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Review: The Gotan Project
Usher Hall, Edinburgh, 22nd April 2003
The Usher Hall was not the most propitious venue for something of this kind, being a classical music concert hall rather like a small-scale Albert Hall, complete with dress circle and upper circle. I didn't envy the people up in the gods, but thankfully we were in the stalls. The stage, which is enormous, was covered by what looked like a huge white fire curtain. We sat for ages through the anonymous dub reggae being played through the PA waiting for them to come on stage when finally the unmistakable sound of the bandoneon (the Argentinian accordion), followed by samples of Argentinian speech, the whirrings and warblings of a dub sound system, and the cacophony of a South American marching drum band started. This all still with the house lights on. The sound increased in density as the house lights dimmed, and still the fire curtain didn't raise. Unmistakably, the first track was beginning, and still the fire curtain was in place. Suddenly the "fire curtain" was illuminated by a 40ft image of a woman's face—slightly defocussed, and so over exposed that the only details visible were her lips, nostrils, eyes, and jet black hair. As the giant face mouthed unheard words, the band started their set, and slowly very dim red lights behind the curtain picked out the dimmest outlines of the band behind it: the fire curtain was in fact quite thin gauze, with extraordinarily beautiful images of Argentinian movie stars, dancers, newsreels and ephemera projected on to it—the band barely visible behind it. As the sound swelled spotlights narrowly picked out the musicians, illuminated like ghosts behind the vast moving pictures on the screen, the light reflecting off the bandoneon and the acoustic guitar creating curious mottled patterns amongst the images on the gauze.
The music was unmistakably Argentinian. Acoustic guitar and bandoneon playing swirling tangos fused with a subtle dub backbeat of samples and synthesised sounds more commonly at home on a Tricky or Massive Attack album. The music was gorgeously entrancing, but at this point at the beginning of the set, far more striking were the peculiarly altered and treated images, distorted but not grotesquely, playing over the only barely visible sight of the band, in dark, 1930s South American suits, some seated, illuminated like statues in some Buenos Aires dive, as if preserved in aspic. The music became more and more urgent, and as musicians appeared and disappeared behind the gauze, one minute starkly lit, the next fading into darkness and invisibility, the music began to come into focus after the stunning visuals with which the set started. But occasionally, something new would be introduced visually: a light set low beneath and behind the musicians would cast giant silhouettes on the gauze, momentarily introducing the musicians into the insane scale and focus of the films projected on it.
But sure enough, it was the music which was the highlight. The two DJs, guitarist, and bandoneon player were shortly joined by a singer, a violinist and a pianist. The tangos—the dub and electronica kept somewhat in bay—grew and grew in intensity, until about half way through the set, at a screech of bandoneon and violin, the gauze was suddenly torn from the roof and came rippling down, and there the musicians stood, clearly lit, and a new projection screen behind them playing brighter images of people dancing in the streets. The music suddenly began to more clearly sound like dub, with tango melodies played over it, and then during an astonishing piano solo the music merged into house. Suddenly people were leaping out of their seats, running down the stairs from the dress circle and upper circle, and dancing in any available space—in the aisles, at the back of the hall, at the front of the stage—people everywhere jumping up and down, spinning around, their hands in the air. Some looked, in the oddness of the illumination, as if they were weeping with joy. The set ended with the crowd howling with approval and appreciation. The band soon reappeared, obviously overjoyed at their rapturous reception, and played five more songs—these slightly more down tempo; again the tango very forthright, but backed by trip hop loops and samples. At the end, the band stood right at the front of the stage bowing over and over, thanking us in broken English, but still we wouldn't stop cheering. The guitarist looked over at the lead DJ and they nodded at each other and played a final number: a reprise of Santa Maria this time with Eminem's "The Real Slim Shady" mixed in for good measure.
It was an extraordinary experience. The music was incredible; melancholic, passionate, and yet because of the fusion, also urbane and cool. But it was so much more. Visually, I would have been happy to have sat through many of the projections with no music at all. The whole thing was theatre: the suits, the way they sat, the singer draped against the piano. Everything was perfect. It was the music I went to hear, and it was ultimately the music that made the most impact on me, but I ended up seeing so much more. And what was really gratifying was that the audience so clearly appreciated it, and the band were so overjoyed and thankful to have been so appreciated. Truly one of the best things I have ever seen.
Last modified: Fri Feb 4 04:15:35 GMT 2005Darren Brierton
Photos of Miles Davis and Chet Baker by William Claxton.