Ricardo Villalobos and Raresh (B2B) @ Fabric, London, 23/05/2009

Written for Data Transmission on 25/05/09 but not published

Fabric has become a once in a while experience. No longer can it be frequented with regularity because, quite honestly, you’d do your nut in and stab someone with a blunt instrument. Unfortunate but not unexpected for London’s most successful super-club; the people it attracts are far removed from the crowd you might find at the T Bar or Loco Dice’s recent Under 300 tour. But that’s life, like it or lump it: when Villalobos and Raresh, two names that ooze with techno royalty, are enlisted to assault room one, it’s time to close your eyes and think of England.

However, despite the dynamite billing, there’s no queue to speak of at midnight, security guards wandering around sheepishly, bereft of a crowd to jostle. It’s surprising, given that behind the two techno kings lies a 2-hour live set from Slam, another live offering from Mikael Stavöstrand, Arnaud le Texier (the Frenchman responsible for Safari Electronique) and also residents Terry Francis and Craig Richards. The quiet start doesn’t last long.

Room two, under the rhythms of le Texier, drifts from industrial almost tribal gritty techno through to jazzy breaks and infectious high-hats. From a sometimes-boring base, the gradual construction of interesting loops and samples can’t fail to illicit a wiggle of the hips and shuffle of the feet (enjoy the space while you can!). The gradual building is a theme carried on by Swede Mikael Stavöstrand, bringing oil tanker fog horns out of his laptop and into our ears. Whilst his layered tracks slowly gather momentum (slowly being the operative word), there is another problem he can’t seem to solve: up on the stage of room two with nothing but a laptop, all eyes are focused on the man making music (by this point a lot of them); whilst some people such as Stephen Bodzin interact with the crowd – going absolutely mental but also sharing his creative process through a camera-fed projection – our man Mikael has all the charisma of a carrot with a comb-over. He stands by the laptop, limp and lifeless, occasionally adjusting his side-parting to further accentuate the receding hair line. It’s a shame, as I’m sure his minimal offerings are often delectable, but unlike a DJ booth, the stage requires a performance.

The lull in room two allows the full range of Craig Richard’s talent to be appreciated. Week-in week-out he warms up for the biggest and brightest names in house and techno, and not once does he fall short. He is like a piece of the Fabric furniture, having only recently dared to venture beyond the brick vaults, but always at his best within them. Blending muffled metallic clangs with electrofied jazz quartets, he brings the biggest whoops of the night. He is so good in fact, that Ricardo Villalobos and Raresh (aka ArVi:Ar? Do I honestly see it catching on? No) let him keep playing for another 15-20 minutes while they monkey around behind the decks. The end of his set moves from the bumping sounds that got people moving into warped and eerie ambience, setting the scene for the once-minimal giants to launch their back to back.

[William Kouam Djoko - Look Inside Sun (Thirtyonetwenty)]

Raresh begins, bringing a deeper, housier techno, complete with keys, jazz, vocals and bongos. William Kouam Djoko’s Look Inside the Sun grinds through the immense Fabric soundsystem and up through the bodysonic dance floor, bringing a flute and funky chords to a chunky underlay. Villalobos can’t help but plump for his much-loved industrial sound, ratcheting in a high-hat to dominate the soundscape before bringing back the funkier Raresh sample – only to then drop into filth. The rugged Chilean exudes a rawness in his mixing, surprising the audience with the unsubtle chopping of his hard-hitting techno, leaving Raresh to bring the smoother side of life. A selection of special ’90s Detroit house evokes the days of UK G (see video below), but one pick particularly stands out: a subtly crafted and suitably groovy take on Eddie Amador’s House Music, remixed by fellow Romanians, Hermannstadt Collective. The acapella “not everyone understands house music” floats in and out before giving way to a pulsating break that ploughs through the crowd. The original sexy latino keyboard melody is then relayered on top, adeptly tweaked and continuously evolving.

While the music continues to crack the floorboards and rip up the upholstery, I still flake before seven. Perhaps I’m not as hard as I thought I was, but also pissed off with the crowd. Reading the RA forums afterwards, it’s as if we were in different clubs. It talks of space and being able to move: I attempt to make my space, have a dance, yet all around me are sleazy, nasty guys all chasing skirt and all getting nowhere. It’s like flies to shit – being any where near a pretty girl is a curse; actually, being pretty is not a prerequisite: pretty nor not, swarm they will. English, Italian, Spanish, all there with the same aim: pussy. Certainly the best music I’ve ever heard played in a pussy parlour, and such a shame because the Ricardo-Raresh combo is spectacular.

Hours of out of tune banshee-wailing, out of time clapping, and out of place whistling begin to grate. Standing by the stage, a mass of preened posing poncey guys apparate before me, not looking at the DJs, not dancing, but looking up at the stage at the scant girls who remain. Next minute, each and every one of them is asking for a bunk-up. Looking up, all the girls are now gone, replaced by under-sexed, hormone-charged peacocks (without the ‘pea’), who then realise this absence and one after the other get down again. This trend runs throughout the night, all over the room one dance floor. My heart goes out to anyone there with a girlfriend, protecting her from the ravenous vultures. Each guy that walks past you has his radar on, scouting left right centre, close far, x-ray vision so as not to miss the small ones. It’s like a cattle market except we’re not allowed to send these heifers across the road to Smithfield’s. Too much; home time.

Whilst a pity, I’m sure it’s for the best seeing as Sunday is the Data Transmission BBQ. The friend who failed to convince me to stay keeps on, enjoying more tunes and even a dance with Ricardo and Raresh as they mingle among their adorers. Next time, perhaps.

A lesson learnt for another few months/years: stay away from Fabric on Friday and Saturday. No matter who is playing, the crowd does not change. Full credit to them for getting the best names in dance music, but they’ll never escape their loyal followers. However, it’s definitely whet the appetite for more, but next time is planned to be on a beach in Barcelona, watching Villalobos play the sunrise in, back to back with Cassy. No contest.

Originally published in Volume 6

Summer’s on its way and with it the sweet spice of dark rum and ginger beer, but where’s the soundtrack? Pascoe Sabido hears from mad duo De Tropix about their Caribbean style, looking like a Cadbury’s wrappers and St Vincent’s alcoholic aphrodisiac.

From the outside it could be any other trendy antiques shop, but coming from behind the pristinely-aged furniture, strange voices can be heard: “It’s fallen off!”

Beyond the retro lampshades, the source of the commotion is traced to the kitchen-cum-studio where De Tropix are eating bananas and pulling faces for the camera. “Uff… it’s off again”. The culprit? Only one option: the stiletto-kicking, spandex-rocking, utterly mad winder-grinder and vocal-half of De Tropix, 27-year-old Cherry – minus an earring.

“Maaaan – It’s done it again!”

Between the snapping of a camera and the delectable shapes bring thrown over music-partner Damon, an enormous disco ball that once hung from her ear is back on the floor and refusing to clip on. Left with only one earring, there’s little choice: “Fuck it, let’s do it pirate stylee!” says Cherry. “Aaaargghhh” yells 29-year-old Damon.

Life is positively fun for De Tropix and the pair are finally doing what they love most: performing their urban tropical sounds wherever they can. “We did a gig a couple of weeks ago supporting La Roux at YoYo’s”, says Damon. “It was wicked! One of the best we’ve ever done. We don’t get paid so if it aint fun what’s it for?” Asks Damon, “I’m the brokest I’ve ever been!” But even if the pay is non-existent, the experiences have been special: after hearing Bad Name, the super-cool Radio Nova invited them across the channel to record it live in their Parisian studio. The track is now being played all over France. “Yeah!” Damon enthuses, “It was mad. You gotta just have a laugh and enjoy it all”.

They clearly do: posing for the photographer, the duo bounce off one another, radiating a raw chemistry. Cheekiness can’t contain itself, and neither can Cherry: her mischievous grin and delightful cackle can’t be contained behind the semi-serious pouting. Damon gives as good as he gets, but like on stage, is happy to leave the limelight to the queen of the tropical.

Born and raised on the Island of St Vincent, the Caribbean influence is more than skin deep: “It’s a big big part of who I am”, explains Cherry. You can hear it in the Patois singing, see it in the raw sexual dancing, but even off the stage there is such colourful animation in everything she does, it is obvious what she means.

“She’s a wicked front woman”, admits Damon, who despite his own paternal St Vincent roots, grew up DJing in Luton and is now a London-based producer. “I’m the laid back dude – let Cherry be at the front and I’ll jam behind the decks doing a verse now and then!”

A born performer, you won’t find her complaining: “I admit, I’m a full-time broke-arse artist, but I just love it on stage”, she exclaims. “I have so much fun – there could be one person and I’d have fun!” Those that do come to watch – or stumble across De Tropix accidentally, en route to other bands (“which is what usually happens!” guffs Damon) – can’t help but enjoy Cherry’s performance: “I’m a big sweaty bitch on stage, sweat, fire and vulgarness – I like to gyrate and stand on my head!” she laughs. The energy being radiated is infectious: you can’t help wanting to wind your backside all the way down to the floor – it’s just the standing up again that’s tricky.

“Cherry interacts with everybody”, says Damon, rolling his eyes, “You can’t resist her – no one can. On stage she flips: from London girl to bashment girl, from English twang into Patois.”

Cherry grins: “When I put on my wig, my sexy spandex and my accent, I’m a completely different person!” From sweet playful lion cub into a man-eating lioness; it’s a fairytale transformation if Disney were to do dancehall.

On stage her movement’s impressive, but what else would you expect from a life time of carnivals? With the exception of a Scottish grandfather, it’s clearly in the blood: “I rang my mum last month and she was jumping it up grinding a speaker – it’s like ‘fuck, I’m at work and you’re at Trinidad Carnival!’”

While the rhythm of Cherry’s derriere definitely comes naturally, it doesn’t hurt to be a trained choreographer. Aged only 12, she left the sun sea and sand for a dance scholarship in Leeds: “I look back on it now – moving so far away from my family at such a young age”, she says, “and my head spins; I’m like wow that’s crazy! I guess when you’re young you don’t think, you just do things.”

Rumour has it that in swapping bashment for ballet, Cherry even wore a tutu: “I’m not telling you that! Somebody will dig out the pictures” she cackles. “I looked like a Cadbury’s wrapper – it’s awful!”

Even if it’s true, classical could never replace carnival, so clearly embodied in De Tropix. “My Caribbean experience had to be on the forefront of what we did, but we’re both just trying to express ourselves”, says Cherry. “Musically, my background is a bit of soca and a bit of reggae… But Damon, he comes from the English grime and R&B side of things; I kind of banter with that, ride with it.”

Tap Tap, borrowing strings from Burt Bacharach, and Oi, featuring Andy Williams (“this old crooner from the 60s” says Damon”), are the obvious examples, combining tropical rhythm, dancehall vocals and a sharp urban twist in production values. Bad Name is another, beginning somewhere near Santogold’s Say Aha and Shove It, then put through a nineties rave machine. However, if it’s the old-school nineties rave piano keys you’re after, Oi Oi Oi cannot be beaten – and the lyrics? Clearly written by Jack Iron: “It’s the name of this rum from St Vincent, an aphrodisiac – it makes you super horny!”

But it is a track not from the forthcoming EP, Brap, which has ‘summer anthem’ all over it. Distorted basslines and dubby guitars provide the Caribbean backdrop for Cherry’s distressed Patois, mustering images of super-sprung Cadillacs bouncing away, windows down and heads bopping inside.

“Our music’s just a mish-mash of everything”, admits Damon, the man who is currently serving up musical jerk chicken from a fish and chip shop. The source? “I listen to such wide varieties – I love old music – but I’m a spontaneous guy, I just sit down at the computer and have a play around.” Although clearly a euphemism for something a bit dirtier, it has served him well. That said, getting to this point has not been easy. Kicked out of college and living on pirate radio stations, one thing kept Damon motivated: “Music’s been my life – no exaggeration”. It even provided a belated education – and a potential role model: “I went to the same music college as Freddy Mercury – what a don!” He laughs, “That dude could really hold down a stage!” Watch your spandex, Cherry.

These are exciting times for De Tropix, but they’re not about to get carried away. “We’re new at all this”, says Cherry, “Every time I step on stage I’m developing my style”. Damon agrees: “We’re nowhere really, tiny, grass roots. You have to work at your art and we’ve still got a lot of improvements to make”. Although they’re happy to take it slow, the summer is approaching fast, calling out for a soundtrack: Camden Crawl is the next marker on the horizon and festivals are already showing an interest.

But however it pans out, Cherry’s got a backup plan, and I’m sure Damon’s invited: “I’m gonna be a horticultural teacher! I’m gonna buy a little plot on my island, a little eco paradise, and grow fat amount of weeds and vegetables. Any one wants to make music can come to my paradise and smoke weed!” Room for a little one?

Not Just Any Old Festival in Shoreditch?

Stag and Dagger in Shoreditch, London – 21^st May 2009

published in Data Transmission ( see original article 3-06-09  ‘The return of Stag & Dagger‘ Written By: PascoeSabido )

I know, yet another festival around Shoreditch, boring. Every week seems to bring a new incarnation. But having said that, if you logged onto the website or spoke to someone who went last year, you can’t help but feel tempted. The line-up is quite literally drowning in names: bereft of armbands, it can’t stay afloat, little oxygen bubbles floating to the surface as it sinks to the bottom; 188 separate slots for music, 145 artists to fill them, and 26 venues to host them – Pow! It feels like old school Batman has just sent a left hook into your eye, followed up by a roundhouse from Robin – “SMACK!” – too much to take in; so many artists, so little time.

The first acts kick off at 7:00pm (clearly not the good ones) but the doors are already closing at 1:30? A little over five hours to cram in the newly-electrofied Jack Peñate (missed it – fuck), Lovefoxxx from CSS (nowhere near catching it – shit), Skull Juice (nope – bollocks) and Casio Kids (scheduling’s fault, not mine). But that still leaves another 141 artists! Despite copious amounts of wandering around, waiting around, and generally fannying around, it’s still amusing – unless you ask the poor sods left in the queue outside Herbal.

So the scene is set: venues from Hoxton Square down to Brick Lane are jammed with music and musicians, and it is our job as the purveyors of talent to lend an ear. First things first, tickets: to give it that real Shoreditch ‘lets defy convention’ feel, wristbands are distributed in a church. The vestibules are lined with cheque shirts and skinny jeans; wacky glasses and partially-shaven heads dot the horizon. Were there a God, what would he be thinking? “Get some originality you twats!” or “get the fuck out of my house of worship, you godless sinners!” or even “have a wicked night guys, and remember to always use a condom”? I’ll ask him on my way back.

Wristband attached and clemency-granting god above, a stagger down Shoreditch High St (with neither a stag nor dagger as I thought them too conspicuous to bring with me) brings Vibe Bar and its three stages. Upstairs in the No Pain In Pop room we just miss a band called An Experiment On A Bird In The Air Pump. According to the programme, the “all-girl trio from London play lo-fi gothic post-rock”… clearly; stupid me, should have got it from the name. However, downstairs on the Kill ‘Em All Stage the Anglo-French disco-rock trio We Have Band (See their Myspace page)return an electro tinge to proceedings, their simple yet catchy sound pushing against the brick walls. Reminiscent of New Young Pony Club but with a darker edge and eerie harmonies, the live set brings new single You Came Out and jump-up anthem Hear it in the Cans. But it’s packed and sweaty and there’s always the next venue to get to – god knows where though? Who wants to pick this time? Expectedly poor time-keeping in the Vibe Bar means a rethink.

The Horse and Groom. Crystal Fighters. Decided. A pub that consistently plays good music, the Horse and Groom delivers. Downstairs, up and coming electronic new boy David Sugar brings a jazzy ‘80s edge to tech house and broken beats; upstairs, after various sound checks and pubescent jostling, three of the Crystal Fighters emerge. Despite being two members down (passport issues), energy is not a problem: their nu-rave tempo whips up the audience while acid-splashed synths infect your head. Bassline is obligatory. Frenzied front man and lead vocalist Sebastian thrashes and writhes before a frenetic audience as the sweet-looking but clearly far-from-innocent Laure belts and screams through harmony, edging away from convention and embracing the Crystal’s cacophony. Whilst incomparable to their havoc-wreaking performance at last summer’s Secret Garden Party (read the review), it’s still sufficiently manic to pulse with their unique energy. Yep, wicked.
Keep moving.

A sardine-can Favela Chic plays host to Micachu and the Shapes (cool ukulele), and what was supposed to be Andrew Weatherall but sounds more like a crap imitation of a bad indie DJ – has the man changed genres or are the set times up the spout? Either way, Casio Kids are supposed to be playing at Hoxton Bar and Kitchen. Gone. Alas, the Norwegian electro-funksters are not there (where are they?!), but some random Scandinavian compatriots offer consolation with a flask of red wine. Tasty.

Too many venues, too many acts, too much walking and too little time-keeping has ultimately doomed it to failure, but ending the night at Herbal with Rusko is a partial remedy. Slight problem – everyone’s got the same idea so no-one’s getting in. Once past the palaver, it’s a pleasure to hear DJ ED-DL and MC Gusto tear apart the upstairs dance floor, bringing out the old fashioned Drum & Bass. However, the people have spoken with their feet and the crowds are amassing downstairs, waiting for Rusko to abuse the sound system with his bass-warped dubstep. Whilst loving the filthy rumble that plasters grins from ear-to-ear, I’m still not a happy dubstepper. Rusko plays a predictable and fairly commercial set, sticking to bassed-up remixes of boring tunes. Just being grimy doesn’t cut it. Neither, seemingly, does N-Type, supposedly on 2:00-3:00 but robbed of his chance as everyone’s chucked out before 1:30. Pity to leave potential unfulfilled, but that’s becoming the moto of the night. Coulda been, shoulda been, never was.

Same goes for my after party: there is officially no joy in waking up on a Tottenham sofa at 9AM and having to go to work. Definitely not wicked.

Frannie Armstrong’s Docu-drama on climate change has been groundbreaking, earning her and her filmn audiences around the world, including a series of meetings with the Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change – However… whilst I thought there were obviously some flaws in the film, SPIKED, an on-line magazine, gave it the worst review I have ever read! Read it and see if I’m being reasonable – at the bottom is a trailer for the film.

http://www.spiked-online.com/index.php?/site/article/6359/

I thought I would write to them and point out what idiots they are! (in the best possible way)

For a website that claims to be anti-illiberals, ludites, narrow-mindedness, you don’t half fall into your own traps!

You can show off a plethora of philosophical and scientifice superiority through referencing, yet not see the economics of the day has led to a neocolonialism that is not only destroying our planet by consuming its resources, but also creating the greatest inequality we the world has ever seen.

And you missed the point of the film! Each example you chose, you misconstrued! It’s hilarious to read a piece by someone who takes themselves so intellectually seriously, yet deploys tools more at home in the Sun – or perhaps was simply to stupid to understand the subtleties of the film!

GoAir – yes, it is undoubtedly terrible for the environment to increase air travel, but rather than lambast him, it highlights the clash between environment and development, the desire to raise eveyone’s standard of living, yet how to balance this with a sustainable model that ensures a more equitable world is still inhabitable. He’s not necessarily blamed for it, but more it is a lambasting of the current paradigm where development is measured in GDP and consumerism, where giving people more more more is equated with getting them out of poverty. Poverty alleviation and fuelling consumerism have proved themselves incompatible on a large scale. Yes, capitalism, trade, entrepeneurialism pulls individuals out of poverty, but it plunges many more much further down. It is the idea that the current paradigm – if follow further – will lead to any form of equality that is the main culprit.

The windfarmer you lambast so highly – what was so depressing was not that he was turned down, it was the hypocrisy of those turning him down. ‘we all care about climate change, of course’ but just not on my doorstep. It was people’s lip-service that was so depressing. What the floods showed was that climate change is affecting the area, they are aware of it, feel its impact, yet do not want to do anything about it. It is not that building a windfarm will stop floods – don’t be so ridiculous and cheap in your argument – but that an attitude shift needs to take place which addresses climate change, where people realise that YES, their lives WILL have to change as a result.

You chose your heroes and villains, yet the film was all about contradictions and being human. That despite feeling the impacts, seeing them, experiencing them first hand in many cases, out attitudes have still not changed and we don’t find that disconcerting.

You continued claims of weak science are completely bogus, but rather than dress information in formulas and figures and confusing diagrams, it was spelt out quite simply. All the scientific information contained within has been verified by Lord Stern himself (someone who you undoubtedly have little respect for) and the IPCC, and has actually been understood by people who would otherwise have switched off.

I don’t think the film was flawless – far from it – but I don’t think it deserved the one-sided review you gave it, taking immediate offence because it was ‘environmental’. Although it is not surprising from a climate-change denier, I expected better from a website that makes the evidently untrue claims that it does.

I am dissapointed and hope that not all authors on this site have such a severe chip on their shoulder, motivated by pre-conceived falsehoods rather than the subject of their review. Think ‘what was this film trying to achieve?’, ‘to what extent did it do this?’, ‘what means were at its disposal to do this?’, and then be critical, but to take the position you did for the sake of being a black sheep is laughable. The Telegraph would love to have you on board.

Going against the grain may be cool and controversial, but perhaps a little though on what you are speaking of might be a good starting point.

For a website that claims to be anti-illiberals, ludites, narrow-mindedness, you don’t half fall into your own traps!

You can show off a plethora of philosophical and scientifice superiority through referencing, yet not see the economics of the day has led to a neocolonialism that is not only destroying our planet by consuming its resources, but also creating the greatest inequality we the world has ever seen.

And you missed the point of the film! Each example you chose, you misconstrued! It’s hilarious to read a piece by someone who takes themselves so intellectually seriously, yet deploys tools more at home in the Sun – or perhaps was simply to stupid to understand the subtleties of the film!

GoAir – yes, it is undoubtedly terrible for the environment to increase air travel, but rather than lambast him, it highlights the clash between environment and development, the desire to raise eveyone’s standard of living, yet how to balance this with a sustainable model that ensures a more equitable world is still inhabitable. He’s not necessarily blamed for it, but more it is a lambasting of the current paradigm where development is measured in GDP and consumerism, where giving people more more more is equated with getting them out of poverty. Poverty alleviation and fuelling consumerism have proved themselves incompatible on a large scale. Yes, capitalism, trade, entrepeneurialism pulls individuals out of poverty, but it plunges many more much further down. It is the idea that the current paradigm – if follow further – will lead to any form of equality that is the main culprit.

The windfarmer you lambast so highly – what was so depressing was not that he was turned down, it was the hypocrisy of those turning him down. ‘we all care about climate change, of course’ but just not on my doorstep. It was people’s lip-service that was so depressing. What the floods showed was that climate change is affecting the area, they are aware of it, feel its impact, yet do not want to do anything about it. It is not that building a windfarm will stop floods – don’t be so ridiculous and cheap in your argument – but that an attitude shift needs to take place which addresses climate change, where people realise that YES, their lives WILL have to change as a result.

You chose your heroes and villains, yet the film was all about contradictions and being human. That despite feeling the impacts, seeing them, experiencing them first hand in many cases, out attitudes have still not changed and we don’t find that disconcerting.

You continued claims of weak science are completely bogus, but rather than dress information in formulas and figures and confusing diagrams, it was spelt out quite simply. All the scientific information contained within has been verified by Lord Stern himself (someone who you undoubtedly have little respect for) and the IPCC, and has actually been understood by people who would otherwise have switched off.

I don’t think the film was flawless – far from it – but I don’t think it deserved the one-sided review you gave it, taking immediate offence because it was ‘environmental’. Although it is not surprising from a climate-change denier, I expected better from a website that makes the evidently untrue claims that it does.

I am dissapointed and hope that not all authors on this site have such a severe chip on their shoulder, motivated by pre-conceived falsehoods rather than the subject of their review. Think ‘what was this film trying to achieve?’, ‘to what extent did it do this?’, ‘what means were at its disposal to do this?’, and then be critical, but to take the position you did for the sake of being a black sheep is laughable. The Telegraph would love to have you on board.

Going against the grain may be cool and controversial, but perhaps a little though on what you are speaking of might be a good starting point.

The following is a  response to the Comment is Free article by Leo Hickman: ‘Welcome to Planet Earth’ - telling environmentalists to compromise and stop being so obstinate on important issues… Come on Leo, you should know better than that…

Feature on Kumar published in Volume 5 [original article]

Havana’s barrios have not only given Kumar a home, but enough lyrical inspiration to launch a career. The up-and-coming Cuban hip-hopero has impressed the island with his talents, but while maturity and the desire for change have broadened his musical horizons, the art and the heart remain forever at home.

Wandering the streets of Havana (Habana to the locals), the contrast of beauty against ruin suggests of fairytales. Ornate colonial architecture crumbles before your eyes, whilst classic cars so often found in Western showrooms still pummel the roads, weathered by the years. However, grow up in Havana, or more specifically the neglected suburb of Mantilla, and the fairytale disappears in the face of reality. It is here that Kumar, a.k.a. el menor, draws his inspiration, of the state of his barrio, poverty, history, and the legacy of slavery. “You don’t ask me who we are, much less who we were,” flows his rhymes in No Se Vuelve Atras, “The important thing is not how we arrived or whether we’re here. It’s what we represent.”

“My influence comes from the streets” explains Kumar, “My music and above all my lyrics reflect the environment in which I live, the reality that surrounds me. My message goes out to the people because I’m from the people, from the neighbourhood, you know what I mean? Each day I try and make my voice sound as though it were their voice, and theirs were mine. That’s what influences the way I think and the way I create my lyrics, my story, my way of projecting myself”.

At 23 and without an album to his name, it would appear Kumar was just beginning his musical career, yet he’s been involved in hip-hop since the age of 13. “People started calling me el menor (the minor) because I was so young when I began rapping. I don’t know if rap came into my life through luck or mere coincidence, but I bumped into a friend one day who had this wicked hip-hop tape, and the idea of rapping in Spanish just took hold of me. For the first time I felt the message in the songs, telling the stories, talking about the real stories of my barrio, stuff I was seeing on the streets. That’s how I began creating my own songs”. Beginning in 1998 with Duros Como el Acero (Hard as Steel) where he was christened el menor, the first real break came in 1999 when he became involved with Familias Cuba Represent, leading to a flurry of guest appearances on tracks across Cuba and searing his name into the scene.

The image of hip-hop – especially on that side of the Atlantic – is struggling to escape the excesses of gangster rap, but Kumar cuts a refreshingly unpretentious figure. His lyrics are free from gratuitous chat about fucking, sucking, snorting, and killing, while modesty and a humble attitude discount any entourage – except his brother a.k.a. his manager.

However, it is the move away from conventional hip-hop that has produced some of Kumar’s finest work to date. “About four years ago I started listening to other genres of music, Afro music, jazz, funk, and I started to find myself musically. I was initially very focused [on hip-hop], but the past four years I’ve been involved with a jazz group, a rock and roll group, and a reggae group, which has helped me build up my music and define the direction I want to take.” The infusion of different sounds readily compliments his style, and offers incredible diversity across his work. Caravana marries Afro drums, traditional rumba and mambo infused Cuban jazz – resplendent trombones and subtle piano strokes – with hip-hop high-hats and Kumar’s own verse. In a completely different direction, Película de Barrio fuses subtle maracas with rattling drums, clashing symbols, and an electric bass guitar that may once have belonged to Limp Bizkit – almost nu-metal; Fiesta en el Palenke draws on improvisational jazz while Sublevao oozes funk. However, the unifying quality is Kumar’s revolutionary hip-hop lyrics, reaching out to mobilise. His words ring true no matter the music they accompany, and the importance of his subject matter is as relevant today as it was ten years ago.

Kumar’s musical maturity has led to some inspired collaborations, such as this summer’s six-date tour of Ibiza with Diana Fuentes, another bright Cuban starlet. Arranged by Havana Cultura, (a platform for Cuban artists of all mediums to share their creativity with the world), the tour was a great success and with Kumar’s dreadlocks bouncing around stage, the love for the art form held by the Cuban rapper was obvious. From appreciating his fellow musicians to the obvious chemistry with Fuentes, the performances captivated their audience.

With a great year behind him – including a visit to Leeds and Liverpool in November, the next is set to be bigger still for Kumar, whose album Película de Barrio comes out in January. And if the music business slows down, there’s always acting: the dreadlocked lyricist has already appeared in Benito Zambrano’s Habana Blues, which also featured his single No Se Vuelve Atras. Not bad if he’s only getting started.

Wild Beasts Interview published in Volume 5, Dec. 2008 [original article]

Having released their debut album and  played numerous gigs across Europe, Wild  Beasts are well on their way. Pascoe Sabido  meets them to talk turtle-necks, Topman  and leaving the Lake District.

A non-descript white van lurks behind the Shepherds Bush Empire. Jumping in and out with well-wrapped drums, guitars, amps, and other bizarrely-shaped objects are Hayden, 22, Benny, 21, Tom, 23, and Chris (Bert to his friends and fans), 22; aka the Wild Beasts. Still accustomed to shifting their own gear, the boys are careful not to get carried away – “The first time somebody sets up your amp you feel like a dick head, but after a while, if you’re not careful, you can kind of expect it” Tom warns. “As long as you appreciate it’s a luxury, then you’re fine”. Dressed casually, the four would not stand out from the crowd – unless you count Benny the guitarist’s decision to sport a turtle-neck. No tattoos, drug addictions, or Kate Moss, there is a welcoming lack of pretence, replaced instead by an air of gratitude to be where they are and an enthusiasm for what they do. Despite abandoning the small Lake District town of Kendal for the bright lights of Leeds, London, and beyond, they remain rooted to their humble beginnings, to a place more famed for mint cake than music. Set to return to the festival circuit as their first album debuts, the band are taking their unique brand of indie-pop to anyone who cares to listen, while keeping their heads down and getting on with the serious business of making music.

Taking their name from the Fauvist French painters who dared to tinker with tradition, the Wild Beasts aim to do just that. Their sound is immediately recognisable through lead-vocalist Hayden’s high, self-taught falsetto, his wanderings dancing around the octave like an Operatic Elvis swinging a cat: “What’s wrong with being individual? There was a time when individuality was celebrated and appreciated. For some reason it’s become taboo to not sound like the Stooges”. It works, and, complemented by bassist Tom’s Morrisey-esque tenor, the two are placed over lively melodic guitars, keys, the odd organ, and unobtrusive percussion, with Baritone Bert helping out when needed. The music is organic, upbeat, yet at times sombre: “Every song can be deadly serious but still have an element of humour” explains Hayden. Unequivocally, the sound is pop, a label the band embrace: “We don’t think we’re anything more amazing than pop music” emphasises Tom, “You can realise anything you want with it, there’s no set parameters”. “It’s not generic” Bert adds, the Wild Beasts drummer, “It’s just ‘pop’ in the good old-fashioned sense of the word”.

The group began anytime between three and six years ago – depending on which member you ask – in their Lake District hometown. Far from a musical Mecca, opportunities of enlightenment were limited – “You’d find yourself going to 12 bar blues bands” says Tom, “Just because you wanted to see music”. The few live performances the boys gave in Kendal revolved around a small bar called Dicky Doodles, owned by “the maestro Jerry Gillard – an 80’s biker throwback”. These were the giddy heights of Kendal ’scene’. The boys were desperate to escape both the limited musical opportunity and the confined, bleak Kendal outlook Hayden writes of in The Old Dog. Leeds came to their rescue, taking the three guitarists into its Universities, and landing Bert a job in Topman.

Having made a name for themselves at the Faversham’s ‘Bad Sneakers’ nights – and releasing their first single ‘Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyant’ on the Bad Sneakers label – the Wild Beasts now consider Leeds their musical home, made special by venues such as the quintessentially-Leeds Brudenell Social Club. The working-man’s club cum live music venue hosts back-room bingo most nights of the week, and despite coming straight out of Phoenix Nights, brings an electric atmosphere loved by the town’s up-and-coming bands: “The place has got real soul” adds Tom.

Since leaving the comfort of Leeds, the boys have toured the British Isles and beyond, adding France, Sweden, and Norway to the burgeoning list. Although never landing anywhere ‘exotic’, they have played the highest pub in Britain, the Tanhill in North Yorkshire, where the resident farmyard fowl squawk in approval from the bar. “I suppose that’s exotic?” answers Tom. But the group are not on the road for comfy beds and free hotel shampoo: “If the gig goes well, you’re willing to put up with anything” says Hayden, “If the gig goes well and the dressing room stinks of dog shit, then you don’t mind”. From toilets to kitchen sinks, the boys won’t whinge, but only so long as they remain hydrated: “For any promoter reading, it’s integral that a band has water and lots of it!” Bert pleads.

They’ve gigged on the river Mersey, played both sides of Ireland, bizarrely missed out Cardiff – “A major anomaly” – but the obvious landmark is London. Slightly perturbed by its reputation, the Wild Beasts have been pleasantly surprised: “To be honest, 9 times out of 10 London’s really, really good. There’s a thing about Londoners being a bit stand-offish, but we’ve always found audiences here to be really appreciative and open-minded”.

Still very much supporting artists – recently alongside Lightspeed Champion and Young Knives at Koko – the Wild Beasts are slowly building up their own fans, “But at this stage” Benny points out, “We’re just trying to win people over”. Hayden doesn’t want their music to be confined to a single demographic, just because it has been labelled so: “I think that’s one of the major stumbling blocks in the way music is looked at. There’s such a vast difference between listening to music that means something to you, and buying music because it’s the ‘right’ thing to buy. I don’t think we’re consciously trying to break that down, it’s just that coming from somewhere like Kendal, none of it matters.”

Although Hayden writes all the lyrics, creating each song is very much a group activity. Succinctly put by Tom, “It’s often like ‘this is the idea’ and then someone goes ‘I see that, and I’ll raise you this’; ‘I took that on board and then I’ll give you this back, which is like that plus this’, that’s kinda how it works”. It seems to work, and the band are very proud to have found their own sound: “That was how we got the most enjoyment out of it” affirms Hayden, “We were always pretty deflated if we discovered it sounded like something else”. While admitting that influences subconsciously manifest themselves, the group believe being self-taught has given them a space to create original material. However, in today’s world, Hayden admits that their music will “always be tagged back on something 20, 30 years earlier. I don’t know why, but to have relevance it has to have an element of 1960’s, 70’s, 80’s music in it”. I felt guilty for making comparisons to Queen, but it was unavoidable faced with Hayden’s Freddy Mercury-esque moustache (“A stupid attempt at facial hair… nothing better”).

Musical integrity governs the band. Those who seek fame for the sake of fame – Jeremy Kyle look away now – disgust them: “He should look hard in the mirror and ask himself why he does what he does”; they want acclaim not celebrity. The response to their first album released in June on the Domino label, Limbo, Panto, delivers exactly that: “We’re really happy the critics have agreed it’s an album of value and originality” says Hayden, who also takes great pride in the diversity of publications heaping praise, “4/5 stars from the Sun and the Guardian, 8/10 from NME. We’re happily placed between high-brow high-art and an everyman pub rock band, walking the tight-rope and we love it”. However, far from getting carried away, the closer the boys come to success, the less they take it for granted. Despite the new album, Bert does not kid himself, “Lots of people save their judgement until as late as album two or three”.

The album itself “holds an element of development and self-awakening” explains Hayden. “It was written over four years, so a lot of the songs are interdependent”. Recorded in Malmo, Sweden, the experience itself was extremely gruelling: locked away in a claustrophobic, pressure-cooker environment, it took a second studio session before the guys could successfully hammer-out the album.

With Limbo, Panto under their belt, the band have returned to the festival circuit another rung higher up the respectability ladder. Playing Latitude for the second year running was special, and even though its no a “hard-core festival with half-dead kids lying by the side” says Hayden, “I like that”. Zoo8 was abandoned at the last minute, and Field Day was nearly scrapped due to a disastrous wrong-turn on the way, “We were 30 seconds away from being pulled – but it meant we went straight on without time to get nervous” explains Hayden, “It was like playing in your dressing gown”.

While still enjoying themselves, the Wild Beasts are determined to ensure a future in music. The second album is well-underway, and they will do whatever it takes – “That’s the only way to keep going” says Tom, “If we had to lick floors clean with our tongues, we’d do it; we all believe in [what we're doing] and are willing to put up with a lot for it”. Working hard is sometimes not enough: “You have to be lucky” admits Hayden, “You just do the best you can, but we’re pretty lucky”. The future is not theirs to see, but one without music is unthinkable – especially if Topman features. However, if they preserve the successful combination of hard work and modesty, these lads will have their mint cake and eat it.

FINALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The long awaited arrival of Volume 5 is here… Check the website www.volumemag.blogspot.com/ or www.volume-magazine.com to see where you can pick it up from, and if you’re liking what ur seeing and think you want to contribute, send it in and get published in the next issue.

Gotan Project, Roundhouse, Chalk Farm, Five star rating *****

published in the Ham & High 12/1/2009 [original article] [see videos below]

In Argentina, to tinker with traditional tango is tantamount to treason, but as the Roundhouse witnessed, the Paris-based collective Gotan Project have found international success by doing just that.

The electro-tango sound created by Parisian DJ/producer Philippe Solal, Swiss-born producer Christoph Müller and traditional Argentine guitarist Eduardo Makaroff has spawned two critically acclaimed albums – La Revancha Del Tango (Tango’s Revenge) and Lunatico – but it is in performing that Gotan Project truly dazzle.

Those present witnessed an incredible spectacle as immaculate musical artistry – both acoustic and electronic – was effortlessly blended with innovative film projections and sultry sexy tango dancers (not of the John Sergeant variety).

On stage, three violins, a cellist, legendary Argentine pianist Gustavo Beytelman (who arranged much of the second album), Argentine bandoneonist Nini Flores (playing a native accordion) and Barcelona-based vocalist Cristina Vilallonga accompanied the original trio, all in signature white attire.

For every tango lament played by the ensemble, a film accompanied. During Mi Confesion, Argentine MCs Koxmoz rapped along from their larger-than-life projection.

Actor Adrien Brody (The Pianist) even appeared in one short as a pair tangoed on stage. Wild horses traversed the Pampas in another as Makaroff delicately plucked La Viguela, guitar on shoulder, pointing to the heavens.

From slow beginnings, the set gathered energy, its electrification constantly growing.

With the first notes of Santa Maria (Del Buen Ayre), whistles filled the air and feet began to move, its piercing staccato heartbeat delivered by Beytelman and the string section as if with a knife.

However, it was the encore of Criminal and then Triptico that produced climax, allowing Solal and Muller to indulge their wilder electronic selves.

An experience rather than a concert, it left a lasting impression; the contrast of tradition and modernity was ever-present, but ever in balance.

Pascoe Sabido

Saturday 10th January, somewhere round-about the Israeli embassy.

20,000 people discarded apathy to make themselves heard against the atrocious violence against Palestinian civilians committed by the Israelis: close to a thousand Palestinians have already been killed, nearly four thousand wounded, and all in the name of killing terrorists – how many dead are terrorists? I wouldn’t bother asking Israeli news networks as they swallow the figures spouted by the military. The Israeli Defence Forces have granted themselves a carte blanche when attacking targets in Gaza, destroying not only non-partisan homes containing families, but the lifeline of sustained civilisations – schools (normally full of refugees or children), universities, hospitals, places of worship. What hope is there of rebuilding? who will do it?

I joined at High Street Kensington, the march – organised by Stop The War Coalition among others – already in full flow and arriving at its destination, the Israeli embassy. Around me were Muslims, Socialist Workers Party members, students, Londoners; believers in Allah with religious solidarity and those whose belief system denounced the ongoing massacres. Chants rose from the streets, “be us one or be us million, we are all Palestinian”; placards cried out against the occupation and the murderers, calling for a free Palestine.

A buzz was in the air, solidarity lending weight behind a cause, but as with all mass protests, a tension existed, a dread that things could turn nasty. The march had ground to a halt outside the embassy, bottle-necked from the police closing off all side streets and an enormous banner blocking the road. But still aggression was absent.

A balaclava-wearing ‘youth’ pushes back through the crowd – the first sign of menace – but a middle-aged Muslim standing next to me, in traditional dress and holding a placard, stops him: he questions what he’s doing and warns him not to cause trouble, not to undermine the cause. People don’t want violence apart from those looking for violence. The anonymous young man shrugs and carries on pushing through, most likely to launch a ‘missile’ at the police a few hours later – not the sort of ‘missile’ the Israelis are firing – nor Hamas.

Unfortunately, arriving at the main stage reminded me why most activism is its own worst enemy – its unwaveringly hijacked by extremist tendencies. I don’t want to hear someone carrying on about the destruction of Israel and replacing the Zionist flag outside the embassy with a Palestinian one – what good is rhetoric like that? more incitement, more tension, more mutual hatred. What are we looking for – an eternal continuation of hostilities, much as we’ve been seeing, or some sort of a solution, peace? If international support and blanket condemnation of Israel is what the goal is – as well as obviously a cease to hostilities – don’t then go and alienate people. Israelis are coming out against the military action, at home and abroad. By claiming this is all about destroying Israel, you’ll lose the solidarity and the power that is greater than its individual parts combined. I know I can see it from a more objective view point, and no it is not me nor my family who are being killed, but is peace not what we are looking for? Such polarisation in this historical conflict appears inevitable, and is what drives the Israeli army, the support from their people, and the avoidance of the morality and humanitarian responsibility of actions. By demonising the other, dehumanising them and creating a totem to be held up and destroyed, then destruction of the ‘other’ will always be the goal.

As a first step, we need a fairer, less biased press in Israel and at home – people would be more aware of the realities, not able to swallow hollow justifications for unspeakable atrocities. Censorship is taking place and all Israeli domestic outlets are toeing the official line, attacking critics of the invasion, and even questioning Ariel Sharon’s withdrawal of troops and settlers from Gaza (see The Observer 11/1/09). Even at home, the BBC – through their rhetoric – accept what is going on. Interviewing Israeli military spokespeople, correspondents accept answers, allow excuses to be made, and portray the conflict as Israel defending itself.

The power of the Israeli lobby is astounding. The coverage of the march focused entirely on the acts of violence – not even asking why it happened, the build up, the probability that when 20,000 people get together, a few will be there to specifically go astray. The news failed to mention the severe bottle neck outside the embassy that led to people removing the blockades to escape, caused by the police themselves shutting off all side streets around the embassy so everyone was channelled into a small space. They failed to mention that the majority of the protesters had gone home, had been through and made their point peacefully.

Nor was there coverage of the protest itself, just on the violence – is this what news is? is the march itself not news? is what was said by the better speakers not news? is it not an outpouring of democracy, an important valve within our society that was released around the country and that should have been covered? How else can people make their voices heard? what other mechanisms are available? why was the BBC not able to broadcast what the more even-handed intelligent speakers said? Why would people rather know of the scuffles that followed rather than of the march itself? Is it fear of the Israeli lobby – it sounds stupid, but when thousands of complaints are sent to the BBC, the Guardian, any media outlet that dares criticise Israel, consequences are serious. For one, entire email systems are shut down from sheer volume, switch boards are taken over, heads are called for and voices are listened to – remember our man Andrew Sachs, whose phone call from Ross and Brand led to ‘hundreds’ of complaints, look at the response, now think thousands.

Space becomes tight

Returning to the question of violence, it is almost inevitable. History has shown it as so. But what should not be inevitable is that coverage ignores the messages of the march, the speeches given, and the reason people are in the street – why should it focus every time on a few individuals intent on causing trouble? Are the scuffles at the end of the day news-worthy enough to not look beyond them? And, if we are going to focus on the violent aspects, can we do so properly. Lets not just show people causing trouble and counting the arrested, but begin to look at why those causing trouble are doing so. Are they the same ilk as those from the Socialist Workers Party and British National Party, who came to demos simply to fight? Are they the same as the football hooligans who’s fixture list is a season of organised violence? Or the wannabe-anarchists at anti-globalisation rallies? No one is naive enough to think it came from people being soooo angry about Gaza that they had to beat up the police – If that were the case there would be a full scale riot.

but the few individuals who waited until the end, donned scarves and balaclavas, and had their ‘look at me what a big man i am’ moment did have their own identity. Judging by the pictures on the news, those in trouble were young Asian boys – likely to be Muslim – and while mob violence is undoubtedly cross cultural, the was an obvious difference, if not in actions then in cause. Politics are at play on such a basic, subconscious level that most of us who live in Britain and are not Muslim or Asian may not be aware or have already accepted and internalised as the normal state of life. The cultural war that is being waged under the guise of a war on terror has divided society and created Us vs. Them. Young Muslim and Asian men have had a torrid time since 9/11, not just from the authorities but from normal people who have internalised the war on terror, internalised the institutional suspicion. No wonder anti-establishment feelings are rife, especially when the establishment is in support of Israel – $3billion of aid was sent from the US to Israel, Europe is about to double its number of imported processed goods from Israel, as well as granting it an improved status in trade. The police are a natural target and even more so when they are protecting the Israeli embassy. I don’t condone it but I do understand it, and am ultimately not surprised by it. This invasion of Gaza has presented the latest instance of the West abandoning Palestine and therefore the Arab world, and as a result Arab solidarity is strengthening, namely against the acquiescing state and its apparatus.

Perhaps I’m reading too much into motive,  giving the perpetrators too much credit or an excuse -  are they just typical young boys and men, showing off to each other, intent on some form of destruction that endow them further to their piers or within their gang? This must be a consideration, but giving it too much weight will hide a more sinister truth, one it would be dangerous to ignore. Race riots in Yorkshire and Lancashire have shown that tension bubbles under the surface, and with the mask of the ‘war on terror’, divisions are even easier to forge. We must not let this self-perpetuating cycle – of violence leading to alienation leading to violence – continue.

More effort needs to be made at building bridges and lowering suspicions, but one of the important ways we can do so as a nation is to fully inform people – cover the march as well as the violence, let the messages of what is really going on in Palestine be heard, allow people to make up their own minds if it is right, and then be able to collectively condemn as would hopefully be the outcome. Palestine is the chess-board of the Middle East, of the entire Arab-Israeli and now Arab-West conflict, and to show we are not always on the side of the oppressor would even repair some of the damage caused by Iraq. We have the power as a nation to repair bridges, diffuse the anger of young men, and create a sense of common purpose – regardless of religion or race – and by doing so we will not only create a safer country but a safer world. There has never been a greater need for us to remove our masks: “be us one or be us million, we are all Palestinian”