vi6's capabilities) was overlooked. Aggressive high-frequency distortion from a damaged driver on the top-left of stage remained untamed, as did the low-frequency boom left to chase itself in the auditorium's corners.

An enthusiast of live Latin music based here learns to look past deficiencies in Public Address provision (due to their lack of familiarity with the genre) and peer into the heart of a performance. I, probably more than any of the 1000 present, was grateful to find Los Van Van with a properly thumping one.

Loo Yeo

24th November 2011 Son Para Todos @Revolución de Cuba, Sheffield

Son Para Todos is Sheffield's own working salsa band. Originally conceived as a duo: Rodrigo Paredes (vocals, guitar) and Armando Murillo (percussion, coro), its line-up has stabilised over the years to include an additional keyboard, second guitar and trumpet. They work hard to earn a living off their playing, that's what I mean about a 'working' band, lugging their instruments and their PA around in car boots to deliver music in restaurants, bars, and the odd special event.

Respect. This is the grind of what Nuyoricans would call the cuchifrito circuit. I understand the decisions they have to, and are willing to, make in order to bring a touch of Latin American zing to Sheffield's night life.

For years, they've held a once weekly residency at Cubana where they played Cubanesque standards such as 'El Cuarto de Tula' and 'Montón de Estrellas'. Then Inventive Leisure decided to diversify to include rum-based drinks and launched its Revolución de Cuba chain, opening a branch in Sheffield's city centre a salsa song's walk from Cubana - the fit-out has been superb, and the balance of drinks on offer very well-judged.

And so it transpires that Son Para Todos now have three residency slots, playing twice weekly in Revolución de Cuba on Thursday and Friday nights as well.

A wee slice of fantasy Cuba on Mappin Street

I turned up to listen and to get a vibe of the place on Thursday evening. The bar was humming with activity from the beginning of their first set at about 8pm. The hubbub continued its crescendo even when the final strains of their third set faded at 10:30 and Stephen 'DJ Gordo Mágico' Jackson worked the decks.

Chatting with Armando over a mojito, I said that I'd noticed that there were new numbers in their repertoire, mainly at chachachá /son montuno tempo from the Latin Crossover pocket (think Santana), salsafied pop, and some reggae. He gave a wry smile, gestured to the crowd, and said that they'd had to expand and diversify their selection, what with having to play longer and on two consecutive evenings. I told Armando that I thought Son Para Todos had made the right decision - I know plenty of salsa bandleaders who would sneer at playing this mix, but these are ones who have the luxury of not having to perform for a living.

Actually I think that Son Para Todos are being true to their name - bringing the experience of son and its children to everyone - and playing the key role of cultural mediator. And they do so deftly and with aplomb. Cultural mediators are necessary. They are the conduits by which the salsa scene is (Re)energised and (Re)vitalised. A case in point being that when I popped in on Nicolai's lesson two days later: I stepped through Cubana's aged wooden doors to be greeted by two young English lads who introduced themselves to me as Chris and George. They were both there for their first salsa lesson after having been completely taken by the atmosphere at Revolución de Cuba, and I was recognised from there.

I would also confess that my first four Latin CDs were Gloria Estefan's 'Mi Tierra', Alfredo Gutiérrez's 'El Palito', Cheito Quiñones' eponymous album, and La Conexión's 'Conexión Latina'; of which Gloria's and Cheito's were my early favourites. As an ethnomusicologist of transnational genres, I understand the importance of crossover artists as cultural mediators, and am happy to say that Son Para Todos are as deft as they come.

Loo Yen Yeo

8th October 2011 Soweto Gospel Choir @Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield

"...and I'd like one for the Soweto Gospel Choir, too" I heard myself say.

I was standing in the sun-drenched box office of Sheffield's rather swanky Crucible Theatre. I could rationalise it as much as I'd like, for instance saying: "well, as an student of AfroCuban music, it's important to see its roots at the source", but the truth was that it was a momentary mugging by spontaneity.

I can only put it down to Rising Sap from the pseudo-Spring conditions teasing Yorkshire's autumn.

I expected beautiful rich tibreous voices in rhythmic harmony. My mind's eye painted an image of 'Songs of Praise' crossed with the deep South's Gospel. My mind's eye was agog seconds bars into the programme.

The twenty-strong men and women of the choir slipped onto stage in a vibrant kaleidoscope of colour, swaying and singing in undulating rhythm. Unlike their genre predecessors Ladysmith Black Mambazo, the presence of women in the ensemble endows the Soweto Gospel Choir with a greater vocal, harmonic, and timbrel range. It also extended the possibilities in programme presentation: very early on in the first set there was a piece sung by the ladies, followed straight after with another by the gentlemen - it was call-and-response achieved by gender.

Photograph Copyright © Waltons New School of Music.
All Rights Acknowledged.

Call-and-response was the overarching theme in their concert, and it was a full blown concert, of two sets: the first, a call of traditional and folkloric songs; the second, a response of more accessible contemporary numbers. The mix was well-judged, the very pleasant white middle-aged ballroom dancing couple occupying the seats beside me, Susan and Paul, clearly preferred the latter when they said "the concert just kept getting better and better". The hard-nosed musicologist inside me found the first set spine-tingling; it has been the only time, ever, that a musical performance has ever ilicited tears.

It was impassioned and committed unlike any performance I'd experienced before.

Within the choir were leaders and instrumentalists, some of them assuming the positions of bassist, pianist, guitarist, and percussionist (trapset or djembe). I was least prepared for the dancing - a joyous celebration of the music they create. Group, couple and virtuoso solo performances of physical movement, from which it was obvious where Cuba's rumba yambú, guaguancó and columbia were desecended.

Each and every one of the twenty women and men sang from their very essences, their voices a commitment to an absolute purpose. As a musician, it was my privilege to be humbled.

I can only sum up my Soweto Gospel experience with one word - Joy.

For Cubans and those partake of AfroCuban culture, from this choir there is much to be learned.

Loo Yeo

23rd September 2011 Palenke @SalsaWorks, The Engine Shed, Wetherby

Tony 'El Caballero' Piper understands how central the breaking of bread together is in creating strong social bonds. That's why he makes the run to his local supermarket twice weekly, to nab provisions for his salsa classes and his social evenings - it's an effort he makes that's over and above any other promoter I know.

So I'm perched at the breakfast bar of the Piper kitchen, scoffing one of Mary's cupcakes and watching the last batch of sausages emerge from the oven with a predatory eye. It's been a while since I was here last and I find the rhythm of this household to be refreshingly different. Already I've been Tony's grocery trolley dolly, a slicer and chopper, and packer of various comestibles; and as soon as my host's back is turned, those piping bangers are going to get a right menacing.
I'm staying over to enjoy one of my favourite salsa dance bands, Palenke, perform at the Engine Shed.

Palenke's Fernando, Adriana, Lisandro and Bill are the warmest characters you'll ever meet, and I surprise them side-stage just as they're about to soundcheck. We go back a long way. Smartly, the band provide their own PA, which means they can remain competitive with other ensembles who don't, and still being able to take home a more live-able wage. It's something well-established working bands do.

Both Tony and I feed back that the sound's a bit bright, so Fernando juggles the controls to tone down the migh-mids as the dancers begin to trickle in. SalsaWorks at the Engine Shed features a band on its programme once every six months. It's something they don't have to do (in fact they just about break even) but the team feel it's important to support live music otherwise "where would future recorded music come from?"

Palenke, giving it plenty @The Engine Shed

Alfredo and Christine take the intermediate salsa class on the main floor, while Tony leads the willing beginners (and one house guest) up to the smaller dance area. The theme of the 'beginner' lesson (as opposed to 'absolute beginner' of which there were none) is cross-body lead with "Titanic" variations, where us gents play Leonardo DiCaprio to the ladies' Kate Winslet with varying degrees of aplomb. Since these manoeuvres, though commonly found in the wild, aren't in my active dancing vocabulary, El Caballero's ship-encounters-iceberg hour made for a mischievous diversion.

Shortly afterward, the band struck up.

Palenke are in the midst of producing their second album. Strictly speaking, it's Lisandro who is its central custodian and midwife; he's always dreamt of having the band's album made in his home of Colombia and finally decided to take the plunge. Their two live sets featured numbers from the upcoming release, and if they're anything to go by, their production should be feature a cracking number of dancefloor-fillers.

There were signs, which only an experienced eye could glean, that the band weren't entirely comfortable with their foldback (i.e. onstage sound) during the first set - that's part of the risk with not having a dedicated live engineer - and as such I think Palenke delivered their second with more surety, with a well-judged mix of salsa, son montuno and bachata.

It's on past record how brilliant I feel Palenke are. That has not changed. They still reside at the pinnacle of salsa dance bands in the UK, and have been so for more than 20 years when others have been and gone. Dancing to them is a joy and a privilege, especially in a such a venue as the Engine Shed.

Basking in the warmth of their music and of dancing friends, this has been one lovely highlight to this year of salsa.

Loo Yeo

1st October 2010 Havana Rakatan @Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield

Havana Rakatan, the Cuban dance show spectacular, had been making large enough waves that even the regions far-flung from Britain's capital had heard of, albeit perhaps not witnessed, it. That changed as Summer's September gave way to Autumn's October, when Sheffield was chosen to launch the company's 2010 UK tour. Unusually, Havana Rakatan stayed for four nights instead of the usual Latin dance show's just one; a sure sign that artistic directors have begun to realise a-more-than-cursory interest in the genre.

http://www.sadlerswells.com/fliers/havana2010/index.htm
(All Rights Acknowledged)

I thought it'd be a fine thing to start the weekend on a high, so on Friday night I plopped myself in Circle and thumbed excitedly through the programme. Good thing I did too, because as it later transpired, no audio narrator is present with this production. By the time the show commenced, I'd gathered that it was cleaved into two acts - the first comprising five scenes set from the early colonial period until 'El Manicero' of the late 1920s, with the exception of the contemporary opening of El Malecón in contemporary Havana. The second act has scenes set in 1940s 'Golden Havana', 1950s-60s, 1970s, and Modern Havana.

A lot can be gleaned from what was emphasised and what was left out - it was clear that the show differed little from 'Lady Salsa' and 'Pasión de Buena Vista' in portraying an idealised fantastical Cuba. Havana Rakatan possessed scenes of strong multi-textural themes, whose layered meanings were sufficient to satisfy a broad audience: from the 'there-to-be-wowed-by-the-dancing' to the culture aficionado. As such, modern standards internationalised by the Buena Vista Social Club did make an appearance: 'Chan Chan' and 'Candela' although the latter was reworked in such a musically satisfying manner, I doubt that many recognised it from the album.

The company's band "Turquino" was typical of a stage ensemble where versatility is paramount. Many of its nine personnel (excluding lead male and lead female vocals) were multi-instrumentalists: the bassist taking on lead vocals; the bongocero also playing timbales; and horn players singing backing vocals. The phrasing of their music was spot-on for each genre - it's not an easy task to play well the musics spanning more than a century. Turquino's professionalism came across best in their understated nature, never detracting from the main focus of the show which was the dancing.

It's here that the show was greater than any other of its ilk.

Being unable to rely upon the crutch of the spoken word, the choreography had to convey every facet of the narrative. The dancers, being graduates of Havana's Escuela Nacional de Arte were proficient in timing, execution and performance, although admittedly some were markedly better than others. There were a few surprises too, some great 'salsa' style dancers were less comfortable performing rumba and vice versa. And I found the rumba columbia segment too tinged with jazz movement and not flavoured enough from Matanzas, but I'd forgive the necessity to sacrifice authenticity for the sake accessibility.

If there was an Achilles' Heel in the repetoire, it was in the execution of the non-native forms like the mambo where the dancers' foot-speed was sluggish (the lead male vocalist possessed far superior foot-speed than the dancers; he could have showed them a thing or two), and the body-speeds lacked shading. Likewise the brass section was too small to deliver brashness and punch, and neither did the timbales attack quite early enough. But those were simply minor shadows in what is a high quality commission by Sadlers Wells. Havana Rakatan bears all the hallmarks of that Theatre's excellent standards - the set design, lighting, and sound reinforcement enhance the experience without being obtrusive. The programme notes could benefit from the same level of attention, given its primacy from the lack of commentary.

Havana Rakatan has come closest to transporting me to escapist Cuba, and is easily the show I would most rather to see again.

Loo Yen Yeo

29th May 2010 Calle Real @Relentless Garage, London.

The Venue
I knew I had to make this one. By hook or by crook.

The soreness of disappointment, after last summer's foiled attempt to import the Cuban-funk-playing Swedes to these isles, still chafed; and the salve took a wee bit of juggling to arrange. I emerged from the depths Highbury tube station into the drizzly afternoon sunshine, and a touch of trepidation weighted my heart as I took in the exterior of the Relentless Garage across the road.

What I'd thought was a curious name ("Relentless") for a converted venue (garage) in the tradition of Wetherby's Engine Shed or Camden's Roundhouse, turned out not to be so. A suspicion that it was indeed a venue where garage-the-genre was played-without-quarter left me disquieted. It continued to do so as I was metal-detector-swept by a politely looming doorman some hours later. I'd left my Letter-opener of Ultimate Despair behind at the hotel, and only a concerted grope would have discovered the Chopsticks of Ineffable Annihilation secreted about my person.

He didn't go there.

Slinking up the stairs with a brief detour via the cloakroom, the Misgivings fell silent with the closing of the double doors behind me. The main hall was a cosy affair measuring 15 by 20 metres with the stage to my left, permanent front-of-house booth to my front-right, and a disabled-access ramp and steps on the immediate-right leading to a 20 by 6 metre elevated tier, with the bar at the end along the far width of the room. More importantly the wooden floor bore a healthy sheen of regular cleaning and polishing, and there was not a whisper of staleness in the air. The venue was looked after by some serious people.

Karen, also from Sheffield, was the first person I saw. I invited her to dance.

The speed of the floor was slightly on the slow side, but would not pose a problem for the 'Cuban-style' clientele Calle Real would attract. The Relentless Garage was a countess of a venue, but not quite the princess. What Karen told me next confirmed my thoughts; the doors had been late to open because, apart from a delay to their flight, the band had had a longer-than-anticipated sound check. I could tell this from the sogginess of the music, and it couldn't have been due to the dimensions, size nor surfaces of the dance hall.

As my amiable bar-man decanted my poison, he volunteered that Garage and Rock were indeed the mainstays of the place. That would explain the boomy bass and the smeared dull mid-range; if the installed Public Address (PA) system, and especially a graphic equaliser, had been optimised for these genres. The sound-man would have asked for access to the PA cabinet (hunting for the EQ bypass switch), and the duty manager would not have confessed to having the keys (for fear of irrevocable tinkering).

I got my dances in early, anticipating a packed floor, and possibly to enjoy the coming performance in singular spectatorship. Although the sound was better at front, I was concerned that the signal from the DJ decks was being fed through the mixing desk, which would not bode well for Calle Real. But then I'm also very familiar with their PA requirements, having used them as a starting-point for 4 de Diciembre's own, so I knew this was unlikely. More probably the gains on the DJ mixing desk had remained undisturbed, which to me was a shame - irrespective of song selection, each piece passed with heavily unrealised potential.

The Concert
Soon came the Witching hour. I picked my prize spot at the top of the stair and waited...

Calle Real, baby!

The Meaning of Bliss:
Calle Real and a really good audience

It was fulfilling finally to put faces, fingers and hands, bodies and movements to the sounds of 'Con Fuerza' - one of my most frequently revisited timba albums.

Did Calle Real sound better live?

In many ways they did, more so with the numbers from their second release 'Me Lo Gané'. The studio recordings had had much of the life compressed out of the brass during the mix, but dished out live, the songs sang as if they'd just gotten out of jail - trumpets punched out their accents with brilliance, and trombones rasped as they were born to do. With this era of digital tools, we're led to expect perfect sound, even from stage. There were occassions of imperfect tuning from the brass (usually indicative of issues with onstage monitoring), but that only lent authenticity to the feel of the moment.

In terms of execution, Calle Real were outstanding; every stab physically accented, every passion expressed. They were generous to a fault. The weaknesses of their debut album, primarily the languid attack of the backing vocals, had been well and truly eradicated. This was a performance of confidence and maturity; best portrayed by their rendition of the United Kingdom's favourite, 'Ya lo sé'.

The CD version is lush with poignancy, suspended with the intimacy which the privacy of a studio can bring. Knowing that this effect is unachievable in a club setting, Calle Real reinterpreted it successfully as a rhythmic ballad adding more inspiraciones and melodic brass. That maturity also manifested itself as contrast: when one of their youngest songs 'Me Lo Gané' and one of their oldest songs 'Princesa' were performed in juxtaposition.

Me Lo Gané required a conscious exertion of power for its delivery, leaving less space to the skill of interpretation; while Princesa eased from them with creative musicianship, propelled by a potent yet effortlessly-flowing energy. For any ensemble musician who's worked at the coal-face, the qualitative difference in interpretation between a song one decade old and another many years younger is abundantly clear.

Fervour after the encore, Con Fuerza

The Calle Real experience left a number of lasting impressions:

• Surprise. Karl, Michel and Patricio's backing vocals sounded higher than I remembered; that wasn't obvious from the CDs.
• Respect (in the Jamaican sense), complete and utmost, for Gunnar's virtuoso performance as a timba pianist.
• Regret. That the sound of flair player Rickard Valdés' conga failed to come across properly in the mix.
• Amusement at the personality of Andreas' bass - 70s-inspired funk complete with dark glasses.
• Pensiveness. That perhaps Harry's songo on the drums could, occassionally, have been given the regular driving framework of the bongó bell rhythm to tug against.
  
• Pride in Cuban-style dancers. Nearly all of the audience stayed face-forward to the stage throughout the eighty-minute concert; the true sign of live music appreciation.
• Satisfied. That 'Con Fuerza' got to see the light of day. As an encore.
  

Calle Real's melodies mark them as European despite the Cuban authenticity of their rhythms. Another property which reveals their hand is how the attack of their instruments is distributed; a sonic fingerprint if you will, which gives the band their characteristic laid-back feel even at higher tempi. That and their uniqueness leads me to suggest that if it ever occurred to anyone on the U.S. West Coast to play timba, they'd use Calle Real as a role model.

End Note
Performance dynamism is clearly one of the band's greatest assets. For Heaven's sake, bottle it! I'd like to see every one of their gigs for the next year digitally recorded off the front-of-house desk. Heck, I'd loan them one of my HD24s. Then cherry-pick the best performances, edit them, mix them, send them to Bob Katz for mastering, and release a 'Live' album.

What would it take to make that happen, I wonder?

Loo Yeo

16th February 2010 Pasión De Buena Vista@The Lyceum, Sheffield

Although Sheffield ranks as one of England's largest cities, its status on the Latin music circuit is best described as 'provincial', averaging just one concert by the Buena Vista Social Club franchise and one Cuban show at its theatres per year; so the appearance of any such performance company is hugely anticipated, and normally sold out well beforehand.

News of the 'Pasión De Buena Vista' show rattled along the local salsa grapevine a good three months before the performance date, but work had me wriggling on tenterhooks until the weekend preceding. Fortunately there are certain advantages to attending shows unaccompanied; the best of which is the likelihood of securing good "late return" single seats, and my slightly-worse-for-wear ticketer helped find a great one in Circle.

I knew little about this troupe when I parked myself in the plush chair, so I made a start by ogling the stage layout. It looked promising: keyboard, bass, a trapset-timbale combination, a conga-bongó combination, a microphone setup for a four or five piece brass section, a tres on a stand, and a full trinity of batá drums; plus there was ample stage-front for at least four dancing couples to do their rumba thing. Then Meinl logos on the congas caught my eye and my hunch was confirmed by the souvenir programme: this was a German production.

The glossy booklet was filled with attractive earthy-toned action shots of dancers and singers captured mid-performance. It exuded dynamism. Delving deeper, the supporting texts of introduction and biography of the star vocalists came across as stilted and typographically challenged. This was an uncommitted effort through a patent lack of attention.

I sincerely hoped this wasn't an indicator.

A solo female dancer opened the show, moving to the sounds of the batá. Dressed in red and black and clutching a crooked stick, she was clearly the representation of Eleguá, Orisha of pathways, who is traditionally invoked at the beginning of all Afro-Cuban occassions. While her circular shrugging movements were correct, the stillness of her spinal axis showed me that sacred dance was not her bag - this was a rendition purely for the commercial world.

Eleguá's invocation gave way to the introduction of four other figures dressed in green and black; gold and blue; red and white; and blue and white, representing Ogún, Ochún, Changó, and Yemayá respectively. They symbolically enacted a pataki [Yoruban fable] capturing their sometimes tumultuous relationships with each other, although it was not clear which fable (or combinations of fable), and which version was being told.

Advertently or not, this act set out the entire premise of the show: the conjuration of a 'Fantastical Cuba' as escape, and one that host Knut Gambusch's stilted narrative tried to reinforce again and again. Otherwise, there was no overarching structure of storytelling that I could discern.

The two setlists punctuated by an intermission comprised of some very Latin standards: 'Bésame mucho', 'Quizás, quizás, quizás', Benny Moré's homage to his birthplace 'Santa Isabel de las Lajas'; 'El Manisero'; 'Píntate los labios María' complete with a Michael Jackson dance tribute; and 'Changó 'ta vení' interpreted as a pilón.

Modern classics also had their place, such as Francisco Repilado's 'Chan Chan'; Celia Cruz's popular interpretation 'La vida es un carnaval' where the dancers were appropriately dressed in the blue and white of her patron Orisha; and Gloria Estefan's 'Mi Tierra'. The latter struck me as unusual; that a Resident Cuban band would choose to play an Exilic Cuban composition.

There was one little treat - an original number by tresero/trombonist Yuilie Velazquez-Guerra, arranged as a songo con marcha. Although bringing in the kick drum in on the downbeats bogged down the rhythm somewhat (I suspect it was meant to imply the bomba) the highly compact show band 'La Ideal' negotiated complex timba, and the other genres demanded of it, with flair. You'd have to go a long way to find a more professional support band; you noticed them only when they wanted to be noticed, because La Ideal knew what the true star of the show was.

The Singing.

I once thought that Ibrahim Ferrer was one of a kind. But that night I was entranced with the voice of someone cut from the same cloth - Inocente "Pachín" Fernandez-Jímenez. His phrasing, his attack, and his vocal texture was so similar; and yet so authentically individual, that they could have been brothers. I gave silent thanks for the chance experience. While it's true that Maida Castaneda-Cordovi and Tomás Sanchez-Aguilera have the strong voices we have come to expect in the Cuban vein, Inocente's lyrical qualities place him very much in a league apart.

I could have listen to him 'til dawn.

In that light, the dancing was disappointing; the lackadaisical nature marked it as the afterthought of the production. Although a myriad of genres were attempted, from conga de comparsa to chachachá, their navigation lurched from placidly mid-stream to dangerously rocky. There were three prominent weaknesses:

1. The dancers lacked the stagecraft to draw in and engage their audience.
2. The angular velocities of their movements were constant but too slow. Whilst it gave their execution the characteristic Cuban smoothness, the manoeuvres were never properly finished. The result was a great deal of jarring and rushed transitions as dancers played 'catch-up' with their routine elements.
3. The choreography emphasised quantity and not quality, the dancers always pulled up one iteration short of demonstrating virtuosity.
   

'Just good enough' seemed to be the mantra of Pasión de Buena Vista's production company. It extended to the sound system, where only one pair of 15" low-frequency units was used to move the mass of air in the auditorium (most companies would have specified three pairs); and the sound did suffer for the decision.

Pasión de Buena Vista feels as if it started life as a business plan as opposed to a burning desire to entertain. The mimicry of concept places it as a fast follower to "Lady Salsa" but without the cohesive storytelling nor attention to detail. Both have tried to leverage off World Circuit's Buena Vista Social Club brand, with the German production more blatantly so - the attempted linkages via the artist biographies border on the barefaced and read as tenuous at best.

For me, the frontispiece collage of the souvenir programme is the perfect identity for Pasión de Buena Vista. Some people would either not notice or be ambivalent out its patchwork character. Others might be sensitive to the artistic contrivance and feel the jarring of its elements.

These people would feel the same respectively of the show.

I'd go to it again. For the luscious singing and the music. The dancing can wait.

Loo Yeo

13th February 2010 Stomp@The Lyceum, Sheffield

On a brisk winter's Saturday morning, I sauntered into the Box office of the newly re-fitted Crucible theater. It's the Eve of the Year of Tiger, which I thought was a fantastic reason for an unplanned matinee ticket - I'm quite the impulse shopper when it comes to Shows, and a decadent afternoon sounded like a perfect way to usher in Chinese New Year.

"And I'll have one for Stomp as well, please," I heard myself say after securing a seat for my intended target, 'Pasión de Buena Vista' on the day-after-tomorrow.

Stomp are a performance company of percussionist dancers, and their acts unfold in the setting of an urban street, which gives what they do a modern yet accessible context. The eight protagonists assume delight in using everyday items as drumming surfaces; masking, or more appropriately bridging the gap between the drummer and the layperson - using a disposable lidded cup with straw as a friction drum instead of a cuíca; halved plastic storage drums as surdos; matchboxes as pandeiros; and brooms as, well... brooms.

I'm still wondering how they managed to tune the brooms, or maybe was it the floor panels?

Stomping: Drum and Bass

The structure of their story-telling began with the simplicity of a headed broom: its bristles on the floor as scraper, its head on the floor as drumstick, and its handle against another as woodblock. There was a restrained elegance about the opener - as if to draw in but not to overwhelm; to engage and gently challenge the assumptions of the audience, causing them to think again about what everyday objects mean; to see the humour of invention.

This was the theme as the rhythms and use of ordinary items became increasingly complex - the cheeky, almost impertinent delivery kept the seated enthralled, warding off the clutches of technical estrangement.

The Lyceum's spaces swelled with rhythm: I noticed flavours of Brazil's batucada; Bali's gamelan; the sartenes of the comparsa; hints, perhaps, of the Dahomey; to the gumboots of South Africa. Not that it matters. Stomp succeeds because it understands that the minutae of names and techniques of rhythms aren't important, but that in the grandest scheme of things, our most primal selves understand and respond to rhythm.

Gumboots: This is how ya do it!

The Energy of their performance spans the continents. And the maturity of their company can be seen in the slickness of their delivery; geographical reach from South Africa (gumbootland) to the United Sates; demographic independence of young and old alike; and diversity of activity in entertainment and education sectors.

Stomp uses the narrative of rhythm to show us how much fun we could let into our daily lives if only we'd wear different eyes .

"This is comedy, but its music too" (The Independent)

As a percussionist, the show was a reassurance of how far my understanding of rhythm: its power, types, and strategies; has come along. But I received the most counsel in the aspect of the dancer.

Analysis of salsa class levels reveals the convention that dancers are judged to be better according to their ability to execute complex combinations - that criterion is the prime class differentiator, clubs and congresses alike.

Stomp demonstrably validates an alternative premise: that someone can make him or herself instinctually understandable by another, at a level which transcends abilities and conscious command, by quieting the extraneous that the rhythms may speak.

A polyrhythmic expressionist who can command the silence.

Loo Yeo

24th January 2010 Latin Music USA concerts (Part 3): Epilogue

There's a scene from '80s sitcom "Bosom Buddies" (starring a young Tom Hanks) where boss, Ruth, looks agog at Henry the copy-writer, who's innocently confessed to editing one of her reports before sending it upstairs. She rallies heroically and declares, "Well of course! A diamond's only a diamond when you cut it."

Stephanie McWhinnie and Mark Cooper must be proud of their team, having fashioned the concerts into two gleaming gems to add to the BBC's crown. The visual rhythms, created by the pacing and angles of the cuts, perfectly complement the feel of the music - successfully capturing the essence of what happened on stage and around it.

They made it look easy.

Although two hours of the Big Three Palladium Orchestra's (B3PO) performance was shot, only a small number of songs were played on account of their extended instrumental solos - the combination of long songs and a low degree of freedom makes things tricky. Thankfully transitions between songs were dilated, which accommodates edit points; songs were performed as discrete units; and there was plenty of B-roll like establishing shots and pre-concert interviews with the artists.

La Excelencia would have presented the converse challenge: plenty of material, but less freedom for edit points. The results however were just as seamless, and complications of continuity were avoided by keeping to set order.

In both instances the broadcast audio was head-and-shoulders above that in situ; the mixing engineers had brought their A-game to the studio. But even the best exercise of their craft couldn't compensate for lack of audio data entering the desk. It's a shame that the same kind of microphones used on the trumpets (Sennheiser MD 421) weren't been deployed up-close on the timbales and bongó bell; it would have made for a world of difference in capturing the bounce, verve and drive of both performances.

These minor points aside, I'm thankful to the BBC for its generosity.

Mamboniks and Salseros, thanks to the Beeb

The Latin Music USA campaign has provided a rare chance to assess the whole process of live music production from the marketing tie-ins, advertising and promotion; the two performances qualitatively by juxtaposition; the actual performance experience with its post-concert production for television; through to critical media response.

I looked to the broadsheets for the latter:

• Mike Hobart's in the Financial Times (FT);
• Robin Denselow's in the Guardian; and
• Clive Davis' in the Times.
  

All three articles were titled as regarding with the Big 3 Palladium Orchestra and not of the Latin Music USA concerts. La Excelencia's presence there as support act was assumed, which told me two things:

1. that the reviewers had been exposed to the same promotional material that I had had in the run-up; and
   
2. that scant research had been done on the opening band itself, otherwise they might have come to the Barbican unprejudiced for an equal double-billing and their prose would have reflected accordingly.

The FT's reviewer seemed the best informed, with the insightful comment about the big-band duels at the Palladium (it was an evolution from the "War! War! War!" campaign between bandleaders Coen and Socarrás). The B3PO's inconsistency of performance was tactfully hinted at, through saying that the televised form might prove better for the editing. But those were small morsels of substance in articles largely bereft of qualitative assessment and contextual comprehension.

What was curious from all three was the inconsistent mention of front-line guests Jimmy Bosch and Gabriel Fonseca who are both Latin stars of international stature, contrasted with their unanimous gushings of tenor saxophonist Peter Wareham. Perhaps their attention wouldn't have seemed so partisan if they had also unanimously credited the unsung hero Guillermo Edghill, whose bass solidly anchored the groove when the metalles suffered a Dizzy Gillespie-esque "where's the one?" moment as demonstrated in 'Avisale A Mi Contrario'.

The journalists used personal shortcomings of stamina as a device for expressing their opinion that the concerts went on too long. There were signs displayed prominently at the entrances to the auditorium stating that the sessions were being filmed - anyone beyond novice level would expect proceedings to be conducted at deliberate tempo. But the Guardian's reviewer went so far as to imply that the B3PO were unable to play 'Babarabatibiri' because La Excelencia over-ran their set!

Let's be clear about this. The focus of a band is to engage, perform and entertain. Schedule-running is in the hands of the House Manager.

Whatismore, Mario Grillo opted to play the instrumental 'Sunny Ray' over another number, sending his singers off stage; and that other number was not 'Babarabatibiri' - there was nothing to indicate to the ordinary public that it was ever on the set list.

If there was a case to be made for informed disgruntlement, it should have been that Larry Harlow is not one of the Big Three by the Palladium definition, and that his set should have been been taken up with Tito Puente's songs - the only one was 'Oye Como Va' as the finale. But unless one is spoilt or has paid a private commission, one can't expect an artist to play one's personal favourite piece; it would be unreasonable to berate El Judio Maravilloso or La Excelencia for the lack of 'Ran Kan Kan', 'Babarabatibiri' or 'Caminando'.

I found Larry Harlow's set to be the most invigorating of the three - a delicious irony.

Had they been better prepared, the reviewers would've had more than just one "throw-away" line to say about La Excelencia. They could have picked up on any one of a number of things that night, for example:

• Salsa Dura's declaration of musical intent, or its truthful phrasing to the earliest forms of salsa;
• Boogalú Pa' Colombia's rather clever circular reference - a pre-salsa genre originating from New York City (NYC), played in Colombian-style as homage complete with modern inspiraciónes, by a NYC band;
  
• La Lucha's guileful incorporation of boricua riffs and rhythms, the singing trombone and brass build-up a la La Perfecta, the fundamental difference in emphasis away from harmonies (as favoured in jazz) to that of rhythm and attack (in salsa);
• the qualitative contrast in approach to brass performance between La Excelencia's 'La Lucha' and B3PO's 'Avisale A Mi Contrario';
• El Salsa Y El Guaguancó's Cuban contra-clave pattern or the use of trumpet as modern diana before the traditional vocal one;
• El Loco's management of power and drive by counter-weighting shifts in vocal power and attack through different applications of the metal shells - a very Puerto Rican salsa device;
• American Sueño's metamorphosis from a campesino genre of Guantanamó into a truly urban statement complete with salsa metaphors, or as a maturing thematic development from La Lucha, or the use of triplets interpreted on Willie's piano as modern dialogue to those played in traditional fashion on maracas and timbales;
• Añá Pa' Mi Tambor's opening evocation in folkloric 6/8 time with the beseeching of permission from the masters and the ceremonial washing of hands before drumming - a barracks practice of sugar slaves, or Charlie Limonet's rare ability on the bongó bell including a crazy 16th-note solo;
• Ahora Que Te Tengo Aquí as the night's best vocal showcase with Ismael Miranda's tonality and Cheo Feliciano's phrasing, reminiscent of Tite Curet's 'Anacaona';
• Unidad's theme of unity as expressed through dance (pa' los rumberos) - a deep-seated Latin American symbol of cultural identity and resistance.
  

Sadly, what the reader got was, "the set was short on subtlety or nuance".

Oh dear.

Although I might agree with the three-and-a-half out of five star rating given for B3PO's performance, I do so for different reasons. On the quality of the reviews, I'd give the broadsheets a one-and-a-half out of five. I'm disappointed with their lack of honesty.

There is one more incident that should not go unanswered.

During an interlude on B3PO's set, trombonist Jimmy Bosch felt the need to say that that he dressed smartly (he and his band-mates were similarly garbed in sharp grey suits) out of respect for the music. The comment struck me as out-of-place, and I can sensibly locate it only as a reference to the casually attired musicians who played before him. While I respect Mr. Bosch's artistry on the trombone, I'm more than a little dismayed to discover a person without the grace to remain above needle onstage.

'Deja De Criticar.'

Collectively, the B3PO were in the embarrassing position of being out-played by their 'support' act. And whether the House Manager had allowed the set to over-run or not, I would expect an ensemble as highly billed as the B3PO were, to be able to take anything that minor in its stride.

La Excelencia displayed their respect for Latin music by the way they played it.

Ovation: La Excelencia and the Barbican after the rumba

Polling the people I know: musicans, dancers, laypersons, mamboniks and salseros alike; they were unanimous in their preference for the performance of the opening band, live and broadcasted.

If I were in La Excelencia's position, I would take Steve Rapson's advice from his book "The Art of the Soloperformer" (see later blog post) and produce a media press pack for distribution, in acknowledgement that today's reviewers are expected to report like subject matter experts over an impossible breadth, and that the most professional of them would welcome any support and assistance from the artists they review, that the both of them can be portrayed in the best possible light.

Loo Yen Yeo

24th January 2010 Latin Music USA concert (Part 2): Big Three Palladium Orchestra@The Barbican, London

The Barbican Centre is no stranger to Latin music. Constructed along brutalist lines, its squat hard-edged demeanour has housed more than its fair share of beauty; a place where Oscar D'León 'El sonero del mundo' and the late great Celia Cruz have fashioned rapture from the stage of its main hall. The Big Three Palladium Orchestra (B3PO) would be the next to join that illustrious pantheon, once again to a sold-out crowd nineteen-hundred strong at Europe's largest performing arts centre. I think sometimes Latin artists are astounded by the level of support their endeavours can garner in Britain.

I'd done my homework before arriving...

On A Flying Walkway Journey To The Barbican's Main Hall

I knew that the B3PO had been formed by Mario Grillo, son of Frank "Machito" Grillo and named after Mario Bauzá, as a one-off project nearly a decade ago. With approval from the Puente and Rodríguez estates it was conceived, by what has been described by the New York Times, as a "Latin repetory orchestra" playing music derived from the original charts of the three original bandleaders of the New York mambo era: Machito, Tito Rodríguez, and Tito Puente.

Reception at its debut was overwhelming, such that the ensemble was obliged to continue.

B3PO boasted pianist Gilberto Colón Jr. and conguero Eddie Montalvo in its line-up, both having played with the original big three at some point in their careers. Four trumpets, four saxophones (alto, tenor, baritone), bass, bongó, and three vocalists surrounded a centrepiece of two glimmering sets of timbales - one for Tito Rodríguez Jr. and the other for Mario Grillo.

For the BBC's celebration, they were joined by three heavy-hitters: pianist Larry Harlow of the Fania era; trombonist and bandleader Jimmy Bosch; and the Cuban virtuoso violinist Gabriel Fonseca. Frightening stuff.

My curiosity was two-fold:

• whether both 'Juniors' could live up to the expectations that their marketing had been based on - that is, a talent for performance worthy of comparison with their uniquely gifted namesakes; and
• whether the Big Three Palladium Orchestra would live up to its billing as "The most brilliant large Latin Jazz ensemble this side of Havana" (Chicago Tribune), or be more than that and capture the vibrant essence of the mambo.
  

It was the intermission and these thoughts were running through my mind. La Exelencia had just finished, and I would have not relished following that act.

The limelight illuminated the slender frame of Machito Jr. who, as a highly charming public speaker, began in the role of Master of Ceremonies and bandleader. The B3PO concert structurally assumed the form of three contiguous sets: first was Tito Rodríguez Jr. on timbales interpreting his father's music; second, Larry Harlow playing his own salsa and Latin Jazz numbers; and finally Mario Grillo with Machito's compositions on the other set of timbales.

Heavy hitter: Jimmy Bosch's trombone
launches a rasping mambo solo during
"Avisale A Mi Contrario"

They opened with the infectious classic "Mama Guela", again one of their strongest numbers, before inviting Jimmy Bosch on board as a soloist for the second piece. Listening to him play throughout the sets, I was struck by his ability to adapt his improvisations to suit the mambo, Latin jazz and salsa idioms - here was a rare performer, a person who fully understood the contexts of his art.

And then there was Gabriel Fonseca. "El Conde", as he is sometimes known, chose to play in a way that leaned more on his tenure with Original de Manzanillo and Candido Fabré underpinned with his philharmonic training, than toward the route of Alfredo de la Fé. It was the perfect decision which counterpointed the Latin Jazz essence of the orchestra; think Rubén Gonzalez on strings.

Soneros receiving the solo from
Cuban violinist Gabriel Fonseca

Joe was up and at it again to Larry Harlow's "La Cartera", warbling "ya no tengo más dinero" and hot-stepping his salsa thing (I would be regaled to that in spontaneous bursts on the homeward leg the rest of the night). He later revealed that he used to have that song on a cassette of salsa classics; that he must have flipped it over hundreds of times in his FIAT, driving from latino party to latino party growing up in D.C.

Joe never knew the name of the song, nor the artist, until this night.

And that as a teenager then, he would never have guessed that he'd be listening it again, live, to the original performing artist (Larry Harlow's verson was on Joe's tape; "La Cartera" was originally written by Arsenio Rodríguez), sitting next to a Malaysian Latin ethnomusicologist salsa-friend. I'll take a compliment any which way it comes.

"Oye Como Va", a rightful tribute to Tito Puente, was the Big Three Palladium Orchestra's finale. For me, it only highlighted the project as an incomplete endeavour with the absence of Tito Puente Jr.

In the end, I found the presence of 'Machito Jr.' in the position of band director largely superfluous during Rodríguez's set. He made the motions of conducting the rhythmic breaks, but the brass section was already playing them; it told me that the 'cues' were illusionary. And the time when a conductor was needed, when the brass were slipping ahead of the rhythm section, it was the more accented playing and hard stare of Gilberto Colón Jr. that brought them back into line.

I think if he wanted to complete the mirage and marketing image of bearing Machito's baton, Mario would be a more convincing stage presence during the first part as a maraquero. He had a defined space during the third set at the timbales; his strokes, although more awkward looking, were cleaner than those of Tito Rodríguez Jr.

In answer to my curiosity, neither of the Juniors played in a way that approached the virtuosity of their illustrious fathers. But there is no shame in that - a century would consider itself lucky to be blessed with one, let alone three such gifts.

And yes, the Big Three Palladium Orchestra is identifiably a Latin Jazz orchestra, to be distinguished from the mambo orchestras. The difference? Exuberance. You can hear it in the mambo. Latin Jazz is more given to introversion, the biggest culprit of this was the brass section which performed in a manner, being so attached to their charts, decoupled from the rest of the band. The biggest improvement, if it wanted to go down the extroverted mambo route and engage more with its audience, is for the brass to do the really tough thing and play without music scores in front of them.

Dancing is what made the Palladium famous. A colour-blind dance floor in an age of racial discrimination. A scintillating atmosphere attracting Hollywood's brightest stars, thereby sparking social acceptance.

Larry Harlow's "La Cartera" draws everyone to their feet

We owe Mario Grillo a huge debt of gratitude. For having the vision and commitment to negotiate and forge this orchestra together; for the opportunity to remember or experience anew the music of the Palladium's best-known years.

That the Spirit of 53rd and Broadway live on beyond its mortal shell.

(On to Epilogue.)

Loo Yen Yeo

24th January 2010 Latin Music USA concert (Part 1): La Excelencia@The Barbican, London

Joe, my partner-in-crime in the Big Smoke, and I looked about ourselves at the throng milling in the lobby and voiced our thoughts simultaneously, "this is a strange crowd." By 'strange' we didn't mean weird nor grotesque, oh no. I mean unusual or unanticipated. We were queueing, waiting to be let into the main auditorium where the promise of Latin Music heaven beckoned. A stellar collection of musicians had been assembled, in the words of the publicity blurb, "to coincide with a major BBC Four TV series exploring the incredible story of Latin Music in the USA." To set the record straight, the series "Latin Music USA" is a PBS production which will begin airing on BBC4 this week.

And that explained the cast of ticket-holders: predominantly British, very few Latinos, of a higher average age than one would see at a salsa club. I call them the Buena Vista Social Club (BVSC) gang: silvering haired, non-dancing (not salsa at least), world-music lovers of a previously alternative-lifestyle bent. Joe was hugely disappointed, poor thing - I'd goaded his delinquent imagination with the prospect of gorgeous Colombian eye-candy... but my conscience remained as still as a Zen Buddhist monk on Musical Statues day. I knew ultimately that he'd get the biggest kick out of La Excelencia, who were billed to open the concert.

Yes, you read that right.

I couldn't believe it myself when I read the sketchy prelim blurb weeks ago: the Big 3 Palladium Orchestra, Larry Harlow, Jimmy Bosch, and La Excelencia; with the ivory talents of Gilberto Colón Jr. announced at the eleventh hour. It had always been a regret of mine that I hadn't been able to introduce Joe to their music, which is one hundred percent up his alley; so when the chance came along, I pounced.

As the hubbub quietened under the flare of lights, I perched forward on the edge of my seat. When it comes to performing to club salseros, La Excelencia are Giants, no doubt about it. But being a display band to a largely non-dancing audience is a different cup of tea altogether - the proscenium can be a yawning gulf to reach out across without the energy of a receptively gyrating audience to assist you.

'Take your strongest song and put that at the end. Then take your next-strongest and put that at the beginning.' That's an old performing adage that held true when they struck up.

Salsa Dura, brassy and unapologetic. I looked around to see some quizzical expressions; adrenaline was proving to be an long-unfamiliar experience to the BVSC gang more used to the likes of Omara Portuondo's "Dos Gardenias".

"So... you think you can just sit back and
enjoy our music with a comfy cuppa tea eh?
Take that, you crumpet-eaters!"

The spectacle was there, filling the whole stage: three singers, piano, bass, congas, timbales, bongó, two trumpets, and two trombones. It was clear that the crew of La Excelencia knew there was a whole lot of reaching out to be done, and they played with the intent of 10-tonne semi ploughing through the stalls; as well practiced and as slick as I remembered them. It was ninety minutes of high-octane stuff drawn mostly from "Mi Tumbao Social".

Joe's feet started tapping. Then he clapped clave. He used to be our conguero in 4 de Diciembre. Then came the stomping. With the percussion solos in "Aña Pa' Mi Tambor" he mimed the complimentary gestures of wheels falling off a cart (previously reserved only for Edwin Bonilla). By the time "Unidad" came along, Joe was already on his feet; and I had an eye out for an emergency defibrillator.

Any honest live performer will tell you that there is no such thing as a perfect gig.

On a night filled with gorgeous display, my only tinge of disappointment came from "Aña Pa' Mi Tambor". Normally it's my favourite number, but something happened that felt like a drop in tempo during the rumba clave unison break - it bled energy from the song which took until the percussion solos to restore. Perhaps it was an intentional shift in dynamics; I personally preferred the sense of abandon with which they played in Leeds. La Excelencia's best renditions of the night, for me, belonged to "American Sueño" and their closing number, "Unidad". It's by no coincidence that these songs came from the latter part of their set...

The sound engineers could have done more to rise to the band's quality. No graceful band would ever dream of publicly commenting on its sound support, but as a member of the paying audience, I can.

It took Front-of-House (FoH) three songs alone to dial out the ponderous bass boom in the mid-to-upper tiers; and two more to alleviate some of the vocals' boxiness. The timbales should have been close-mic'ed; the single overhead narrow condenser picked up mostly the cymbals and hardly the crucial timbale/mambo bell and shells. Normally an engineer would be scanning the stage thinking, "what instrument can't I hear?" but this one obviously wasn't, as bongó bell and clave were never in the mix. Onstage monitoring was possibly better, judging from the interactions of the musicians - I saw just the expected amounts of gesticulation at the start.

The Barbican should consider giving their sound engineers sabbaticals at JSS or BlastPA.

The proof of the pudding will be when the two concerts are aired this Friday (for Big 3) and the following one (for La Excelencia) after the episodes of Latin Music USA. Then, I'll be able to tell just how much data had entered the FoH desk, and compare it to what I recall issuing from the PA. It'll also tell me just how good the BBC's production team are.

Even in the midst of adversity, the young musicians managed to bridge the distance; there were pockets of dancers mushroomed amongst the seats. The Killjoy of Health & Safety quashed any prospect of dancing in the aisles, that is until right at the very end. At the climax of Unidad's montuno, José Vázquez-Cofresí upped his congas and raced his cohort down the stairs to the stalls; there to enjoin everyone in a taste of an impromptu street rumba.

José's conga smack-down, egged on by his wicked cohort

How do you ambush the proscenium? You render it irrelevant by taking yourself across it, naturally!

That move, as they did when the brass played their way through the dancefloor in Leeds, reinforces what was once one of salsa's central tenets: that there should be no distance between musicians and dancers. In doing so, it indicates the young band's mature understanding of tradition. The little get-together also paid heed to yet another stage adage: "always make sure the last thing you leave is a smile." They certainly did.

José's facebook status later read:

"Originally the BBC was going to air a small portion of La Excelencia's performance along side the Big 3 after the first episode of Latin Music USA. Just announced !! The BBC has decided to air our entire performance at the Barbican in London after the second episode. The broadcast will air on Friday, February 5th at 10pm on BBC"

I'm so pleased, and relieved, that someone at the BBC has not only been capable of recognising quality, but also been in a position to exercise creative and executive power in getting the decision through. Let's make no bones about it, this is a big break for a hard-working band on an independent label. It would have been a gross oversight, based on the relative performances of La Excelencia and the Big 3 Palladium Orchestra, not to have done.

Como se forma una rumba: La Excelencia showing the
Brits how to party, New York street-style

Make sure you watch it. Or get someone to record it. Do both.

Some hours later, on the way home, Joe said, "Loo, you were right."

"Of course I was," I replied. "What about?"

"How you described La Excelencia in one line."

Fania, on Steroids.

(On to Part Two).

Loo Yeo