Playing The Silences

Two weeks of standing in front of the timbales and I'd love to describe progress as being superhuman. But I can't. 'Steady' is the best I can muster. But then, there's always next week...

The lion's share of the hours have been devoured by the fundamentals - I've approached this little escapade as somewhat of a restart, a chance to put the perfection of hindsight and years of accumulated experience into practice.

How many times have we uttered the phrase "if only I knew then, what I know now" and had the opportunity to do it all over again?

I'd decided long ago that closed strokes, sometimes called press strokes, would form the backbone of my playing. This is when the timbale sticks stay on the shells after each strike to mute their ringing. It's decidedly old school, from back in the days of the danzón when the dance salons of Cuba knew nothing of microphones. Timbales were played in this way so as not to overpower the delicate violins, just perfect for 4de12's charanga line-up and the confines of the practice room.

Old Skool is a patient person's game; it takes more energy to perform and takes longer to learn. But what it yields are greater dynamics and more articulate expression.

The dynamics come from a greater contrast between the sound of the initial strike and the silence of the shells being closed to ringing - the timbalero plays the silences. The articulation comes the way the sticks come off the shell, either: straight off; or slightly rolled off, towards or away from the drummer.

Its brought back early memories of training as a dancer: learning to thread movement through each floor contact; and why foot placements, on and off, are more articulate than footfalls. The principles are identical: minimise movement to achieve consistency, and lessen background noise so that actions can be clearer without needing to be louder.

Dancing the silences draws your partner into your sense of time.

Playing the silences does the same. The technicalities might be different, some analogous some not, but both are also alike in requiring an exacting level of detail at fundamental level for success. With the timbales, for example:

• control resonance by striking the shell directly opposite the rubber stand-off, so that vibrations travelling clockwise and anti-clockwise have identical distances to travel;
• sense the stand-off through the timbale sticks when the shell is placed under different levels of compression;
• the sticks must become extensions of the hands, where the position of the tips and the speed of their movement are known even when they're unsighted; and
  
• know which part of the stick gives the best feel of the stand-off, the best sound, and the most versatility in voicing.
  

I can be a better musician because of my dancing. And there is much that can be transferred between the two.

Particularly with silence.

Loo Yeo

The Artistry Of Vulnerability

Kate is a sweet, diminutive, young English rose.

An organisational reshuffle six months ago caused our spheres to overlap, and we've become casual acquaintances. Last week when I strolled into the reception, she motioned to me and asked, "do you dance?"

I decided to play along, shifting subtly to a leaden pose. "Do you really think I look like a dancer?" (add slightly disbelieving tone)

"Yes you do actually."

Darn. Normally that works. This one's a sharp cookie.

Kate had always thought that I'd looked familiar but could never place where she'd known me from. A chance conversation with a colleague let the cat out of the bag. It turns out that I'd shared a song with her one salsa night eight years ago. She told me she was just beginning then, and still remembers it clearly. Because even though the song had stopped, she kept on dancing on the inside.

A genuine compliment.

Kate's caused me to think about the persistence of a dance experience. What turns it into an Event? An landmark memory?

Louie Spence said that the performance of dance can be so emotionally evocative that it can make the watcher cry. The fourth episode of SKY1's exuberant 'Pineapple Dance Studios' is the best so far, especially the five minute sequence where Louie is down but not out after realising his age, being unable to stay the distance though an hour-long warm-up, which the teenage dancers around him don't even break a sweat through.

He rallies spectacularly once the music comes on and the youngsters, with their physical prowess, are awestruck. The videotape editing leads the episode to skim over the most important artistic truth that Louie reveals to his young charges; that a performance at the pinnacle of Art requires you to expose your emotional vulnerability to your audience.

It takes a mature performer to believe, and trust, that the audience's acceptance of a genuine effort is unconditional.

I've been wrestling with this since performing in Yarm. Being a better singer is now no longer about skill, it's about letting down my defenses to let people see how the song makes me feel. This invitation to vulnerability is so very alien, complete faith to be placed in strangers.

It's the reason why we seldom look into the eyes of those but our loved ones. As windows unto the soul, looking into someone's soul requires that we expose our own to them.

All the enduring artistic Events have this in common. An truth of expression born of vulnerability.

That's why I take umbrage to 'styling' as it's purveyed - it is not delivered nor received as an aspect of form for the conveyance of artistic expression. It is manufactured and consumed as a pair of sunglasses to shield the soul, a façade behind which we can shelter our vulnerabilities in comfort and yet still sell to our audience-partners as 'art'.

Each dance robbed of the possibility of forever.

But there is one great positive to say. In this place, those of us willing to risk, stand out to our kindred. Because we all show to each other, and are recognised by, our calling.

Loo Yen

A Reason For The Timbales

The past three months have been a musically busy time, as I've been leading 4 de Diciembre through a comprehensive series of new arrangements. The outcome has surpassed even my best expectations; good songs have metamorphosed into artistically compelling works - it has to be put down to working with a collection of great musicians. During this period, I've had at various times to play (while singing) a variety of rhythms on congas (such as guaguancó contra-clave, songo con marcha, mozambique) and on hand percussion (timbale bell, clave) to tease out the right groove.

Along the way our little revamp-fest exposed a pair of Achilles' heels which might one day stunt my growth as a rumbero/salsero: that my command of clave was not yet instinctive, and that I was still an eighty pound weakling in the rhythmic independence department. Playing clave is a world away from clave phrasing, and I used to think that the phrasing bit would be more difficult to achieve, since you'd have to keep both the clave and what you were playing in mind. I was wrong.

What I learned was that it takes a stellar level of ability to make those five notes sing - in that rhythm there is no hiding place.

To achieve mastery, I needed to play it more often. And it'd have to be 'extra-curricular' with respect to the band, since the hand percussion I play when performing is necessarily pulse-based for the sake of the dancers, and it also sets up the rhythmic structure in which our conguero can improvise. An exception to this rule is "Tempest", one of our newly (re)arranged songs, which now works best with the timbale bell pattern played on the mounting block of my trusty bongó bell.

So to recap, I needed to work on my independence, internalise clave, and play highly syncopated bell rhythms. What might be the best way of doing this?

hmm...

My anticipated restoration to the timbales has been an on-and-off lunchtime topic of conversation with Christophe who, as a dancer, could anticipate a number of benefits:

• The ability to tune in better to the polyrhythms of the instrument, understand its phrasing, and become more sensitive to transitions and their cues.
• Use dance movement and music as mutually supporting activities in evolving soloing strategies.
  
• Increasing four-way independence to five (a giant leap for a percussionist dancer).
• Timbales interpret at least two rhythms if not three, as compared to the congas' one. A window upon hybridity, the timbale domain not only encompasses the AfroCuban domain, but intersects others like pop/funk/rock.
  

And, it's the last major piece of my recording project jigsaw which has been in hiatus. The only thing holding me back was the commitment - I needed to schedule three weeks of daily high-quality practice to establish momentum.

But as I say to my students, "people always make time for what they feel is important".

Was it important enough for me? How much of this was 'comfort zone' resistance?

On Saturday, I went upstairs and unpacked the timbales.

I'm actually lucky enough to possess two: as custodian of the band's Latin Percussion (LP) Tito Puente timbales in brass, the industry reference standard; and my own personal Meinl Luis Conte timbales in cymbal-quality brass. I've had the Luis Conte ones for four years, and had every intention of playing them, but then 4de12 suddenly needed a lead singer. The rest is history.

So, as it transpires, I've never laid a stick on them; that was a pleasure left for our former timbaleros. Considering the LPs and the Meinls side-by-side, it took five minutes to decide on the Meinls:

1. I like the larger shell area for playing the cáscara (something which LP addressed in latter revisions).
2. I prefer the sound of the shells - their hand-hammered surface has a warmer sound, and strikes have body and yet can cut through the mix.
3. Most importantly the Meinl shells are more sensitive, less forgiving of inconsistent technique. They would take longer to master but, being more articulate, will reward more musical players.
4. Of all the cowbells that were in the house to constitute a timbale set-up (I've mugged enough cows for four sets), the Meinl ones best suited the sound of the timbalero that I will be.
   

In the best AfroCuban tradition, I cleaned away the neglect of the set's previous caretakers, selected my bells, adjusted the heights and angles, and prepared a place of commitment in the front room.

Then I washed my hands and began to play.

Loo Yen

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

12th Night Extravaganza 2010

The North's first regional shin-dig of 2010 re-adopted the shape of an all-dayer with a pre-event party; a format which had served it well two years ago when the Extravaganza was located at St.John's. This time, it was spread across two sites: the salsa hotbed that Wetherby's Engine Shed has become; and the facilities at the University of York.

I'd hatched plans to inflict myself on the Pipers this whole weekend, arriving with a salve of aged rum and delectable chocolates. Stepping over the threshold, I piled into the bustling activity of pulling the paperwork, equipment, and comestibles together for 'Shedding'; the new popular verb that the region's salseros of the region have come up with. Uncertainty lingered in the air held aloft by the harshest winter in three decades - the same stretch of weather which had affected 4de12's gig in Yarm, had put paid to a vast number of salsa-related events in what would normally be peak lesson season.

As it turns out, consternation need not have creased their brows.

A great number of salsa faithful braved icy conditions to dance at Wetherby, filling the Shed to comfortable capacity. The pre-event party began with chachachá lessons for a change: beginners on the upper floor led by George 'Dr. Salsa' and Vicky; 'improvers' on the main floor with Lee and Nuriye. I was very interested to experience how U.K. mainstream salsa teachers approached the teaching of this dance 'club-style', and so spread my time observing the two classes.

Both of them were conventionally routine-based. The primary emphasis of the beginners class was on the rhythm and then in the context of a short sequence; the timing stresses were ballroom On2 instead of Cuban contratiempo. The content of the intermediates class drew from International Latin (I saw a fan and a natural top) with little tweaks brought in from Cross-body salsa. As the foremost objective of any club teaching is engendering the confidence to use the material within a limited time, it was a mark of success to find chachachá on the floor throughout the evening.

The Engine Shed was everything I remembered it to be when 4 de Diciembre last brought it live salsa: everyone is welcoming and accommodating, the atmosphere suffused with a warm vivid energy. The night sped away, powered of a myriad of fine and sometimes barely-decorous dances. By the time the Pipers and I returned to Base Camp to grab some shut-eye, the clock had ticked perilously close to 05:00.

Four hours later, Tony and I were unloading kit in front of York University's Roger Kirk Centre. This year, having found my feet around the event, I eschewed attending the sessions in favour of being organisationally more useful. What time there was in between, I spent caffeinating and socialising in part as barometer to the success of the event.

Then late in the afternoon, I spotted Alex Wilson and made his acquaintance.

Apart from his band being the main attraction that evening, Alex was at 12th Night with Lee Knights to run an evening session promoting their newly-released endeavour "Find the Rhythm". The pedagogy of Latin rhythm is a matter very close to my heart and we experienced no uncommon ground; I found Alex to be a man hugely talented, yet unassuming and disarmingly engaging.

He invited me to the soundcheck, an opportunity I could not have passed up.

It was highly educative. Here was a performer who knew exactly what he wanted, and the sound crew were all the more appreciative for it: from how he laid out the stage, listened to the individual instruments, the verbal expressions used in describing the sounds he was after, the meticulous attention to detail. With the whole band together, he did as I do; use the soundcheck to hone specific sections of the playlist.

Alex Wilson engaging with Front of House during soundcheck
(Public Address provided by JSS Audio)

I must mention Elpidio Caicedo, the bassist from Buenaventura after whom the number Sabrosón is written. He's an irrepressible ray of Colombian sunshine (seen above in the woolly hat) blessed with a great set of pipes: playing Latin bass and taking lead vocals simultaneously commands respect. Talking drums and music with the rhythm section over dinner made me late for Alex and Lee's class. After leading the band back to their dressing room, I slipped into the main hall to find the class of fifty split into three groups doing vocalisations for tumbao moderno (congas), martillo (bongó), and cáscara (timbales) - Alex dubbed them the 'Human Salsa Orchestra', and it was an attendance that only someone of his musical standing could have inspired.

The objective was to open the band's second set with staggered entries of the three sections and the session closed with a practice of these entries. This was the second time that this workshop had been run by Lee and Alex, and I can't help but think that Alex missed a trick here. Percussion, though crucial, can be pretty dry on its own - it would have been a little bit of magic for the attendees if Alex had jumped on to stage and accompanied the Human Salsa Orchestra on the piano for a few bars, just to tie the class up with a pretty contextual bow.

The last time I saw Alex Wilson and his band was at the Derby Assembly Rooms in March 2007 when his cover of Chaka Khan's "Ain't Nobody" had stormed the salsa floors. This time they were even better: then, the orchestra leaned definitively towards Soul; at the Extravaganza, Soul was artistically counter-balanced with a more profound expression of Latin rhythm. But I'd already expected this after hearing a dynamite güajira influenced snippet at soundcheck.

Among an evening littered with highlights, one of the brightest has to be sharing a dance with Lee to Alex's "Inglaterra" with Elpi hooting at us over the montuno.

It was daybreak by the time the Pipers and I had finished undoing the ravages of the Extravaganza. Sunday afternoon lunch was a leisurely affair, and Tony tells me that the day after 12th Night is always his most relaxed in the year. It was dark by the time I stepped off the train at Sheffield station.

Casting back a year ago, I remembered thinking that Tony was risking an awful lot by considering booking Alex; Palenke were unavailable, and he didn't want to bring 12th Night down the value chain by not booking a band. The Extravaganza has always been a labour of love for the Pipers, and I'm thankful in the end that it still is.

Loo Yen

Act of Creation

Bloom's Taxonomy describes a hierarchy of learning achievement which educators might use to benchmark the progress of a student. As a self-learner, I use it as a core tool to classify, quoting from the above link, "the different objectives that educators (i.e. myself) set for students (i.e. myself)." Not only does it chart my movement through a hierarchy of development, but it manages one of the greatest hurdles to self-instruction - the NOT knowing of what's missing.

Being aware of what's missing means you know what it is and can go looking for it - you've already identified the outline of the absent piece. NOT knowing what's missing, however, is more akin to being unaware that a colour is missing from the spectrum. It means pockets of blissful ignorance that can spring up and bite you in the developmental derrière after you've passed them by.

Bloom's taxonomy goes some way to delimiting Unknown unknowns by asking questions from the developmental end-point, illuminating the darkness of the unknown from the perspective of a hypothetical subject-matter expert. The pinnacle of Anderson and Krathwohl's modification of the cognitive domain published in 2001 (my preferred variant) is 'Creating' - where the learner is capable of synthesising new knowledge within the domain. By asking myself all the time, "what pieces do I need in order to be able to create something?" I simulate the existence of a mentor. It goes a long way to protecting my delectable derrière from the Unexpected's fangs of ignorance.

On the second day of 2010, I entered that tier with the congas.

Gettin' It Together is a song that I penned four years ago, and it has since become one of 4 de Diciembre 's go-to numbers. By 'go-to' I mean that it's a frequent denizen of our playlist as the perfect get-out-of-jail-free card:

• it has a modern instead of traditional salsa vibe, great for varying the feel of a set;
• the lyrics are in English, so the British audience relates well to it; and
• we play it well with very little practice.

That last point is significant for two reasons: it indicates that Gettin' It Together must somehow connect with each band member at a personal level; and we've come to treat it with benign neglect like we might an obedient child, spending our energies on those seemingly more exciting or unruly.

As author of its lyrics, co-creator of its piano montuno, and originator of its bass tumbao, it would be fair to say that I would be the one with most insight into Gettin' It Together - how it is and what it could grow to be. Its conga marcha [rhythm] is based on the tumbao moderno and, while that was appropriate to my level of understanding at the time of conception, there was always a feeling unrealised potential. The dissatisfaction of "there has to be something better, I know it" gnawed more and more, until I at last gave my uncomplaining original its due care.

Scouring the pantheon of AfroCaribbean rhythms from comparsas to batucada, songo to plena, no delicate ankle could be found for the glass slipper. But the search was not fruitless; each step along the road led to a greater understanding of the ideal marcha's form: the movement of songo con marcha; the voicing of mozambique; a pocket of variability like the guaguancó's; accents on the rumba upbeat on the 3-side and the bombó; an option to accent the son or rumba ponché.

I wanted it all, because Gettin' It Together deserved a marcha with groove and freedom. More than that, it needed it. Time and again I've stood witness to how one single inspired change can unlock entire vistas of understanding in an ensemble.

It started as an 'Eureka!' moment of mental, then physical, vocalisation; followed by interpretation on the congas; and then an evaluation of its fit to a pre-recorded montuno and a mentally-modulated bassline. The new rhythm ticked every box on the ideal's wishlist. Looking up from the evening's solitary venture, my companion the minute hand had travelled but a quarter the clock's face. I've impudently dubbed the new rhythm Luzambique con marcha and can't help but feel that it's the herald of many good things to come (wait until my band-mates get a load of this baby).

Then came the realisation that I'd engaged with all the upper-level tiers of the cognitive domain...

Perhaps as a musician you might point out that being able to solo already falls under 'Creating', and that I'd already visited the pinnacle. Who am I to disagree? I would go further and contend that there are qualitative aspects within each tier. Starting off as a novice conguero I still recall the wonder I felt after playing the luscious Cándido's tumbao, thinking "such a divine talent he must have to create something so beautiful."

The transient, spontaneous Creativity of a solo is different to the articulate, immortal Creativity of a tumbao.

And in that, perhaps, is another act of knowledge creation: the idea that 'Creating' (and by logical extension every tier) broadly encompasses acts that may be qualitatively differentiated.

As for Bloom's taxonomy on dancing salsa, I'll leave that for another day.

Yeo Loo Yen

Retrospection: 4 de Diciembre's Course Through 2009

The critical success of our final concert in 2009 was the culmination, and validation, of painstaking analysis and committed team effort in what has been one of the most turbulent years of 4 de Diciembre's history.

Two singers (Ferret, Nathan) and a timbalero (Dan) moved on at the beginning of the year; while at that same time our brass section, Mike and Thom, expressed a desire for greater involvement in the musical direction of the ensemble. I was very pleased to hear this, relishing a wider range of inputs; and it was the ideal time to do so, as 4de12 would have to re-arrange most of its numbers and repetoire to reflect the strengths to our changed line-up.

We started putting the brass in more central positions: cueing openings and breaks, carrying the main harmonic lines, and setting out more areas for improvisation. But a combination of factors cropped up that affected the ability of both horn players to attend regularly; by the early second quarter of the year, the pursuit had stagnated. Knowing that we couldn't be prepared in time, I had no alternative but to disappoint Tony by informing him that we would not be able to play for him at the Engine Shed.

4 de Diciembre had featured so well in the year before, that a high performance level had become associated with our name - I knew we could only take to the stage again if we could satisfy or exceed that standard; and as prodigiously talented as Catie is, the ensemble needed a strong and regular musician to complement her magical flute.

That person turned out to be Jan Rens.

Being a founding member of 4de12 through its previous incarnation, he agreed to return and play - his violin in partnership with the flute completed us as a charanga sextet. In truth, we'd all never stopped playing together: I'd set up the Conjunto Laloma acoustic quintet in November '08 with Ana (bass, vocals), Catie (flutes), Jan (violin), Jeremy (tres, vocals) and myself (guitar, lead vocals) as a vehicle for the exploration of AfroCuban music from the fundamentals upwards.

My promise to them was that I would develop 4 de Diciembre's music on the same principles that had worked so well with Laloma. It was an easy one to make, as I believe to my core that it is the best way to play; and an easy one to keep, because every musician in the ensemble now felt the same.

The rebirth of 4de12 began over the summer, built on a conceptual foundation laid down by Laloma where each song was played, analysed, disassembled, rearranged, and prepared for public performance. It was painstaking work. To raise the stakes further, I also selected several covers for case study and as potential candidates for our playlist.

When I returned from the Far East at the end of September, we had a mountain to climb and three months to do it in. Group practices grew to thrice weekly to account for absences due to commitments to other bands (and in my case, teaching). It was my responsibility to plan the schedule to be ready on time; work with Whib in articulating new percussion rhythms; determine breaks, ensemble arrangements and sectional changes; support Catie's genius and Jan's moments of inspiration; and maximise Ana's practice times, as she was personally bearing a mammoth teaching load.

The result?

Cuatro de Diciembre delivered two highly articulate sets as a heavy-hitting sexteto, punching well above its weight. The successful strategies were based on those of Arsenio Rodríguez, whose conjunto commonly took on the Big Bands in 1930s Cuba.

We played not four, but five new covers to counterpoint our vast original material: "Buscándote", "Muévete", "El Reloj de Pastora", "Talento de Televisión", and "Ya Lo Sé"; which were all enthusiastically received. Many musicians will acknowledge how much of a challenge some of these numbers are to interpret well.

Every song featured new arrangements, some to within an inch of their lives.

It's considered poor form for an artist actively to solicit the views of his or her audience after a performance, so I didn't. But what was volunteered from the lips of those who had seen us last year, was that 4de12:

• played engaging songs at comfortable dance pacings;
• had beautiful arrangements; and
• possessed as full a sound yet was all-the-more dynamic.
  

I'm happy, and I'm satisfied.

Happy that that mountain of effort all of us put in, made such a noticeable difference. I'm satisfied that the music direction we're taking, building from AfroCuban first principles, is the right one.

Cuatro de Diciembre in its moment of truth

We're now back at the performance level of where we were a year ago.

Scratch that, we're better - as individual musicians, as ensemble players, with deeper roots. It is a special feeling to be sharing the stage as friends, ready to play at the drop of a hat. Few bands can cope with what many would regard as a seismic change in line-up, but it's a shining testament to the quality of 4 de Diciembre's musical core to come back and play better than before - in less than a single year.

Normally that would be enough, but through my teaching and this remarkable band, I got something more for Christmas... I got the chance to introduce good people to good people: Marco and Lina to Chris, Sue, Tony and Mary.

It's been a year to remember.

looyenyeo

19th December 2009 Cuatro de Diciembre with SalsaYarm@Tower Club Ballroom, Middlesborough

Our first anniversary return to Yarm coincided with one of the most highly disruptive snowstorms to grip the United Kingdom in many a year; and we'd kept our keenest ears pinned to the weatherman's lips in the run-up, wondering if our best preparations might be for nought. Ultimately, the band opted for an early start and was rewarded with a straight run to the tower ballroom, but by the time we alighted in the late twilight, flurries were chasing themselves over shoe-deep snow at the foot of the old church tower.

Things were looking a wee bit on the uphill side... especially more so after we'd set up onstage and the sound reinforcement crew were still nowhere to be found.

Whib, our congüero-bongocero.
30 seconds later, he was making snoooozy-sounds

Decemberists busied themselves reading, chewing, or snoozing (in Whib's case); and I reacquainted myself with the dancer's delight of a floor, stretching out with a solo effort of a slow foxtrot to the tune of 'oohs' and 'aahs' from one of the windows. Sadly they weren't for my trottings - Ana and Catie had discovered front row seats to an iconic English winter wonderland scene: that of an arterial motorway grinding to a rather spectacular halt.

Emerging from a fall-away slip-pivot, I turned to be greeted by Mary Piper's winning smile; Tony Piper and Chris Hields weren't far behind. As well as a firm friendship, we all shared, in that moment, a strong disapproval for the churlish behaviour of the weather gods. We unwrapped Christmas contingency plans and I briefed the band on the worst case scenario of having to perform semi-acoustically. I'd no sooner finished than the lads from JSS audio drew up, hefting a veritable mountain of P.A.

Muévelo: JSS Audio really shifting

Is that a silver lining I spy before me?

Soundcheck stretched past 'doors open' and the determined revellers who'd bravely made it in were treated to an extra rendition of two of our numbers. That was all it took: a couple of songs on top of individual mic checks, a total of fifteen speedy minutes. Peachy's the word! JSS were as competent and well equipped as BlastPA - the only thing that foxed the two young engineers was the Markbass amp which Ana was playing through.

Sue, Chris, Mary and Tony chose to delay the onset of the party salsa lesson to allow for latecomers; and when they finally did get underway, Chris cheerily warned me off sharking around in his lesson after the antics of last year. Tail between my legs, I skulked off to sulk... that is, until I caught sight of Marco and Lina's arrival (from Red Hat Salsa in Reading, see previous posts). That they made it at all was a touching act of dogged determination, despite being back just up the road for Christmas. SalsaYarm would not countenance my covering their entrance, and had generously them put on the guest list.

Just before we were due to play, Chris asked whether we would shorten our sets to accommodate the dance performance at the interval as things were running late. I happily acceded; we were there to provide a service after all. My fellow Decemberists were inclined to drop our more recent songs, reasoning that our more established numbers would allow us all to perform with more punch. I very much understood their point.

However, I felt that we shouldn't let the chance to blood our new songs slip by because:

• it's only in the furnace of a live performance where one properly understands a song's substance and how it could be performed better;
• all were unusual covers that many people on the floor could relate to; and
  
• the playlist order was set out with very deliberate changes in texture, where the covers and originals combined in a way that complemented each other.
  

The guys decided to trust my judgement.

4 de Diciembre opened with the pacey original "El Gallo" [The Rooster], a crowd pleaser and band favourite - the third song Ana and I ever wrote. Being a sexteto, we all fitted neatly onto the small stage with me alternately being dazzled by a bright green spotlight or inadvertently 'Glasgow-kissing' the Christmas bell decorations on either side. The set flowed every bit as well as anticipated, from "En La Sangre", through "El Reloj de Pastora", "Bilongo", "Tempest", "Buscándote" and ending on a high with the Cuban classic "Pintate Los Labios, María".

Tony slapped a couple of stonking tracks on the decks before inviting the Encuentro Latino student troupe onto the floor in what would be their penultimate display before they disband. They broke On2 to the rat-a-tat percussion of Tito Puente's "Ran Kan Kan", much to the appreciation of the collected party-goers. Two songs after that and I had a face-full of green once again.

Shrek the halls with riffs of salsa

Ana opened up with Bembé's bassline groove, and it was as if we'd never left off. That's the best way to be. "El Hechizo del Montuno", "Hijos de Cam", "Talento de Televisión", and "Nueva Generación" powered by, and all too soon we were closing with "Ya Lo Sé" and "Muévete" - a most magical live pairing. All that remained was a belated introduction of Catie, Jan, Whib, Ana, and Jeremy to the audience, and heartfelt thanks to all who were there including Sue, Mary, Chris and Tony.

The responses to 4de12's performance were all overwhelmingly positive, unsolicited and corroborated: from friends Lina, Marco and a sundry others; the dancing audience including Richard, himself a leader of a Latin band, who fondly recalled last year's gig; and my promoter-friends who tell me like it is. By the time I'd tripped some fantastic light with the revellers and packed down, the anniversary was over and we bade our season's goodbyes.

Sitting on the front passenger seat and watching the dark snowscape pass us by, I thought on all that had transpired in the year since 4de12's debut at SalsaYarm.

(On to 'Retrospection: 4 de Diciembre's Course Through 2009'.)

Loo Yen Yeo

4th December 2009 Mambo con Rumbo @Slug and Lettuce, York

Once a month, on its opening Friday, the great and the good of York's salsa community congregate in the farthest corner of Swinegate to indulge in an unseemly display of dance solidarity. Gyrating together in a travesty of good-two-shoes libertarian behaviour at the Slug and Lettuce watering hole (not to be confused with the identically named one next to the river, to which the unknowing are cunningly misdirected), 'On1ers' from Mary and Tony's SalsaYork and 'breaking On2ers' from Lossie and Gareth's Encuentro Latino do nothing at all to reinforce the convention of market segmentation gripping the commercial salsa world.

This author turned up to cast disapproval at such brazen proceedings...

Actually, I turned up because I'd been hearing from Tony about how this night was going great guns and to support the North's latest live music debutantes - Mambo con Rumbo (yes, it's rumbo, not rumba), featuring people whom I'd become increasingly acquainted with via Twelfth night and the Engine Shed, reinforced by a strengthening social network both corporeal and electronic. It was also the 4th of December, and such alignment of the planets could only be ignored at one's peril.

"It's all very much last-minute as usual" I thought, as I clutched my overnight bag on the train to York post-work. Dinner was an intimate affair with Mary, Tony and myself at a busy and cosy brasserie in the middle of the historic city a stone's throw from the Minster; an ideal way to update each other on our lifestyles' circumstances. Come nine o'clock, we forsook our tables for the Slug and Lettuce to unload the gear and set up. Steve Carter (timbalero, vocalist), Gareth Roberts (conguero), Phil Moores (bass, songwriter), and Adam Parnell (flautist, saxophonist, music director) were already on-site preparing for soundcheck; and after the jovialities, I removed myself from underfoot to evaluate the venue.

The Slug and Lettuce is a chain of modern pub-eateries whose physical premises are pleasantly less 'busy' in decor and arrangement than their web-image suggests. Their menu is somewhere in-between as regards coherence, but their bar offerings are accurately targeted. Staff morale was solid, and the supervising management was good-natured and accommodating - it was clear that both parties, the promoters (Gareth, Lossie, Mary and Tony) and venue management, had put effort into cultivating a good business relationship. It bodes well for an enduring salsa night.

With the fading of the last meal sitting, a cord barrier was put in place to partition off the dance area. The polished wooden flooring throughout is a nice surface to move on, although the split-level nature of it, in effect, divided the available space into two long-but-slim stretches, aside from the spot occupied by the band. Nevertheless, the Slug could (and did) cheerily accommodate a hundred and sixty grooving souls with a band in place.

The main event was Mambo con Rumbo playing to a friendly crowd; there was plenty of home-town support for its band members, many of whom have been long-term protagonists on the salsa scene. Its single set of about eight numbers, half of which were instrumental, were well chosen to suit dancers. There is an obvious difference (in the U.K.) between the music of bands that comprise dancers and those that do not, and Mambo con Rumbo decidedly belong in the former. The nine person line-up comprised: congas, timbales/vocals, hand percussion/vocals, piano, bass, alto saxophone/flute/vocals, tenor saxophone, trumpet and trombone; and their interpretation style struck me as salsa dura with a hint of romántica arrangement and dose of jazz. It was NYC, despite cover version nods to Venezuela with Llorarás and Colombia with El Preso.

Adam's hand as a music teacher with arrangement experience was evident with the assuredness of the horns; Gareth and Steve's backgrounds as enduring aficionados of percussion presented its flavours strongly; and the instrumental number penned by Phil comfortably withstood scrutiny by the dance floor. Mambo con Rumbo as an ensemble displayed all the ingredients for the realisation of potential: creativity, crucial for developing a unique identity; musicality; organisation and arrangement; direction, in the band's navigation of salsa genres; and most overlooked of all, grounding i.e. persistent contact with the needs of the target audience.

I was the most impressed with Gareth's tumbaos. His phrasing is as authentically Latin as I've ever heard - a benchmark for any aspiring salsa musician; there is a guile and subtlety in his touch which belies a deep-seated, seemingly innate, understanding of the essence of salsa.

Before the gyrating hordes:
Mambo con Rumbo at soundcheck.

As a debut it was more than just commendable, and I shall be keen to follow their progress with interest.

The powerful things about bands are, that a good one can establish an atmosphere like no other artefact. The warm glow of salsa was carried through the rest of the night with Gareth, George a.k.a. 'Doctor Salsa' and Tony as torchbearers on the decks. It was particularly touching to have Tony announce the significance of El Cuatro de Diciembre and dedicate one of our favourite tracks: 'La Candela' by Yerba Buena, that most Cuban of New York bands, to the occasion.

No-one minded that, by then, the clock had struck well into the fifth.

Yeo Loo Yen