salsa

Last night, I went to Lyon for the fourth annual Y Salsa festival. A Venezolano, eager to see Oscar d'León, Venezuela's salsa legend and the main act of the night, instigated the trip, and two Colombianos joined in. I went in the hope that a few hours of non-stop salsa would finally help me get the rhythm in my blood. Also, it was a lovely summer night, I had nothing better to do, and someone had to drive.

The festival took place on Île Barbe, a small island in the Saône that has the good fortune of not being a wildlife sanctuary. I'm sure that in the course of the four hours of music, sometimes thudding, sometimes screeching, but always loud enough to split ears, any non-human life was extirpated by the sheer level of the volume and by thousands of feet stomping rhythmically.

Y Salsa stretches over three days, but Friday night was basically just the opening concerts. A D.J. played up until the show started at 9pm, and there were arts and crafts vendors and food and drinks stands, but the space didn't fill up much before the live acts came on.

The first show was a collaboration between Eddy K and The Clan, and it was The Clan that kicked off the night. The eight musicians purport to play salsaton, something I had never heard of before and would describe as pumped-up, no, make that WAY PUMPED-UP, son. The original rhythm had been distilled to its essence, three guys sang and danced, and the beats shot through the roof. The screens of the huge bass speakers pulsated two inches with every exploding sound wave, forcing my ear drums deep into my brain.

At some point, not any calmer than before, one guy started wailing a pathetic Cuban love song, and a few moments later Eddy K entered the stage and started rapping. You could hardly imagine three more different ways of musical expression, and yet it all fit as one. Eddy and his two buddies took over with music somewhere between reggeaton and Orishas style Cuban hip hop. Absolutely fantastic.

After two hours of the most violent noise possible, Oscar d'León and his 14-man orchestra came on stage, lending their overboiling energy to Cuban classics, South American rhythms, and mariachi music. Now the predominantly Latin crowd, mostly Colombians, Venezuelans and Cubans, went totally nuts, pushing and shoving, salsaing on mere square feet of thick mud, and screaming in ecstasy every time their country was named. Oscar worked his orchestra with the fury of a raging animal, extracting soli from everyone on every instrument, playing musical chairs with his musicians. The climax was reached when four guys were made taking turns on the drums and never missed one beat.

By one, the show was over. It was absolutely not what I had expected. I had come to salsa and did not, but I got so much more instead: three concerts in one and a quick trip to South America. All for the small price of temporary deafness.