Monday, July 18, 2016

Auckland


I have been coming to Auckland for many years. During that time I have played drums with and had the pleasure of befriending the good folk of AK Samba in Hastings, Wainuiomata and other exotic climes. I have never played with them on home turf (of the lawn bowls variety) until very recently:

It so happened that I was in Auckland, on a Monday, had a rush of inspiration and decided to visit the bowls club. Finding the folk fiendishly stitching tartan sweat-shop garments, I grabbed a caixa and joined in the final practice before a Scottish themed event. Kilts and bonnets were being butchered at the hands of samba seamstresses, while the final attempts at coordinating a musical apocalypse ensued in the club room.


I hate the humble bagpipe with a violent passion only surpassed by the ubiquitous human statue. The end-of-days apocalypse of which I talk has both of these heinous characters on horseback. However, there is a strange inverse law, where: more is less worse, and a lot less is much worse: The single piper can get my blood boiling from a couple of kilometers, up-wind, yet I can glance at an advert for the Edinburgh Tattoo and merely shrug.



So, it was a confronting experience to witness and be part of an abominable experiment to merge samba with the highland fling. Four young players of the bagpipe rocked up and did a sterling job coordinating the cat-like screeches of their instruments to the well orchestrated rhythms. The Fling, The Imperial Death March and some lively funk soared above the live disembowelment of cats, that typifies the instrument's timbre. For me, it was like being pleasantly surprised by flooding therapy for a major phobia, and, I think, I feel better now.


Massive thanks to Darren and team for having me! I can't believe I haven't done that before.




Monday, February 8, 2016

Singapore

I was in Singapore for work and by a sheer fluke of fate, flights were hard to come by on the return leg, which meant I had to stay for an extra day. As luck would have it, that same Friday night was a rehearsal night for the extraordinarily talented Samba Masala. Actually, there is a high chance you might get to catch these guys studiously nailing nail biting samba rhythms infused with South East Asian flair, because they rehearse three times a week for three whole hours. Burn-out be damned! The tiger mentality is transitioned to performance chops that make this group of young sambistas one of the most memorable in the game.


The fact that it takes us over a month to cover the same ground these guys in a week speaks for itself. They are second year students that smash samba for two years, become expert at their craft, then magically move into ambitious careers - most, never looking back. Seems slightly unfair, but what these people achieve in two years is magic. Respect to Budi for developing such a force to be reckoned with.




(We had some visitors of our own this weekend, from Sweden (Abunda), who have also witnessed how these guys completely smash it in Coburg).

I tried keeping up on the caixa but had to spend a decent amount of time just enjoying watching the fast paced syncopated repertoire. I accidentally mentioned that we were taught the kampong break by Budi, which meant it was called in on a couple of occasions but highlighted how rusty that one had become, compared to how good it sounds when clinically and competently done. I blame being double anyone else's age - damn yoots!


Huge thanks to Shaun, Dan and QX for hosting. Cheers!