Finally got to see Elito Revé. [Wild applause] My stomach was still bugging me but I took a pill and got down there. I only have about two and half weeks more and I can’t afford to squander any more opportunities.
We got down there about 12.30 and as with the last few night gigs we had caught we didn’t have long to wait: they went on at about 12.45, so this is starting to look like a policy. Again, it was busy but not packed, which I guess is a summer thing. The only packed gigs so far have been Havana D’Primera’s matinees, Reve at La Tropical (also a matinee) and (I’m guessing, cause I didn’t go), Charanga Habanera at La Cecilia last weekend.
There was a bunch of tall skinny black girls in formal wear there - some sports team celebrating something? - and as soon as the band came on they ran down the front and pretty much formed a barricade. I managed to find one spot down in a corner, but I was still in danger of being sliced to death by this girl’s elbows.
Revé seem to have a new tresero. Does anyone know about this? Maybe the previous one, Jorge Luis, has found that making treses is more lucrative than playing them. Or maybe he’s in Sweden or something. Otherwise it’s the same line-up. The Smoke Monstress was fascinated by Elito’s progeny Gretchen, and her bored countenance and gum-chewing demeanour. She was sporting an unflattering flat hair style. The Monstress got some video of her looking bored. That’s pretty funny.
They started with De que estamos hablando, and except for doing Se sigue comentando in its entirety instead of a tiny bit as a sign-off, everything was from the last album. They have no new songs except for Jala jala, which they were working on when I was here last time. Thankfully, Cristian y Rey were not in the audience to get up and sing. Michel from Salsa Mayor was, and got up for … uh, OK. Now I forget. Jannier from HdP was there too, up the back by the bar. I don’t think he moved all night. He told me his wife works there so he was just hanging out with her.
Bustamante, the ubiquitous dancer who married an inglesa when I was here last year and has returned, was there and got up on stage as is his wont. I told the Monstress when I see him I think of the phrase, “dance like no one’s watching” only in his case it’s “if no one’s watching, then I mustn’t be dancing”. Kind of a variation on “if a tree falls in the woods …” I guess.
Anyway, Revé played for almost two hours - probably the longest set I’ve seen by anyone here. Part of that was Ya sé cantar, where Suzell does her little interaction with the audience, and part of it was Agua pa Yemayá where they go through the dances of all the major orishas and get people up to dance them. I was sitting down by then, and praying for monotheism. Oh I’m such a curmudgeon.
The cintura contest arrived a little early - maybe three songs in - just two girls and one guy, with another guy excitedly running to join in when saw a sandwich had been created. The Monstress was kind of dumbfounded (she considered videoing it but decided that film wouldn’t do it justice) but it was pretty chaste considering the near-orgy I’d witnessed with Revé in Trinidad last year.
Someone gestured for Dagoberto to come and take a note and he wrangled a beer in exchange. He didn’t end up making an announcement so maybe it was of a private nature.
They’re still doing Chichi. Can’t wait till that novelty song is relegated to a footnote of musical history as novelty songs inevitably are.
Idiosyncratic quibbles aside, they sounded great as usual. Still think they have the best singing line-up in town.
They’re on again on Sunday (yay!) at Miramar (boo!). BTW Cafe Cantante has had nothing at all worth going to this trip. It’s all reggaeton and pop - practically no salsa at all. Galiano too, is all clogged up many days with PMMs and PMM Lites. I don’t know what’s going on but it’s irritating. Hope I don’t have to move out to Calle 0. That would be a drag. I like Centro.
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Before Revé, we went to the Gran Teatro for the ballet. The cartelera had said Alicia Alonso, as it turned out she hadn’t choreographed any of it, and I don’t know, maybe she doesn’t choreograph anything these days. It was five pieces, which meant we had to clap a lot and wait while bunches of flowers were given out after each performances (except for the last two for some reason). Inexplicably, recorded music was used for all but the last, when the orchestra suddenly showed up. I don’t know why you would bring them just to play one piece. Still, better to have them there for one piece than not at all.
The technicality of the dancing was outstanding throughout, as usual (there wasn’t even too much of my bugbear; dancers being out of sync, though there was a tiny bit of that), but some of the concepts were, quite frankly odious. The first Dionaea (yes, I bought a program: $1CUC for a photocopied piece of paper), had a lovely set and the dancers forming a layered bud of a flower but its premise of women as a carnivorous plant and men as hapless insect fodder was just another version of all those moronic reggaeton/CH lyrics that accuse women of chewing men up and spitting them. The second piece, Muñecos, had an even more horrific representation of gender cliches, and was at once tritely comic and sentimental. “Repugnant,” said the Smoke Monstress.
The next, an extreno mundial (how nice) was my favourite of the night. There was no story to speak of (dance without story maybe my favourite kind of dance) and there was just a TS Eliot quote in the program: “Solo vivimos, solo suspiramos / consumidos por uno u otro fuego.” It was beautifully choreographed: every step fit perfectly to each note of the Scherzo of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9. The dancers wore plain fleshcoloured bodysuits; the backdrop was a simple kind of abstract tie-died orange and the stage was bathed in a golden glow. It was delightful. As I watched the gorgeous movements and listened to Beethoven’s lovely music I remember thinking: I could watch this all night. The choreography was Laura Domingo Aguero.
Intermission, then a piece called Tiempo de Danzon, which had a spectacular opening of a couple dancing behind an almost opaque scrim, so that we saw just shadows. When it parted, what we got was a large group of dancers (30?) in blue jeans and red leotards and pointe shoes (girls) and black t-shirts (boys) dancing in couples what was, well not really much danzon. Bits of classical and jazz ballet I guess but it was still quite a lot of fun.
Majísimo was described as a “divertimento”. That was pretty spot on. It was a trifle but it was pretty. “Un contrapunto entre aires hispanicos y la tecnica del ballet clasico”. The ladies got to wear lovely ruffled dresses and the chaps, in coloured satin toreodor jackets, got to show of the dancing chops, leaping around the stage. Some of the ladies showed off some chops too, piroeutting madly, although the one who impressed me was the blonde who was able to go up on pointe on one leg and stay there without the aid of a partner. That’s some strong legs right there.
By 10pm it was over and it was time to stroll home and read a bit of my awesome Fred Vargas novel before going down to Galiano.
Walking up San Rafael we passed a house with a bunch of guys singing and dancing along to a reggaeton song: “Sexo, yo quiero sexo”. Wow, how long did it take to think up that one?
The technicality of the dancing was outstanding throughout, as usual (there wasn’t even too much of my bugbear; dancers being out of sync, though there was a tiny bit of that), but some of the concepts were, quite frankly odious. The first Dionaea (yes, I bought a program: $1CUC for a photocopied piece of paper), had a lovely set and the dancers forming a layered bud of a flower but its premise of women as a carnivorous plant and men as hapless insect fodder was just another version of all those moronic reggaeton/CH lyrics that accuse women of chewing men up and spitting them. The second piece, Muñecos, had an even more horrific representation of gender cliches, and was at once tritely comic and sentimental. “Repugnant,” said the Smoke Monstress.
The next, an extreno mundial (how nice) was my favourite of the night. There was no story to speak of (dance without story maybe my favourite kind of dance) and there was just a TS Eliot quote in the program: “Solo vivimos, solo suspiramos / consumidos por uno u otro fuego.” It was beautifully choreographed: every step fit perfectly to each note of the Scherzo of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9. The dancers wore plain fleshcoloured bodysuits; the backdrop was a simple kind of abstract tie-died orange and the stage was bathed in a golden glow. It was delightful. As I watched the gorgeous movements and listened to Beethoven’s lovely music I remember thinking: I could watch this all night. The choreography was Laura Domingo Aguero.
Intermission, then a piece called Tiempo de Danzon, which had a spectacular opening of a couple dancing behind an almost opaque scrim, so that we saw just shadows. When it parted, what we got was a large group of dancers (30?) in blue jeans and red leotards and pointe shoes (girls) and black t-shirts (boys) dancing in couples what was, well not really much danzon. Bits of classical and jazz ballet I guess but it was still quite a lot of fun.
Majísimo was described as a “divertimento”. That was pretty spot on. It was a trifle but it was pretty. “Un contrapunto entre aires hispanicos y la tecnica del ballet clasico”. The ladies got to wear lovely ruffled dresses and the chaps, in coloured satin toreodor jackets, got to show of the dancing chops, leaping around the stage. Some of the ladies showed off some chops too, piroeutting madly, although the one who impressed me was the blonde who was able to go up on pointe on one leg and stay there without the aid of a partner. That’s some strong legs right there.
By 10pm it was over and it was time to stroll home and read a bit of my awesome Fred Vargas novel before going down to Galiano.
Walking up San Rafael we passed a house with a bunch of guys singing and dancing along to a reggaeton song: “Sexo, yo quiero sexo”. Wow, how long did it take to think up that one?
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