7th March 2009 Los Van Van @The Roundhouse, London

When I heard that Los Van Van were coming to play again in the UK, I gritted my teeth in determination. The last time they were here was to promote "Chapeando" two years ago and although I'd already bought tickets, an urgent trip to the Far East conspired to make my first attempt an abortive one.

With a pair of tickets waiting in my hand for their Arrasando tour, the days in the weeks leading up to last Saturday felt like life lived beneath the Sword of Damocles. It was the strangest tincture of anticipation and dread. So as White Lights blazed onto stage searing away the echoing words "Los Van Van...", it felt as though something had finally been put right; an awkward picture-frame straightened.

Los Van Van opening with "Arrasando"

It was clear from the recording that the title track had been written 'to purpose' as an opening number; and true enough, they opened up with "Arrasando" with the vocalists last to take to stage. This incarnation of Los Van Van featured the four lead vocals; two keyboards; three on tromobones, two of whom also doubled up on midi keyboards; bass; violin; flute; güiro plus backing vocals; congas; and bandleader Samuel Formell on trapset plus timbales. It was essentially the same setup as that most artfully captured in the "Aquí el que baila gana - in concierto" DVD recorded at the Karl Marx Theatre sans the stellar guest appearances, and the disappointing omission of Juan Formell. Mind you, he wasn't here last time either and I can only infer that either he's not too keen on these shores, or that these shores aren't too keen on 'im.

They were on for a good two hours and blew through a good deal of their new album, though sadly not the tracks I was more partial to. I recall only their nod to the Manhattan Transfer "Timpop con Birdland", Yenisel's remarkably interpreted "Después de todo", a favourite "Anda, ven y quiéreme", and their single encore "Esto te pone la cabeza mala" as hailing from previous recordings.

I wanted so desperately to be blown away, and was as desperately disappointed. I wanted to believe that this supergroup, whose influence has defined the music of two generations, could do no wrong. I got something worse than wrong, I got lacklustre with snatches of brilliance. And I'm very sad for it.

Some were giving it their all - Samuel on drums was a demon possessed; and Mayito.., the incredible Mayito sang as if the very Heavens demanded it of him. The rest, well, gave only what they were willing to give. In an ironic sense, it was reassuring to me. As a performer I have always given a hundred percent to an audience and would expect no less of myself and my colleagues, getting a trifle mardy when they don't. That some elements of Los Van Van chose not to commit themselves fully, emotionally, showed that it could happen in even the best.

Van Van's incomplete emotional engagement was brought into sharp relief completely by chance through the dancing of one very talented man - Lázaro Lopez of http://www.afrocubano.co.uk/. Invited on stage as a guest, he gifted us all with a startling display of rumba columbia as the physical expression of Mayito's singing and Samuel's drumming. It was a moment of pure, synchronised, perfect intent which will forever be a treasured memory. That he did this in a swish gray suit, intentionally or otherwise, was a semiotic comment which set the sociologist in me chuckling.

That Los Van Van are amongst the hardest-practicing and best-drilled of bands ever to emerge from Cuba, is entirely believable. That events transpired to affect their performance such that many of them had to rely solely upon their consistency, is entirely plausible. After all, it could be that the acoustics of the Roundhouse affected their foldback, definitely it did the atmosphere and perhaps the charge from audience that every performer feeds off.

[I had with me two friends whom between them share more than five decades of professional experience in vibro-acoustics. Both of them independently remarked about the degree of sonic 'smearing' due to uncontrolled reflections in the venue.]

Yenisel told the audience that this is the band's fortieth year in existence; no mean feat in itself, let alone remembering that much of this time was spent at the top. But I sense that the band is wrestling with its state of transition: from the loss of its old guard like César Pedroso, Pedrito Calvo, Jose Luis Quintana; the transfer of leadership from father to son Formell; re-negotiating its identity; and struggling with its relevance to modern musical life.

With the latter, it seems as if the young turks of Maikel Blanco and Tirso Duarte have their finger closer to the pulse. With the former, Los Van Van's new generation are immensely talented, foremost of them Yenisel, Samuel and Mayito. But good though they are, it's difficult to see where the next spark of creative genius, with similar stature to that of Pupy, Changuito, and Juan Formell himself, will come from.

Samuel is now the beating heart of Los Van Van. Whereas his father led the band with his bass from the front, Samuel drives it from behind with his kit at the back. I'm not convinced that it is not without flaw. Juan was able to exercise leadership, engaging directly with the band to maximise emotional involvement, but I don't think Samuel can do that with: his kit as a barrier, limited lines of visual communication with much of the band, and playing everything that he currently plays. Giraldo Piloto of Klimax is the only other bandleader in my recent memory who's in a similar position.

Frankly, as a participant of songo myself, I understand how important the inclusion of the trapset is to timba. But I think now that the pendulum has swung too far and the trap-set under Samuel has fractured a former equilibrium; sidelining the conguero and sending the dedicated timbalero out into the wilderness.

Should Samuel decide to lead more on-stage, he might replace himself on trap-set and move to timbales plus kick-drum in the style of Changuito, and put himself towards the front like Tito Puente did. This would give himself less to play and more cognitive overhead to energise. But that's just conjecture on my part, so just give me a moment to kick myself for my presumptuousness... thud. Yeeouch!

However what I DO know objectively is that there are three main differences between the concert captured on DVD and this one at the Roundhouse: the presence of the old guard, the repertoire, and the sound quality. How the original timba supergroup navigate future waters, I'll study with close interest. Some clues can be had from the above, but it is in the subjective area of how they interact with each other and make good their commitment to their audience that will have me perched towards the edge of my seat.

Los Van Van's encore: "Esto te pone la cabeza mala"

I tell my masterclass attendees and drummers alike that, "artistic endeavour distinguishes itself from the mechanical through its ability, or more its necessity in evoking an emotional response."

Had they all unified in "unbearable purpose" (Eddie Palmieri) as I hear Los Van Van can, there might have burned a terrible joy. Instead I'm feeling a mild shade of blue.

There's nothing I wanted more to do here than to gush over their brilliance. They are, after all, Los Van Van.

Loo Yen Yeo

In The Heart Of Change

Since the beginning of the year Cuatro de Diciembre has been adapting to a line-up change with Dan and Nathan both leaving for different pastures. That change happens isn't at all surprising and I've had than my fair share of her company at 4de12. Instead the best way to be with Change, as I've found over the years, is to embrace her warmly as Opportunity. And this time didn't feel any different.

My cunning plan is to hug the girl until she's blue in the face.

Without another lead singer, I'm taking on all the lead vocals. That might have daunted me a bit had it not been for my marathon training sessions over Christmas. This singer's now more than happy to handle two full sets plus encores; the only thing to keep an eye out for is the hydration level before and during performances. Actually, I'm rather looking forward to interpreting such favourites as "Corazón Fugitivo" and "En La Sangre" which had been necessarily relinquished to Nathan. The immediate impact on how the band plays is not massive; it's nice to have changes in vocal texture, and we can achieve the same result by re-arranging the set-lists to give a better scope for me to change my resonance bias from song to song.

In contrast, life without timbales is pretty different.

I miss its sonic texture, the thickness it adds to a song, its attack and the drive of its syncopated patterns. Not having it around does make some of our bigger numbers more challenging to play, but Change didn't come to us with doom and gloom packed in her bags; there've been a whole slew of positive surprises:

• we're understanding each other better as musicians now that we can hear one another's musical subtleties (something we couldn't do before during practice due to the sheer volume of the drums);
• there's a greater level of interaction between all of us i.e. a tighter knit between the melodics, rhythm and percussion;
• Decemberists are all learning to play more propulsively - in effect a key role of the timbalero is being redistributed across the entire ensemble;
• it's providing us with the opportunity and incentive to increase our knowledge base; and
• we're exercising our creativity in altering our arrangements to maintain the same feel and drive in our repertoire.
  

I think I'd mentioned it before, that there was a danger of Cuatro de Diciembre reaching a plateau. Change, for all the reasons above, is making sure that we don't rest on our laurels. And as my good friend and salsa aficionado Christophe so astutely pointed out, Cubans have been playing propulsively, without the need for timbales in their line-ups, for more than a hundred years. As an old adage goes, "the more things change, the more they say the same".

Loo Yen

Bongolicious Booty

After an Odyssean saga which involved:

• a Trickster (Royal Mail postie),
• a Scylla (Royal Mail's Website of ultimate deflection),
• a Charybdis (Royal Mail's Telephone System of spiraling circuitousness),
• drachmae (my trusty credit card), and
• a lovely Cassandra (Royal Mail customer service lass with mucho Gaelic charm),

the great Hero (Me!) bested the intractable Poseidon (Royal Mail) to claim his prize: a priceless set of bongó books and DVD by Trevor Salloum. Cue the Orgy and the dancing girls.

The next day, still drunk from success, I made plans to enjoy my deserved spoils over the weekend. Followers of this beloved blog might just be wondering whether I've finally turned in a couple of sandwiches short of a full picnic. As if guitar, vocals, congas and two bands plus the dance-floor menacings aren't enough, Loo's going for bongó as well? ¿Qué?

It's hard to rationalise it from an instrument perspective, so I'll not go there; rather, it's the skills that playing bongó can develop that I'm after.

Since 'The Great Songo Breakthrough of 2009' (see previous posts), my conga-playing's been blessed with fertile new pastures of rhythmic space and plenty of cognitive overhead with which to do the seeding. As a result I'd already started to cultivate little fills and accents, tasteful ones might I add, to give my music that bit more sabor. But I found that ferreting around for little snatches of examples in songs, whilst educative to some extent, lacked an overall coherence. And I'm a big fan of coherence.

That's when I thought, "what about the bongó; that oft-overlooked virtuoso instrument born precisely to lead, fill and solo?"

It ticked ALL the right boxes straight away:

1. one of its basic rhythmic interpretations the martillo, is similar to a caballo on the conga, both of which I needed more practice of and their near-infinite variations;
2. Conjunto Laloma would have more musical avenues to explore if there was a bongosero in da house;
3. friends have been wanting me to guide them around those skins for a long time;
4. it would expand my ear-training workshop to address música de guitarra forms like son, bolero and bachata;
5. it would support another of my workshops on dance movement improvisations;
   
6. and most important of all, it's an instrument I've been ashamed I wasn't better on.

For the two days past, Mr. Salloum's voice has wafted forth from the telly; patiently teaching me the arcane bongo-arts even as his fingers seemed cheekily to mock mine. I'd possessed his manuals before and in part of my hard-won booty were replacements for things lent and ne'er returned. Saturday and Sunday were graced with a comforting sense of déjà vu as my eyes, hands and ears remade their acquaintances with the drum.

I don't yet know how my return to Ithaca (bongoland) will be received, but no doubt the jeers of frustration will have to be silenced by the wine of success for there to be a happily ever after. I'm a bigger fan of happy.

Loo Yen Yeo

P.S. A review of Trevor Salloum's work will follow later.

Kinesthetics, Neurolinguistics & Pictures

To add pictures or not, that's been the question.

One part of me has wanted to let the words speak for themselves - in much the same way as a novel leaves it up to one's creative mind to conjure up the imagery; certainly only a rare handful of visual adaptations have ever been able to match the books that have been played out in my mind's eye. I've felt that maybe the inclusion of a picture might unnecessarily harden a reader's imaging of a post. But then, by not doing so, I'm tilting things towards people like me.

I should explain.

It comes from a sports coaching course I did some time back which featured a large Neuro-Linguistic Programming (NLP) component. That was when I learned that I was not as visually-driven as most. One of the early exercises involved a crude categorisation of which senses an individual preferred to use, and went like this:

1. Think of a loved one
   
2. What is the very first impression you have of her/him?
   Is it the way (s)he looks, sounds, smells, or feels?
3. What is the second impression you have of her/him?
   Is it the way (s)he looks, sounds, smells, or feels?

The first is your primary sense. The second is your preferred sense. I discovered my primary to be auditory and my preferred to be kinesthetic (touch/taste) i.e. I heard them first and then remembered how they felt to the touch. The visual image of them established itself later.

Neurolinguistics sheds an analytical gaze on the instruction of salsa and the assimilation of practices. For example, as the majority of people have the visual sense as their primary or preferred, phrases biased towards the sense of sight like "picture this" and "see what I mean?" effectively address most class attendees but overlook a specific minority. Likewise, people like myself benefit from unsighted lead-follow drills better than our visual counterparts, developing kinesthetic skills more quickly.

What I learned from the advanced coaching sessions caused me to re-evaluate and rewrite my "Teaching & Salsa" training manual, using sense-neutral terms in the main and sense-specific terms where they were best suited: the premise being that it should be as useful to the broadest range of educators. (I deployed a spread of sense terms during the opening of this post as a demonstration.) NLP has made me much more aware of the language of expression I, as an educator, should choose to use in class.

Back to the subject of pictures.

I wonder if my ambivalence to having graphical images on this salsa blog simply stems from my personal lack of requirement for it - my imagination is happy to rampage about freely; it would probably disregard a photograph as a tether. But having read Darren Rowse's blog and associated comments, I think I should. And I feel I will.

Loo Yeo

25th January 2009 Barrio Latino @Platillos, Leopold Square, Sheffield

(aka. A Winston-Flavoured Salsa Lesson)

It was a bit of a mad dash yesterday. I raced back from this nation's capital barely in time to make it for the last of three taster salsa lessons which had been running weekly in Sheffield's newest salsa night 'Barrio Latino' in Platillos. The previous two I had contrived to miss through a conspiracy of circumstance, and I would not to be foiled again (even if it meant getting out and manually locomoting East Mainline's ageing locomotive).

I walked briskly into the newly revamped and swanky Leopold Square, smack-bang in Sheffield's city centre, and a medium-sized stone's throw away from the veteran Bar Cubana - past the eateries and purveyors of libations which were standing forlornly empty. It was Sunday night and the Square, packed to the gunnels on Fridays and Saturdays, felt as if tired from its exertions.

Platillos is a well-appointed establishment: a bar downstairs and a tapas restaurant upstairs. Entering the lower floor, I encountered a rectangular room with stairs upwards on one side, a bar on the opposite side, DJ booth at the far end, and seating along most of the periphery. The unsprung wooden floor which would have been a tight squeeze for thirty-plus dancing couples, was interjected with two structural columns. The decor is warm and plush; a perfect small venue for a salsa night.

Rob's grin was there to greet me and coax my details onto his organiser's mailing list. We made our first-time acquaintances (he'd heard of me via Facebook apparently) with amiable chatter as I fished out my taster dues - the lesson had been billed as "New York-style" salsa; a mode I'd not revisited in the better part of a decade. What-is-more, the charismatic Winston Mitchell, friend and pillar of the salsa community was doing the teaching. I'd never had a Winston-flavoured salsa lesson before, so I was very much looking forward to this.

Spying him in the far corner, I snuck up to say "hello" and to extort him into accepting a beer using the good ole, "we gotta keep the bar happy to keep the venue ticking over" thrust. He countered with the reliably effective, "you're good, you shouldn't be doing this class"; which I deflected with the philosophical "one's basics can't be too strong" manoeuvre. The riposte he was gathering was beginning to look mighty when, as luck would have it, the exchange was blunted by the appearance of a Winston-fan. I hid behind the decoy and made good my escape.

Winston's lesson was co-taught by Sophie, and structurally contained a bit of everything as all tasters should: basic steps, a short combination with turns evenly distributed across both gender roles, a simple shine, technical pointers, and a bit of styling. It was ably presented with the setting of achieveable goals, and the class was split on the odd occasion as Sophie went through the women's part whilst Winston the men's. The learning atmosphere reminded me very much of Ces and Kerry's (of LatinXces) manner where a patient, easy approach is the hallmark.

If I had been tasked with designing a single-hour taster of NY salsa, it would have borne a similar form.

I had heard from some salseros that they thought Winston's pacing was a little slow. I now I understand why. The perception is based on a comparison with some other instructors who cram their hour with one combination, packed wall-to-wall with turn elements. Like proverbial sardines in a can. Winston on the other hand, resisted the temptation and opted for a short, balanced combination; and used the available time to explain fundamental technical details AND allow sufficient practice of the component parts. It was clear he was after quality.

Next week he and Sophie begin a six-week course. I'm sure that they've already begun addressing their vocal projection (the room is not acoustically kind to an instructor's voice), and will continue to accumulate their range of teaching metaphors. And as experience lends them more polish, I have no doubt that calls for them will increase in volume. NY salsa has stylistically changed since I last was a beginner, and would myself have signed up for its duration had it not been for commitments to Conjunto Laloma. I cannot give a more honest recommendation.

The normally interminable wait between the end of a lesson and the full pace of social salsa didn't happen. Whilst I blinked, Platillos filled up; and suddenly there was pedal-to-the-metal dancing. Ana, Rob's partner-in-crime, was on the decks playing modern dancefloor favourites. As a DJ she set up a strong party atmosphere like in Manchester's long-running Copacabana, mixing it up salsa with merengue, bachata, reggaeton and kizomba. Everyone: the Kenyans, Brits, Angolans, Spanish, Asians, Latins, ate it up - I waited for zouk to come on as the kitchen sink.

...denied...

It was all hot, sweaty fun. But sadly I can't feature a full review, as I had to make an early exit.

'Barrio Latino' is still very much in its birthing phase: enjoying the euphoria of being young, new, and the rapidly escalating success that that conveys. It has all the right ingredients for success: welcoming hosts, a dynamic energy, strong instructors, a crowd-aware DJ, a tremendous amount of goodwill and a clientèle who appreciate that the bar needs to be fed well for the night to prosper.

Whether it can sustain itself to become an established favourite? It's too early to tell. In Winston and Sophie are instructors more than capable of introducing newcomers to salsa and growing the base. The hardest part will be in keeping the product vital; by avoiding the attentions of Complacency in the format - especially in music policy. To the protagonists of 'Barrio Latino' I say,

"It's there for the taking."

Loo

12th Night Extravaganza 2009. Saturday & Sunday (Part 3)

My eyes drifted open to the world knowing that Saturday was going to be a day of little respite.

My feet, happily worn from last night's revelry, were probably going to be disconsolate by lunch and downright rebellious by dinner. And yet there had to be enough in the tank for a truly heroic run at the evening party, plus a little left in reserve to be amongst the last to leave with Tony and Mary. An itch of anticipation seeped in with my duvet's warmth tinged, dare I say it, with a hint of dread. Age is a cruel mistress.

But I've also found that she can be distracted with a nice cup of tea and a hot shower. With Age rubbernecking, I packed up and stepped out into the morning frost, returning my keycard to the porters at the lodge, joshing with them about the quality of institution food, and wending my way to an uncertain cooked breakfast. I discovered it to be strangely reassuring that bacon, sausage, beans and egg are universally constant across all university canteens be it Bath, Reading, Sheffield, Stirling and in this case, York. Nostalgia aside, breakfast times at congresses are valuable opportunities to meet fellow delegates; where I try to get in early and take it at as leisurely a pace as possible. Alejandro, Bill and Jimmy of Palenke were just finishing up and braving the cold to sight-see York. I settled down with a group of, as it turns out, very itinerant salseros based on the other side of the Pennines who were busily mapping out their day through the workshop programme.

Bridge over duck-rink: all roads lead to salsa
(as they all should do)

Returning to the Roger Kirk Centre, the nerve plexus of 12th Night, Mary took up my offer of help by tasking me with remedial teaching at the more fundamental workshops. The first workshop I chose was, with his permission, Bill Newby's tango argentino class where the gender imbalance seemed greatest. It was gently and patiently delivered in Bill's typically warm manner. And despite the difference between his salon and my orgullo style (which I masked), and his immaculate polish versus my red-raw rustiness, my partners clearly appreciated learning with an experienced hand.

But instead of indulging in a blow-by-blow account of each class, this year's 12th Night could be better summed up in one general observation and a number of personal highlights.

A General Observation

Social dance instruction in the UK remains largely driven by force of personality; and is a reflection of the need of its primary consumers, the middle classes with the expendable income, to be entertained. From a pedagogic perspective, few instructors demonstrate that they have identified and understood what they consider to be the pinnacles of their art, let alone mapped a clear development route to those summits for their students. The narrow educative knowledge-base results in two things that are readily apparent in congresses here and abroad:

1. confusion as to the different approaches that distinguish a class from a tutorial and a workshop; and
2. an impaired ability for instructors to act in concert through the meshing of their progressions - the learning contexts they establish are inflexibly individualised (to their personalities) instead of sharing a lingua franca of physical skills training.
   

[I note that there has been some movement by the United Kingdom Alliance (UKA) to certify salsa dance instructors. But having studied their syllabus (upon which their instructor examinations are based) at length, I see much description of vocabulary but little that is modern in the teaching of physical skills.]

Choice is the primary benefit at a congress, not threaded learning; and there was a smörgåsbord of it in York. As a generous estimate, thirty percent of sessions in 12th Night were roughly in workshop format; the remainder were vocabulary-based club classes. I see the latter as either: the instructor sticking to what (s)he knows how to do; or, just as likely, giving the attendees what they expect.

Having taught in the same shoes, I find that most attendees themselves are unable to distinguish between 'workshop' and 'class', treating both as the latter; and that I have to bill a workshop as a 'masterclass' in order to create the correct mindset.

Some Personal Highlights

• Lunchtime with Adriana where amongst the things we talked about was: how she still remembers our first dance together ten-plus years ago in Sheffield, and having her compliment my bachata as "dangerous";
• Steve Carter & Encuentro Latino's take on musical interpretation, and their really handy mnemonic for cáscara i.e. "I don't like carrots, I like potatoes";
  
• Lisandro's happy memories of Palenke's stint in Jakarta (near my neck of the woods), and his penchant for the food;
  
• A talk post-dinner with timbalero Jimmy Le Messurier and trombonist Paul Taylor about their recordings and the music industry;
• Bill and Jaime's emotionally charged tango argentino demonstration;
  
• Dancing boogaloo Colombian-style with Adriana;
• Salsa, chachachá, bachata, and decidedly post-watershed merengue & reggaeton with some normally-very-nice people ("clean" is for whimps!);
• Getting to know Tony and Mary better and meeting their house-guests Tony and Sarah. Two lasting memories: Mary and Sarah breathless from laughter from my rosé champagne-fuelled antics, and the two Tonys behaving badly in the kitchen until dangerously close to the daylight hours;
• The decadence of dancing on a lazy Sunday afternoon; and
  
• Two fabulous tango-tinged bachatas with Maria.

The Ultimate Decadence awaits the truly hard-of-core:
dancing on a lazy Sunday afternoon

It was over a lazy mid-morning breakfast, as we were both desperately caffeinating, when fellow (ex)Steel City dweller Caroline offered me a lift. I jumped at the chance to indulge in her company and to eschew the anonymous silence of the train. We left 12th Night in the mid-afternoon dusk, on the squally journey South.

A leisurely dinner together at one favourite Bengali restaurant was my way of repaying the compliment. It was the best manner in which to round off a perfect weekend of reconnection.

Yeo Loo Yen

12th Night Extravaganza 2009. Friday Night (Part 2)

After eight years of unabated success, York's 12th Night Extravaganza finds itself at the grounds of the city's University having definitively outgrown the facilities at St.John's. And whilst acknowledging that the running of the North of England's only salsa congress is not the work of one person in isolation, its rise is surely a testament to Tony Piper's philosophy and will.

I find that any social event be it a lesson, club night, or congress weekender, reflects the culture and values of its main organisational driver. I believe 12th Night to be no exception, and whilst Tony's forthright manner may not be everyone's cup of tea, his Salsa Extravaganza is a more telling measure of the man. It has a charm of understated informality; an inclusiveness that draws together the leading lights of the region, and yet generously showcases the talents of those less well-known. Its programme of workshops have been planned to give a relaxed and easy pace throughout the day; and the parties at night, unfettered from the sideline's critical eye, are a true celebration of dance.

Dance as the end, and not the means to an end, is the Extravaganza's core.

And so I find myself in the middle of my basic but clean single room in Wentworth Hall, all dressed up and ready to dance, clutching a bottle of delectable rosé champagne for Mary and Tony in thanks for being their guest. With steam still issuing from the shower of the en-suite, I pull the door to and head out on the three minute walk to where the festivities are - The Roger Kirk Centre. It's Friday night and the man-made lake, around which York University campus is huddled, is an ice-rink for ducks as England bears the coldest winter she's experienced in fifty years.

Stepping into Reception, Mary and Tony are already there as hosts with a warm greeting for all. I get the obligatory banter and friendly abuse which I hurl back in equal measure - it'd've been rude not to. After hanging up my coat on the plentiful racks (an important and oft-overlooked detail at other places), I proceed through the now-closed cafeteria and into the generous main hall. One look tells me all I need to know.

A long well-staffed bar on one side; a dance floor bound on one side by a 0.5m high stage and ample seating-around tables on the other three; a total capacity circa 500 people; and open-able windows in the entirely-glazed outer wall means some measure of client control over ventilation. The floor looked like unsealed resin over concrete which was already kicking up power through erosion (many dancers over the weekend were to assume that talc had been laid down); the ladies' balls of foot were going to be throbbing at the end of the night; and dancers who didn't have stopping technique were going to be spinning gingerly.

The sound engineers would have had their hands full (they certainly didn't look like happy bunnies) with the highly sound-reflective surfaces and multi-tiered ceiling. As it turns out my preferred spot, right in front of stage, had the best acoustics - which was just perfect as Palenke were playing. They were one highlight in a studded evening, and a real surprise was whom they'd co-opted as their guest timbalero: none other than Jimmy Le Messurier. Palenke was right on the money, creating an atmosphere of relaxed yet vibrant energy which DJ Lubi skillfully continued for his all-too-short stint.

The time in-between the band's sets featured entertaining dance performances: dancesport chachachá, dancesport rhumba, mambo and funk-freestyles. These physical interjections, far from breaking the momentum of the night, were kept short and proved valuable association and cooling-down time. Certainly those in the audience, with their lighted faces, were cheered and cheered. When the shows closed and the band resumed the stage, I'd stopped doing my impression of being a hot-water bottle on legs. Now at a partner-considerate lukewarm temperature, I snuck up on Mary and pounced on her for a dance.

That's a metaphorical pounce by the way. For those of you who know Mary, you'll agree that catching her unawares is one of the great scientific improbabilities.

I was due only to spend the one night in York; some soul had had the temerity to book my room for Saturday night ...the cad! Mary discovered this over the course of our salsa a la cubana together, and offered me their spare room for Saturday. She's not the type to brook any argument, especially when hospitality is concerned. Truth be told, Tony had offered as well not a few hours previously - and with both their generous invitations, I chose to be honest and place myself in their debt once again.

Friday night proved to be the Essence of 12th Night. And as I retired to bed in the not-so-wee hours of Saturday, I remembered again why I needed to be in York.

(On to Part Three.)

Yeo Loo Yen

Prologue: 12th Night Extravaganza 2009. The Road To York. (Part 1)

I called Tony Piper last Thursday to wish him success.

The 12th Night Extravaganza of which he is the main organiser had not only changed venue, but had also doubled in size - metamorphing into a full-grown dance weekender. The step he took was more a giant Leap of Faith; I knew that there was a lot at stake, and that he'd been shouldering its increasingly considerable weight for a while. My regret was that I'd been unable to be involved formally this time because of my commitments to Verdant, but at least I could be a source of moral support.

Over the line Tony was his jocular self, and we exchanged relaxed banter. I appreciated his creating the illusion that he had all the time in the world for me; he wasn't aware that I'd tried unsuccessfully to get through more than thrice times previously. Actually come to think of it, he simply made the time. I'm flattered. Then he popped the question...

"Why don't you come up? You'd be my guest."

Caught flat-footed, I ummed and I ahhhed. I thought about what I had in the pipeline: a new product launch the next day; and all the preparation for being on-call for EU product compliance issues the following week to name but two, had led me not even to contemplate dancing over weekend as a possibility. Sensing my discomfort Tony left it simply at, "just let me know".

It was obvious to me that my reluctance stemmed from being surprised in a planned routine; and that I wasn't being honest with myself. I was using the stock 'not wanting to impose' as a poor excuse. By next day's noon, the commitments of the launch had melted away; and there was no reason at all not to. A brief call to say, "I'm coming up" and I found myself gazing at old York's city walls a few hours later.

Whilst on the train watching the darkened silhouettes racing past, I reflected on my state of lack of enchantment with salsa. Why would I have passed up an opportunity to be with friends, dance with them, and meet new ones? Why would I have gone so far as to seek excuses to do so even? I write the about spiritualities of friendship, entrancements of music and the quasi-hedonistic pleasures of dancing... was I being disingenuous?

In response, the black forms outside seemed to coalesce into a carapace in the centre of my mind. The tough shell of Responsibility. For 4 de Diciembre to be at its most prepared, such that promoters and audiences received the best they deserved; for my own musicianship to develop as quickly as possible, so as not to let my band-mates down; for my reading to expand, so that all decisions could be made with the highest-quality information available - every iota of breath could be justifiably consumed by Responsibility before a single pace on the floor.

Responsibility becomes a joyless thing if left untempered.

As I climbed into the taxi and uttered the words "Wentworth College, please" I knew I'd made the right decision. The forces which had shaped my arrival had saved me from the weight of expectation. Ahead was the gentle prospect of rediscovery.

(On to Part Two.)

Yeo Loo Yen

Songo Conguero (Part Two) - The Flows Of Left And Right

Two mince pies later and I was back at my desk.

Happily playing away to Los Van Van with my new toy, the properly located open tone had a transformative effect on my songo marchas: there was, all of a sudden, a relaxed yet powerful push in every other rhythmic space between the double open tones. But still, things didn't seem as they should be; there was a 'hard point' somewhere in my playing which was giving my songo the hiccups. This had to mean that I wasn't yet privileged with the full story despite the rephrasing - something was missing.

Fortified with plenty of currant-and-pastry-laden calories, I ventured out in search of the known unknown. Taking stock, I had:

• a basic marcha whose double-open tones were played with the dominant hand. It was capable of indicating clave orientation with an open tone, played with the dominant hand;
• a basic marcha whose second of the double-open tones was played with the non-dominant hand, which had no variations indicating clave orientation.
  

It's pretty obvious that a non-dominant open tone variation indicating the rumba clave 3-side should exist; despite no mention of its existence in literature I'd encountered. That's not a challenge. I made one up with the right phrasing and feel inside a minute and proceeded to naturalise it. However the Pandora's Box of permutation analysis also indicates the possibility of these marchas:

• second of double-opens non-dominant, clave orientation open tone with dominant; and
  
• second of double-opens dominant, clave orientation open tone with non-dominant.

Hoping that what I had was enough and that the last two theoretical permutations could wait for another day, I chickened out and went on to the combination analysis. Clearly, the basic marchas fall into two groups: one with the clave-orienting open tone being played using the dominant hand, the other with the non-dominant. Four simple combinations are possible [cis and trans are terms commonly used in organic chemistry to describe molecular structure]:

1. cis dominant: dominant 2-side, dominant 3-side;
2. cis non-dominant: non-dominant 2-side, non-dominant 3-side;
3. trans one: dominant 2-side, non-dominant 3-side; and
4. trans two: non-dominant 2-side, dominant 3-side.
   

All changes in the trans combinations occur at the beginning of the African cycle i.e. the double-opens.

I played them all and very soon they all merged seamlessly as one. It was a fabulous feeling to be drumming fluidly into to the music ...the ebb and flow of strokes between left and right was reminiscent of my dancing-jive days at the time when I was starting to master combination-building. Stress-testing what I had with the addition of more complex variations; the results, though imperfect through want of more practice, proved that the songo foundation could cope with everything I could lob at it: from breaks to songo con marcha to other pedals (rhythm families). Outlines of the groups to which the many variations belonged started to become discernible...

On Christmas day, my Songo shed its chains.

Loo Yen

Songo Conguero (Part One) - Locating The Rumba Clave Orientation Marker

I've been playing the tumbadoras for years now, and like most of the musicians I know, there have been niggles with my playing that I've borne for a very long time; niggles that I'd learned to live with in the mental interim until there was enough time to address them properly. We never seem to make the time... because that pesky Spectre of Something-Else-More-Urgent always seems to steal the moments set aside away. "Not this time you ain't", I resolved. "It's Christmas and you're not getting any!"

My greatest regret on these hand-drums has been that I'd never become a songo conguero. I can play a range of songo patterns but that's different; it's only descriptive (and as far removed from being the real thing as a move technician is from being a dancer). Over time, I'd come to understand theoretically how songo came about, what it was designed to achieve and some of the forms in which it manifested itself.

• It broke the old rule of low drum on (clave) 3-side, with it being used to voice the double-open tones at the end of each bar (beats 4 & 4+) if you're European-trained. They'd mark the beginning of the cycle if you're and African drummer. This was the cyclic structure of the rhythm.
  
• Congueros should fill the space in between the double-opens on the tumba more freely, melodically even. Moving fluidly between variations and creating their own.
• The congas retained only part of their traditional role, taking on aspects from other percussion instruments, and redefining themselves to create rhythmic space for the integration of a trap-set.
  
• There's an optional clave-orientation marker - the first upbeat (beat 1+) on the clave 3-side, which is significant in rumba drumming.
  

It was the Practice of songo that had me stumped. I found it always a struggle simply changing between variations - like swimming against a current, let alone progress through it all as a seamless whole; and my phrasing didn't sound at all on the money. It was clear that my playing needed a revamp.

On Christmas day I decided to tackle my phrasing, specifically the clave-orientation marker. I had programmed myself to believe that its rhythmic location was similar to that of the note in a typical piano montuno (on the same beat) - an easy enough assumption to make, given my history as a pianist and my limited exposure to live drumming in a rumba context. It wasn't until I'd put on some of Los Van Van's live tracks and changed mental gears over to 'African mode' that it became clear how mistaken I'd been.

Trying the extremes of placement, it felt that if attacked too early, the note sounded like an echo of the first clave beat; too late and it was a lethargic introduction to beat two of the bar. Either way it was weak, failing to convey the sense of power that I knew had to exist in rumba. Unlike with piano notes, a conga's open tone swells after its initiation with resonance before it decays; and compensating for this proved to be the key. I timed the placement of the open tone such that the transition from crescendo to decrescendo formed a bridge linking beats one and two of the 3-side. The orientation marker thus emerged as a potent response to the call of beat one; acting as a complement to the clave, in contrast to the son forms where the orientation markers are generally in agreement.

It proved to be a significant revelation, not least in helping me keep track of clave orientation, but more so in opening the way to the fluid playing that songo requires of its interpreters.

I was to experience one more valuable gift on the day of December 25th.

On to Part Two.

Loo Yeo

Salsa Situation Report: Christmas Eve 2008

Oooh! So much on my plate, and I'm not talking turkey either (you have to forgive the pun, it's Christmas). Haven't done one of these since October, so... a no-longer-mental note of things to do:

For Conjunto Laloma

• I-IV-V-IV montuno progressions (minor) on guitar;
• music for 'Monton de estrellas';
• end sequence for 'El carretero'; and
• lyrics of 'Lágrimas negras'.

For 4 de Diciembre

• lyrics for 'Colombia, mi corazón' and 'Xiomara';
• revise songo rhythms on congas;
• explore songo con marcha rhythms further; and
• work on Afro 6/8 rhythms for vocals.

For Personal Development

• refresher study of "Divine Utterances" for book review;
• study "La Lucha for Cuba" for book review;
• practice dancing son (contratiempo) and son montuno (to clave only);
• more Great Scale and Messa di voce vocal practices (sigh!); and
• learn "Tiempo para el amor" on guitar in preparation for recording project.

I'd put more down but it's already looking a tad optimistic. Christmas IS a time of music and dance.

Not veg-ing in front of the tv,
Loo

20th December 2008 Cuatro de Diciembre with SalsaYarm@Tower Club Ballroom, Middlesborough

Chris and Sue Hield's Christmas Salsa Party was going to be the last of Cuatro de Diciembre's engagements before we went our separate ways for the festive season. We were determined to give it full bore, just so as to cap off what has been a great year for the band. Expectations of us were high especially after Darlington a month ago, and I'm sure it's a phenomenon that we increasingly will have to contend with as word of 4de12's good work continues to spread.

It's a nice problem to have.

There were a few solutions to be found beforehand though, the first of which was logistics. Since the venue was in use in the afternoon, BlastPA had but a small window of opportunity afterwards to get their considerable equipment up the stairs to the top floor, set everything up, and get us soundchecked. The second was with the playlist; Ferret couldn't make the gig and I was singing his numbers, so a touch more preparation was needed on my part (he ain't getting them back now! The little rascal).

Practices in between had been hairily helter-skelter, because of the upheaval of relocating to Attic studios; we'd had to move simply because we'd out-grown my place. But I knew that we were potentially going to do something special after the session last Thursday, when it all came together tighter than... well... a Very Tight thing. Every musician will tell you that practices and performances are a very different kettles of fish, but we've increasingly been able to transfer much our smooth practice form on to stage while maintaining our cutting edge.

It was time to eat that pudding.

Similar to Darlington, the anticipated three hour jaunt North took considerably less than that; my trusty iPod was only part-way through its third iteration of Café Noir by Bana Congo presents Papa Nöel (kinda apt don't you think?) when Jeremy pulled the minibus into the ballroom's grounds. It was already dark, what with it being close to the shortest day.

The Tower Club Ballroom in Middlesborough bears no resemblance to the Tower Ballroom in Blackpool, although I wouldn't blame you for the association if you've ever been a ballroom dancer; the name certainly did conjure up certain chintzy images in me (sorry, couldn't help it). The former is a converted church, now a social dance venue spread across three floors. Right at the very top is the hall: with generous seating on its periphery for 180 or so, a small stage midway along one of its long sides, a bar, and a lovely dancefloor.

If you're a floor anorak like me: it's hardwood; sprung, although you can tell when joists are underfoot (and that the joists are steel); the surface polish is about 8-inches slower than competition speed, just perfect for social dance; and very slightly slower at the centre as you would expect. Two hundred plus dancers could happily strut their stuff on that piece of magic.

Okay, back to the Party.

Soundcheck was over just as Doors Opened. Ideally, we would have had a further 30 mins to squeeze more richness out of Catie's alto flute and Willie's violin; a sharper crack of slaps and a more solid, rounder presence of open tones from Whib's tumbadoras. But that's a perfectionist talking in the real world, because Blast had delivered the goods in record time once again.

I settling down to grab a moment of calm in the lull before lessons were due to begin, when whom should I spy gliding in but Ces and Kerry of LatinXces ('glide' is quite the appropriate verb for this svelte couple who do a mean bachata too). It hadn't occured to me to check the leaflet to see if any friends were guest teachers. What a Christmas Brucie bonus.

The lessons were well managed; they had to be as both Ces and Kerry's intermediate and Chris and Sue's beginner sessions were running concurrently on the same floor. The former was jam-packed, understandable considering how busy SalsaYarm have been in developing the salsa scene, and also who were the guest instructors. Both classes were more than just competently taught in a friendly convivial atmosphere (a safe learning environment in educator-speak). While most of Cuatro de Diciembre went for the challenge of LatinXces, Ana (bassist), Mike (trombonist) and I opted for beginners. We didn't want to risk taxing ourselves before the gig and felt we could be of more value there. Ana's no slouch when it comes to dancing, she can lead and follow, has been a salsa teacher for nearly ten years, and an instructor of instructors for four.

More smiling faces came streaming in: Colin Piper, Tony Piper, Ian Steer, Theo Wolashie; it was starting to feel like a party at a friend's place... I mentally gave myself a smack and the professional side kicked in. We had 160 pairs of socks to blow off this night, and Jeremy's piano notes had just started to colour the air - the opening montuno of Nueva Generación was underway.

I'd canvassed and watched the attendees beforehand to get a sense of the tempo they were comfortable with. We'd been practicing our music at a more moderate speed, and it seemed as if that was suitable as an average with some quicker and slower pieces thrown in for texture. I validated this again during the interval between sets: in my conversations with the various teachers, and guests whilst dancing. I also asked our sound engineer Tom to keep an eye out on the floor, and to boost the conga tones if he ever saw dancers looking uncertain. That smoothened everything out. Tony regards us as a "dance-friendly" band for very good reason.

With the PA firing across the room and the small stage being recessed into an alcove, we had to make special adjustments to compensate. The reflected sound of the main PA was bouncing around the back of stage, muddying our foldback from the monitors. I was relatively unaffected as I only have piano and my vocals from my monitor (the general rule being the fewer the instruments on foldback, the better), but I did have to compensate for reflected sound and make sure the attack of my vocals was earlier that when I would normally have put it.

Testament to the quality of Cuatro de Diciembre, a little bit of magic started to happen as we were entering the mambo section of the first number. We began to swing. "Swing" is that hard-earned quality that sets a great band apart from a good one; it's when the rhythm comes together and begins to live and breathe (quite different from 'swinging' notes in the blues). It didn't take the guys long to adapt to performance conditions at all.

Ana Santiago Menéndez - Onstage, on bass

This winter party will live long in my memory. The music and the friends all came together just right to create one very special night.

Everyone, directly and indirectly, declared 4 de Diciembre as the best band they'd yet seen. Tony said that we just keep getting better and better. He ain't seen what we've got planned for next time! And I'd also finally met salsa teacher and DJ Keith Tolson, someone whom I'd heard many good things about. But most significant of all, our wonderful hosts Chris and Sue referred to the night as being the most successful one they'd ever had at the Tower. Now that's a record I'd like to keep.

160 pairs of smokin' socks... and a partridge in a pear tree.

Loo Yeo

Development with a Capital "D". Springwell Community Arts, Derbyshire

Brian Evans is a bundle of energy - a dimunitive Giant of community welfare activity in England's midlands. His unyielding commitment as a Youth worker is as humbling as it is unsung. I first met him when he was still with the award-winning Donut studios. This was before he moved to pastures new where he's been catalysing unprecedented success as manager at Springwell Community Arts (SCArt). SCArt describes itself as, "a development within Springwell Community School in Staveley, Derbyshire."

Here, I would contend that the statement hardly does the drive, ambition, potential contribution, and audacity of the entity full justice. It should be Development with a capital "D" to signify the development of youths, the development of community, the development of aspiration.

The beating heart of SCArt, Brian and his co-workers, is located in the Performing Arts block, a dedicated building on the grounds of Springwell Community School featuring:

• a digital recording studio operating Cubase and Reason, capable of recording bands, soloists and spoken word;
• a media-editing suite running audio and video editing packages;
• spaces for the teaching and rehearsal of the performing arts;
• access to a plethora of musical instruments;
• a drama studio with full PA and lighting rig which doubles as a small venue; and
• a dance studio (my favourite bit).

More remarkably, this superb resource is open to use by the local community. But bricks and mortar alone, though necessary, doesn't ensure the success of any project. For that we need to look to 'software'; the people and the effort they commit to driving Development. That's where Brian&Co excel, leading courses in sound engineering, DJing, Community Theatre, Rock Schools, Circus art, film projects; as well as workshops about lots of stuff, like "how to improve your song-writing... "

Sometime earlier this year, Bri began planning a ten week programme designed to teach young people how to salsa, and he invited the participation of Dan (timbalero for 4de12) and myself. Called "Salsa de Springwell", it was funded as part of a local initiative to engage more young people in physical activity. He strengthened it with the option for students to learn how to play the music and play as part of a latin band. Both dance and music programmes would culminate in a public performance in mid-December. Didn't I mention that he's ambitious...?

Once availabilities were ironed out, the course was set to span late September to early December, culminating in a public performance; and we launched it with an all-day introduction to the students of Springwell on Friday 19th September. That was a challenging day, teaching salsa in the main hall over the five periods to more than six hundred school-goers collectively. I'd not felt drained like that in a very long time. But happily it met with sterling success, Bri saying that, "this was a really fun day for all involved and the students had the chance to try something new and challenging". The weekly programme began four days later.

And here I'm about to confess my shortcomings.

I was keenly looking forward to involvement in this project for its community aspect. I'm no stranger to teaching salsa in schools and as a community activity, both voluntarily and for extended courses of time. It's an energising and rewarding the experience. Based on previous involvements, plus having had the pleasure of working with Bri before, it seemed like a no-brainer.

I found it tough.

The brief was to teach the dancing of salsa, and for the dancers to show off what they'd learned at the end. The members of the class were largely performing arts students and the simplest way to meet the ends was to work out a routine and simply drill it for ten weeks - it was, after all, a context that they were used to. But that is not what salsa as a social activity is about, and I found my interpretation of salsa at odds with the easy/efficient route.

I made another rod for my own back in not adapting my teaching philosophy to a narrowly targeted, information-restricted i.e. need-to-know model (see previous post). Over the weeks, it became increasingly clear that only a small minority of my charges were self-motivated enough to thrive in my learning paradigm. I'm clearly more used to running master-classes. Things definitely weren't Peachy.

Salvation of the programme came from an unexpected direction... my being poorly. My replacement, Karthik, from the Salsa & Merengue Society and The Forum gave the class the shot in the arm it needed more than midway through; effectively a clean slate once the committed students had been selected for. It was a welcome relief to all involved.

The next time I was to see my former charges was at the final performance at the Speedwell Rooms in Staveley four weeks later i.e. last night, where an edited version of '4 de Diciembre' took the end billing. Springwell's salsa band and its dancers acquitted themselves admirably to the tune of 'Esperanza' by Salsa Celtica, attaining the ambitious marker that had been laid down by Bri. The Springwell salsa band then went on to exceed expectations, performing an instrumental piece they'd composed themselves!

The lesson in-between Springwell's band and 4de12 was fired up by Helen, a colleague of Karthik's, who has agreed to undertake the regular salsa lessons due to start up (early next year) as a result of the project's success. Her bubbly personality and her schoolteacher background make her absolutely perfect for the role.

It did turn out fine at the very last. Staveley's community got to experience salsa thanks to Bri's efforts, and should expect to continue doing so. I got to experience teaching at a community school and more valuably, understand another facet of English secondary school pedagogy and how it prepares its sparks of the future.

Staveley's daughters and sons have plenty to be proud of.

Loo Yeo

The Need To Know

In 'Philosophical Reasoning' the author, Nicholas Rescher, proposes that:

"At the basis of the cognitive enterprise lies the fact of human curiosity rooted in the need-to-know of a weak and vulnerable creature emplaced in a difficult and often hostile environment in which it must make its evolutionary way by its wits."

I read that as, 'the need to know is a fundamental survival trait in humans'.

This is at odds with the other better-known "need to know" phenomenon describing the restriction of information regarded as sensitive. The latter was a major bugbear of mine during my days as a dance competitor, where I consistently felt that I was being drip-fed information at a rate that hindered my development. Not that I blamed my instructors.

Not at all. The urgency was in the preparing of us for competition, and they didn't want us to be side-tracked by extraneous information. I interpreted it as their being most comfortable with a parent's "do as I say" paradigm. However the approach did rob me of the ability to tailor my development to suit best my needs; and slower, less accurate assimilation because there was only a small contextual framework with which I could associate new material. "Need to know" left me not knowing the right questions to ask.

It wasn't until my second year, when things seemed as if they would remain unchanged, that I threw down the gauntlet at my dance teachers and asked them to challenge me. To their credit, Carole and Jeff threw even the kitchen sink at us (my then partner and I); and the results came quickly - a leap in the number of re-calls to the floor.

I made a promise then, to myself, that I would not ever teach in the same way.

The principle of providing as much information as the learner can possibly take has several benefits, and just as many drawbacks.

• It is intellectually highly taxing on both parties.
• The instructor bears the burden of organising the information in order to reduce the onset of student saturation.
• It has a greater setup cost because of the larger contextual framework. Initial progress can be perceived as slow but once established, the assimilation phase of the learning process is comparatively speedy, flexible and accurate.
• The distribution of the group according ability and commitment is rapidly established.
• Highly self-motivated students benefit the most with this approach. It is not suitable for lowest common denominator teaching.

I got to thinking about this because of two recent experiences: one when I was asked to teach a group of secondary school dance students (more in a later entry); and the other with Conjunto Laloma.

We'd been working on a tremendous lot of stuff over the past week, and I realised that I hadn't done the best possible job of organising the material nor emphasising enough where the weight should lie. One cogitation session in the shower later (I do all my best thinking there) et voila! I had a firm design for the workshop. It looked like this:

Part 1 - Changing the feel between son and son montuno by altering the proportion of instruments playing the arpeggiated cinquillo-based rhythm vs guajeo rhythm.
Part 2 - Tresillo rhythm and its variations, counterweighting, and handover points. Developing a stronger handle on this fundamental motif.
Part 3 - Introducing a regular reference pattern.
Part 4 - Riffs, stabs and moñas.
Part 5- A sneak peek at the whole thing. Assembling the full rhythmic context with a regular reference rhythm, a syncopated rhythm, sobremontuno, and moñas.

I knew it was going to be a tough ask for a 2-hour-something session, but I desperately wanted to establish as much of the full context as possible. Implicit within Nicholas Rescher's statement is the requirement to act (or actively decide on inaction) upon the knowledge gathered. Conjunto's been pulling 2 workshops a week, and it was soon going to be time to employ the 'whole-part-whole' learning principle; so we could have the context of complete songs combined with specific exercises.

Knowledge means little if unaccompanied by the will to effect change.

Despite the leisurely discussions in between exercises, accompanied by tea and chocolate cake, we managed to make it through all five planned parts - albeit the last felt only the slightest of touches. It's enough to be satisfied with, and more than enough as a starting point for next week.

Loo Yen Yeo

29th November 2008 Rob Yoxon's Salsa Party

On the surface it might seem strange that I would choose to blog about, of all things, a house party.

But for me, salsa is not just about the glamour of the shows, the all-nighters in the paid dance halls, the workshops, the routines of Strictly Come Dancing, nor the jet-set 'superstars' appearing at international congresses. That might be very much what it is today, but it was the humble house party that kept Salsa's heart beating during its youth, and through the doldrum years when the record labels tried unsuccessfully to tell us that salsa flojo was the way of the future.

Nuyoricans used it then to raise rent money, helping part-time musicians cobble together a living at the same time. Rumbas, parrandas, bachatas still erupt in houses and backyards in the cities of present-day Latin America. And some have chosen to migrate here to the steely-grey winter of Sheffield.

Rob's been a stalwart of our salsa scene for many years and has been putting on a salsa house party every month or two since establishing himself in his current place. In the many years that I've known him, I hardly recognised in him the urge to instruct or to demonstrate; he never seemed to be distracted from what he loves most - and that is dancing with other people.

Now salsa as a social activity has the potential to become politicised, people jockeying for position on the hierarchy, instructors vying for students. Rob's parties are like a watering hole in the Serengeti where everything's put to one side and everyone simply has a drink and a dance. Nearly a year ago (at another of Rob's salsafests), I said to one of Sheffield's leading salsa teachers that I thought what Rob managed to do was "quite remarkable". The response I got was, "I wouldn't go that far."

I don't think the instructor quite got it.

I asked Rob the other day, how he went around inviting people. He has a large house, and he knows a lot of people - I was thinking that there would necessarily be some sort of selection process to make this work, otherwise he'd be swamped. Rob simply replied that he just invites all his friends, and about half of them turn up... no worries so far. That just sums him up to a tee.

A person who loves salsa so much that he puts on a semi-regular event through his own time, effort and expense; where people are willing to suspend their differences to gather, drink and dance; where the music is generally agreed to be more varied (like kizomba, merengue, bachata) and better than most salsa clubs running; a party that is unintentionally true to salsa's early past.

Rob Yoxon gets it more than most.

Loo Yeo

Bomb-proof Laloma

The past two weeks to have been more musically fulfilling to me than I could possibly have wished for. I think that's a testament to our philosophy of 'friends in a workshop' approach.

When we set out a fortnight ago, I felt that one of the primary milestones was being able to play in a way that distinguished between son and son montuno. Yesterday we took a very big step forward with El carretero as a context thanks to Jeremy playing either the guajeo or cinquillo-arpeggiated pattern on tres, myself interpreting the latter on guitar, and Jan playing tresillo on violin (Catie's been away surveying the environment 'down South'). And the real mark of progress was how we could begin to flavour the music for white or black consumption, simply with some minor variations like muted notes and changes in phrasing.

The realisation of years of accumulated theory in a moment of practice is an experience I still today, 24 hours later, feel very grateful for.

The immediate plan is for us to continue along the same vein. We'll be working on the same rhythms but additionally start exploring variations and what they mean for the listener; start developing interaction using rhythm hand-over exercises; and explore changing the rhythm balance in ensemble. I intend to build for us a bomb-proof rhythm foundation that the great Cuban ensembles have.

True to my predictions, although much sooner than I expected, I'm under pressure to improve my guitar work just to stay ahead of the others - which is exactly what I was needing. And they guys asked me, "why Laloma?" It's a play on words from the very famous son called 'son de la loma', where the lead singer asks where the best son singers are from; and the response is that they're from la loma [literally 'hillock', but specifically a region in Cuba]. I think we're committed to playing that number.

Loo Yeo

22nd November 2008 La Tierra Flamenco@Steel City Salsa, Millenium Hall, Ecclesall Road, Sheffield

It transpires that since I've been away in Asia, things have changed a teensy bit at Bill Newby's socials. The music policy, once dominated by Africando with a reggae slot at midnight, has had a makeover more dramatic than in Changing Rooms. Revitalised by an intent to diversify and update the playlist, the night now has a fresher hue to its once-fading colours.

Granted the strategy is more risky; at one point there was a tango vals playing to an empty floor, but given the choice between staid predictable music or something more adventurous, I would always go for latter and forgive the occassional bombs. I personally hope that the social continues along this vein, and that people appreciate that there will be bumps along the way as the music policy evolves.

But what hasn't changed is Bill's desire to introduce Sheffield-folk to other dance genres.

I serious applaud him for doing so, and tonight's social was to be presaged by a flamenco class. At first I wasn't even certain if the social was on, since I hadn't gotten any announcements directly or otherwise; at the eleventh hour, it was thanks to social networking (i.e. Facebook) that the confirmation came along. There was a some umm-ing and aahh-ing as to whether I wanted to scramble for the class after watching 'Strictly Come Dancing' (a guilty pleasure). A "Flamenco Show" billed by Bill last year turned out to be a rather lacklustre Sevillanas demonstration, and I didn't feel like I wanted to risk being short-changed again.

I talked myself into growing a spine... and happily the gamble paid off.

'La Tierra Flamenco' comprise Flamenco dance teacher Naomi Hatch and guitarist Paul Evans. I knew good things were in the offing when I stepped into the hall and espied a dedicated PA setup, two mics, two seats and a well worn flamenco guitar. What can I say... Naomi knew her pedagogy, had a strong yet adaptable lesson plan, good class control, lively and engaging delivery; Paul's support of her was ideotypically strong, smooth, yet unobtrusive. My first experience of them in the lesson context, told me that they make a formidable team.

Flamenco is a lifetime's work, and no single lesson could feasibly turn a novice into an expert. However the smiling faces, the lively chatter, the periods of intense concentration, and the movements of us students at the end of the rumba (flamenco) routine spoke volumes about how deftly the lesson was delivered.

Over the course of tonight, Naomi and Paul gave two shows with a variety of interpretations. Her dancing and his playing have less of the harsh attack of the adrenaline-fuelled white-knuckle ride that I've commonly experienced with Flamenco. Instead there is a slightly rounded edge to their performance, a more subtle approach that I find just as engaging.

With deference to Bill, 'La Tierra Flamenco' gave the best lesson and delivered the best show that I've ever been been to at the social. He booked them blind, and they repaid his faith in full. They can be contacted by email on: latierraflamenco@hotmail.co.uk

And I thank Bill for taking the risk.

Loo Yeo

Slow Music

All four of us from conjunto got together for the first time this afternoon, Catie, Jan, Jeremy and myself. Jan is the only non-current member of 4de12 and we've collectively been sharing the same stage as band-mates for the past five years. Let's just say we're comfortable in each other's company.

This time around with Conjunto Laloma, I wanted to take a Slow Food approach; making sure we took the time to build on and assimilate properly each concept in Cuban music-making. I figured that the best way to do this was with a relaxed workshop format: with heavy emphasis on practice, concentrating on a small number of points, principle variation-based learning; rich in example; time to be discursive; and most of all, highly contextual. People who benefit most from this model of learning are those who are patient and exacting, which fits the four of us down to a T.

The mark of good Cuban music is a deceptive simplicity brought about by a mastery of rhythm played at a temperate speed. Indeed during Arsenio Rodríguez's time, tempo was a defining characteristic of Cuban popular music: mid-tempo requiring more control and having more opportunity for expression was consumed by blacks; up-tempo was favoured by the then social elite who were predominantly white.

So I set out our first session with three opening entries into conjunto's rhythm library: an arpeggiated cinquillo-based form; a classic guajeo; and son clave. These are the building blocks that distinguish between a type of son and the son montuno; and being able to interpret a song in either form, or a middle point thereof, would be our earliest anticipated milestone.

For context, we've started with four songs:

• Yo soy el sonero
  son original, 2-3 clave, A minor, 2 chord progression, rhythmic cycle of 2 clave phrases.
• Chan chan
  son cover by Francisco Repilado, 3-2 clave, E minor, 4 chord progression, rhythmic cycle of 2 clave phrases.
• El carretero
  son cover by Guillermo Portables, 3-2 clave, A minor, 2 chord progression, rhythmic cycle of 1 clave phrase.
• Tributo al son
  son montuno original, 2-3 clave, A minor, 2 chord progression (+2 optional), rhythmic cycle of 1 clave phrase.

The difference in cycle times would allow us later to investigate rhythmic dilation, and experiencing both clave orientations would deepen our feel for its fuerte [strong] and debil [weak] properties. The underlying rhythm streams of all four songs varied in feel: from the strongly clave-indicative to the highly clave-diffuse. Having them in the same (or similar key) would allow us to explore the portability of motifs across songs more easily; helping us understand the commonalities in Cuban popular music.

My role on guitar was to provide the broadest possible stream of notes (as described by Marty Sheller) as well as lead vocals; the skeletal structure of conjunto. Jeremy on tres, Catie on flute, and Jan on violin explored their way through, getting a handle of the rhythms and how they interact with one another. We covered a lot of ground today.

Slow Music is like Slow Food: relaxing, comforting, made for sharing.

From personal experience, music is most appreciated when endowed with a sense of time and of place. The three of them left clutching my DVDs of Trio Matamoros and Septeto Nacional, and a CD of the former - a starter course in the genre that I've grown to love in all its guises be it singing, writing, playing, or dancing. And I would never have presumed to call it homework.

Loo Yeo

Beauty, Understanding and Grace

Cuatro de Diciembre had been having changes in line-up and I'd found myself necessarily giving more priority others at practice, in order to be best prepared for our performing commitments. As time drew on, I caught myself more frequently being musically complacent ...in a large ensemble there are plenty of places to hide.

It wasn't a situation I wanted to be in, and so I set out for the polar extreme; I sought to develop myself as a self-accompanied singer - it's the most exposed position a musician can be in with nowhere to hide, and subsequently brings plenty of pressure for improvement. That was a year ago.

Then came the prospect of Conjunto Laloma (for which I'll use the abbreviated shorthand conjunto) and all that it offered. Playing in a small group shares many aspects with playing as a solo musician, plus there's the added pleasure of sharing and interacting. And I couldn't think of it being more enjoyable than doing so with good friends.

But I knew to my core that for conjunto to come alive, there had to be Grace living in its reason for being. It had to have musicians who'd so loved learning that they'd already sacrificed selfish pride on the altar of the open mind, who carried the mark of insatiable curiosity, who always delved their deepest in their playing music for others. It had to mean Beauty - for us to render each song at its best in the playing, arrangement and creation. It had to have the promise of Understanding, the ideal that each of us would have appreciated something new come the close of every session.

I undertook to be the torchbearer for the latter.

Conjunto needs to draw from the same well of knowledge that Cuban musicians have been drinking from since their birth. Its manner of execution must also be from the ground up: fundamental rhythms, sobremontunos, then moñas. And in a small acoustic setting, listening, interacting and co-ordinating arrangements promises to be something, well, more intimate.

"Simple music played elegantly" best describes the intent, following the examples of Sierra Maestra, Trío Matamoros, Eliades Ochoa, Septeto Nacional, Arsenio Rodríguez and Benny Moré. With conjunto being comprised completely of multi-instrumentalists, I forsee an opportunity to play vallenatos amongst other Caribbean folkloric genres, but the core music will be Cuban: son, changüi, güajira, pregón and son montuno.

But talk's cheap.

Earlier today, Jeremy (pianist for 4de12) and I had a get-together to get a feel of the potential for a line-up rhythmically based on guitars. I particularly wanted to know whether a nylon-string guitar and steel-string tres combo could sonically form an effective rhythmic backbone for the sort of music I had in mind to play. Jeremy was playing guajeos. I was articulating both the bass tumbao and either a guajeo or an arpeggiated cinquillo-based rhythm simultaneously.

The results were very, very encouraging - there was potential for power and grace in conjunto's music.

Jeremy left the house with pointers on the walking method of tres-playing; and with both of us looking forward to the first full gathering of conjunto in a few days time.

looyenyeo

Suficiente Tiempo Para El Son

Since experiencing Sierra Maestra in Harrogate, a little touch of unsettlement has taken to niggling in the back of my mind. Even thinking back to that magical evening, now more than a year ago, fills me with wonderment at how they created breath-taking beauty with artful simplicity. It gave me goosebumps and moved me to think on how I could ever play music that way; and how an ensemble might be formed, outside of Cuba, that could begin to interpret the son and the son montuno in a similar vein.

Neither of them easy questions to answer.

I began the search, drawing from books, interviews with fellow musicians, DVDs, son dance workshops, direct observation... whatever resources I had to draw upon. With Sierra Maestra, probably our modern day's finest interpreters of the son cubano as my chosen ideotype, the challenge was not a trifling one.

One part of the journey involved understanding how smaller ensembles managed to create big sounds to rival that of larger bands. Reading about and listening to Arsenio Rodríguez proved crucial to understanding the evolution of son to son montuno, and his strategies for creating more powerful arrangments for black consumption. The same goes for Trio Matamoros, and specifically how their rhythm guitar performed the function of two instruments. A further source concerned the great Puerto Rican composer Rafael Hernández's arrangements for his Cuarteto Victoria.

Establishing a library of rhythms, and knowing how they were interpreted across instruments in mutual support of each other, in agreement and in contrast, was also part of the journey. Significant was understanding the purpose of these rhythms and their origins - these details were very hard-won. And becoming a proficient enough dancer of the son and the son montuno was pivotal in my comprehension of rhythmic drive, phrasing, and the possible location of propulsive accents; tying physical interpretation to the musical.

But the ace proved to be my previous experience with composing sones (which continue to be a part of Cuatro de Diciembre's repetoire), a bridge of inestimable valuable joining the theoretical to the practical.

Conditions were ripe for embarking on another project.

I'd always fancied the idea of playing Cuban music in a small acoustic ensemble or conjunto setting ever since 4 de Diciembre's infancy in 2002. I also fancied the idea of playing the tres or guitar, going as far as acquiring the instruments and educating myself to play them. But it was two things: the lessening of my commitment to 4de12, going from practices twice a week at my place to once a week elsewhere; and a slow-down in the recording project, with brass arrangements still needing to be fully sorted out and matured before they can be put on tape, that untied the Gordian knot.

I had the knowledgebase, the skillsets, and the time to make a start of it.

I had the interest of highly motivated, exceptionally talented musicians, who happened to be very dear friends.

I now had a plan. And a simple working title of Conjunto Laloma.

Loo Yen Yeo

1st November 2008 4 de Diciembre with Maxsalsa @Darlington Arts Centre, Darlington (Part 2)

The East Hall of the Darlington Arts Centre in which MaxSalsa's monthly events are held is a light, wooden-floored, double-height space with a capacity for maybe 140+ dancers and seating on the periphery. It's a nice venue in which to accommodate a dance event, although for live music it's somewhat more tricky: not because of the lack of a stage - I actually enjoy performing on the same floor as the audience, and the hall is not deep enough to disadvantage viewers at the back; but due to the alcove-like end of the hall lined with plenty of uncurtained windows. This is the only place where bands can be set up, which is unfortunately an ill-behaved resonance chamber.

Band in a boom-box: Waiting as Blast dials out the nasties

Talking to Ian, he told me that his previous bookings had found it a challenge to get good control over their sound. I was unperturbed. Those bands didn't have the rather magical BlastPA by their side. Setup and soundcheck passed unremarkably, with Chris and Richard making mincemeat of the wicked Troglodyte of Resonance with their trusty Yamaha LS9 desk. Chris and Sue of http://www.salsayarm.com were Ian's partners-in-crime that night. All three of them enthused that the sound was the best that they'd ever had at the Hall; welcome praise indeed, considering that the former had also booked 4 de Diciembre to play at their big Christmas party in Middlesborough without ever having heard a demo from us.

Tengan fé.

Willie and I unabashedly leapt into the fray when Chris and Sue called everyone to order for the beginners lesson. It comprised some basic steps, cross-body-lead, and he-turns-she-turns-he-turns combination. Partners were changed often, and it was very easy to give people the impression that I didn't know what I was doing - each and every one of my blushing dancers assumed I was such, and I was inclined not to disappoint. Willie helpfully whispered reminders of how unconvincing a beginner I was at every change, which spurred me on to greater efforts.

Then there was just time for a short breather before we were called to stage.

The attendance wasn't as strong as expected, and that always makes it a challenge; it's an experience that every non-manufactured band goes through. I always remind myself of the pop band "The Police" and how they got their big break in the States playing to an audience of only three people, one of whom turned out to be a local radio DJ. They had taken the time to sit down and talk to the members of the audience just before playing. In my own way, I try to do the same by taking part in the lessons beforehand. Anyhow, the moral of the story is, "play for the people who are there, not for the people who aren't."

Loo Yeo getting the show started
with red-hot salsa band 4 de Diciembre

So with me taking the opening number, I start us up as we mean to go on; playing exactly the same way as we would to a house bursting at the seams. I felt extremely proud of Ferret's lead vocals which were solid on his debut: no indication to anyone at all that he hadn't sang lead for us gig-in, gig-out. Willie was dazzling on the violin all the way through, on solos and on rhythm. This gig was also a watershed moment for me: it was the first time I'd performed without having my lyric sheets nearby. Before, even if I never looked at them, they were always a safety net lurking somewhere in line of sight. This time, without their implicit presence, I found my performance having a stronger connection to the audience. I missed them only once; when I repeated a verse in 'Recordando Africa', but now having left sheltered waters and realised the benefit of the risk, there's no turning back! It all boils down to confidence.

There were enthusiastic responses for every song we played, salsa and son alike, where the floor wasn't short for dancers. The setlists I'd designed worked flawlessly, but the best bit was the comments afterwards. Both Chris and Sue felt that Cuatro de Diciembre were the best band they've seen - high praise indeed, as they have brought a number of leading names to the North-East. At a personal level, it was very rewarding to meet up again with Donna and Colin Piper, salsa instructors whom I'd last met in January at the 12th Night Salsa Extravaganza. They'd made the trip across especially to see us perform, and I felt immensely flattered. You won't meet two people more warm and genuine than this couple.

Challenges are there to be overcome, and at the end of it all: MaxSalsa got a terrific performance and the best live sound it ever had, with 4de12 setting down a marker as a tough act to follow; Chris and Sue know exactly what they've got booked for their Christmas party; and the salseros of Darlington got a good dose of music CuatroDeDiciembre-style.

4 de Diciembre in relaxed mode
closing out the evening

And I got to catch up with good friends and meet new ones, including a winsome lady whose idea of a good dance is to finish it with hair looking like it's come out of a washing machine. The same one who insists that dancers of the North-East like their music very, very fast.

If she's right, we might need to work up more of a lather at practices for X'mas.

looyenyeo