WOMAD Day 2 and Roundup

Joyful. Sad. Grateful. Awestruck. A mash-up of emotions… that was WOMAD for me – my first ever, and what a year to be there. On the musical front, an astounding line-up of musical talent. From an almost 80-year-old Amazonian queen, to a 23-year-old Kiwi soul singer with the voice of a man twice his age and frame. From an 18-strong band and choir bringing ancient Taiwanese songs to life on stage to a mesmerising Irish accordionist plus poets, dancers and storytellers. The brilliance of WOMAD, too, is that from the over 40 artists performing, many play multiple times, so if two of your favourites clash, then no worries. You’ll get another chance. The WOMAD app was also a godsend, allowing you to highlight your ‘must-sees’ and pinging you a reminder when they are about to play.

There were plenty of surprises. Quite literally in the case of the brilliant Janis Claxton dancers, who popped up all over The Gables lawn to bring us a series of duets, forming sculptures with their bodies that spoke of love, lust, jealousy, attraction. It was if we were the ghosts, standing all around unseen as they lived out their romantic melodramas and intensely intimate moments, each couple blind to anyone but each other. At the end of each, one partner would nonchalantly pick up the ‘suitcase’ ghetto blaster and disappear into the crowd, where they’d pop up again. Another couple, another set of intense emotions.

There were plenty of musical surprises too. You thought you’d get me up off to floor to EDM? No way. Yet there I was, on Saturday night, along with thousands, rocking out across the water from the TSB main stage, cheering and hollering as Dutch-Kiwi band My Baby smashed out their intoxicating roots-driven dance music. The audience was ablaze with energy, lights and flags… an army of devotees high on joy and positivity and love.  Earlier I had watched Dona Onete – a septuagenarian Brazilian queen ruling over her adoring audience from a giant armchair ‘throne’. She remained seated throughout – but the audience danced for her. All around me, on a warm still night, a crowd of all ages laughed and sang and swayed to her blend of rhythms from native Brazilians, African slaves and the Caribbean that make up her trademark style of carimbó. The songs appeared to blend seamlessly – oddly enough, reminding me of EDM with the non-stop, irresistible beat that forces you to move and keep moving, way past the point of exhaustion. Dona Onete – this Brazilian legend who began her musical career at 73 – was like an enormous colourful enchantress who watched us dance for her entertainment. She sang of love and sex, of the sights, sounds and smells of her native Amazon region. Her voice is raw and ever so slightly dirty, and while I couldn’t understand the Portuguese, there was little doubting the mischief of some of her lyrics. I glanced to my side at a woman in her 50s, spinning and laughing and raising her arms; a little further on, a dad with a girl of six or so on his shoulders – both also swaying and shimmying along. The crowed pulsed behind, around and in front of me… and on this night, on this weekend of incredible tragedy for Aoteaora New Zealand, we were invincible.

Still earlier in the day – on an unseasonably and searingly hot afternoon (adding to the overall surreal vibe of the event) – I’d seen LA-Mexican band Las Cafeteras at the TSB main stage overlooking the lake. I had spoken to frontman Hector Flores for the 13^th Floor some weeks earlier, so I did have some idea of what to expect. But when we chatted, I hadn’t known how powerfully their lyrics would resonate, how apt they would be. Protest song If I Was President is a musical manifesto calling out corruption, war, and injustice These lines in particular shook me to the core, with sadness and love for this Chicano band who are so clear about how the world should and could be: “Señor Presidente le pido porque/Matan al Moreno con piel de café (Mr President, I ask you why /they kill this person with coffee coloured skin…)

Denise Carlos, in a vibrant blue and yellow dress and her trademark giant flower in her hair, bust out a zapateado (flamenco-style footwork) at intervals, as the band delivered their rabble-rousing, genre-crossing music – a mix of hip hop, folk, Afro-Mexican, San Jarocho (traditional Mexican) music to a revved up crowd.

And right before she sang the haunting La Luna, Hector called out to the crowd that the moon shines brightest on the darkest night. If ever there was a metaphor for WOMAD, this was it. What WOMAD does – unite, celebrate, shed light and love – shone more brilliantly than ever through New Zealand’s darkest hour.

I had to leave early and miss Day 3, which was upsetting. But I want to pay tribute to the artists, and staff, the traders, the volunteers and the organisers. Not just for not backing down, but for making us feel safe, nurtured. For making us feel that even in a world where you can peacefully enter a mosque and never come out again, there is much to celebrate. And fight for.

Maria Hoyle
Photos by Ken Woollett

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