Argentinian Desaparacidos

One of the things that left the greatest mark on my impression of Buenos Aires was the different way people deal with the past. After having been informed about the Peron as well as Videla era, I was left with a feeling of confusion. The past century has obviously been highly turbulent for all parties and everyone seems to deal with it in its own way. From marching the Mayo Square to spreading pamphlets. Some look forward while others refuse to forget. Whatever the solution might be, music will always be part of it....


Some notes of Argentinian resitance....

Los Dinosaurios
Charly García

Los amigos del barrio pueden desaparecer
Los cantores de radio pueden desaparecer
Los que están en los diarios pueden desaparecer
La persona que amas puede desaparecer.
Los que están en el aire pueden desaparecer en el aire
Los que están en la calle pueden desaparecer en la calle.
Los amigos del barrio pueden desaparecer,
Pero los dinosaurios van a desaparecer.

No estoy tranquilo mi amor,
Hoy es sábado a la noche,
Un amigo está en cana. (cana= slang means jail)

Oh mi amor
Desaparece el mundo

Si los pesados mi amor llevan todo ese montón de equipajes en la mano
Oh mi amor yo quiero estar liviano.

Cuando el mundo tira para abajo
es mejor no estar atado a nada
Imaginen a los dinosaurios en la cama

Cuando el mundo tira para abajo
es mejor no estar atado a nada
Imaginen a los dinosaurios en la cama

Los amigos del barrio pueden desaparecer
Los cantores de radio pueden desaparecer
Los que están en los diarios pueden desaparecer
La persona que amas puede desaparecer.
Los que están en el aire pueden desaparecer en el aire
Los que están en la calle pueden desaparecer en la calle.
Los amigos del barrio pueden desaparecer,

Pero los dinosaurios van a desaparecer.



Gracias, Pato....

Enjoying Good Airs!

A walk around Buenos Aires is a real musical treat. Prejudiced and slightly to highly ignorant, I expected to hear the masters of Tango, Astor Piazzola and Carlos Gardel, on every street corner and from random French balconies. But while I was on the outlook of high heeled, naked legs elegantly folded around manly waists in black tie, I kept being surprised about the amount and quality of the musicality displayed in the calles (which in Argentina is being pronounced as ca-sjies).

From percussion and vocal solo's to entire rock bands performing their latest disc. Accordion orchestras remixing their roots. Blues formations jamming until the last snare gives up. School kids singing their lungs out, anticipating a trip to the local soccer stadium. And last, but not least: the well-practiced whistles of all-aged men when confronted with a female appearance.


Listen to the lyrics and you'll understand why they 'had me at hello!'.



An alternative dance at the most dreamy tango place in Buenos Aires

La Catedral Del Tango


Kids on their way to La Bombonera

Feliz Año Nuevo con Bongito!

There we were, finally. Jamie's wet dream ... and maybe mine as well. All we needed was a bit of ocean and some magic tunes.
Try to imagine the following scenery: a beautiful bay (with several lost sea lions) surrounded by some highly picturesque hills. The sun has set recently, but the air still smells like freshly disappeared rays of light. Birds whistling bedtime-lullabies. The sound of waves smashing on the shore. Boom. Tschuck. Phiew. Boom. Tschuck. Phiew. It's creating mellow beat. Here you go, a personalized soundtrack for this romantic night. Could be perfect. In normal circumstances, this would be all it takes.

But tonight is different. The soundtrack will be upgraded. And not by just anyone, the 'one' will do it. Señor Ricardo Villalobos himself flew back to his homeland to be part of the Quinto Sol event (Latin American Musicians Festival). And he did an amazing job. After having been disappointed in the grandmaster back in Berlin, I must admit that skepticism was amongst my prejudicial sentiments. But he took it away with his first track. Well. No subtle intros or calm build-up after (this should be mentioned as well) Rareshs' amazing set, but some truly powerful tunes, marking his entire repertoire. There he was. No doubt about that. Bongo Ricky is back!

myspace.cn/ricardovillalobosonmyspace

Private Carreras y Domingos

'What is it? Where is it coming from?', we wondered from our balcony. 'Is there an orchestra playing? Is it puppet theatre? Or is it just a deaf person miming Andrea Bocelli?' Only having second rows seats, we had to get out of our comfy plastic garden furniture to see what was happening at the other side of the building. According to my alter ego, you don't need to see in order to hear. So I went alone.

And there they were. Two incredibly talented men along with their getto-blaster, performing all their favorite '3 Tenors' songs. It was truly beautiful to watch them singing right on the small metro square, enchanting even the skateboarders whose spot had been taken. I must admit, their songs provoked a strong Andre Rieu atmosphere, but I don't mind a bit of hand-clapping and the occasional sing-along-song. So I happily participated. And I enjoyed it, as I have never enjoyed street opera before. It was worth the mini-walk. I was really content to have seen it.... until...... I learned a rather important piece of info about our singers.






Apparently, we have balcony seats for the Metro opera every Thursday.....
So from now on, we'll stay just where we are and will hear them bis! every week. If we want to ....or not!

With Motion

Banda Conmocion. The first encounter with Chilean music. And not just music. Seeing this band perform was like getting a high speed course of Chilean culture.

For instance, take 'time', as a highly insecure variable. When the starting time (for what, you will be asked later) is scheduled for 11 p.m. that doesn't imply that the band will actually start at 11 p.m. According to everyone involved in the specific appointment (concert, date, official meeting), no one pointed out 11 p.m. as exact starting time. It could mean that you can get in line, can drink a beer in front of the venue, talk to other visitors, read the program ...again... or just cross your arms and wait. Because most importantly, it means tipin (phonetically), which is Chilean for approximately. So don't be surprised if you will be let in an hour later and if the band will start playing at 1.30 a.m. It's just the way things ago. And as you see that nobody seems to worry about it, you might as well let it rest too.

Secondly, once the doors open and the waiting line (with you in it) will start to move, don't be surprised if a bunch of unseen (until that moment) people will magically appear. Don't blame them, of course it's all your own fault for not protecting your spot. So watch out for the word 'permiso' , which in the contrary of what an English-speaker might believe, has nothing to do with asking permission. It's a statement. The person is declaring you that he or she will stand in front of you and consequently will get in sooner than you will.

Third recommendation: everything with the word 'pisc..' in it. Try it, but watch out! This highly addictive, innocent-looking and most of all cheap species of booze will make or break your night. Just so you know.

Four: Dancing with other people. Even though Chile appears to be a highly westernized and individualistic (emancipated) society, its jealous Latin heart still burns. So smile, laugh, wiggle or shake whatever you want, but don't dare to dance with other people's pololos or pololas. Stick to your own partner, inner alter ego or the chicos and chicas that have been standing by themselves for more than a safe amount of time.

Last, but not least. Once you understand the rules, you'll have a blast of a time. This band in particular is a real treat. The 24 excited musicians will do whatever it takes to make you cry, laugh, dance, jump, yell, wave and boogie. Just give in to the circumstances. The sooner you will, the sooner you'll see the beauty of it all.


NOTE This specific video was taken during the Carnaval in Valparaiso and not at the venue un Santiago.

A Twisted Sound.

I never discuss albums without having a matching concert. This time, however, a show led to a bunch of (weirdly) related reviews.

After having experienced a powerful performance by Danko Jones in the newly opened LIVE AT DOT- club, I realized that I often hold on to a bands' earlier work. In the majority of the cases, the firsts are simply their best albums (the same thing often goes for books & films). Dan Cornelius and JC gave a great show, because they're good at it. And Danko himself is a Crème de la Crème performer within the rock scene. This is not about gigs though. It's about a shift in sound. As I focused on the songs, my mind kept longing for the old tunes.

In the hallway, afterwards, I heard someone talk about The (International) Noise Conspiracy. Their new album, The Cross of my Calling, came out last month and after being left impressed by A New Morning, Changing Weather (I'm lazy, I got distracted after 2001 and never listened to their other stuff), I was eager to be pleased with some new songs.
So next day, I sat down with a cup of tea (you might say that this is not the right attitude) and turned the volume up. I am a sentimentalist and can listen to (favorite) albums for ever, but that normally encourages me to discriminate new tracks positively. But this was just Boredom of Safety. The atmosphere was way too happy. Trust me, I like sun, romance and icecream, I even like to whistle Young Folks, but here I missed the raw garage sound, and when did they ever stop making rock 'n roll? Of course, TINS has a completely different sound than Refused, the former band of lead singer Dennis Lyxzen, did. On the first albums (two albums were released before my favorite) their roots and political involvement could literally be heard. Now, even his voice seems to have lost its original roughness. Just change Noise into Love and you'll have your average emo-band.

I am aware that I seem one of those people nagging about their better musical past. "Everything used to be better!". But that's not what I'm saying. It just seems that there's a turning point for many good bands where many become Judah. And if they decide to long for a broader recognition, they often let go of their original, unique sound. That's a shame, because it makes them loose their true fans.
Not all bands choose this path. A good example of a group that gained popularity through their continuity is The Mars Volta. They don't try to exceed the underground scene, but just win every single soul that is within their reach and move the ceiling up, little by little. Although even they gave it a shot with Francis The Mute (my inner Mari is doesn't like me saying this), even this album stayed far away from mainstream. It was a different, more accessible genre that opened the doors to a new audience. But with releasing The Bedlam in Goliath they returned new and improved.
Ok, ok. I know what you're thinking. Fine, I'll give TINS the benefit of the doubt. De gustibus non est disputandum. But I'm a skeptic and this is my subjective weblog. So bla bla, it's just another hidden tribute to guitarist Omar Rodríguez-López and vocalist Cedric Bixler-Zavala.

Speaking about Joneses,
could someone besides TMV please keep up with the Graces?
This 60-year old diva has recently released her tenth album, Hurricane, after almost 20 years. Throughout time she adapted to modern technology, trends and , but Grace Jones has never lost her own sound and identity. She's a genuine star remaining true to herself. No Madonna. Nobody remains young forever. We wouldn't want that. Getting older has so many advantages, of which Jones is not afraid to show us. A perfect combination of up-tempo beats combined with dramatic and intimate sound, without loosing sight of her reggae background due to some Sly and Robbie-dub. With only nine tracks concluded with a dark suspension, I have been left ... craving for more...



www.thebedlam.net
www.dankojones.com
www.internationalnoise.com
www.theworldofgracejones.com

"And here he is ... Mister ... Eli ... Paperboy ... Reed!"

The program said 9 pm, but as we enter the Roter Salon at 9.45 pm, the venue is almost empty. The former jazzclub, normally packed from front to back, contains no more than ten enthusiastic fans and a bunch of german lost souls. Or at least, that's what they seemed to be until they prooved the complete opposite only 10 minutes later. My mom, sisters and boyfriend find a nice spot to sit and while they're sipping their drinks, I humm them some Reeds songs. Unexpectedly my sister joins in. "It's no coincidence I'm here....".


As The True Loves start playing, one of the trumpet players walks up front. He grabs the mic and shouts: "For you tonight will be playing Eli... Paperboy... Reed!"
There goes the young man, who's been standing next to me in the crowd for a few minutes, he jumps on stage, while shaking his legs as if snakes are crowling up. No time to loose, the first song has already started. This enthusiastic puppy (in the industry) has the voice of a seventies retired soulsinger performing a rockmusical.

Even though he doens't seem to get the audience excited straight away, the initial stiffness melts as ice as soon as the band decides to entertain themselves. They're having fun (although, in my humble opinion, Mr Reed over-exaggerates in trying to hide his insecurities by making fun of the other bandmembers). But it works. The people get greedy as they want experience the same gusto, and there they go: the first petticoats are up a bit higher than necessary. Feet start shuffling, fingers are tapping, some even whistle along. It is definitely not my way of partying (I miss naughty looks being exchanged), but the Germans are having a great time!
The music was great: the band swinging and Eli's voice refreshing as well as reminiscent. Normally I'm quite easy going. As soon as I see my family swing along, I'm sold. But this time the mellow atmosphere didn't really do it for me.
That doesn't mean we didn't have a lot of fun. But we had to heat the venue ourselves. No more tapping, this asked for real charleston legs. As The Satisfier kicked off, I was more than content. We did it.....




NOTE

This is not the first time I've experienced a lower level of enthusiasm at a concert in Berlin and it shouldn't influence me, but I do notice that the reaction of the crowd has a great impact on my experience of a show. Their stiff attitude (and I don't judge stiffness) almost seem to lower the venue's temperature.

Berlin Bulb

Just a week after this year had begun, almost all happiness of the Christmas and NewYears atmosphere seemed to have disappeared. Berlin turned to be as dark as I feared she could be. I had just moved to Germany's Capital and had heard a lot about it. Loneliness sprinkled throughout the city. Unappealing abandoned contructionsites. Grey skies filled with crying clouds above me and their tears on the streets beneath. I felt weird and maybe a bit betrayed. I had left Hong 'canto-pop' Kong in order to be somewhere surrounded by alikes. People that couldn't get enough of the soundtrack of life. But was this really the city of endless tunes? A place where no-one ever stopped? The still running afterparties of Sylvester didn't appeal to my taste at that point. Was't the musical creativity suppose to keep this place pumping as blood through veins? If that was so, why couldn't I find it?

But then a small hint. Just two simply formulated sentences on the net: ‘Die Tanzguerilla trifft sich, um im Kaufhaus tanzen zu gehen. Bringt Walkman und MP3-Player mit’. Danceguerilla? The idea of dancing in a shoppingmall made my heart do a Charleston through my chest.

A silent disco amongst hundreds of necessary shoppers, turning a smile on most of their faces. Bodymovement. Excitement. Flirting. For some it's not just plain entertainment, it's a protest. Against capitalism. Against globalisation. Against boredom. Against dark days.

Berlin, known for its rebellion, has always encouraged this way of expression after the fall of the Wall. With dialy demonstrations, these meetings, however, seems to focus on the funfactor. No rules. Just dancing on spots where you always wanted to dance. Supermarkets, subway stations, cashmachinespaces, conferencenters, even the Reichstag received a welldeserved visit.

And then I found out that this was just the innocent beginning. What followed was the introduced to the world of Rave. Through friends, acquaintances and people I didn't know at all, I got informed about the most amazing gatherings. Old factories, parks and forests, bunkers, rooftops. Morning, night, midday. Dressed-up, naked, come as you like. Friday, Sunday, Tuesday. No boundaries. No end. Just dance until the police comes.... and even that is no guarantee.

I knew Berlin had it. Something growing under the ground, waiting to be revealed. But actually discovering and experiencing all these amazing features felt like a bonus, a durable lightbulb for the dark winterdays. So this time, with winter starting, I'm ready and anxious to see what Berlin is preparing to keep us warm.