Northern Carnival - Kalakuta Millionaires, Voodoo Love Orchestra & Maracatu @ Hootananny Brixton

When I think of carnival I usually think of big snail-slow platforms going through a long street, oily men and women dancing in massive costumes made of gigantic colourful feathers , turning the dance  into some kind of slow motion left to right, right to left, slightly up and down routine. To some extent it makes good sense: I've never seen a peacock making skilful moves to the sound of drums, it’s just too dangerous for its perfectly crafted outfit. I also think of carnival as something you would find primarily in Brazil and to less extent in Argentina and Uruguay. My bad: carnival has gone global. Notting Hill has one every year, and it’s quite good apparently... but I'm not going to talk about Notting Hill carnival because I wasn't actually there; the point is that there was a bit of a festive energy a few weeks ago in London, which definitely had some influence on the gig I went to. NB: shame on me, I should have posted this ages ago...


Saturday was the chosen day, and South London my destination. I got the tube a couple of minutes past 10 PM, and I instantly put my earphones on to get myself in the right mood. I listened to Curtis Mayfield. My cart, the second from the back, was almost completely empty, except for a guy a couple of meters away from me, plugged to some white headphones and absolutely focused on a little orange juice bottle in his right hand. I thought it was a bit strange to have such a lonesome image on a Saturday evening; maybe it was the drizzle outside, but then again, we are in the UK, who gets put off by rain? I could hear Curtis’ stereo soul inside my ears… ‘If there is a hell below, we’re all gonna go…’

I got off half an hour later at my destination. As I was emerging to the surface in the escalator, a guy walked past me down the stairs; he was wearing black oxford pants and denim jacket, and he had a ragged, tight t-shirt with Twiggy’s face on it. She was crying. He was as thin and tall as most of the cast of ‘Almost Famous’… and of course, he had Robert Plant’s hairdo. Curtis kept singing in the back of my head, now with a mellower voice, ‘I come from the other side of town, Alabama’. I was in Brixton.

After a short walk from the station I arrived to my final destination, and one of my favourite venues in London: Hootananny. I din’t pay to get in, which could only mean one thing: I was early, so I would get to see the 3 live bands. It’s going to be a long night I thought (and this is going to be a long post).

The first band I heard was called Maracatu and they basically did batucada  which is a typical Brazilian music, done only with percussion. Most of the members were women; they were all dressed in white and they were actually all white. I kept asking myself if they were actually form Brazil (presumably from the South, they looked quite European), or if they were English with a deep love for Southamerican culture. They played massive drums, shakers and cowbells, quite well as a matter of fact. The women also sang. And here I had a problem with them being all white: I think there was a lower pitch voice missing in the ensemble. I was craving for a voice like those from some of the African descendent women selling food in the streets of Salvador, which could have turn into Aretha Franklins if only there were music producers with a good ear buying food that day. In any case the band was interesting to hear, but just for a while.

The second band chose an unusual format: instead of going on stage, they came out from the venue’s backyard, playing completely unplugged. I happened to be outside when they started playing, firstly forming a circle in the middle of Hootananny’s beer garden, and then slowly walking in line as if they were a marching band. In fact they were a bit of a marching band: the conductor was carrying a portable drumset, and she had at least 8 musicians following her, playing basically brass and percussion. Marching slowly through the garden and playing some catchy wind melodies, people (myself included) started following them as the tail of a musical comet. Some were a bit reluctant in the beginning but by the time Voodoo Love Orchestra (that’s how they were called) entered the interior of pub, there were at least 50 of us following them in a proper improvised parade. The energy was amazing: having a tuba blowing a groovy baseline 15 inches away from your right ear is definitely something worth experiencing before death by Tecno music.

The band kept on going, alternating saxophone and trumpet solos, making their way onto stage, where they played a few more minutes (I’d love to say they played one or two more tunes, but the way I remember it was like a 70 minutes long carnival melody). My attention got slightly diverted at that point, because I spent no less than 10 minutes watching a silent couple sitting around a small table in one of the corners of the venue. That is one of the beauties of South London: you can find these characters blended with the average London crowd (well… what is the average London crowd anyway?), as if they had escaped from a William Burrough’s novel through a time tunnel, and got out right next to Brixton’s H&M. This couple was probably in their mid-fifties; they were both quite thin and had white hair, and they wore Grateful Dead-looking clothes, probably as old as the wheel. They just sat there, exchanging no more than a few words per minute, enjoying the show and certainly enjoying the vibe of the venue. But above all, you could actually feel there were two really peaceful souls inside those bodies. If that isn’t wisdom, shoot me right here.

A few minutes later, Kalakuta Millionaires started playing. To my surprise, most of the musicians were the same as the ones from the moving musical train that had finished just a while before. As these guys went on stage you could sense something good was about to happen. This musical collective (I call it like that when I try to count the people in the band and I give up after losing count in the third attempt) plays an interesting afro-funk, with splashes of latin grooves, floating in a quite jazzy mood where every performer has space to explore their deepest improvisation curls. But always keeping the lighthearted vibe of the band, that gets under your skin and bones. The great rhythmic base (drums, bass, percussion and guitar) is the sauce where the other instruments get cooked: an assortment of saxs, a trumpet that for some moments sounds like it was born and raised in Mexico City, and a trombone that could kill you with darts of groove. Long tunes, those you only  know they are finishing when you hear the winds section agreeing on an irresistible melody that falls on you like a big piece of concrete saying ‘this bit is about to end’.

It was almost 2 AM when I decided that my big fat evening of sounds and colourful characters needed to come to an end. So after getting my classic after-midnight bite, I started walking down the road, and still with a ‘beeeeeee’ in my ears and ketchup in my mouth, I lifted my left hand (the one that wasn’t busy dismantling a burger) and stopped a bus to get back home.