Categories
cuba salsa

That’s what I’M talking about…

Just came across this Youtube video entitled, Reggaeton in Cuba, 3 hot girls dancing in a disco.

The first two girls dance about as well as I might hope to dance one day if I keep practicing 30 mins a day. (Oh let’s face it, I’m dreaming.)

The third girl, especially when she gets going, looks to me like a professional dancer. She is awesome!

The band is Charanga Habanera, timba geniuses, and according to the debate on Youtube, the dance is known as reparto. But it looks like what we in the UK refer to as reggaeton.

Dale reggaeton!

Categories
cuba salsa

Maikel Blanco Y Su Salsa Mayor

Maikel Blanco y Su Salsa Mayor (Maikel on keyboards)

(Yes, I’m still going on about Cuba…)

I finally found the name of the salsa band who played in Casa de la Musica the night I first took my teenage daughter to Galiano in Havana. Yes, naughty me, I passed her for 18 when she’s only 14 and introduced her to a world of loud timba music, the best dancing in Havana, the raunchy dance moves of Bustamente and Yoandy who were grinding away with their latest dance pupils (who we met weeks later in Oxford), the Cuban hottie who tried to get my daughter to fall for him…and to this amazing timba band Maikel Blanco Y Su Salsa Mayor, who had us mesmerized.

Their hit son “Esto Esta” (This Is…) is my FAVOURITE salsa song to dance to. I hear this and I have to dance…

Here’s the video of “Esto Esta”:

Categories
cuba salsa

Soneando en Oxford – Claro Que Si!

What a pleasure last night to see a halfway decent homegrown salsa band – Soneando.

The creation of a Bristol-based keyboard player, Sara and two British conga/bongo players, Soneando also feature Jimmy, a Columbian bass player and Cuban tres-player and frontman (I think they called him Jesus…?). Yesterday they added in a terrific singer from Santiago de Cuba whose sultry, high voice blended brilliantly in the harmonies with the two male singers. It was a set of classics of Cuban son, but with groovy piano lines and pretty-darn-good improvisations.

They were as good as any small (i.e. non-famous) band we saw in Cuba. Seriously.

After dancing son all night, David and I felt as though we’d been at the Casa de la Trova in Santiago de Cuba – another place with zero air conditioning.
I went to talk to the lead singer afterwards. “You guys were great!” I said. He shook his head, embarrassed. “No…we were RUBBISH!”.

A Cuban from Las Tunas, he was amazed and then sceptical to hear that I’d liked Las Tunas, through which we’d passed on the bus to Santiago, about two months ago. Jesus has a nice line in stage patter – in English too. He likes the word “Wha’eva”.
Categories
raves

Big Brother Is Back

For the love of God, let me not be tempted by Big Brother this year. It’s wicked and venial and I know I shouldn’t participate. It’s bad for me and wastes hours of my time.

I’d love to join those smug people who don’t watch it and go around being very lofty about their non-participation.

Arggghhhh…but I’d rather not…I wanna be one of the people who are having fun, especially on eviction night!

It’s not easy being a Catholic and a hedonist. More or less constant temptation! I must ask my brother-in-law for advice – he’s really good on loopholes in canon law.

Categories
raves travel

When You Just Have To Go To Bali

On the phone today to my brother-in-law in Perth, Western Australia, I found myself once again being drawn into one of his hedonistic schemes.

It’s my family’s turn to make the trip across the planet so that we can all spend some quality time together. But Paul has a better idea. It seems that there’s been a distinct shortfall in his family’s experience of sumptuous luxury this year. They’ve been slumming it in their suburban house in Perth, where they don’t even have a swimming pool, poor things, watching goanas try to find cover in what used to be a wild back yard, as builders put up the cheapest possible (I’m assured) extension known to Western Australia. My sister has had to do all the decorating, whilst Paul is kept busy by his nascent biotech firm.

There’s been a serious lack of pampering, of decadence, of perfumed air, gentle gamelan music and serenading musicians as you eat lightly steamed fish with flavours like lemongrass, saffron and mango. There’s been a shortage of surfing in conditions that Paul explained to me (in detail) were nigh on perfect between March and December.

“You want us to meet you in Bali,” I guessed.

“The Hilton,” he said, “wasn’t quite luxurious enough last time.”

Last time, I remember arriving at what looked like a modern-day temple of extravagance, being met from the airport limo by gorgeous young women in sarongs who placed frangipani flowers in our hands and gave us warm, lemon-scented towels to soothe our fevered brows as we endured the hotel’s checking-in process, pressing chilled glasses with tropical fruit mocktails into our weary hands.

Paul continued, “Since then, it’s been taken over by someone else and they’ve turned the decadence up a few notches.”

“I don’t think we can quite run to the Hilton,” I said. “The Melia?”

Paul checked with my sister. The answer was no. They’d been to the Melia. It’s not up to the job. But if we choose to slum it, they’ll be down the beach at Nusa Dua, where we can visit them. In a proper hotel.