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.

Any given Sunday – Manu Chao + La Troba Kung Fu @ Brixton Electric

Sometimes I wonder if Sundays have a similar effect on other people as they have on me. I've been here for 2 years now and my hypothesis is that Londoners couldn't care less about it: it’s just the second day in the weekend, and hence let’s get up at 8 AM and make the most of it, go for breakfast, go for brunch, munch, I have a hunch this is going to be a nice and productive Sunday. Ehhh... what happened to the so called psychological factor? Nothing, not a clue of it; Londoners are doers. I wish I could always look at Sunday in the eye and say: ‘You are nothing but the seventh day of the week, and you are a free day, so I don’t give a fuck if you feel grey and gloomy today... we are going out’. Well, sometimes I do it: this is the story of one of those Sundays.

I learnt Manu Chao was playing in London, out of the blue and as part of a charity festival in South London. I had never seen them live, so I thought this was a great chance to challenge the dying weekend and finish with some groove.

I got to the Electric in Brixton around 8; as usual, I thought I was arriving late, but this time I wasn't too concerned... even if they tried, Manu Chao would never start on time. My theory was confirmed when I saw a 200 meter static queue, starting from the venue's door. Walking alongside it I started looking at the people waiting to get in, and I was invaded by the most beautiful nostalgic feeling: long curly hairs, untidy beards, baggy trousers, ethnic rucksacks and rustic pullovers, everything embedded in a strong human smell. It was like being back at home, a laid back atmosphere translated into clothing and hairdos, just like before a reggae gig in Niceto Club, back in Buenos Aires.

When I got in I realised there were a few supporting acts (which I didn't know about, of course). I think I've expressed my opinion about supporting acts before. When you go to a restaurant, how many starters do you have? Either you have one, or you might share a few with other people, almost like a nice treat to warm up your belly, because you still want to save some space (end especially energy) for the main course. Well, they had 2 ‘starters’ that night, plus Manu later. Maybe a little too much?

The first act was La Troba Kung Fu, a band from Barcelona. Led by Joan Garriega, accordionist and voice of the band, they do a mix of Spanish rumba, cumbia and bit of reggae and ska; certainly an interesting combination. But I think the best about these guys is that they were able to read an audience that was eager to forget about everything for an hour and let themselves go. We were all sitting in a happiness train, we only needed the driver to show up and start the engine. After the first tune, La Troba had the crowd jumping and cheering as if we were all watching our favourite band from all times. I'm pretty sure most of us didn't know who they were, but these great things happen when the passengers have the right vibe and the driver of the train knows what he’s doing.

I'm not going to write too much about the second act because it was bad, definitely bad. The concept was all wrong: a selection of musicians alternating guitar playing and singing, over a DJ track. I mean, I'm sure they are all good artist separately, but together they did one helluva mess. A complete turn off. Like thinking of your grandmother when you’re about to have sex.

After at least 50 painful minutes these guys decided to put an end to our misery. But it was too late. My spirit was trashed. The second starter had been a lead soufflé, with a thick engine oil coulis. Too much for my poor Sunday stomach.

Manu appeared on stage shortly after that, and spent 5 minutes thanking the warmth of the people, touching his heart with both hands and putting his right fist in the air. You could tell he's a simple man, and he was overwhelmed with the people's love.  It was the first time I saw him on stage, and I instantly liked him. Probably a great guy to share a summer barbecue with.

The show was OK, but it was nothing like those unforgettable marathonic gigs I had heard so much about. I think it was mainly because he didn't have the full band with him (he played with a formation of only 4). And let’s face it, Manu Chao can be amazing, but without a good percussion section, a couple of brasses and maybe a violin, his songs could be a bit Spanish guitar monotone, with too many 3 chord tonic-fourth-fifth transitions. It wasn't bad; lovely people, great energy, but they didn't blow me away.



My Sunday finished later than usual, but left behind a smile on my face. It was definitely worth it, and got me thinking that I should do it more often. Maybe I am turning into a Londoner after all...