I thought I'd have a lot to write on before sitting down to face this damn screen. Seems I don't: hmmmm...
Watching Mandu Sarara perform was a real delight; they're one brilliant bunch of musicians. In fact, I think they were the best gig at the Congo Square Jazz Fest this year. Kenny Garett wowed the crowd, but know what? We fell in love with the Brazilians, yet again. They played one of the best versions of Brazil and Girl From Ipanema that I, for one, have heard.
I also loved the Eric Lohrer quartet; they threw in a surprise playing Cissy Strut, stringing it up with a Dave Holland tune. I loved the drummer.
And then there was Kenny Garett. I donno whether he was angry because his band wasn't introduced properly, but he just said 'Hi' and his quartet launched into really loud hard bop! No time to sit down, man! Which is all very good, and me and Doi watched the drummer up close and started laughing, because he was doing stuff that was straight out of a Dennis Chambers video: cross-sticking, lightning-ass one-handed fills, one-handed 32-nd-note hat patterns, blinding rack-floor-bass flams etc etc, and VERY loud at that. Clearly, he loved to show off his flash. Which is all very good: just not always to my liking.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Monday, January 23, 2006
Maatir gaan
Oh well, I'm back to blogging, as the previous entry shows, after 14 fucking days. Feels good to write shit down, though.
It kinda seems surreal: I went to the biggest Baul-fakiri mela and came back without a whiff of pot! But hey, that's the way, ah-huh, ah-huh, /We like it.
Lots of Bangla band wannabes, though; kills the spirit of the place. My friend almost had a fistfight with a guy who was recording gigs on a dictaphone. "Are you recording this to return to Kolkata and quietly share a moment of spiritual physicality with your wife?" was, loosely translated, his exact question. The dude was visibly fuming.
We had lovely dinner, by the way: one of the best musur daal preparations I've ever had.
We heard two excellent renditions of Barir Pashey Aarshi Nagar, by Shraddhananda, a 16-year old kid with killer dotara technique and an amazing voice; and a version of Hridi Majhare by Sarajit Khyapa that blew me away.
As my HP would have it, we came back to Kolkata AND managed to procure guest passes for the Congo Square Jazz Fest. More on that later.
It kinda seems surreal: I went to the biggest Baul-fakiri mela and came back without a whiff of pot! But hey, that's the way, ah-huh, ah-huh, /We like it.
Lots of Bangla band wannabes, though; kills the spirit of the place. My friend almost had a fistfight with a guy who was recording gigs on a dictaphone. "Are you recording this to return to Kolkata and quietly share a moment of spiritual physicality with your wife?" was, loosely translated, his exact question. The dude was visibly fuming.
We had lovely dinner, by the way: one of the best musur daal preparations I've ever had.
We heard two excellent renditions of Barir Pashey Aarshi Nagar, by Shraddhananda, a 16-year old kid with killer dotara technique and an amazing voice; and a version of Hridi Majhare by Sarajit Khyapa that blew me away.
As my HP would have it, we came back to Kolkata AND managed to procure guest passes for the Congo Square Jazz Fest. More on that later.
Monday, January 09, 2006
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