Tuesday, October 2, 2018

Asakusa Samba Carnival 2018

After the previous year's flying visit, I was thinking about a return trip to play with Liberdade in the carnival. However, one thing lead to another...

After 14 detailed, yet assertive, emails of verbal whippage - getting the motley crew into line for travelling to Japan - we miraculously arrived in Tokyo with around 50 super keen southern hemisphere sambistas to brave typhoons, heat waves, earthquakes and an avalanche of okonomiyaki. Representing the extended Wellington Batucada family, we gathered troops from Nelson, Auckland, The Bay and The Tron.

THE WEEKEND BEFORE


Simultaneously whetting the appetite and quelling dissent from the samba hungry mob: We got our first taste of Tokyo Samba Escola action at a couple of street parades. This is an opportunity for said schools to get in some last minute practice before the main parade, road test new outfits (designed solely to increase the chance of immediate heat exhaustion) and sharpen their already samurai sword-like syncopation. It also gave us a taste of the formidably high temperatures, energy sapping humidity and extremely dry, yet refreshing, beer.




We then ran across town to attend a practice with Bloco Familiar - a welcoming, generous and lively bunch. We proved that we had the chops to hang on to their coat tails, and had an absolute blast at the rehearsal. The director's rep calls were completely off the chain and the energy levels were euphoric.




MIDWEEK


We love the idea of cultural exchange. We were lapping up food, language, sights, sounds, smells and a seemingly endless array of tasteless beer. So having the opportunity to pay back the people of Japan by dragging some unsuspecting kids back from their holidays seemed like a fair swap. At the school we were met with some bemused children, some diligent mothers, a TV crew, and a full arsenal of diplomats: From the local city within a city - Sumida; the NZ embassy; and the Brazilian embassy. To say that the Brazilian guy did his fellow countrymen a disservice would be a minor understatement. Yes, you invented the energetic and amazing music we play; Yes, you begat the Oxford English Dictionary definitions for the words carnival and cool; But, No! Do not suck the air out of the room by slowly regurgitating boring, repetitive, lazy guff in your monotone voice and your monotone suit and your monotone hair-do! I suspect the kids quickly scrubbed that career path from their future plans.

We played a quick set then taught the kids how to be their very own samba stars. The mothers went from casual observers, to uninhibited dancers, to possessed players. Local cable TV reportage (massive thanks to Jared):




ASAKUSA SAMBA CARNIVAL


We looked bloody glorious in our special edition tour tees, and the flags lent an imperious air to the whole affair. Anticipation was high and the temperature was higher still. We started off at a million miles an hour and immediately hit the upper limits of samba playing before spontaneous combustion becomes a real issue. The polyester tops would only have inflamed the issue if they hadn't just soaked up the gallons of sweat pouring off of us. We decided to respect our repertoire and play pieces other than just straight Rio Samba. That stroke of genius meant brief respite and averting heat stroke, but probably consternated the purists managing the parade. It's only 30 minutes long, which seemed like a cinch before setting off but, by the halfway mark, saw most of us clamouring for the mirage of the finishing line. It was a close call - we didn't have to roll any fallen samba soldiers to the curb before marching on - but it was blessed relief when the hallucination turned out to actually be a refreshing cold can of sparkling beer in my hand.















 A few pics from the award ceremony:






THE DAY AFTER

A quick rinse of the shirt and back in to the fray but, thankfully, this time stationary - unless you count the random boat performances.







CREDITS

While I was writing my increasingly melodramatic missives (that were often unread, misunderstood or immediately consigned to history) the real star of the show worked tirelessly in the background. Our man in Tokyo was actually a woman. Without meeting the marvellous and wonderful Anri, none of this would have happened. She communicated with committees; arranged accommodation; organised gigs; reserved rehearsal space; liaised with schools; motivated ambassadors; created immersive cultural days; herded 50 vague, easily distracted and often clueless drummers across Tokyo; wielded and waved the batucada flag as porta bandera; danced in ridiculous temperatures in a golden tin foil cat suit; and did it all with relentless grace and a warm smile.

Thanks also go to our Director, Drummers, Dancers, Flag Wavers and Support Crew.