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.

Philadelphia

A work conference was located in a grim yet soulless Atlantic City during mid-winter. A fiscally cynical choice for a corporate love-in, where even the Trump empire has cashed in its chips. Watching people spend the last of their pension check on a one-armed bandit, from the luxury of their mobility scooter, between chain smoking, is not the most edifying of touristic scenes. Thankfully the global samba family came to my rescue.

When I saw that Philadelphia was en route to AC, the old grey matter jumped into action and reminded me that a sporadic visitor to Wellington, Bobbi, lived there. One cheeky email later and the cultural rescue plan to save my soul was put in place.

Bobbi runs an improv theatre company in Philly and comes to Welly to direct shows at our Fringe Festival. Whilst she's here, she also likes to show off some of her many other talents , especially those of a mean sambista with Wellington Batucada (life counselling and tour guiding also available upon request).

I got the luxurious pleasure of being enthusiastically shown around the city, meeting friends, going to groovy events whilst freezing my arse off in sub zero temperatures. Good food and delicious craft beer paved the way for great conversations and a great session with Unidos da Filadelfia.

These guys ripped through a whole heap of material: Furious samba, mean funk and the best chicken and chips in the northern hemisphere. A massive thanks to Mike and the team for letting me join the practice - and great to meet people and put names to instruments down at the local pub.

Tokyo

Tokyo is blessed with heaps of samba bands. I was told that it was something to do with a government sponsored cultural exchange programme, where the Japanese sent farmers to Brazil and got samba drummers and dancers in return. That might be the abridged version, but it sure sounds like a bloody good deal to me.

The city is massive and has spawned scores of samba bands to support happiness and joy amongst the teeming and thronging population. I remember the last Brazilian Ambassador to NZ, who was a solid Batucada fan, saying that the only two countries where he had worked, where he thought they truly got the joy and passion of the original (not just the technical and repertoire) were Japan and NZ. I thought he was being generous towards us because he worked here, but practicing with these guys, I reckon I now know what he meant.

I had a marvellous guide in the shape of Anri. I was whisked along to a six hour rehearsal (just thirty minutes more!) with Liberdade , in preparation for the upcoming Asukasa carnival - famous as the biggest samba carnival in the northern hemisphere. A shame I couldn't stay the whole month for the main event, but the gravity of reality was slowly pulling me back towards the nine to five.

There were loads of dancers, loads of bateria, lots of song, lots of laughs, and a metronome.
And we have another convert to the sacred brother and sisterhood of Batucada. Once you don the t-shirt there is no turning back.

I also did a midweek samba soiree to see Saude play near my hotel. I would have been foolish to pass the opportunity up. I was greeted with ripping Manguiera from Yokohama and a bunch of my old pals from Liberdade. Whoop!

Osaka

I was super lucky to make contact with some samba friends before heading to Japan. They introduced me to the inimitable Take-chan. A gentleman and a scholar. He went out of his way to recruit a small group of sambistas - dragging them away from their weekend schedule to have a random practice with me before I headed further east.

The local team is called Despertador and a few people came in from Kyoto and Kobe. We rocked an hour or so of samba and then I tried to teach these very patient people one part of afoxe. I don't think I inspired much confidence but I reckon a break from the old samba routine is good for the soul. 

One of the local crew - the sharp eyed beer lover will notice - was wearing a Speight's t-shirt. Obviously a southern man at heart with damn good taste in good old fashioned, no nonsense, call a spade a spade, beer. SPADE! It turned out he met a Kiwi lass from Bluff and, unsurprisingly, they decided on Osaka as a place to settle.

 The dastardly global infiltration of Wellington Batucada into the world of samba continues with the insidious conversion of Take-chan into the inner circle.

Coburg 2017

It is impossible to deny the lure of Coburg. Every year the lucky folk of Europe get to haunt the same streets and meet new and old friends in one hedonistic three day samba-marathon. Unfortunately, for us, stuck on the other side of the planet, it's a minor miracle getting the band to plan, travel, pay for and organise such trips. So, to do it a second time is no mean feat and a massive amount of respect is due to Nigel for leading us to the hallowed land as a band a second time.

This year we decided to take the Maori influence of two years ago one massive leap further, and combine our very own eclectic take on samba with kapa haka. Our legendary shaker player, Ngawara, called in a family favour and asked Koro Tini to assist us take coburg by storm. He was amazing and it must be a world first combination - challenging the audience and menace the stage with his taiaha, while combining the rhythmic nature of the ritual with our performance. The dude is a massive professional and immediately knew where to add cultural gravitas.


The audience didn't know how to react. Being mostly used to scantily clad samba dancers with come hither stares, seeing Koro prowl through the band and with fierce pūkana certainly got their attention.

We were also joined by two dancers this year, which was awesome. Our repertoire is heavily choreographed for each of the different pieces, so it was great to have them work with Koro to make the spectacle even more magic.

Baking all that up with Tim G on directing duties gave the band the confidence to smash the living bejeesus out of our set. Bring on 2019!

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.

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!