Dreaming About the F Train

Well boys and girls, I've almost recuperated from last week's action-packed four days of music, debauchery, and moments of outright perplexity as I navigated through the streets of New York and experienced the exhiliration of live music in some of the city's hippest dives. The Latin Alternative Music Conference pulled out all the stops this year, it's ninth, showcasing performances by some of the most cutting-edge artists in the genre I hate to call a genre just becasue it's so damn inclusive and unrestrained it defies all categorization. Besides, labels are so passé. The conference was bristling with emerging and established acts from across the Americas and Spain, as well as the usual coterie of industry people. I gotta admit though I skipped out on all the hobnobbing and panels to partake in a little urban exploration -- sometimes alone, other times in the company of my cousin Patricia, who is rather halirious in that singular Miami Cuban meets New York kind of way. So rather than sit in the ballroom at Midtown's Roosevelt Hotel on day two, for instance, to hear movers and shakers representing Billboard, IODA, and Universal Latino, amongst others, discuss whether or not a record label can be outsourced - too much for me - I grabbed some Chinese and took the subway to the Lower East Side where I hung out with some very cool people from Nublu Records, one of the most happenin' labels in town, if not the country.

But I'll start with day one, a day that began with a visit to the Met and ended with me getting lost in Brooklyn Heights at around 3AM. In between I registered for the conference at The Roosevelt, got together with my editor from Global Rhythm over a few beers at a chilled-out bar on 36th St. (between 5th and Madison) called Under the Volcano, and eventually made my way to Lower Manhattan's Mercury Lounge on Houston Street. The GoTV Indie Showcase featured performances by Forro In The Dark, Zigmat, Pilar Diaz, Don Tetto, Afrobeta, and Guajiro. But I took the F train in the wrong direction and almost ended up in Queens. Arriving late and hungry, by the time I set foot in the Mercury, Brazil's Forro In The Dark had already played to my dismay. The band was formed spontaneously about five years ago when a group of musicians came together to play Wednesday nights at Nublu, a diminutive Lower East Side club that also spawned dance/electronica group The Brazilian Girls, who coincidentally was featured at LAMC. But more about Forro In The Dark, The Brazilian Girls and Nublu later. I caught the last two song's from L.A.-based songstress Pilar Diaz's set. The Chilean-born vocalist is launching her solo career after cutting loose from the bilingual new wave outfit Los Abandoned. I thought "Ilegal," with it's overpowering bassline and punk attitude in reflecting on the underworld of immigrant smuggling across the border was bold, both in message and sound.

After that I decided to grab a bite at the famous Kat'z Delicatessen nearby, you know the eatery where Meg Ryan does her fake orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally. Well that's great and all but I must've been on crack cause I ended up spending $20 on a pastrami sandwich and a can of Diet Coke. As I wrestled with the oversized sandwich I missed Zigmat, another band that plays at Nublu but has yet to ink a deal. Next up was Miami-based electro-pop trio Afrobeta, whose lead singer took the stage in a blond afro wig. They made a lot of noise and got me thinking that electro-pop is becoming a hackneyed trend, overused as a substitute for true musicianship. After their set I walked a couple of blocks to the Forro In The Dark after party at Nublu where I filled my cup on musicianship and some ass shakin' to top it off. The narrow, little club under a blue light, at some point grew into a record label that signs bands and collectives like the aforementioned Brazilian ensemble that plays a variation of forró, Wax Poetic, 3 Na Massa, Nublu Orchestra, Love Trio, and other sonically refreshing projects. It was great to be in a club where everybody was dancing in very close proximity to each other, getting their groove on to Forro In The Dark's blend of northeastern rhythms and urban grit. I danced so much that tributaries of sweat began running down my back. I made it back to Brooklyn Heights in one piece, but I must have lost my sense of direction due to exhaustion, getting lost within the radius of a couple of blocks. As I walked around in circles during ungodly hours, I noticed a black sedan with tinted windows slowing down behind me. I thought this is it, and imagined myself hogtied and stuffed in the trunk of a car. Finally I came upon some city workers spreading gravel on the roads and asked a black guy with a cherubic face, all coy 'n shit if he knew where Atlantic Avenue was located. He said yes, but after I asked him to point me in the right direction he responded with an arctic ice dry no. Motherfucker, I said, no wonder you're here raking gravel at 3 o'clock in the morning, bitch. Then like a miracle I turned around to see Atlantic. It was a celestial thing to see that little green sign, hanging from the electrical lines in the dead of the night, like a light in the tunnel.

Thursday, day two: More roaming the streets, particularly the Lower East Side, which I became enamored with. I imagined what it must have been like at the turn of the century in the era of the tenements and the different ethnic groups marking their territories. At night I found myself at the Bowery Ballroom on 6 Delancy St., not far from were the legendary CBGB's once stood. Spanish power punk-ska outfit La Pulqueria opened the showcase with a hard-driving, energetic set. The seven-piece band from Valencia blew the audience away with its full-throttle sound, which included a plaintive trumpet and trombone section, hyperkinetic drumming, electric guitar thrashing, funk bass forays, and a lead singer bursting with onstage bravado. They were followed by Mexico City psychedelic punk-rock, electro-pop outfit Los Fancy Free. Uniformly dressed, the band delivered quirky, enigmatic soundscapes and frontman Martin Thulin, a.k.a. Menonita Rock, even jumped from the stage and sang in the crowd during a song about global warming. The night climaxed with a breathtaking performance by 22-year-old singer/songwriter Ximena Sariñana. Following her #1 Mexico debut, Mediocre, in February, the starlet-turned-musician dropped her buzzworthy album in the U.S. on July 15. Sariñana's Bowery gig was her first ever performance in NYC and she lived up to all the hype surrounding her release. Fiona Apple en español? Maybe so. But behind the childlike demeanor, quirkiness, and indie-appeal, there's something remarkably mature and very Latin about Sariñana's music. She was a tough act to follow, but it didn't stop Alex Cuba from going on with his barebones band comprised of himself on guitar, a bass player, and a drummer. What the Cuban-bred singer/songwriter lacked in sonic muscle, he made up for with his enveloping vocals. An irony given that in his native Cuba, the British Columbia-based artist never made it far as a singer. Some of the kids in the audience didn't respond well to Cuba's simplified format but he seemed relaxed and at ease in transmitting his soulful, guitar-fueled pop songs. I was rooting for 'em though, and singing along to each and every song from his latest album, Agua Del Pozo.

Friday, day three: I actually worked on day three. I stopped by The Roosevelt to check on Alex Cuba, whose interview I had to move up, and then made my way down, on the F train, to Sound Generation. There I interviewed Ximena Sariñana right before her on air interview with L.A.-based tastemaker station KCRW's Nic Harcourt (from Morning Becomes Eclectic), in between live sets. It was Sariñana's American radio debut and I was witnessing history, for whatever that's worth. The live music and interview with Harcourt was being transmitted live into L.A., from New York of course. It was very cool. But even cooler was having legendary Argentine producer Tweety Gonzalez (Soda Stereo, Gustavo Cerati) sitting next to me on a couch, sorrounded by the siren's entourage, a sound engineer, label people, publicists, and radio personalities. I got a chance to chat with Tweety about Ximena, since he co-produced the album along with Uruguayan producer Juan Campodonico (Jorge Drexler, Bajofondo). But we also talked briefly about his other projects, and Cuban music. The short, 15 minute tête-a- tête was definitely one of the highnotes of my trip. I headed back to Midtown to interview Alex over an ice cold beer. Look out for that Q&A right here soon.

So my cousin and I did some bonding Friday night, while she bonded on the side with facebook via her blackberry. I'm hooked and I don't even have a blackberry or facebook... not yet anyway. We arrived late to the Celebrate Brookyln Show at the Prospect Park Bandshell and I missed Chicha Libre's performance... story of my life. The Brazilian Girls was already playing. They played some songs from their upcoming CD New York City and as the enigmatic lead singer Sabina Sciubba floated around stage in a puffy white outfit that looked like something Bjork would wear, I couldn't help but think she seemed like a cloud hovering in some remote sonic plane, totally disconnected from the rest of the band. The most memorable song of the set was "Pussy" from the band's 2005 self-titled album. As Sciubba taunted pussy, pussy, pussy marijuana, my cousin turned around and saw a very middle-aged couple, dressed in a perversely conservative manner, like midwestern breadbasket, or southern baptist conservative. Unsure if they had just heard what they thought they had just heard, they seemed totally out of place, as if they had just been dropped there from like another planet, and then Sciubba sang it again, and again, and again, and reality began to set in. I still LOL when I think about it. The night got better. We headed to the Lower East Side, Nublu to be more specific, laughing hysterically. We chilled at Nublu for a little while and spent time taking pictures of ourselves. From there it was off to an above ground, underground party at a loft in the Meatpacking District, a totally un-LAMC-related party. The place was a fire hazard, to use P's words. But there were awesome views of the city streets below from the tall windows and we made good use of the dancefloor. The highlight of the night was the elevator man. On our way out it seemed like we had transformed into a pack of wolves, along with other women, as we waited impatiently for the hot elevator man to transport us down. When he finally appeared we all cheered to the annoyance of a few innocent male bystanders who couldn't help but role their eyes. The elevator man unanimously became the Meatpacking District's most preyed upon carnivirous delight.

Saturday, day four: Woke up late, had a big breakfast. Did minimal shopping at SoHo and got a frontseat view of some criminal activity out on the street as a cop chased down a dude who apparently had either stolen something or was busted in a drug deal. We noticed some other undercover cops dressed as civilians involved in the chase that unfolded in the middle of the street. The cop managed to grab the guy and take him down as the entire block momentarily paused. Some people took videos and photos on their camera phones. Lovely prelude to the last LAMC show of the week featuring DJ Bitman, Plastilina Mosh, and Julieta Venegas in Central Park's Summerstage Show at Rumsey Playfield. You guessed it... we arrived late, but at least I caught all of PMosh's set, and we left early, only staying for Venegas' first three songs. I wrote the cover story on Plastilina Mosh for Batanga Latin Music's next issue so I was super excited to see them live. But of course they didn't play any of the new songs off their upcoming album All U Need Is Mosh, so that was disappointing. Still the duo from Monterrey, backed by a band, rocked the stage and deftly went from heavy guitar, fist-pumping rock to hip-hop, electronica, and funk, delivered with sense of humor and total irreverence. After the show we feasted on Vietnamese food and had more laughs as we walked through Tribeca, Little Italy, and I forget where else, but I got the foot and heel blisters to proove it. I love New York.

Dreaming About the F Train

Well boys and girls, I've almost recuperated from last week's action-packed four days of music, debauchery, and moments of outright perplexity as I navigated through the streets of New York and experienced the exhiliration of live music in some of the city's hippest dives. The Latin Alternative Music Conference pulled out all the stops this year, it's ninth, showcasing performances by some of the most cutting-edge artists in the genre I hate to call a genre just becasue it's so damn inclusive and unrestrained it defies all categorization. Besides, labels are so passé. The conference was bristling with emerging and established acts from across the Americas and Spain, as well as the usual coterie of industry people. I gotta admit though I skipped out on all the hobnobbing and panels to partake in a little urban exploration -- sometimes alone, other times in the company of my cousin Patricia, who is rather halirious in that singular Miami Cuban meets New York kind of way. So rather than sit in the ballroom at Midtown's Roosevelt Hotel on day two, for instance, to hear movers and shakers representing Billboard, IODA, and Universal Latino, amongst others, discuss whether or not a record label can be outsourced - too much for me - I grabbed some Chinese and took the subway to the Lower East Side where I hung out with some very cool people from Nublu Records, one of the most happenin' labels in town, if not the country.

But I'll start with day one, a day that began with a visit to the Met and ended with me getting lost in Brooklyn Heights at around 3AM. In between I registered for the conference at The Roosevelt, got together with my editor from Global Rhythm over a few beers at a chilled-out bar on 36th St. (between 5th and Madison) called Under the Volcano, and eventually made my way to Lower Manhattan's Mercury Lounge on Houston Street. The GoTV Indie Showcase featured performances by Forro In The Dark, Zigmat, Pilar Diaz, Don Tetto, Afrobeta, and Guajiro. But I took the F train in the wrong direction and almost ended up in Queens. Arriving late and hungry, by the time I set foot in the Mercury, Brazil's Forro In The Dark had already played to my dismay. The band was formed spontaneously about five years ago when a group of musicians came together to play Wednesday nights at Nublu, a diminutive Lower East Side club that also spawned dance/electronica group The Brazilian Girls, who coincidentally was featured at LAMC. But more about Forro In The Dark, The Brazilian Girls and Nublu later. I caught the last two song's from L.A.-based songstress Pilar Diaz's set. The Chilean-born vocalist is launching her solo career after cutting loose from the bilingual new wave outfit Los Abandoned. I thought "Ilegal," with it's overpowering bassline and punk attitude in reflecting on the underworld of immigrant smuggling across the border was bold, both in message and sound.

After that I decided to grab a bite at the famous Kat'z Delicatessen nearby, you know the eatery where Meg Ryan does her fake orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally. Well that's great and all but I must've been on crack cause I ended up spending $20 on a pastrami sandwich and a can of Diet Coke. As I wrestled with the oversized sandwich I missed Zigmat, another band that plays at Nublu but has yet to ink a deal. Next up was Miami-based electro-pop trio Afrobeta, whose lead singer took the stage in a blond afro wig. They made a lot of noise and got me thinking that electro-pop is becoming a hackneyed trend, overused as a substitute for true musicianship. After their set I walked a couple of blocks to the Forro In The Dark after party at Nublu where I filled my cup on musicianship and some ass shakin' to top it off. The narrow, little club under a blue light, at some point grew into a record label that signs bands and collectives like the aforementioned Brazilian ensemble that plays a variation of forró, Wax Poetic, 3 Na Massa, Nublu Orchestra, Love Trio, and other sonically refreshing projects. It was great to be in a club where everybody was dancing in very close proximity to each other, getting their groove on to Forro In The Dark's blend of northeastern rhythms and urban grit. I danced so much that tributaries of sweat began running down my back. I made it back to Brooklyn Heights in one piece, but I must have lost my sense of direction due to exhaustion, getting lost within the radius of a couple of blocks. As I walked around in circles during ungodly hours, I noticed a black sedan with tinted windows slowing down behind me. I thought this is it, and imagined myself hogtied and stuffed in the trunk of a car. Finally I came upon some city workers spreading gravel on the roads and asked a black guy with a cherubic face, all coy 'n shit if he knew where Atlantic Avenue was located. He said yes, but after I asked him to point me in the right direction he responded with an arctic ice dry no. Motherfucker, I said, no wonder you're here raking gravel at 3 o'clock in the morning, bitch. Then like a miracle I turned around to see Atlantic. It was a celestial thing to see that little green sign, hanging from the electrical lines in the dead of the night, like a light in the tunnel.

Thursday, day two: More roaming the streets, particularly the Lower East Side, which I became enamored with. I imagined what it must have been like at the turn of the century in the era of the tenements and the different ethnic groups marking their territories. At night I found myself at the Bowery Ballroom on 6 Delancy St., not far from were the legendary CBGB's once stood. Spanish power punk-ska outfit La Pulqueria opened the showcase with a hard-driving, energetic set. The seven-piece band from Valencia blew the audience away with its full-throttle sound, which included a plaintive trumpet and trombone section, hyperkinetic drumming, electric guitar thrashing, funk bass forays, and a lead singer bursting with onstage bravado. They were followed by Mexico City psychedelic punk-rock, electro-pop outfit Los Fancy Free. Uniformly dressed, the band delivered quirky, enigmatic soundscapes and frontman Martin Thulin, a.k.a. Menonita Rock, even jumped from the stage and sang in the crowd during a song about global warming. The night climaxed with a breathtaking performance by 22-year-old singer/songwriter Ximena Sariñana. Following her #1 Mexico debut, Mediocre, in February, the starlet-turned-musician dropped her buzzworthy album in the U.S. on July 15. Sariñana's Bowery gig was her first ever performance in NYC and she lived up to all the hype surrounding her release. Fiona Apple en español? Maybe so. But behind the childlike demeanor, quirkiness, and indie-appeal, there's something remarkably mature and very Latin about Sariñana's music. She was a tough act to follow, but it didn't stop Alex Cuba from going on with his barebones band comprised of himself on guitar, a bass player, and a drummer. What the Cuban-bred singer/songwriter lacked in sonic muscle, he made up for with his enveloping vocals. An irony given that in his native Cuba, the British Columbia-based artist never made it far as a singer. Some of the kids in the audience didn't respond well to Cuba's simplified format but he seemed relaxed and at ease in transmitting his soulful, guitar-fueled pop songs. I was rooting for 'em though, and singing along to each and every song from his latest album, Agua Del Pozo.

Friday, day three: I actually worked on day three. I stopped by The Roosevelt to check on Alex Cuba, whose interview I had to move up, and then made my way down, on the F train, to Sound Generation. There I interviewed Ximena Sariñana right before her on air interview with L.A.-based tastemaker station KCRW's Nic Harcourt (from Morning Becomes Eclectic), in between live sets. It was Sariñana's American radio debut and I was witnessing history, for whatever that's worth. The live music and interview with Harcourt was being transmitted live into L.A., from New York of course. It was very cool. But even cooler was having legendary Argentine producer Tweety Gonzalez (Soda Stereo, Gustavo Cerati) sitting next to me on a couch, sorrounded by the siren's entourage, a sound engineer, label people, publicists, and radio personalities. I got a chance to chat with Tweety about Ximena, since he co-produced the album along with Uruguayan producer Juan Campodonico (Jorge Drexler, Bajofondo). But we also talked briefly about his other projects, and Cuban music. The short, 15 minute tête-a- tête was definitely one of the highnotes of my trip. I headed back to Midtown to interview Alex over an ice cold beer. Look out for that Q&A right here soon.

So my cousin and I did some bonding Friday night, while she bonded on the side with facebook via her blackberry. I'm hooked and I don't even have a blackberry or facebook... not yet anyway. We arrived late to the Celebrate Brookyln Show at the Prospect Park Bandshell and I missed Chicha Libre's performance... story of my life. The Brazilian Girls was already playing. They played some songs from their upcoming CD New York City and as the enigmatic lead singer Sabina Sciubba floated around stage in a puffy white outfit that looked like something Bjork would wear, I couldn't help but think she seemed like a cloud hovering in some remote sonic plane, totally disconnected from the rest of the band. The most memorable song of the set was "Pussy" from the band's 2005 self-titled album. As Sciubba taunted pussy, pussy, pussy marijuana, my cousin turned around and saw a very middle-aged couple, dressed in a perversely conservative manner, like midwestern breadbasket, or southern baptist conservative. Unsure if they had just heard what they thought they had just heard, they seemed totally out of place, as if they had just been dropped there from like another planet, and then Sciubba sang it again, and again, and again, and reality began to set in. I still LOL when I think about it. The night got better. We headed to the Lower East Side, Nublu to be more specific, laughing hysterically. We chilled at Nublu for a little while and spent time taking pictures of ourselves. From there it was off to an above ground, underground party at a loft in the Meatpacking District, a totally un-LAMC-related party. The place was a fire hazard, to use P's words. But there were awesome views of the city streets below from the tall windows and we made good use of the dancefloor. The highlight of the night was the elevator man. On our way out it seemed like we had transformed into a pack of wolves, along with other women, as we waited impatiently for the hot elevator man to transport us down. When he finally appeared we all cheered to the annoyance of a few innocent male bystanders who couldn't help but role their eyes. The elevator man unanimously became the Meatpacking District's most preyed upon carnivirous delight.

Saturday, day four: Woke up late, had a big breakfast. Did minimal shopping at SoHo and got a frontseat view of some criminal activity out on the street as a cop chased down a dude who apparently had either stolen something or was busted in a drug deal. We noticed some other undercover cops dressed as civilians involved in the chase that unfolded in the middle of the street. The cop managed to grab the guy and take him down as the entire block momentarily paused. Some people took videos and photos on their camera phones. Lovely prelude to the last LAMC show of the week featuring DJ Bitman, Plastilina Mosh, and Julieta Venegas in Central Park's Summerstage Show at Rumsey Playfield. You guessed it... we arrived late, but at least I caught all of PMosh's set, and we left early, only staying for Venegas' first three songs. I wrote the cover story on Plastilina Mosh for Batanga Latin Music's next issue so I was super excited to see them live. But of course they didn't play any of the new songs off their upcoming album All U Need Is Mosh, so that was disappointing. Still the duo from Monterrey, backed by a band, rocked the stage and deftly went from heavy guitar, fist-pumping rock to hip-hop, electronica, and funk, delivered with sense of humor and total irreverence. After the show we feasted on Vietnamese food and had more laughs as we walked through Tribeca, Little Italy, and I forget where else, but I got the foot and heel blisters to proove it. I love New York.

Jorge Ben Jor Was Timeless at Miami's JVC Jazz Fest

Photo By Liliam Dominguez
www.liliamdominguez.com/

Jorge Ben Jor has always been ahead of his time. Moving freely between movements without ever committing fully to any one, he's done things his own way for more than four decades. A prominent figure in Brazilian music with more than thirty albums under his belt, Ben Jor is the country's most chameleonic singer/songwriter and one of its greatest musical alchemists. He is without a doubt every bit the urban poet he rightly claims to be. From the very beginning, during the early sixties' bossa nova boom, Ben Jor set himself apart, spurning the hushed cool of bossa in favor of a funkier, groove-driven hybrid. His first record, 1963's Samba Esquema Novo, which he so graciously signed backstage after his recent show in Miami, is a collection of swinging sambas melded with jazz horns, rock, funk, and rhythm and blues. The first track, "Mas Que Nada," has been covered more than 200 times by a panoply of artists around the globe and likely predated the Brazilian soul sound, minus the overt political edge, that would launch the Black Rio movement of the seventies. After bossa nova faded out Ben Jor contributed to the rock-infused Jovem Guarda scene and then later gave the Tropicália movement its Afro-Carioca injection. With the passing of each new wave of music in Brazil, Ben Jor has remained vital and culturally resonant among his peers and younger generations. A furiously eclectic songwriter, he continues to concoct bewitching brews that are never formulaic. His songs celebrate life, soccer, sexuality, carnaval, science, existentialism, Rio, beautiful women, and the historic black figures of Brazil (Zumbi and Xica da Silva, amongst others) who have blurred the line between myth and reality.

During the recent JVC Jazz Fest at Miami's Bayfront Park Amphitheater Ben Jor shared the bill with R&B singer Anthony Hamilton, Grammy-nominated artist Ledisi, and Sergio Mendes -- another Brazilian great. Ben Jor pounded out hit after hit song backed by a tight, seven-piece ensemble, A Banda do Ze Pretinho. To my delight and surprise he opened the set with the quirky "O Homem da Gravata Florida" ("The Man With the Floral Tie"), his homage to a medieval alchemist named Teofrasto Paracelso, infused by soulful sax and trumpet. The song is from one of my favorite albums, the awesomely mind bending, psychedelic, esoteric, and cosmic A Tábua de Esmeralda. Though it came a little late, in 1974 to be exact, it was Brazil's response to The Beatle's Sgt. Pepper and The Beach Boy's Pet Sounds. Next Ben Jor turned up the funk with "A Banda do Ze Pretinho," blending pulsing rhythms anchored in taut basslines. It was followed by the more melodic "Santa Clara Clareou," which segued into the wah-wah groove of "A Minha Menina," a song covered in the sixties by Sao Paulo band Os Mutantes and a few years ago by Brit outfit A Band of Bees. Of course there was "Mas Que Nada," which climaxed into a polyrhythmic explosion as all band members engaged in a percussive samba school rumble, pounding hand-held tamborims in unison with sticks. "Zumbi" was retrofitted as a reggae accented by the chekere and "País Tropical" took off on the synergy with some blues-rock riffs delivered by Ben Jor himself. The living legend ended his hour long set with the sultry "Spyro Gira" reminding fans that above all his jeito is gostoso and that music should start at the hips before penetrating the soul.

Jorge Ben Jor Was Timeless at Miami's JVC Jazz Fest

Photo By Liliam Dominguez
www.liliamdominguez.com/

Jorge Ben Jor has always been ahead of his time. Moving freely between movements without ever committing fully to any one, he's done things his own way for more than four decades. A prominent figure in Brazilian music with more than thirty albums under his belt, Ben Jor is the country's most chameleonic singer/songwriter and one of its greatest musical alchemists. He is without a doubt every bit the urban poet he rightly claims to be. From the very beginning, during the early sixties' bossa nova boom, Ben Jor set himself apart, spurning the hushed cool of bossa in favor of a funkier, groove-driven hybrid. His first record, 1963's Samba Esquema Novo, which he so graciously signed backstage after his recent show in Miami, is a collection of swinging sambas melded with jazz horns, rock, funk, and rhythm and blues. The first track, "Mas Que Nada," has been covered more than 200 times by a panoply of artists around the globe and likely predated the Brazilian soul sound, minus the overt political edge, that would launch the Black Rio movement of the seventies. After bossa nova faded out Ben Jor contributed to the rock-infused Jovem Guarda scene and then later gave the Tropicália movement its Afro-Carioca injection. With the passing of each new wave of music in Brazil, Ben Jor has remained vital and culturally resonant among his peers and younger generations. A furiously eclectic songwriter, he continues to concoct bewitching brews that are never formulaic. His songs celebrate life, soccer, sexuality, carnaval, science, existentialism, Rio, beautiful women, and the historic black figures of Brazil (Zumbi and Xica da Silva, amongst others) who have blurred the line between myth and reality.

During the recent JVC Jazz Fest at Miami's Bayfront Park Amphitheater Ben Jor shared the bill with R&B singer Anthony Hamilton, Grammy-nominated artist Ledisi, and Sergio Mendes -- another Brazilian great. Ben Jor pounded out hit after hit song backed by a tight, seven-piece ensemble, A Banda do Ze Pretinho. To my delight and surprise he opened the set with the quirky "O Homem da Gravata Florida" ("The Man With the Floral Tie"), his homage to a medieval alchemist named Teofrasto Paracelso, infused by soulful sax and trumpet. The song is from one of my favorite albums, the awesomely mind bending, psychedelic, esoteric, and cosmic A Tábua de Esmeralda. Though it came a little late, in 1974 to be exact, it was Brazil's response to The Beatle's Sgt. Pepper and The Beach Boy's Pet Sounds. Next Ben Jor turned up the funk with "A Banda do Ze Pretinho," blending pulsing rhythms anchored in taut basslines. It was followed by the more melodic "Santa Clara Clareou," which segued into the wah-wah groove of "A Minha Menina," a song covered in the sixties by Sao Paulo band Os Mutantes and a few years ago by Brit outfit A Band of Bees. Of course there was "Mas Que Nada," which climaxed into a polyrhythmic explosion as all band members engaged in a percussive samba school rumble, pounding hand-held tamborims in unison with sticks. "Zumbi" was retrofitted as a reggae accented by the chekere and "País Tropical" took off on the synergy with some blues-rock riffs delivered by Ben Jor himself. The living legend ended his hour long set with the sultry "Spyro Gira" reminding fans that above all his jeito is gostoso and that music should start at the hips before penetrating the soul.

Miami Beach Grooves With the Pinker Tones

Photo by Luis Olazabal
http://www.luisolazabal.com/

The Pinker Tones closed the Rhythm Foundation's Transatlantic Music Fest with style Saturday night at the North Beach Bandshell, giving fans a taste of what to expect from them come this summer's Vans Warped tour. The musically mischievous boys from Barcelona will play extended sets in the Skull Candy electronic tent in support of their latest release, Wild Animals (Nacional Records), in 43 cities across the U.S. In Miami an eclectic mix of cool kids, middle-aged fans, and even some seniors got their groove on under the night sky, a stone's throw away from the ocean, as Professor Manso, Mister Furia, and their trusty collaborator DJ Niño (known as the third pinkertone) funneled their irresistible sonic hodgepodge into the vortex of the moment. Looking like they'd just landed from an intergalactic voyage, the three DJs took to the blue-lit stage dressed in metallic silver jackets and dark shades. The effect was very cool as the crew proceeded to maneuver behind the decks opening the set with "Hold On," the first track from Wild Animals. By the time they segued into a remix of "S.E.X.Y.R.O.B.O.T.," another track off the new album, DJ Niño peeled off his, Mister Furia and Professor Manso's jacket, feeling Miami's punishing heat, but also as a silly, tongue-in-cheek striptease that revealed their matching ensembles - black, long-sleeve shirts and thin, platinum ties - as well as their loopy sense of humor. DJ Niño, sandwiched by Manso and Furia, was a ball of energy and really kept the momentum going with his onstage antics. He would play air guitar to sampled power chords, toss his headphones up in the air, and go crazy on the mixer. Meanwhile Manso rocked-out on the computer drum and Furia looked dapper, hunched over the knobs and switches of his analog synth. Overhead, a large screen flashed images of highways, go-go dancers, Marilyn Monroe, and primitive iconography. Midway through the set the trio plunged into the retro-soul tinged "Love Tape." From The Million Colour Revolution disc, the ultimate ode to the homemade mixedtape was appropriately infused that night with a samba beat and the exotic sound of the cuíca. Samples of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" and "Mustang Sally" were brilliantly spliced and woven throughout, near the final stretch of the show, before climaxing with the quirky, electro-pop confection of "Sonido Total." At that point it seemed like everybody was infected with the Pinker Tones' wave of euphoria; their good vibes slicing right through the thick of Miami's stagnant air.

Miami Beach Grooves With the Pinker Tones

Photo by Luis Olazabal
http://www.luisolazabal.com/

The Pinker Tones closed the Rhythm Foundation's Transatlantic Music Fest with style Saturday night at the North Beach Bandshell, giving fans a taste of what to expect from them come this summer's Vans Warped tour. The musically mischievous boys from Barcelona will play extended sets in the Skull Candy electronic tent in support of their latest release, Wild Animals (Nacional Records), in 43 cities across the U.S. In Miami an eclectic mix of cool kids, middle-aged fans, and even some seniors got their groove on under the night sky, a stone's throw away from the ocean, as Professor Manso, Mister Furia, and their trusty collaborator DJ Niño (known as the third pinkertone) funneled their irresistible sonic hodgepodge into the vortex of the moment. Looking like they'd just landed from an intergalactic voyage, the three DJs took to the blue-lit stage dressed in metallic silver jackets and dark shades. The effect was very cool as the crew proceeded to maneuver behind the decks opening the set with "Hold On," the first track from Wild Animals. By the time they segued into a remix of "S.E.X.Y.R.O.B.O.T.," another track off the new album, DJ Niño peeled off his, Mister Furia and Professor Manso's jacket, feeling Miami's punishing heat, but also as a silly, tongue-in-cheek striptease that revealed their matching ensembles - black, long-sleeve shirts and thin, platinum ties - as well as their loopy sense of humor. DJ Niño, sandwiched by Manso and Furia, was a ball of energy and really kept the momentum going with his onstage antics. He would play air guitar to sampled power chords, toss his headphones up in the air, and go crazy on the mixer. Meanwhile Manso rocked-out on the computer drum and Furia looked dapper, hunched over the knobs and switches of his analog synth. Overhead, a large screen flashed images of highways, go-go dancers, Marilyn Monroe, and primitive iconography. Midway through the set the trio plunged into the retro-soul tinged "Love Tape." From The Million Colour Revolution disc, the ultimate ode to the homemade mixedtape was appropriately infused that night with a samba beat and the exotic sound of the cuíca. Samples of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" and "Mustang Sally" were brilliantly spliced and woven throughout, near the final stretch of the show, before climaxing with the quirky, electro-pop confection of "Sonido Total." At that point it seemed like everybody was infected with the Pinker Tones' wave of euphoria; their good vibes slicing right through the thick of Miami's stagnant air.

Bonde do Role's New Dynamic Was Anything But In MIA

Photos by Liliam Dominguez
http://www.liliamdominguez.com/

OK before I rip into Bonde do Role's concert in Miami last Thursday night, I just want to say how much I really dig their deft fusions of funk carioca, heavy metal, and electro-dance music. But since this is my blog, I'm gonna tell it like it is, or at least like it is in my mind. It might have been that my expectations were unrealistically high. It happens sometimes. Bonde do Role's show in Miami was one of those times and definitely not what I had imagined it would be. En route to Coachella, the baile funkeros hit downtown's Studio A with new members Ana Bernardino and Laura Taylor in tow. The two were hand-picked by DJ Gorky and Pedro D'eyrot via MTV Brasil when MC Marina Vello ditched the band late last year. Yin - Yang personified, Ana was the prison guard holding down the fort, I mean stage, with her ferocious mic in throat screaming and braid-lashing head-whips, while Laura mostly stuck to her role as bubbly bunny cheerleader, prancing around the peripheries of Ana's sometimes scary and frankly annoying volcanic eruptions. When Laura did take the lead it was a welcome respite from boot camp. Kudos to Gorky for doing what he does best, which is pounding out the bass and sampling crunching thrash guitar and 80s electro-pop. Pedro D'eyrot was memorable for oscillating between his snooty Brit accent and Argentine Spanish when interacting with the audience. Not once did he address Miami's rare hipster breed in Portuguese. Testament to the fact that unfiltered baile funk is still only found in Rio's favelas.

Bonde do Role's New Dynamic Was Anything But In MIA

Photos by Liliam Dominguez
http://www.liliamdominguez.com/

OK before I rip into Bonde do Role's concert in Miami last Thursday night, I just want to say how much I really dig their deft fusions of funk carioca, heavy metal, and electro-dance music. But since this is my blog, I'm gonna tell it like it is, or at least like it is in my mind. It might have been that my expectations were unrealistically high. It happens sometimes. Bonde do Role's show in Miami was one of those times and definitely not what I had imagined it would be. En route to Coachella, the baile funkeros hit downtown's Studio A with new members Ana Bernardino and Laura Taylor in tow. The two were hand-picked by DJ Gorky and Pedro D'eyrot via MTV Brasil when MC Marina Vello ditched the band late last year. Yin - Yang personified, Ana was the prison guard holding down the fort, I mean stage, with her ferocious mic in throat screaming and braid-lashing head-whips, while Laura mostly stuck to her role as bubbly bunny cheerleader, prancing around the peripheries of Ana's sometimes scary and frankly annoying volcanic eruptions. When Laura did take the lead it was a welcome respite from boot camp. Kudos to Gorky for doing what he does best, which is pounding out the bass and sampling crunching thrash guitar and 80s electro-pop. Pedro D'eyrot was memorable for oscillating between his snooty Brit accent and Argentine Spanish when interacting with the audience. Not once did he address Miami's rare hipster breed in Portuguese. Testament to the fact that unfiltered baile funk is still only found in Rio's favelas.