Once again, from Brighton with love - Samsara and King Porter Stomp @ Hootananny

It was oneof those Fridays that you start with the score 0 – 1, one man down and yourbest player injured. You know, you go out for a few drinks on Thursday evening,thinking ‘why not, the week is almost gone’, followed by the classic ‘what thehell, one more is not going to kill me’, and by the time you go back to yourcentre, the tubes are ancient history and all you have left in your wallet is apiece of paper reminding that you need to call your aunt for her birthday. Atthat moment your thoughts are not very clear, though you have the certaintythat you will want to kill anyone that speaks to you before 11 AM on thefollowing day.

I got up onthat Friday morning feeling a bit hangovered, and what was worse, knowing I had a bloody long day aheadof me; it looked like the last sigh of the working week was going to score afew more goals on me, giving the match a shameful end. But in one of those miracles, as the day went by I somehow managed to get a bit of energy from a deep hidden corner ofmy body and soul, and right after got back from work I decided to go out andlisten to some reggae in good old Brixton.

Hootanannyhad been - onceagain - thechosen venue by the music promotion agency Wormfood to bring the Brighton reggae,ska and hip-hop crew to London, to make a very clear point: the vibe comes fromthe south.

Samsara was the first band I watched on that rainyFriday. I had seen them before and I had quite liked their upbeat style, in themood of some American reggae bands (they reminded me to Soldiers of Jah Army - SOJA),but with some unmistakable British colours; those you can only get if you grewup in the land where Madness hypnotised an entire generation with their crazy brassmelodies.

The band livedto my expectations. Jez, the voice, guitar and frontman of Samsara, was theconductor of a nicely assembled machinery that made us move (I’m tempted to sayjump) for more than an hour. Good singing, a great muted guitar and some catchywind lines. I was only slightly annoyed by the sound of the snare, whichreminded me (again!) of an old biscuits tin being hit with a spoon. What’s happening with soundengineers and their common drum-sense?

AfterSamsara shared their last tune, I had some time to do the interval must-dos. Imade my way to the bar and got a beer. Two very blond and tall men were about tohave Jagerbombs to my left. I looked them with my elbows on the bar, like I’dwatch the shootout at the end of a western movie. I still needed to go to thetoilet before the next act started, so lined up in one of those improvisedtrains made of people that serpentine through the venue between two or more places. Itook the 12.33 train, from The Bar to The Toilets, calling at Pool Table, Cloakroomand The Toilets. The coach in front of me was a girl with big curly hair, smellinglike sweat and vanilla.

King Porter Stomp took the stage with their 7-piece band a fewminutes before 1 AM. You could feel the power of the band when they played thefirst chord. No Stratocasters; the guitar was a Gibson Les Paul, announcingthat the rhythmic section was going to be heavier this time. The groove hadentered the house, mixing some funky chords with a very solid wind section, reggaekick-drums in 3 and hip-hop lyrics. It was certainly an interesting boat, whichthe frontman and MC of the band steered skilfully with spot on rimes. Withinthe audience you could see loads of American college jackets and baseball caps;I bet Snoop Dog would have liked these guys.

KPS’ set oscillatedcomfortably between powerful bass lines, drums breaks and frenetic ska jumping;energy is the word that first comes to my mind to describe their show. Myfavourite tune? Last Bat Train To Cuba,with its catchy chorus, an amazing intro and riff by the horns section.

By the timethe bands finished playing we were - as usually after a full on Brixtongig -exhausted and ready to go home. I thought about the many good band fromBrighton had seen in the last year. Maybe it’s time I drag myself there and getunder the skin of the South England full music experience. It seems like that’swere all the good stuff is coming from nowadays.

Nada que ver con Miguel Mateos - Zaz @ XOYO

Llegué a XOYO caminando desde la estación de Old Street. Era martes, venía del trabajo. La caminata era corta pero el frio me calaba los huesos, escabulléndose por debajo de mi campera de leñador canadiense. Llevaba los hombros contraídos y los brazos cruzados contra el cuerpo; pero no había caso, el frio hacía de las suyas de todas maneras. 12 de marzo, pensé, cuando va a llegar la primavera? Afuera de la puerta del lugar había una mujer que te sellaba la mano para entrar; con la punta de la nariz enrojecida, esbozó una media sonrisa cuando le di la entrada, y me marcó como si fuera una oveja a punto de ser vacunada.

Bajé unas escaleras largas. Dos mujeres de unos 25 años adelante mío hablaban en francés. Me imagine que no se veían hace mucho, y que se estaban poniendo al día. El recital de la banda que solían escuchar cuando compartían el piso de Pigalle parecía una excusa perfecta para volver a encontrarse.

Entré al espacio donde iba a tocar Zaz, justo cuando la banda soporte estaba terminando. No le presté demasiada atención. El lugar tenía el tamaño justo, y me hizo acordar a algún boliche que frecuentaba en Buenos Aires. Las luces ya giraban; celestes, fucsias, verdes, ambientando el escenario para lo que vendría. Me pareció que el lugar estaba colmado de mujeres. Pensé en mis amigos solteros; los visualicé abriendo mucho los ojos y girando la cabeza hacia todos lados, como chicos en una juguetería. No tardé en darme cuenta que yo estaba haciendo lo mismo.

Zaz subió al escenario con una frescura que hacía mucho que no veía en un artista. Tenía una sonrisa amplia, casi pintada, y una alegría que inmediatamente contagió a toda la audiencia. Mirando al público, Isabelle Geffroy (AKA Zaz) soltó un ‘I’m very happy’, con un acento francés tan marcado (‘aim veri api’) que me enterneció.  

El set comenzó con Les Passants; fue el punto de partida de un show en  donde Zaz demostró por qué es una estrella en ascenso. La voz sutilmente áspera garabateaba sobre bases jazzeras con una naturalidad magnífica. La pareja era perfecta; como la masa del crepe y el Nutella. La varieté había arrancado: había duelos de voz y guitarra, letras traviesas y su clásica trompeta humana - un sonido que Zaz logra poniendo la mano derecha en forma de cono delante de su boca, soltando unas notas que son mezcla de trompeta averiada y corneta de piñata.

La banda, por su parte, exploraba las armonías con aires descontracturados, coqueteando con Django Reinhardt y otros notables del gypsy jazz francés. Con líneas de contrabajo prolijamente rítmicas y una batería simple pero contundente, la base se prestaba para que el guitarrista explorara todas las notas del diapasón, alternando solos ligeros con octavas movedizas y acordes con séptima y novena. Una experiencia cuasi circense para un auténtico flashback al Paris de los años 30.

Luego de los primeros temas ya estaba completamente inmerso en la música, y empecé a notar los matices de la noche. Los buenos y los no tan buenos, claro está. Reparé en la importancia del sonidista para este (y en realidad, todo) tipo de recitales. Asumo que el buen hombre habría tenido una mala noche o se había pasado de cervezas en la previa; el redoblante sonaba como una lata de galletitas Bagley golpeada con una cuchara sopera, y el piano me hacia acordar al Yamaha que mi viejo me regalo a los siete. Una picardía, como diría una amiga mía, porque los músicos eran excelentes, y por los cortes y arreglos se notaba que estaban bien ensayados.

De todas formas, los contratiempos técnicos no me impidieron seguir disfrutando de lo que estaba pasando. Los temas, cantados en la langue de l’amour,  comenzaron a encantar a la gente, como serpientes en un bazar marroquí. En algún momento mire a mi alrededor y observé varias parejas abrazadas en la configuración dada por la música en vivo: la mujer adelante, el hombre atrás, ambos mirando el escenario; los brazos de él alrededor del abdomen de ella, los de ella cruzados sobre los de él; la cabeza de ella descansado, levemente hacia atrás, sobre el pecho de él. Las parejas se movían suavemente, en una cadencia simple, hacia los lados solamente. Los dos sonreían. La imagen me transportó inmediatamente a las decenas de recitales de reggae en mis tierras del sur; no recuerdo haber visto esta imagen previamente en Londres. La reflexión sobre la diferencia entre anglosajones y latinos no se hizo esperar, como tantas otras veces, pero en ese momento preferí volver a la música.

El repertorio continuó en la línea distendida con la que había arrancado. Sonaron Prends Garde A Ta Lange, el hit Je Veux (cantada por todos; los que sabemos de francés lo mismo que de biología molecular improvisábamos algún sonido nasal acompañado de una mueca rara). Luego vino Dans Ma Rue, cantada a puro sentimiento, y hasta hubo espacio para un tema de la inefable Edith Piaf - no podía ser de otra manera. Zaz sonreía y agradecía cada vez que tenía la oportunidad. La audiencia respondía con aplausos e indescifrables gritos en la lengua de los antiguos galos.

En algún momento antes de la medianoche Isabelle y su banda decidieron despedirse, dejándonos a la merced del personal de seguridad del lugar, que nos barrió efectivamente hacia la gélida salida. Gorro, bufanda y coraje; hora de emprender el regreso. Nada de qué arrepentirse: Zaz te deja con una sensación de liviandad y sonrisa interna. No se le puede pedir mucho mas a un martes. 

FunkySoulyElectroBoom - Tru Thoughts @ KoKo

I think it was late on a Saturday, coming back from some bar on Kingsland Road, that I saw a red poster on a wall with the word 'Quantic' printed on it, big enough for me to notice it from across the street. I instantly got really excited; I still had the sweet aftertaste of his amazing gig last summer at The Hackney Empire, with his vintage cumbia project Ondatropica . That night had been like dying and resurrecting in the sixties, in a tropical village of Colombia where people wore short sleeved shirts and played güiros with big smiley faces. This time though, Will Holland (AKA Quantic) was performing on his own, doing a DJ set, as part of a mini festival organised by Tru Throughts, the independent label from Brighton. I thought it was worth finding out what this DJ set would sound like, so I made a mental note to buy the tickets the very next day.

That was a long time ago, but then February came and so the Tru Thoughts gig. The chosen venue had been Koko. I had agreed with a friend to meet at the pub right outside Mornington Crescent station, so I got there in time for a pre-show beer. Once inside he got two Delirium Tremens, a cool ale that comes in a ceramic white bottle with a shiny blue label that has pink elephants printed on it. Only in London, I thought, and I thanked my friend for getting the first round. The beer wasn't only nice to look at, but tasted damn good too.

Shortly after that we got into KoKo, not before having a chitchat with some people at the queue. I love queue friendships; they are forged with alcohol and the excitement of something that is about to happen. Sadly most of the times these friendships finish at the cloakroom; I never met anyone that introduced a friend saying ‘hi, this is Ed, I met him at a gig queue’. The world probably needs some more friends made in queues.

Belleruche was the first act I saw; they were playing when we entered the venue. Right from the top of Koko, the sound was a bit weak and Kathrin deBoer, singer of the band, looked tiny. However, you could feel how the 3-piece band was rocking the stage downstairs. I had listened to some Belleruche records before and I had loved their rusty soul feel, funky basslines and a dash of MAC magic. The first chords I listened when I got in instantly brought me back to that. Kathrin’s voice is a good one when live, kind of in a Billie Holiday’s mood and with a Blondie reminiscence. The band itself has also a powerful presence on stage as well, like owning the bloody place; this is my night boy, Belleruche is in tha house.

To my big disappointed, after a few minutes I realised I had missed the Hidden Orchestra set. I coursed myself for sucking at estimating set times in long gig nights. But then again, I think even the owner’s son was playing that night, doing a Garage Band remix of a cult Swedish band from the 90s. It had never been part of the plan to get there from the beginning, at 9 o’clock; mygroupie days died long time ago, when I decided that Axl Rose wasn't that cool any more.

Quantic came on stage with his classic low-key and relaxed look, showing the smile of someone that is going to enjoy what he’s about to do. I had thought beforehand what his set would be like: the first things I heard from him are at least 10 years old, and the guy has evolved so much ever since, from his early electronic soul to the current tropical explorations. I thought he had a tough one mixing all that and keeping everyone going. Well, I have to say the whole set seemed a bit jumpy to me, and the magic of live playing (like the one I remembered from the Hackney gig) wasn’t there of course, so I got the feeling I had been short-changed. The problem was actually his, because he had done such a great job in the previous gig. I guess I’ll just have to wait until he comes back with his full band.

The night finished with Anchorsong, a young Japanese musician that looks very much like a character of one of Murakami’s books (or at least as I imagine one of his characters). Tall and long haired, looking down most of the time, the teen-looking chap started off with his live samplings and changed the atmosphere of the place. The vintage, unpolished sounds from Quantic gave space to minimal claps and steady kickdrums: it was the change from colour to monochrome, from earth to air. People’s moves were now more controlled, sometimes with closed eyes. Anchorsong takes you to a place where things come and go in waves; long waves, like the ones in a big ocean. You just have to sit in your little boat and let them rock you as if you were a floating on a cradle.

At some point I got distracted and landed back on Earth. I run into my friend and with a short look we decided it was time to go. I left Koko with the feeling it had been a good night, but it felt more like a party than a gig. Maybe it was meant to be like that from the beginning. Or maybe not, but for some reason I keep expecting acoustic drumsets and furious blowing horns from a gig. Either music is changing faster than me, or I’m getting old. Probably a bit of both.

Photos - courtesy of my good friend Rusty Rich