Reviewed by Ray Smith, Saturday 7th March 2015
Tjintu Desert Band opened the second day of
WOMADelaide on Stage 2 with their blend of reggae and rock. They performed successfully for years as the Sunshine Reggae Band, but the new name is part translation, part change. The band performs in the Luritja language and the word, "Tjintu" means "sunshine" in that tongue. The change from "Reggae" to "Desert" may be an acknowledgement of their Australian rather than Jamaican roots. Whatever the reason, the name sits better with their contemporary sound.
Depedro took to the Centre Stage and may well have damaged it. The energy they put out is astounding. A very tight outfit, with strong Latin beats, their use of technology in the form of samplers and sequencers was totally unobtrusive.
Jambinai began on Stage 3 with a deceptively traditional South Korean motif. The mournful, nasal sound of the piri which is a bamboo, double reed instrument with a parallel bore, blended with the haegeum, a two stringed violin like instrument played with a loosely strung horsehair bow that passes between the strings, and geomungo', a fretted zither played with a large plectrum. The result was a delightfully exotic sound and as I began to sink into it I noticed that the piri player was now holding a guitar but the sound of the piri was still going. It had been looped. Then all Hell broke loose.
My misty eyed slide into the bliss of traditional music had failed to notice the arrival of a bass player and a drummer but arrive they had. The stage erupted like a volcano. The peaceful mountain top flew over my head and the gentle stream tinkling its way down through the rocks was a river of boiling lava. This was Thrash Metal with every amp on 11. The piri player was now tearing into an electric guitar, the gentle haegum was being sawn in half as its player's hair flung around her head like flames, the geomungo was being beaten mercilessly, its gentle tones suddenly percussive, drums boomed, bass notes tore at my chest and then it stopped.
My mountain was instantly reinstated, the stream tinkled through the rocks and I was a nervous wreck. This was an astonishing amalgam. The players were in complete control and in complete synch. The effect was disturbing and delightful. I loved it and, best of all, they're playing again on Monday.
Luzmila Carpio appeared on the Centre Stage, the Bolivian singer that Yehudi Menuhin once described as a singing violin. She was accompanied by piano, electric guitar and drums. Her first few songs left me wondering about the Menuhin quote as I found it fragile and quite low in pitch, like water slowly flowing over rounded stones. This former Bolivian Ambassador to France sings in the ancient Quechua tongue and her songs are of injustices and the plight of women, the racial segregation of Bolivian Indians and of Mother Earth.
She picked up a charango half way into her set and she can really play the thing. The charango is a small Andean string instrument that looks a little like a ukulele but is a much more robust tool. Usually strung with 10 strings in 5 double courses, they used to be made from armadillo shell, but are now made of wood. The change in overall sound was quite dramatic. Suddenly we were in the Andes and Carpio's voice shifted into falsetto. While I can understand and appreciate Yehudi Menuhin's analogy I have to disagree. Her voice was like a theremin to my ear. ethereal and haunting, utterly beautiful.
Next came another hike to the Moreton Bay Stage to see Soley, the young Icelandic singer/songwriter who was formerly the keyboard player with Icelandic Indie band, Sea Bear. This utterly charming young woman presented well written and poignant songs in a beautiful and gentle voice over synthesiser beds, sampled vocal and drum loops and backed by her drummer and guitar/keyboard player. The overall effect was delightful and engaging but not in the least bit challenging. I was reminded of Bjork but that was almost certainly due to the accented English lyrics and the unusual melodic shifts that I've heard in other Icelandic music.
Next, it was over to the Zoo Stage where Meeta Pandit along with her harmonium and tabla players was preparing to present their offering. This highly acclaimed Indian classical singer utilised an electronic tambura rather than a player which surprised me. Her voice, however, surprised me more. Her singing is sublime. Her soaring, powerful voice is at once fluid and ethereal. She sang compositions of her own as well as classical pieces with great authority. It was an excellent concert.
On the way to Stage 2, I ran into Balkan Beat Box performing on the Centre Stage. They seemed to me to be all beat and very little Balkan and their sample loops were excessively loud. I ran away from them as quickly as I could, but a great many people were dancing and enjoying the sequenced nonsense very much.
Flavia Coelho was on Stage 2 with a keyboard player and percussionist by the time I'd beaten off the Balkans and negotiated today's Colour of Time procession. I was in time to catch the first bar of her set but the audience was already dancing because she was too. This totally mad Brazillian Doyen has more energy than a power station and it's totally infectious. She had the crowd eating out of her hand before she'd even opened the biscuit tin. With her low slung guitar, her skin tight pants and hair wider than her shoulders, actually, wider than anyone's shoulders, she was all power and joy and rhythm and sexuality. She is a great performer, with the musical chops to match. Fabulous!
It was time to pack a lunch and take the long trip to Stage 7 to catch the end of Gruff Rhys's show. After Flavia's madness, Gruff seemed like a good idea. He's also mad but in a completely different way. A left handed guitar player with strange stories of a group of pale Welsh speaking native Americans called the Madodwys, told in a Welsh accent and with illustrating placards. OK. I had arrived more than half way through Gruff Rhys' set and was totally confused. The very healthy and enthralled crowd sitting in front of Stage 7 suggested that the problem was mine, not his. I'll have to make sure to see his whole show on Monday.
It was time to head back to the Zoo Stage, which was about 9 kilometres away to my left. I tried to flag down a passing helicopter, but it ignored me.
Canzoniere Grecanico Salentino hail from Italy and are very interesting. Violins occasioning actual bodily harm springs to mind. Their music is hypnotic but frenzied and I'm reliably informed that it is known as 'Pizzica'. Violins battle bouzouki and accordion and bagpipes, while a circular frame drum eggs them all on and, though I really, really need to sit down at this stage, it simply isn't possible.
I somehow make my way to Stage 3 before Toumani and Sidiki Diabate begin their performance. There is obviously nowhere to sit within 100 metres of the stage because several thousands of people were quicker on their feet than me. I pick my way through the seated bodies and find a tiny space behind the sound desk tent. Sidiki Diabate opens with a solo piece on the Kora, the 21 string 'harp' traditional to Malian musical culture. There are thousands of people around me but I cannot hear one of them even breathe. This young man, who is a hip-hop star back home in Mali, plays the Kora like his Father. The applause is deafening and as it fades Sidiki's father Toumani takes the stage. The applause doubles, there are delighted whistles and shouts of "Toumani" as the older man settles beside his son.
I have seen Tounami Diabate play here before, with Jeff Lang and Bobby Singh as members of Djan Djan. Obviously others in this vast audience have too. I thought I had an idea of what was coming, but I was wrong. The father and son collaboration was beyond anything I had heard Toumani Diabate do before and I have gone well out of my way to hear him play as often as possible. The playing was extreme. It was as if one mind played two kora, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Toumani spoke of his heritage and the history of kora playing in Mali. "I am the 71st generation of Kora players in my line" he said. "He is the 72nd" as he pointed proudly to his son. The finale, or rather its introduction, brought the loudest cheers of all.
The final piece was written collaboratively between Tounami and Sidiki, between father and son and is entitled,
Lampedusa, after the Italian island where over 30,000 refugees have sought a safe harbour from conflict and death. Tounami Diabate urged Australia to re think its Asylum Seeker policy urgently before performing this beautiful but tragically inspired new piece with his son.
We all moved rather sadly back to Centre Stage where Orquesta Buena Vista Social Club played brilliantly one last time at WOMADelaide as they prepare for their farewell tour. It was superb music from superb musicians, but we must acknowledge that it only serves to remind us that all good things must come to an end.
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