Havana rain

You know that rule I have that says that if a band you want to see is playing twice you have to take the first opportunity to see them because you won’t make it to the second? Yeah that one. Bamboleo were playing Saturday night and Sunday afternoon. I’d been crook most of last week and was exhausted Saturday so we put off Bamboleo, who playing that night, for their matinee the next day. Sunday it started raining about 2pm and it didn’t stop until after 7. Normally not a big deal but I’ve been on Calle 20 when it’s been pissing down (you can probably find the post on it if you search Charanga Forever) and I have no desire to find myself in the same boat (boat! geddit?!) again. So … Revé was on in Miramar that night but I was so dispirited that I couldn’t summon up the energy to find, then fight with, a taxi driver on the way out there, so I just went to bed with my Fred Vargas book. I know, that’s just so shocking. I never passed up a Revé gig before. I thought I would regret it the next day, but actually I didn’t. That’s kind of shocking too.

Azucar Negra were on at Galiano, but the Smoke Monstress said, “don’t they have a singer you hate?” Oh yeah. (Pavel) I want to see new girl singer Ingrid, but matinee want to see, not 1am-3am want to see.

The Trabuco gig at Galiano on Monday was pretty jumping. With Haila at La Tropical washed out, and I imagine small attendances at Bamboleo and Tanya (at Galiano) for the same reason, I guess people were keen to cut loose. Trabuco were working the extended stage again. I’m in two minds about it. It’s good for the singers but it relegates the band to backing musicians. They did the Alexander song again, and although my video is in focus this time, the sound is a bit shitty. I asked Chino, the bajista, if they had recorded it yet: he said everything except the metales. He said, why, do you want to take it with you? Yes! Good song. He scarpers to the Habana Libre after every Monday matinee as he has a jazz gig there. Lucky him. Riveron was still absent. I forgot to get an update but if he’s still off, it looks like it’s probably pneumonia again. I think that’s a relapsey thing. Jeez. Also Miguelito is still away; still in Canada I guess. They did Control. Erk. I had one week without it. I should be grateful.

Trabuco are doing Miramar instead of Havana D’Primera today (Tuesday) because they are going to Venezuela. That’s one of the saddest sentences I have every written. Kola Loka are doing a matinee larga at Galiano. That’s actually the saddest. Still listening to Disco Fiesta but seems like there are slim pickings for the next couple of days.

Azucar Negra are doing a matinee at Miramar on Thursday so, Pavel or no, I’ll go to that, and Bamboleo are at my local on Friday with Salsa Mayor there on Friday night. That must be among their last gigs before they go to the US.

Tales from Centro Habana

Combinacion de la Habana: Johnny (front) and Yuri (background).

The terrifying doberman that lives on the first floor has returned. It has been absent since I’ve been here this time and I figured that since the first floor is now a love hotel (rooms by the hour), they got rid of it so it wouldn’t scare the shit out of the customers and ruin the romancesphere. But there it was, when I looked down into the patio, barking it’s fucking head off. It used to lie in wait as you trudged up the stairs, then greet you as you arrived at level 1 with a great big woof-woof or 200. I used to dread the gate being open, which it sometimes was and try and make myself as small as possible in the hope that it would think I wasn’t worthy of an attack..

I woke feeling lethargic. Couldn’t seem to shake the lurgy. Or maybe it was that I’d eaten nothing more than a bowl of rice a day since Tuesday, and sometimes less. But my stomach was still dicey. I’d had a glass of yoghurt and some coffee. I’d have to be at death’s door to give up the latter.

Listened to Disco Fiesta, as I’d had a visitor on Friday when they were reading out the weekend listings and missed some, but everything seemed as I had planned. The Smoke Monstress wanted to see Bamboleo again before she left, but didn’t think I could get out to Miramar for the night so we settled on Combinacion de la Habana for the matinee, and decided to do Bamboleo at Miramar for the tarde tomorrow. Of course that means two trips to Miramar in one day cause Reve is there for the night, but … I was hoping I would feel better by then. I flopped around on the bed and practically lapsed in and out of consciousness, blissful rest interrupted only by piercing screams of a girl after she was nipped on the leg by the poor Pekingese that is tied up day in day out on the terrace here.

Duni came around and told me hilarious tales of Los Que Son Son’s adventures in El Oriente, all of it unpublishable if I want him to keep his job. Something he did say that I can repeat is that their moronic hit Loco con una moto has brought them a much younger crowd, all of whom spend the whole show waiting to hear that and the other new song Yo no te dejé por mala (or La loca, as it’s also known). Heh. He also said the young ladies love El Noro and were mobbing him. Jeez. He said it was like “los bit-less”. Took me a while to figure out he meant The Beatles.

The Smoke Monstress and I were off for the Combinacion de la Habana matinee at Galiano. That’s the most fun you can have in Havana on a Saturday arvo/evening I reckon. I love it.

I meant to say in my post about Revé that my theory about the extended stage and the pitted dancefloor was way off base as it hasn’t been fixed and Revé didn’t use it, and CdlH didn’t have it this week either. It’s better without it, even if there is the risk of falling over and breaking your neck. Hey a life half-lived or whatever.

The band have a couple of new songs and they are swinging. One in particular makes great use of the brass, deploying it in a funky manner for the duration of the song instead of just for the mambos etc. I got some video but it’s Galiano, so don’t hold your breath. They’re doing an anniversary show at La Tropical but it’s three days after I leave, so, wah-wah. I asked Gerson, the “director-general” of the band (as opposed to Eugenio, who is the musical director) when they would be making a CD, and he shrugged. He said they’ve signed contracts to go to Peru and Italy but that’s as far as it’s gone. He shrugged again and said, son pasos, they’re steps.

He spent the new songs with his back to the audience directing the band and, it seemed, the baterista in particular. I don’t know if he’s new and I forgot to ask. Johnny, the former Azucar Negra singer who has replaced Ricardito only has one song right now. I guess he’s only been there a month. He does a pretty good job. He’s got that retro Havana cantante look going on - blonde tips, plenty of bling and a penchant for opening his shirt to the waist. The other singers seem to have ditched the D&G diamante shirts for a preppier look. It’s a definite improvement. They’re still all wearing outrageous trainers though. (Should have seen the Tumbao Havana guys - oh, the sponsorship opportunities these guys are missing out on. It’s heartbreaking.)

Ricardito actually turned up - he was looking pretty preppy too, in a striped pale blue shirt - and got up on stage for a turn. By the time the band had finished he had gone though, so I didn’t get a chance to catch up with him.

Afterwards, I was going to try and eat something - if only soup and flan. I went to my favourite paladar - the Cristobal on San Rafael where the chef/owner says I’m part of the “collectivo”. Unfortunately my chicken soup was so salty I couldn’t eat it. He took it away and gave me some more. Also too salty, but the second time I just dumped the juice of half a lime into it and it became more or less palatable. Followed it with flan. I wasn’t sick after. Yay! Maybe I can eat a proper meal soon. He has a half-decent steak there.

Elito at last

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?

Hasta las afueras

So.
I went down to the Centro de Negocios in Habana Vieja, near the big feria on the port, where I have gone to renew my visa for the last few years since it moved from the military compound in Nuevo Vedado. (Actually there was a brief intermediate period in a beautiful rundown building with moorish tiles on Aguacate where I was able to stroll in and out again immediately, but that was only for one year.)
It was ominously quiet and when I told the guy on the desk why I was there he shook his head and said I had to go to Reparto Flores, “Where?” asked Martin, when I told him later. “Exactly. You know that fair that is on in December? Way out past there. It’s on 186th.” Martin lives on Calle Zero, to give you some idea.
I’ve had a stomach virus for the last couple of days, so, great. Just what I needed. My taxi driver had waited - it seemed he already knew, and was relishing the $20CUC fare he was about to get. I was so debilitated in mind and body, and so keen to get the fucking thing over and done with, that I was just glad I didn’t have to think about finding another cab or worrying if I should be frugal and figure out which maquinas went out there.
Out at the compound I told a uniformed guy standing by a table of forms that I was there to renew my visa. He said, do you have stamps worth $25CUC? I said yes. He seemed surprised. Do you have you insurance? Yes, I said. More disbelief. I’ve done this so many times, I bring everything now. He forgot to ask if I had my rent receipts, but I’ve gone home before because I didn’t have them on me, so you better believe they were tucked inside my passport too. There were two queues, both under corrugated metal roofs. He directed me towards one. I had no idea how it would play out. Previously, at the Centro a woman collected your passport as you arrived, then eventually called your name. This was like the bad old days of Nuevo Vedado when a gaggle of people would wait and basically just fight to jump in first (in the end, the old “el ultimo” often doesn’t count for much).
Fortunately there was a very kind foreigner there who explained - in Spanish - that I should wait till they called. I said how can they call me if they don’t know my name? He said, they’ll say “el proximo”. OK. Quite a few people were waiting for stamps - I guess their other halfs had gone the 40 blocks or so to the nearest bank to get them, so that put them out for the next call, which came not too long after I sat down (about 30 minutes: that’s Cuban, for “not too long”).
Once I was inside being processed - there was no extra cola, I was relieved to see - I asked my processor if this move was temporary or permanent. She looked at my address (Centro Habana) and said, oh there are various offices - you could go to 17 and K (in Vedado).
WHAT THE FUCK?
Thanks Old Man in Habana Vieja for sending me on a $20CUC cab ride, when I could have taken a 20-minute walk (from my house, at least).
Well, at least it was done. All these hoops are clearly designed to discourage backpacker style tourism in favour of 10-day stays in expensive hotels. What the government here needs to realise, is that if they make all this easier, they can have both types of tourism, and make more money. Having more backpackers doesn’t mean less hotel stays; it just means more tourists in total. But if you make things difficult for them, they’ll just go to another country where it’s easier, like Canada, Australia, anywhere in Asia, other countries in Latin America - god knows, there is no shortage to choose from.
Later in the day I had to go out to Playa again, this time to pick up some money the wonderful Maribelle at the Canadian Embassy had organised to have transferred to me. I was pissed off at having to go out there again, but relieved to get the money and it was great fun to talk to her. She was interested to hear about the immigration offices, as they never have any idea. Nice to know I’m not the only one in the dark.
The two trips, along with my stomach bug, meant I wouldn’t be going to see Azucar Negra at CdlM Miramar, though HdP later in the evening is tempting. Last chance to see them and all that. I missed Tumbao Havana on Wednesday because the stomach thing was nasty and because there was a kick-ass storm that flooded the apartment and, no doubt, Calle 20 too.
Well, at least I saw them once. Think that is the mantra for this trip.



My last chance to see Havana D’Primera before they went to Venezuela (they have a gig at Varadero on Saturday but I don’t think I can get up to Matanzas) was a weird one.
I saw Alexander out the front and asked him when they left (Tuesday) and how long they’d be away. He said, “No, no, solo una semana.” Jaja - he knows me! So I’ll still be here! Should be able to see them one more time at least. I live to see that band. Bit of a problem when I’m back in Australia. I made sure I was leaving on a Wednesday so I could see one last HdP matinee. I am, as they would say back home or in Britain, a Havana D’Primera tragic.
I asked him if they had recorded Nadie sabe nada yet, because that song rocks my world and I think he said yes, but I was so surprised at the answer that I’m not sure I heard it right. I asked the Smoke Monstress for confirmation, but her mind had been elsewhere and she hadn’t heard. Once we were inside I told DJ Mandy and he said, well if you get it, think of me, I love that song! I said, of course, but I imagine if he doesn’t have it yet, then I probably misunderstood. I asked he if he had heard the Trabuco song written by Alex. He said, Es buenisimo! He’s an Alexander tragic as well.
Inside, the Casa seemed the usual busy Thursday night but once the band got going it was clear that things were a little different. I scooted right down the front as usual - you have to claim your territory, cause if someone else gets in there it can be hard to mark out a space - but in this case I needn’t have worried. Although the nights are nowhere near as lively as the matinees, usually Alexander and the band have people up dancing all through the set. Not tonight. Oh there were people dancing, but halfway back in the lane between the two sets of tables and chairs. At times people would get up then SIT BACK DOWN. Wait - what?
Alexander didn’t seem so bothered at first and attacked the set with his usual gusto but at some point gave up and left the stage after an hour and 15 minutes.
They started with Solo para ti - practice for Venezuela, I’m imagine. Their sets here have been almost all new songs and I’m guessing they don’t want to do that out of the country. It was a little ropey, as it always is when they haven’t played it for a while. That ended up being the only old song. I guess they would have done more, if they had hung around longer. Honestly more old songs might have played better to the crowd but then they might not have.
I enjoyed it as always but not sure the same can be said of some band members. Rodney gave a ginormous yawn at one point. They had a lot of sound problems: Jannier’s foldback wasn’t working at all for the entire gig I don’t think; the coros didn’t suffer at all. It always amazes me that bands that play the same venues week after week - sometimes multiple times a week - can have sound problems. Do things change that much on a day-to-day basis?
When the band wrapped up, Mandy put on some massively obnoxious tropical house samba thing and a huge portion of the audience finally got up off the arses and onto the dance floor.
Outraged doesn’t even cover it. This is the kind of poor behaviour one sees in my country.
We fled.
Tomorrow: the ballet and La Reve, just to cover all the cultural bases.

Havana fit

Left to right: HdP's Tony, Yandy and Rodney.

There is still no butter to be found anywhere. My favourite paladar has it but rations it: each diner gets a tiny little triangle. I asked them where they got it and they said the Hotel Deauville. Admittedly I haven’t been down there to look, but given the “two shop” rule (if two shops don’t have it; none will) I don’t really like my chances.
I went to get tickets for the ballet. I’ve probably written before that I pay the tourist price ($25CUC), which some people find outrageous, but lord knows I can’t see the ballet for that price (try five or six times that much) in Sydney, and if the Cuban price didn’t exist I think most people would consider it a bargain. One advantage: being able to skip the cola snaking down the street and saunter up to the tourist only window and walk away tickets in hand minutes later. Now I feel mean. Although god knows there are enough places tourists are treated like second class citizens: immigration, for instance, where they are consistently put behind each successive Cuban that arrives, and where I have to go tomorrow. I can hardly wait.
There were two other ballet productions on the carteleras advertised; one was a “programa concierto” which didn’t sound like dance, but was, according to the woman in the box office; and the other was a production of Dracula (!), choreographed by Laura Alonso; a relation of Alicia, I’m guessing. That could go either away. I’m a massive fan of the novel.
Swung by Marbis’s but she wasn’t home; there was only the dog barking excitedly at the door.

It was Tuesday: you know what that means. Havana D’Primera matinee. We left late for various reasons. I don’t do much all day and yet somehow ...
Corista Jannier was out the front talking to Trabuco’s trombonista Pipi. Pipi’s sister Marilyn was inside. Yesterday I’d seen her paying to get into Trabuco. I said, why do you have to pay when your brother is in the band? She said, well that’s just how things work here.
It was busy, as usual. Some band members were crammed into the tiny bar: tecladista Harrold, corista Enrique, pianista Tony.
I asked Alexander if he had written a song for Trabuco. He said, yes. I said, I heard it. He said, how did you know it was mine? I said, Amaray said so. Unfortunately the video I took of it didn’t turn out so well - the extended stage turned out to be a blessing and a curse. I’ll see if I can get a better copy before I leave.
I bought drinks, saw the MC preparing to get on stage and headed for a spot down the front.
Great gig. Air con still not fixed but it bothered me less. Guess I’m finally Havana-fit. It’s been good to have the full complement of musos in the band this trip, instead of suplentes. I mean they always have good stand-ins, but the band really fire together. It feels unfair to single anyone but holy shit Yaaaaaandy!!! He was really working that bass. He could make me do anything with that thing. Also props to Harrold on keyboards, working quietly in his dark corner with his sunnies on (!).
The set was pretty standard, with some random song thrown in that the band didn’t seem to know at first - they just looked at each and followed Alexander. I didn’t know it either, so don’t look at me. Nadie sabe nada was the accidental closer: a pair of rumberos got up and danced a bit - not too long; they didn’t outstay their welcome. Then Maykel Blanco got up - not to play keyboards unfortunately; but to spout some inanities into the microphone, including a coro that went “Alexander, Alexander”. Genius. Stick to the piano, shortie. It went long and suddenly it was 9pm and the house lights came on.
CH’s Helder was up the back, apparently in the same shirt as at the Trabuco matinee. Sharon had asked me earlier if I was going to see them at La Tropical on the weekend. I said, Oh god no! I fucking hate them. I didn’t mean to be so vitriolic. It just came out. CH + La Tropical on a Saturday night = Some kind of hell. Haila is doing the matinee on Sunday. That might be more civilised. As might Bamboleo at Miramar.
Alexander mentioned something about HdP going to Venezuela: nooooooooo! Don’t leave me!

Los metales del cariño

Manolito y su Trabuco might have the best horn section in Havana. That’s kind of a big call. I mean, I know there isn’t actually a lot of competition out there - a lot of the horn sections here run to the ragged - but those that are good are sizzling. Like Havana D’Primera’s for instance. I wouldn’t want to deny those guys their props. I would have put Pupy’s in there once but now, without Chocolate (Canada) and Uyuni (HdP), I’m not so sure. I’ll have to hear Bamboleo’s again to know how theirs stacks up. People say La Charanga’s is good. I’ll have to take their word for it.
Galiano wasn’t that crowded for Trabuco’s habitual matinee. You know, not empty but a far cry from the melee at Christmas time. Of course none of the gigs have been that crowded, except HdP’s matinee. And Alain Daniel’s Capri, hilariously enough. Not sure how many of that crowd were there for the music though.
The DJ played all salsa which was awesome, especially as Trabuco didn’t come on until after 7.30.
Some of the professional dancers, Ramoncito et al, were there with a group of foreigners - maybe one reason why the DJ was playing salsa. The extended stage that Combinacion de la Habana had on Saturday was still in place and later on I wondered if it was there to cover up the gouged up tiles which I noticed on Friday night: they looked like a fatality waiting to happen.
There was all kinds of fancing rigging as well - for the night’s “Havana Show” - some kind of PMM thing I think with dancing girls and house music and lights and blah blah. Something I wouldn’t be going to.
Trabuco have recorded about six songs as demos for a new album (that I know of) and the show was all about roadtesting estrenos. Only La noche, Locos por me Habana and La Habana me llama were from the back catalogue; everything else was new. Oh wait, the one about doing stuff around the house (or not doing it), I think that’s from the last album. Amaray mumbled something before one song that sounded like “por Alexander Abreu”, so I whipped the camera out and hit record on the video. He might have meant Alexander Abreu de Sello LA. Jaja. I shall endeavour to find out. It was sung by Mayami, who was commiting his usual fashion crimes (see photo) and it sounded pretty good.
There is no doubt that Trabuco have a new sound, or nueva honda, as they say here sometimes. Of course they’ve had it for sometime - it’s just taken a while for me to let go of the old band and accept the new. Now that I don’t expect that much from them, I’m not as disappointed. There were still some things I hated in the repertoire, but there were some things I liked too, and I might like some other things more if I hear them again. I really hated La noche when I first heard it - and the inane lyrics still drive me insane (“fiesta” and “amanezca” do NOT rhyme; and just because Amaray has done it, that doesn’t make it all right, Mr P.F. Gallo) - but it surely does kick arse live. As I mentioned, the horns are pure joy, and they get a little boost from David Bencomo’s lovely flute.
There were guest appearances from Michel, the singer from Adalberto’s band - he’s been getting around and he’s pretty good, but not good enough to get me to Miramar on a Wednesday night; Charanga’s Helder on piano and a guiro player who I think is from Azucar Negra.
The band was missing Miguelito Pan con Salsa - in Canada conducting a workshop apparently - and Riveron, who is sick - again! Not sure what is wrong but I hope it isn’t pneumonia like last time and I hope he gets better soon. The eminently capable Andy Fornet of La Reve was sitting in on drums. What a country this is, when someone of Riveron’s calibre needs replacing, and the back-up is someone like Fornet. Jeez.

Bencomo and some pals were all hilariously drunk afterwards and ready to party something fierce but I was starving - truth be told, I'd been thinking about the tasting plate at my favourite local paladar pretty much all through the gig, so we slipped out of their clutches (quite literally) and skedaddled up to San Rafael.

Big fun

Combinacion de la Habana with Eugenio on vocals.

Busy couple of days. That’s good I guess. Makes up for some of the time I lost trying to sort shit out and recover from the golpe of my arrival. In the last few days me and the Smoke Monstress have had the opportunity to see five different bands, all varying degrees of good.

Saturday, I finally got to the Combinacion de la Habana matinee at Galiano. The previous Saturday had been some special thing called “La comparsa de los feos” with a special deal for uni students and I thought it might be a little bit too crazy so I postponed it. Today it was busy but not crazy.
We had gone for an early dinner at the Hanoi, as I remembered the frijoles negros as being really good and the Monstress is a vegetarian (they weren’t that great, but the crispy-skinned pollo asado was fantastic; not so good for her but great for me!) and bumped into Reve’s Dagoberto in the street who told us they were playing on Galiano on Friday - yay! Hope nothing stops me from seeing them this time. It would blow to have to leave Havana Reve-less.
Anyway. By the time we got to Galiano, CdlH were already on stage - and what a stage it was: they had installed a massive extension over the stairs - like a catwalk but twice as wide. Don’t really know why. I mean the Galiano stage is big compared to some (Cafe Cantante, for instance), and if you use the stairs, which most singers do (Alexander never does) it brings you closer to the audience. Whatever. This brought the singers really close to their audience, which was mostly girls, in the front row anyway - the guys were all up the back getting drinking rum.
As is usual for CdlH, it was mostly Cubans cutting loose (not working) on a Saturday arvo. Good ambience. And the band sounded smoking. Really. Funky and pumping and full-bodied. It’s too bad they don’t seem to be able to replicate the sound in the studio: most of their recordings sound a little messy. I don’t know why. I was disappointed that my old mate Ricardito was missing from the line-up. In his place was a blanquito from Azucar Negra: he had always been under-used with them, I thought, so it’s no surprise he left. He’s not bad. Probably should have left his shirt buttoned up though.
Later on singer Julian told me Ricardito has gone back to Son Yoruba, which seems like an odd career choice. They’re gigging round town, so I’ll try and catch them, or I’ll go and bang on his door on Neptuno and have a chat.
CdlH didn’t seem to have any new songs, but man, they are so totally bailable. Had a great time, although the ending was marred by the appearance of some fully lame reggaetoneros whose name I didn’t get. Wow, they were just like, total frauds. Really bad.
The sexy pianista from Azucar Negra also got up for a guest spot as did a corista from Paulito’s band, sans shoes from some reason. I said to some chick next to me, what happened to his shoes? she said: he took them off! No shit, Sherlock. I guess it was a stupid question, but you know, it seemed so random. Her name was Nancy and before long she was laying all that jinetera (not in the prostitute sense, in the take-advantage-of-the-foreigner sense) shit on me: “I want you to come to my house and meet my family.” Jesus fucking christ why would I want to go to the house of a complete stranger and meet their family? I never understood why this is a pitch. Is the object to just completely derail you so you go into shock and go along with it?
Instead of saying: “I’d rather open a vein” I mumbled something vague then she said, where are you going after this? I said, oh we’re thinking of going to La Tropical. She wrinkled her nose in disgust (no foreigners there to exploit I guess) and said, Your friend said you were going to Dos Gardenias. Ah, Dos Gardenias, the place of mi gente, the farandula de Salon Rojo. I told her I would never go there ever. (Also the Smoke Monstress did not say that.) There was more that was distasteful - been a while since I had one of these encounters. They’re pretty standard when you’re a newbie, but my method of pretty much ignoring everyone all the time has served me well in recent years.
Hey, hay que cuidarse.

Last time I went to a night gig at La Tropical, the band went on at 11pm, so we went off to see Salsa Mayor about 10.30. Que lastima! When trombonista Omarcito greeted me, he said they weren’t on till midnight. Wah-wah. Recorded music was mainly reggaeton with Me mantengo. The dapper MC came over and got our details, then called our names out over the PA. Actually I thought that was cool. Come on, it’s La Tropical!
We sat on a cement ledge (such luxury!) fanning ourselves with a frond I had ripped from a plant (outrageous profligacy!) and by the time the band hit the stage, a bit after 12 I was so tired. They gussied up the stage with the MB logo and screens overhead, and an extended bit for the singers out the front. Yordi looked hot (a touch of the Idris Elbas, I said to the Smoke Monstress); the band sounded good as well. We were behind the brass section; Omarcito was doing little pirouettes, whirling his trombones as he went.
The didn’t seem to have anything new except for El Kilo, although we didn’t stay all night. We saw Anda pegate, La cara de salir pa anda, Que tu crees, Pa cualquiera (always sounds good). At one point Michel turned around and gave his girlfriend the finger cause she wouldn’t get him a beer/rum. She gave it right back to him. Interesting dynamic.
Then they had a cintura competition. Sigh.
First up was, oh dear. She had long dyed red hair pulled back into an almost waist length ponytail with an inch or two or grey showing at the scalp and she was wearing bright pink leggings and oh I don’t know what else. The bottom of her face had collapsed. I suspect she had no teeth. As soon as she jumped up she did the splits. Michel turned his back on the audience and mimicked her to the folks backstage. Pretty mean-spirited and kinda dumb too: just because you can’t see the audience doesn’t mean they can’t see you.
The problem of how to get home had been nagging at the back of my mind and it rose to the fore once the cintura comp got into full swing. I decided we should get going and start the search. As we walked down to Casa de la Musica a full bus outward bound from Havana swung around the corner on 41 and a bunch of people hanging out the windows yelled something unintelligible at us.
Saturday night in Havana.
At Casa de la Musica, Trabuco would have just been starting. We didn’t go in. I know, I know. How things have changed. But you know, matinee on Monday for $10 instead of $15, and I’m paying for two at the moment. And they have that fucking song out now that has cowbell all the way through it. What is this, fucking Cali?

Tumbao Havana: Maikel (left) and El Morro. Pascualito (background).

I’ve had a nagging sore throat, so I’d passed by the international pharmacy at the Sevilla to buy some vitamin C on Saturday. A sign in the window said it was open seven days but another one said it closed for fumigation. Inside I could see a woman sitting down, her elbow resting on the counter as she chatted to someone. Obviously not Spider-woman. On Sunday I went back and they had my favourite effervescent “Tropical” vitamin C tablets, then I went off to Marbis’s house to help her solve some Mac problems. (The Snow Leopard updates installed successfully on her MacBook, but SL went into negative minutes during installation on her iMac; still don’t know what that was about …)
We were off to a Tumbao Havana matinee at La Tropical. There was also Bamboleo at Miramar but I knew there would be plenty of other opportunities to see them and may be no others to see TH. I wasn’t sure I had the strength for La Tropical but I thought I should give it a shot. So glad I did.
A taxi was passing right by the casa as we exited it on the street. I love it when that happens. He put the meter on - first time this trip. I could see that the meters now tick over significantly more rapidly than they used to - it cost $6.50 to get to La Tropical from my place. It used to cost $5; even given that he took the long way round - via El Malecon - it probably wouldn’t have been much less than $6.
La Tropical was pretty quiet, which surprised me just a little. I mean I know Habaneros don’t rate TH, but there is usually a crowd for the Sunday matinee, just because it’s a Sunday, it’s an afternoon, and it’s super cheap. Still, it was probably not even a third full. (Salsa Mayor probably only had it at about half full the previous night. The Reve gig a couple of weeks back had been absolutely packed up to the back balcony, from what I saw on the news.)
I saw Abraham there, with a new fade - musical notes - etched into his hair. Totally hilarious. One of the other singers who I swear I don’t even know - the one who used to sing with Chispa - kept smiling at me and blowing me kisses. Perplexing but sweet.
We’d timed it a bit better this time. They started pretty soon after we arrived, but after the opening song Si tu quisieras saber, they all walked off - problems with the sound, apparently, although we were at the side of the stage and getting the same sound they were, presumably, and it sounded fine. Anyway, they were soon back. Abraham and El Morro (Reinier - the handsome one. The really, really handsome one) had been on Disco Fiesta saying they had some new songs (the host had thrown them by saying, and invitados? clearly there would be none, but El Morro quickly said, “sorpresas, sorpresas”), and so they did. One was about “la suegra mia” but I couldn’t catch enough of the lyrics to figure out if his mother-in-law was cool or otherwise (the odds are against her). Of the old songs there was Padrino - what a fucking monster song that is. Ay dios mio. Love it. Also there was Ella no tiene na and I think that was it. Unless there was something really old, cause I’m not so familiar with the stuff before Mambo duro except for Johanna. It was all good though: the brass was a occasionally ropey, which is normal for them, but the singers were full of energy and smiles, which are totally infectious and I was so glad I’d gone. I hope they play again. I was going to stick around to ask that same question but when they played the suegra song for the outro I decided we should hit the calle and look for transport. Alas, even Casa de la Miramar offered no help, as Bamboleo had finished some time before we got there - we’d seen musos with horns slung over the shoulders walking up the street -and almost all the taxis were gone. Ailyn was just walking out and I said, quick! Hide, so Ailyn doesn’t know I’ve been unfaithful to her. Jaja. Anyway, there was a pila de gente on 31 looking for cars, including one group of six. Good luck. Made it easy for us to get a maquina. We waited about one minute. Take that taxi drivers outside CdlM who want $10CUC!
One weird thing is that suddenly a whole bunch of the maquina choferes are young white guys with flat tops. What’s up with that?

Bam-bam-Bamboleo

Wow. Bamboleo are a real band again, instead of a showcase for Tania Pantoja. There is still a showcase for Tania Pantoja, if that’s what you want - her own band plays, under her own name, about five times a week at various venues around town. Meanwhile, Lazarito Valdez has retrofitted Bamboleo to resemble the band of yore, with four singers in the front line - two boys, two girls - and musos all in matching outfits. The Smoke Monstress didn’t dig their yellow and shiny black plaid shirts, but as I am still traumatised by memories of Charanga Habanera in oversized lurex numbers from 1999, I think they looked pretty smart. The two boy singers were bleached blondes, dressed in white pants and shirts with black and silver waistcoats, book-ending the two girls, who wore steel-coloured satin minidresses. Ailyn was wearing to-die-for shoes - pink satin numbers with perspex heels filled with glitter (I would love a peek inside her shoe closet). Halfway through the show, the Smoke Monstress, who had never seen Ailyn before, turned to me and said: “I fucking love her.” That’s pretty much the usual response.

I had dicked around a little at home - in truth the water was off and I had been told it would come on at midnight but when the hour arrived and the water did not, I filled a bucket from one of the taps that magically still had water for some reason, and bathed with the aid of a cup. We got to Galiano about 12.45 and the band was already playing, with Rodney valiantly trying to get more than the four or so couples already dancing onto the floor. I skidded down to the front and Ailyn saw me and gave me a wave. Awwww.

The band sounded better than they looked. Full and funky. It was Ailyn’s turn on lead vocals next. The dance floor was full by the time she was finished. She came down those steps and urged everyone to get up off their asses and onto the floor and there aren’t many who can resists her charms. I don’t know many of Bamboleo’s songs so I can’t namecheck them - over the last decade I’ve probably seen them maybe three times; mainly because I never liked Tanya. The last time I enjoyed them was in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park when the line-up included Vania, Yordamis and Alain Daniel. That seems like some kind of parallel universe now.

Ailyn may not have opened the show, but she pretty much kept it rolling. I always thought it odd that Limonta had this dynamite weapon in his arsenal and yet often whenever I saw Azucar Negra, she would sing only three or four songs. Of course he had Dayan for a while too, who was pretty hot stuff. But I sometimes wondered if she didn’t want - or was unable - to sing more.

It’s clear now that neither of those is true. She sang the bulk of the set, with Rodney singing maybe three songs in total, and the other two singers relegated to coros only. It was a bit odd that she and the female corista were wearing matching dresses when clearly she was the lead singer.

I’ve written before about how warm and charming she is; about her ability to make you feel like you know her; like she is communicating directly to you. What I think I’ve neglected to point out is that part of charm lies in the expressiveness of her face, and her capacity for humour. She’s such a polished performer. As I watched her elicit audience responses, sing coros, despelote, joke with her fellow musos and sing some obnoxious ballads it occurred to me that the Galiano stage - and the Cuban scene - is really too small for her. She ought to be playing Latin American stadiums singing execrable pap to tens of thousands. She has that kind of charisma. Of course I would prefer that she stay here.

When Lazarito got out the keytar, I got nervous; and with good reason. It was time for a couple of big old power ballads; first a duet, then the Cristal song that one day I will learn the name of. The Smoke Monstress thought it was hilarious. She has video if you’re interested. They came back with a funky jam that riffed on Come Together - slightly dodgy but played so well that it was hard to quibble.

They did Ya no hace falta which I will never get tired of; and Gloria, which I guess is one of the first songs Ailyn has recorded with the band. It’s a bit of a weird one, kind of doesn’t really go anywhere, and I hope she gets some better material to work with.

At the moment the band might be better than the material it has to work with. They were tight, with kick arse brass and excellent bass. Lazaro has some good grooves but I don’t know if there is much more than that. I’ll be going to see them again anyway. There is enough there to dance to; and with Ailyn, there is always something to delight.

Trabuco’s Amaray was there and got up for a little turn, as did Maikel Blanco, although he didn’t get an introduction. Emilio from Revé was there at the end of the night too. Didn’t see his squeeze Gretchen. It wasn’t really busy but it was busy enough for me.

I waited to see Ailyn at the end. That’s a tough gig. Everyone wants a piece of her. She knows me but thought I was from France. When I said, no, Australia, her eyes widened. When I said I never used to go and see Bamboleo because I didn’t like Tanya, they widened some more. I said, but you know I have to come now, because I’m a follower of yours. She said, “I know.”

hashtag LOL

I said how do you feel with Bamboleo? She said “Fantastico.”

I can imagine.

* Apologies for the screengrab. Some idiot (me) forgot to put an SD card in her camera.

Rojo-faced

Havana D’Primera had been on the cartelera for Thursday night at Miramar, but when Thursday arrived, “mi tio” on Disco Fiesta told me it would be Azucar Negra, who I want to see, but I don’t want to trek-out-to-Miramar-at-night see. He also reminded me that Alain Daniel was on at Salon Rojo as he is every Thursday. (Salon Rojo never used to be included in the Disco Fiesta guia bailable.) There was nothing at all anywhere else either in the afternoon or at night (Galiano is mostly cerrados and PMMs all week for some reason) and

I thought, well the next few Thursdays I’m here there’ll probably be something else I want to do, because even though Alain has a great band, if there is any kind of alternative to that awful crowd, usually I’ll take it.

I spent the day doing not that much - hey, that’s what holidays are for! - then cooked up a vegetarian stir-fried rice thing for the recently arrived Smoke Monstress and we (re)watched a couple of episodes of Game of Thrones before sallying forth about 12.30. I didn’t want to get there too early because reggaeton + capri crowd = trauma and the P6 helped us out by keeping us waiting on the street for a good 20 minutes. Actually I was hoping for the P9 which would take us to Coppelia - I didn’t really know where the P6 would go, and it only took us to the uni, so we had a bit of a walk, but as it turned out, even though we got there at 1, we still had a bit of a wait. The place was heaving with pushed up bosoms. Many more working girls than clients, sadly for them. The air con was working, but it didn’t feel like it. It was every bit as awful as I had remembered even though it’s been at least a year since I went.

Edith Massola, with ironed hair and a long, loosely belted shirt to disguise, I assume an imperfect body and showcase pretty good legs, came out to do her schtick after the video played the casa’s theme song (that’s new) by the obnoxious Francis Del Rio (how fucking appropriate). Her “gente de [insert country here] followed by [play anthem and/or hit from country while Edith dances]” schtick seemed interminable. Probably went for at least 20 minutes (come on that’s interminable), but the Smoke Monstress, having never seen it, thought it was pretty funny.

A few of Alain’s musicos wandered out while she was still going - the guitarist with the tatts who looks like he’s from a try-hard indie band, the bajista and the pianista/tecladista. I was disappointed to see the latter was not the perky guy of previous years who always sings along to every word and dances his arse off, but when the band arrived, he walked to the front of the stage and took up a position as a corista. The blonde coristas have gone, but so have lots of others; there were only about four members that I could say for certain that I have seen before.

One of the coristas - who was actually very good - was the GF of Alain’s representante; so one of those couples broke up - love to know which one it was: the representante and Alain, or the corista and the representante? Hey kids, don’t mix business and pleasure!

They opened with a slick jazzy instrumental number then Alain arrived in sunnies and a gorgeous midnight blue silk velvet jacket. I thought we had a pretty good spot, then this dickhead dressed in oranged slid his chair back into me and started shuffling around, and brought some more girls to his table - turned out he was a procurer of sorts for a foreign guy and his literally 15 year old son, who had the zombified you get when you’re totally wasted and on the point of throwing up. One of the girls had a mane of long hair she kept flicking from side to side. I felt like I was being whipped by a dead cat. That was happening in front of me. Behind me was the usual procession of people going I don’t know fucking where, pushing me in the opposite direction; it’s like being buffeted by some particularly pernicious wind.

For once Juan Guillermo, the son of the revolutionary (whose name I forget right now), who was a fixture at a table at the front for many years, wasn’t there - I guess now that he has a band of his own (JG), he has better things to do …? Yaeco’ Forever was there though. Without a table. And Randy Charanga.

The band was totally rocking - his band always sounds great no matter what the line-up is. Don’t really know how he manages it. Have no idea who the musical director is. I can’t pick anyone from the current line-up as the obvious choice. Didn’t really know any of the songs apart from Esa muchacha and Que vida mas loca - the material seemed a little derivative to be honest or maybe it was the crowd getting me down. After orange guy went off somewhere then pushed me out of the way to get back into his spot I was over it.

After I snapped some pics, I moved back a bit, but the tiled floor, which has replaced that utterly disgusting carpet was pretty hard on the feet and I felt I’d had on the feet and we left a bit after 2. Richard, my bouncer friend on the door, said: Leaving already? I said, those people are the rudest people in the world. He laughed. I said, dude, I’m serious. He has to work there every night. Of course they are scared of him, because he decides who gets in and who doesn't, so they have to be obsequious. It’s actually pretty funny to hang out with him for an hour or so and watch them all come in, crawling to him. Actually it’s not that funny. It’s kind of pathetic. And creepy.

Friday, maybe a Klimax matinee at Miramar. Maybe not. Piloto has been on Disco Fiesta promoting it all week, even though they do it every week. I think he has some drumming thing on this week, which could mean it’s a good day to go; or a bad day to go. Bamboleo is at Galiano. I think that’s a definite. Well I say that now.

Salsa Mayor is at La Tropical tomorrow night but I don’t know that I like them enough to go out to 41 on a Saturday night with no transport back at 1am.

Oddly the one I’m really looking forward to is Tumbao Havana for the Sunday Tropical matinee. Singers Reinier and Abraham (or Uhbrum, as they call him) were just spruiking it on Disco Fiesta).

Oh jesus I’ve just heard that Alain is playing El Jhonny on Sunday. That place is apparently basically a brothel. He pretty much only plays the Rojo, and when he does play somewhere else (Dos Gardenias, El Jhonny) it’s somewhere just as hideous. Dude, do your bit for el pueblo. Get your arse up to La Tropical.

There is no sign of Revé this weekend. That’s a major bummer.

Havana heat stroke

Timbalero extraordinaire Rodney Barretto can add to his many talents the ability to drum with one hand and scull a beer with the other; literally without missing a beat. Comes in handy when the air-con is broken and you’re dying of dehydration.
It was my first Havana D’Primera matinee this trip because the duel nacional cancelled last week’s and because I was told that it wasn’t happening the week before because Alexander wouldn’t get back in time from Peru or wherever he was, but apparently he did, and I didn’t know, and I missed it. (gah)
Anyway. It was fucking crazy. Van Van were billed to play last week to celebrate Alexander’s birthday - imagine the locura! - and couldn’t make it this week cause they were leaving for the US. Seriously, it was heaving without them.
There were some notables in the audience - don’t remember all the names, Maikel Blanco and an SM cantante (not Yasser this time, but I forget who) Chispa, sans complices, Trabuco’s El Chino, with a compatriot from Camaguey, a trombonista from Klimax whose name I didn’t catch. Probably some others too, but I got there late because I was on the phone to my useless bank in Australia still trying to get my replacement credit card. It’s being held hostage by DHL in Argentine for some reason and the guy at my bank didn’t think I’d be able to get it from them (WTF?) so instead he said, we’ll get you an emergency replacement, hold on while I put you through to Visa, they have offices in every country. Well when he put me through and I heard the American accent I just laughed. Conversation went something like this:
Visa rep: What country are you in ma’am?
Me: Cuba.
VR: [Silence] Will you be in another country?
Me: No. I’ll be here till October 12 then I’m going home.
VR: OK, well I can’t help you with that. [Brightly] Is there anything else I can help you with?
Me: [hollow laugh]

Anyway. I got to Miramar at 7-ish and saw a spot down the front and nabbed it. I’m pretty happy with the sets they’re doing - they do the core of new songs that I’ve been writing about: the two songs you can buy on their own on itunes, and Al final de la vida that is on that Planet Records compilation, plus the two unrecorded ones, then they throw in one or two from the album - Historia Verdadera or Cuando el Rio Suena or Ahora que buscas - there has been no sign of my two least favourites, Ony Ony or Niña bonita so far, so it’s all good as far as I’m concerned. Me siento happy.
The only thing that didn’t make me happy was the heat. It’s hot enough when the place is only half full of jinteras on a Thursday night but llena de gente bailando jesus. There is also the matter of an actual lack of oxygen. I don’t fucking know how the musos keep going. I guess they’re getting paid. And drinking beer.
Miguel the Buccanero “girl” was there - he wears an outlandish folkloric-style costume with an oversized head. He must have been dying in there. Crowd was pretty well-behaved. Lots of Cubans just totally digging it without feeling the need to give anyone else the shits. That’s like, wow. Maybe Alexander draws a better behaved crowd than, I don’t know, Alain Daniel or Bamboleo. Maybe the heat just sapped everyone’s energy.
I thought the band would do one of their short sets but no, Tuesday matinees it’s Alexander’s house, and he wanted to go to the bitter end. I wanted to go out into the street and look for a maquina. I had a headache from dehydration. The house lights were on when I left but the band was still going. Alex had played trumpet for the first time this trip - normally he doesn’t even bother to bring it but today he’d had the mic set up in preparation. They segued from Historia Verdadera to Cuando el rio suena via a Barretto solo and eventual trumpet solo with the band - that is, Yandy on bass, Tony on piano, Harrold on keyboard, Rodney on drums and Napoles on guitar, playing a solid groove that I had never heard them play before but sounded really familiar. Shades of Master Blaster without the Jamaican overtones if that makes any sense (I know it doesn’t it). It was a bit look-at-me jazz but it was at was still pretty good. It made me look.
When I left, none of the cluster of chofferes in the street shouted “taxi?” at me. It was either the low-cut top, the short denim skirt or some combination of both. When I had arrived the guy in the caja had said “eres cubana?” And I had said, “Como?” Then he took my $20 CUC and gave me 10 back, instead of charging me $100MN (half price).
D’oh!!!

Saturday in San Rafael

[Updated]

Havana D’Primera are in Varadero tonight. I’m in Havana. That doesn’t seem right somehow. I probably could have invited myself onto the bus. That didn’t seem right somehow. One of the HdP massive told me they were all going and I didn’t want to take a seat from one of them - not that I necessarily would have - plus, los conozco, but I’m not like best buds with any of them - like I am with Duni for instance. And it’s always a bit weird to be on the bus if you don’t really know anyone well. You have to sit next to someone desconocido for the 90 minutes or whatever it is, and with my shit Spanish (do NOT ask me why I’m not fluent by now. Do. Not.) it’s always a bit awkward. Especially when it’s El Nene and he’s shitfaced on rum and demanding kisses. OK, that’s another story which I may or may not have blogged two trips ago. Don’t think anyone in HdP would be doing that. At least no one comes to mind, anyway.

I got to see them last night, anyway, at Galiano. (You’d think two nights in a row would be enough.) It was busy but not crowded. Pretty perfect for me but probably not as busy as Alexander would have liked. I had a lovely dance with a gent to Parece mentira before they came on. He had a lovely lead. But then the DJ played Bailando en La Tropical and I was forved to leave the dance floor. It was nice that he played all salsa though. Gratifyng to see the Cubans flood the dancefloor for Me mantengo.
The band came on early - before 1, maybe 12.45. The HdP massive wasn’t there, so I was able to get a spot right down the front in the centre. Perfect. It was La Rubia was supposed to be there - it was her last chance to see them - but she was a no show. No surprises in the set, except for a version of Despues de un beso which went for about four days. Nice song and everything but I can think of other songs I’d like to give some to. Don’t know what happened. Alex just got into some kind of groove.
Have become obsessed with Nadie sabe nada (may have called it No sabe nada before - that’s not right). That song is amazing. If you haven’t gone to youtube to check it out; do it now (or at least after you read this post). It’s an exciting - and canny - blend of rumba, jazz, NY salsa and timba. The big band horns blaze and the tricky accents in the verses add a frisson of excitement (pretty sure now that Yandy and Tony aren’t shooting the shit in those sections; think Yandy is guiding Tony through it for some reason; maybe he has just returned from a Varela tour or something).
Maikel Blanco got up onstage to do a little back and forth. Yasser was there in the crowd too. I wouldn’t mind seeing them at least once but they’re totally absent from all the carteleras. I guess they’re rehearsing for the US tour.
Alisa turned up late with the Marsalises - too late to see the band. Bummer for them. I didn’t hang around to enjoy the post-show reggaeton. Big surprise, right? I scooted up Neptuno in my silent sneakers, worn exactly for that purpose. There was actually a cop walking the beat - first time I have ever seen that. I out-ran him.
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Saturday for some inexplicable reason, I decided to go to San Rafael, in the insane heat. WTF? The Fin de Siglo market was unbearably hot and crowded. I walked in, did a circuit, and just thought, whyamIherewhyamIherewhyamIhere.
Walked out and went to the Gran Teatro and bought a ticket for the ECOS flamenco performance for the night, then up to the shop in the … green hotel up from the Capitolio. Name eludes me right now - starts with an S. With heat demanding at least two changes of clothing a day I packed a little light so I needed to get some shorts and another top, and I did.
Walked down Prado - hadn’t even been to this part of town so far, except for the day I was desperately and futiley (?) trying to make an international call - to the Malecon. I don’t usually go down there either because it’s jinetero central and “lady, lady” echoes with every step. But the heat seems to have wiped them out too. A couple of police made kissing sounds at me, which seemed a little inappropriate, but there wasn’t much more than that.
I was headed to Castropol, which La Rubia had recommended to me as a place with a varied menu. It’s a big two storey yellow building on the Malecon and they have an awesome terraza that overlooks the bay, with El Morro to the right and the Focsa building and the Hotel Nacional to the left. There were lovely seabreezes and I kind of lapsed into a dream. That however was as good as it got. I’ve had some bad food here, but nothing that was actually inedible. Until now. I ordered the chilindron of lamb. Wow. I ended up eating the pilaf and mashed potato that came with it and that’s about it. The meat was so tough I could hardly get my knife through it; the sauce was overflavoured and sickening. Obviously should have got some tips on what to order before I went.
Came back and flaked and fucked around so long I suddenly realised I only had 10 minutes to get to the Gran Teatro. I bolted down San Rafael thinking I would never make it. Actually I did, so now I know how long it takes to get to Prado from my house at a fair clip and with every man in the street commenting on your pace as you go. Amazingly the show started on time.
As it turns out, the Gran Teatro is not such a great place for flamenco - the orchestra pit puts them at a distance from the audience, too far for the sound of their shoes to reach us. Of course, if they’d miked up the floor, as is often done for flamenco shows, it wouldn’t have mattered. But the lack of extra percussion made the dancers seems strangely lacklustre, and it was no surprise that they were at their most captivating when employing castanets.
Most of the dancers were very young and there were no men in the company. The choreography was not especially interesting, nor were the costumes, which were mostly traditional.
The band however was pretty smoking. The singers varied from good to great, especially one girl, who came out, did a beautiful dance where she and another girl mirrored each others moves, then broke away to sing. What her voice lacked in power it made up for with emotion. It was a beautiful performance. An older, grey-haired gent was the other stand-out among the vocalists, but they were all good, as were the musicians themselves. The songs were mostly excellent as well. No idea if they were original or not. As an encore they did that little thing where they all stand in a semi-circle and take turns in the centre and I know there is a name for that but I don’t know what it is. One of the musicos - a guy - did a fantastic jittery turn as a dancer (he had come prepared, in his flamenco boots) and even the young girls were more exciting in this part, now that they were at the front of stage and we could hear, as well as see, what they were doing.
Then they were off. It was little more than an hour long, but it was a nice diversion.
A part of me wished I had scabbed a ride to Varadero though.
Tomorrow: La Reve at La Tropical.
#wooh!

Sweat it out

The period of mourning has ended - Disco Fiesta is back on, playing it’s usual blend of execrable Latin pop, reggaeton, bachata and the occasional timba gem. It’s early yet, but so far it has told me that Cristian y Rey are at Miramar this afternoon (meh) and La Reve is at La Tropical on Sunday (yay!). I have heard mutterings that Havana D’Primera are at Miramar tonight - I’ll wait for confirmation, and get out of the foetal position I’ve been in for the last few days. I could do with the serotonin boost.

Los Que Son Son sin Pupy are off to the Oriente today for two weeks. Pretty bummed about that. I’ll miss Duni a lot. He’s a good friend to me here. If those country tours weren’t so hard I’d be tempted to join them but heh, you know: El Noro; Havana D’Primera; La Reve. All those things, for different reasons, make me inclined to stay.

I’ve been staying in and reading a fuckload of New Yorkers. It’s a pretty satisfying way to spend the time really. Working with words all day as I do, the last thing I want to do when I’m at home is come home from the office and read some more, so it’s cool to catch up on some reading here.

That probably sounds weird.

I went onto the balcony yesterday in the twilight. The shops were shut and people were walking up and down, going home, or out, but the street was quietening down. Amid the sporadic sounds of car and bus engines came the insistent mewling of a kitten; at such regular intervals it could have been a metronome. I couldn’t work out where it was from my eyrie three storeys up, then I saw a guy put a tiny black smudge down near the door of the carniceria, where a bunch of cats live (and why wouldn’t you, if you were a feline?). Another cat was just walking inside, disinterested, and the kitten immediately took off in the opposite direction in pursuit of the guy. He picked it up again, and put it inside, through the rails, and walked off. The kitten waddled back out into the street - it couldn’t have been more than six weeks old - mewling piteously all the while. As people walked by, it scampered after them, pathetically. A woman kicked some paper back at it and her friend laughed and they crossed the street. The kitten started following a trio - two guys and a girl - and got as far as the corner of San Miguel. They stopped then and stood looking down at the tiny thing, like, what are supposed to do with this?

Another girl with a plaster cast on one hand and a cigarette in the other walked by and scooped it up, and kept walking up to the ventana, where they sell beer and soft drinks and snacks all night. She came back a while later, still clutching the cat. I wondered what on earth she was going to do with it in this concrete jungle.

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I wish I could find out who you have to pay to fix the aircon in Casa de la Musica Miramar. It’s a sauna right now, for musos and audience alike. When I woke up this morning (ok, midday) my hair was still damp from sweating it out to Havana D’Primera the night before. And that was a night gig - I hate to think what one of their packed Tuesday gigs would be like. Insuportable, I think might be the word.

I almost didn’t make it last night. La rubia was going to call me and we were going to go together but she didn’t call and when I cased the street from the balcony there were no vehicles of any kind, let alone taxis. I eventually hauled my sorry carcass up to Zanja, where a bunch of people were hanging around the intersection for no reason I could see. I was on the point of giving up and going home, after waiting for about 30 minutes when a battered old yellow cab came up. He said he would take me but he just had to go to a friend’s house to drop something off. Oh-kay. That actually didn’t take all night, and I was out there in time to chat to DJ Mandy, who swore to me that he would play salsa all night if he could, but the Cubanos like reggaeton, and to bump into Sharon, an Israeli girl I hung out with here a few years ago before the band came on. She informed me that the HdP matinee a few weeks ago that I had been told wouldn’t go ahead because Alexander was still in Peru, in fact did happen, and she had wondered where I was. Asi es la fucking vida I guess.

La Rubia was supposed to be there with the Horns to Havana guys, or the Marsalises, as I have been calling them (although faltan un Marsalis), but they weren’t present, and it was the usual depressing gathering of jineteras (what did we decide on for the collective noun?), who seemed to make up almost half of the audience. Though I was pleased to see the HdP massive, led by Rosa Baretta was there as well.

The set was different to the previous week, with a couple of oldies - after the kick-arse opening of Para mi gente; they went into Despues de un beso; then - mm, lovely - Mi música; Carita de Pasaporte; the new one I don’t have a name for yet, which is just kind of a fun jam right now, like Pasaporte and the others were when they were new; and the gloriously furious No sabe nada. The closer was Al final de la vida, which seemed odd, but they’d been playing for about 90 minutes and everyone literally had sweat pouring off them. I mean literally - it was running down my face and off my chin. And I had spent two songs shooting video instead of dancing. I think the medicos might have had to carry me out otherwise.

Why does the aircon always break in summer?

I’m going to try and see some flamenco at the Gran Teatro tonight, which probably won’t interest anyone here much. Later: HdP (again) at Galiano. Sorry. But them and, I’m assuming, Reve (I haven’t seen them yet this trip, but I’ve no reason to think they’ve gone downhill in six months) are the best bands here by several hundred country miles.

I’m keen to see Bamboleo with Ailyn, because I always loved her with Azucar Negra, but unless Lazaro has suddenly given up faranduleando to sit down and write some decent songs, I don’t really know how great they’re going to be. Conversely, Limonta has a clutch of good songs, but he has Pavel (shudder) singing them. I guess I want to see both of those bands, but while HdP and Reve are options, they both get bumped. Reve is on Sunday at La Tropical. Hope I don’t get another fucking migraine.

Tanya is playing about five times a week, just as she used to with Bamboleo. I’m interested to know if she gets a crowd but not interested enough to actually go and see for myself.

Also really not digging the salseros’ (Bamboleo, Van Van) “creative” use of auto-tune on their latest songs. Jeez, guys, don’t slavishly copy every dick move the reggaetoneros make.

A veces Pupy

A migraine put paid to my grand plans to see Havana D’Primera in their natural habitat at La Tropical. (Actually that’s probably not their natural habitat - I think they played the Casas de la Musica for some time before they ever played there, but judging from Alexander’s enthusiam when I saw them play there on Christmas Day last year, he thinks of it as something like that.) I was pretty bummed Not least because it was my second of the week and because I was going to go to Reve at Miramar afterwards and obviously that was scuppered as well. Instead I spent the night in a dark room, dampening the pain with prescription drugs (pharmaceuticals, I love you, please don’t ever leave me).
It lasted right into the next day. La Rubia had arrived and invited me to the Riveria pool, and the thought of cool water on my body was appealing but I bailed and when I went to Duni’s house to deliver him detergent, rice and coffee, I realised I wasn’t up for more than going a few blocks from my house. Even that wasn’t great for me and I returned quickly to my cave-like bedroom, where I lay down and watched a few episodes of Louie. Laughing didn’t hurt my head too much.
Pupy was at Galiano at night, which was probably as much as I could manage, seeing as it’s a 10-minute walk and a 20-minute dawdle from my house and there’s no trauma of hanging around the corner of Zanja waiting for a taxi wondering if one will come in time.
Reyna, her significant other and I set off about midnight. Lots of streetlights out at the moment, especially in that first few blocks on Neptuno from Belascoain onwards. It was my first gig at Galiano since arriving and it was a bit like coming home, although none of the bouncers recognised me, but the guy in the box office did (I notice the same woman has been working in the shop since at least 2002 as well).
Duni had told me that Pupy has been getting big crowds, he said last Monday at Miramar was packed and one recent Saturday at Galiano there was a queue down the street and round the corner. Bit quieter tonight, but not too bad. Sunday nights are often quiet down there.
There was a group of girls doing a routine to Manolito’s La Noche when I got there. I thought they had dispensed with the floor show though maybe it’s just that I usually get there so late. This was just depressing. About eight girls in faded jeans shorts, crop tops and leg warmers with amateur hour choreography and no dancing chops at all to speak of. It was like some lame suburban high school routine. It was worse than that. I can’t imagine what people who come to Cuba believing it to be a cultural mecca of music and dance make of it. They would see better dancing on Glee. And that’s not right.
Duni was exhausted from cleaning and painting the flat in preparation for the return of his wife who had been in Portugal playing with her group for a few months. I bought him a Cristal to shore him up and he disappeared to warm up. The band came on around 1-ish, opening again with Timba a Pogolotti. Dayan comes on first singing, then El Noro comes on and sings a couple of lines, then Dayan finishes it off. Joan (El Dibu, I think his nickname is) doesn’t get a look-in.
The interminable Bombones was next. Still a good song, but you know. (See first post from this trip, and any post where I talk about El Noro singing with Pupy for more.) Joan sang La Bala de Billy - the only old Pupy song in the set apart from Pogolotti (as opposed to the only old Van Van song composed by Pupy, if you know what I mean). A little disappointing for me. If I were to choose one song from Pupy’s back catalogue, it wouldn’t be that one. Joan’s voice is very thin and small. He’s really a nice guy but I have no idea how he got a gig in this band.
Dayan came back to sing Vino a comerse La Habana. Sounds much better now that Rusdel isn’t singing it. Having said that … I have always championed Dayan. He was great with Charanga Forever and in Azucar Negra - he and Ailyn were a terrific double act. But he’s not really up to carrying a whole show, which he has to do here, from my POV. Still, at this point it’s a relief to see anyone proficient in the frontline.
EL Noro sang Parece mentira - so the set was different from Sunday at La Tropical - and not even he can fuck that one up. That’s a beauty. Then there was Pirolo (? that’s what it says on the copy I got from Duni, not sure of the name). I was pretty knackered by the end of that one. I’d had a hard 24 hours, and indeed a hard week, with money problems not completely resolved and still niggling.
But the next song was the moronic yet lovable La loca (not to be confused with Loco con una moto) and I was up dancing again. Sat out Loco though. That last vowel makes all the difference. They close with a snippet of Pogolotti now. The curtain came down and it was time to saunter up a darkened Neptuno.
The band had a week-long tour of the Oriente booked for the 8th. Pupy called a meeting to say that because he had a medical check-up due, he wasn’t going. The band briefly rejoiced - those country tours are hard. The celebrations were short-lived. He added: but you guys are going. Get ready guajiros, for Los Que Son Son, sin Pupy. Maybe the new album should be called A veces Pupy, instead of Siempre Pupy.

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A big-ass general from the revolution died yesterday, cancelling all music gigs for two, or maybe three, days (reports vary) for mourning. Whatever. I had yet another migraine yesterday so I'm pretty blue and right now and too scared to go out into the light in case it sets off another one (don't even know if that's what does it) and am just sitting in my dark bedroom reading New Yorkers and rewatching episodes of Archer, which always make me laugh.

Of course I am bummed about Havana D'Primera's regular Tuesday gig being cancelled. It's Alexander's birthday. Would have been a big one.

Alexander's good medicine

Havana D’Primera for the first time tonight, at Miramar. Alexander had been in Peru without the band and didn’t get back till late on Tuesday, so their usual matinee was postponed.

We left a bit earlier than I normally would have, but it’s not such a bad idea given how hard it is to get taxis round here late at night. The street was pretty bereft of cars, and then after 10 minutes two vacant taxis arrived at once.

The place was teeming with jineteras, which is pretty normal for a night out there. (What’s the collective noun for a pack of jineteras? A negocio? A transaction? An irritation? A molestia? Maybe it needs to be earthier - how about a bustier, a brassiere or a thong?

A bustier of jineteras. That has a nice ring to it. Irritation is more accurate though.)

Had a good chat to Mandy, the house DJ who had read the props Alexander had given him in the last interview I did and was over the moon. Mandy is such an overwhelmingly positive guy it’s always a delight to talk to him. He invited me to go to some course he’s giving in DJing in a couple of weeks. Will try and check it out.

It was a good crowd but not packed. Quite comfortable. Cucurucho was in the house, and maybe some other VanVaneros - not sure as they didn’t make themselves known. Had a nice dance with Reyna’s squeeze to Me mantengo but most of the music was reggaeton. hashtag sadface.

Band didn’t start till after 1 and they arrived with a bunch of sound problems, with almost all the musos scowling and gesticulating at the hapless sound guys. The first song was Para mi gente/No me importa, played at an absolutely blistering pace. I can see the policy of doing a “suave” set for the night gigs that was in place during my last trip has disappeared.

The sound on stage can’t have been too bad because I was right down the front in front of Alexander and it sounded pretty good. It was loud though and no doubt was distorted and shitty up the back, like usual. Al final de la vida was next - all of the songs were new, only Historia verdadera was played from the debut album. Carita de pasaporte followed Final, then a song I’d never heard which sounded like a work in progress, then another scorcher, No sabe nada, a cyclonic force, which you can see on youtube, as they played it on the summer tour of Europe.

I think they only played seven songs, but they didn’t play much more than an hour and there were three invitados - a guy from Muñequitos, Michel from Adalberto, and Cucurucho, who got up for Verdadera.

I didn't mind the shorter set - the air conditioning was on the blink and it was too hot. But the music put a smile on face and got my hips moving and reminded my brain why I had come here. It's not to try to get comfortable between the springs of a crappy bed at night and eat beans and rice everyday. It's to be moved - physically and emotionally - by incredible music.

All the regulars in the band were present which was great to see - there are few better sights/sounds than Rodney and Keisar going at it together on drumkit and timbales. I also get a kick out of seeing bassist Yandy and pianist Tony talk seemingly random shit while playing ridiculously complicated chord changes and bloques. Fucking hilarious man.

Maybe it’s the normal shit that trips these guys up, like, I dunno, cooking an omelette or putting on their pants one leg at a time.

It’s Alexander’s birthday next Tuesday, apparently, so that’s gonna be one hell of a matinee. Tomorrow they’re at La Tropical at night, which I wouldn’t normally go to on my own (Reyna has a prior engagement) because it’s just impossible to get home from at 1am (slightly less impossible at 10pm, on a Sunday). But Reve is playing at night at Miramar, so my plan is to run from one gig to the other. I can do it pretty fast on my own, probably in 15 minutes. I dunno. I might bail and not go to either. It’s a bit of a risk wandering around the Havana suburbs on your own. I’ll see. It’s HdP at La Tropical. That was awesome last time.

Gah! La Habana!

Pupy played on Monday night. I didn’t go. That’s so wrong on so many levels. But my days here since I arrived on Saturday (a day late) from Toronto at 10.15 have been far from uneventful.
In Toronto when I presented myself to the boarding gate the Air Canada guy told me, “they’ve taken you off the plane”. I had been allocated a seat that morning in Vancouver, but the place was in chaos due to cancellations of all flights to the Eastern seaboard of the US, thanks to Hurricane Irene, so I guess it’s not surprising that someone fucked up. “I’m not even gonna ask how that happened,” he said. And put me back. It didn’t occur to me that if I had been taken off, probably my luggage had been too. It occurred to me when I arrived in Havana and waited until the carousel emptied with no sign of it. Two others were in the same boat. The system was down and by the time the trabajadora had taken all our details it was 12.30. I went outside where an even more horrible shock awaited: I dug in my bag to get my wallet to get some money from the bank.
No wallet.
I emptied the contents on the floor.
No wallet.
I was a little distraught.
I retraced my steps but thought the most likely thing was that it had been lost on the plane or even in Toronto. Big fucking bummer. In Havana with no money whatsoever and no way to get any. The supervisor of Terminal 3 kindly used his phone card so I could phone my lifeline, Martin. I got a taxi to his house; he paid for it, and I stayed there the night. Emailing and calling Australia on my mobile to my fantastic friend Helen to call the bank and cancel everything because the reverse charges number doesn’t work from because there is no agreement between phone companies here and there.
Jesus.
Didn’t feel like sleeping but had not slept more than four hours in about 40 so I dozed off; Helen rang to report back, and finally I went to sleep to the muffled thump of the reggaeton from the nearby El Jhonny (it’s now called Rio something).
Woke at 9, Martin made me coffee - lo más importante.
He lent me some money - none more valuable than a frugal foreigner in Havana! - and dropped me at my digs where the place was in an uproar because I hadn’t yet arrived.

A phone call to Duni (conguero with Pupy, if you've forgotten) elicited the information that Pupy was playing La Tropical. Exhausted but totes going. Went to his place and plundered his absent wife’s wardrobe (she’s playing with a band in Portugal for three months or so) as I had only what I’d worn on the plane - and one spare pair each of socks and undies.
Reyna, a DJ from Washington was already in my digs (there are three apartments) and had been in town since Friday, but hadn’t realised Pupy had played the previous night at La Tribuna for Fin del Verano. She was pretty pleased that they were playing again but not so thrilled that it was at La Tropical. Nevertheless we sallied forth just before 7 - a bit later than intended - and walked to Zanja to find the usual taxi palaver. Of course after almost 10 minutes of futility, two vacant ones arrived simultaneously. Claro.

Manolito’s La Noche was blaring out of the sound system when we pulled up and the substantial crowd were more than primed, having been there for most of the afternoon and already seen Conjunto Arsenio Rodriguez (I still want to see them one day) and some other band I didn’t get the name of. We walked into the side stage area with no problem at all, mainly I think because the real backstage area seemed to be on the far side of the stage - this, at least, was where Pupy and the singers were. El Noro was sporting white shorts, white jacket, no shirt and red braces and tie. Hashtag whatthefuck.
Just after 7.45 they started, so we timed it well. They started with Timba a pogolotti - I guess now that they have a new hit with Loco con una moto, they have a new closer. Most of the stuff was from the new album, Siempre Pupy, which is to say that some of it, like Ni bombones ni caramelos, was old. (I still wonder who the hell wants to hear El Noro shout through it when there is an awesome version with Pupy and Roberton already recorded.) Also on the setlist: La loco, which I recorded a piece of last year (it’s on my youtube page). I recorded the whole thing this year. I still think it’s kinda chaotic and idiotically lightweight but it’s appealing. Also from the new album: Pirolo, Mi musica and Moto, which they closed with. At least I think they closed with it. Duni had said they would finish at 9, and when Moto started at just over five minutes to, I suggested to Reyna that we leave early to try and find transport. Well, like football crowds, and baseball crowds I guess, and whatever, a bunch of people had had the same idea before us and the street was already filling up. We still ended up walking almost to Casa de la Musica before a taxi pulled over and picked us up.
It had been steaming in La Tropical’s little valley - that place is like a terrarium, with its own eco-system of gyrating abuelas with peroxided hair and tight black jeans. With its hard floor (what is that? cement? granite?) it’s pretty punishing. I arrived home pretty exhausted.

I was still preoccupied with my problems and rang the airport about midnight. A friend had been ringing all day with no response but I tried and amazingly someone picked up and more amazingly, she spoke a bit of English. She said she thought my bag had arrived, but she didn’t want to say for sure until she had spoken to a colleague (don’t know why) and to call back in an hour. Well you know what happened in an hour (at 1am no less). No one answered. Then someone picked up, then hung up immediately.
Time for bed.
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Monday morning bright and early I called Air Canada and spoke to a guy who seemed to know what he was talking about. He said the bag had “probably” arrived and they would send it to my house and it would be delivered at 11.30am. Well that came and went. I gave it an hour, before calling again. He assured me it would be there “within minutes”. That turned out to be 1pm.
I was pretty pleased to see it but as soon as I saw it I knew it had been tampered with - the lock was not where I had left it and I was pretty bummed to find out that €470 had been stolen from it.
I mean as soon as I realised I had forgotten to take the money out before I checked it, I knew that was a possibility, but it’s still a bummer when it happens. Especially when you have lost your wallet with all your tarjetas. And it’s still a crime to take something that isn’t yours.
The lock was intact and I didn’t know how you open it without breaking it, but within the next couple of days, I got reports from two different people who said people they knew at the airport said they get a pin and open the teeth with it and then it comes apart (you know like a broken zipper), which is why the lock was all the way round the back of the case instead of in the centre where I had left it. When they have what they want, they knit the teeth back together again.
What’s the lesson? Hardshell baggage with snap locks, kids - zippers be damned!
File under traps for (not-so) young players.
Gah.