Live music in Las Palmas, May 2018

The summer is upon us, and suddenly, suddenly we are spoiled for choice. Here’s mine:

• 20 May: La Hormiga Contra La Abeja @ Fabrica La Isleta, Calle Princesa Guayarmina, 54
  It’s been a while — almost three years! — since the last time I’ve been to a jam session at Fabrica La Isleta. (Come to think of it, that was my first and last time.) The price went up from €2 to €3, which is still cheap, although I find it a bit cheeky to charge (a potential performer) for a jam session. Not that I was up to jamming recently. Timur and I went to see La Hormiga Contra La Abeja (“The Ant vs. The Bee”), the project of bassist and composer Tana Santana. And it was great. My favourite compositions were La Hormiga Contra La Abeja and El baile del vivo. The band played for about three quarters of an hour, then the guests started to join for a jam. We stayed for two standards, ’Round Midnight and Lullaby of Birdland, before heading home (Timur still had classes on Monday). Judging by number of guests with musical instruments, the jam went for at least one hour more.

  La Hormiga Contra La Abeja Tanausú “Tana” Santana Garrido: double bass, voice, composer Xerach Peñate Santana: drums Chago Miranda: electric guitar José Ángel Vera: sax

  

• 26 May: Perinké Big Band @ Teatro CICCA, Alameda de Colon, 1
  Timur and I went to see Perinké Big Band with guests, presenting their new album, Canary Islands Standards for Big Band. The themes were composed and/or arranged for big band by Rayko León. As Rayko explained himself, the goal was to fuse Canarian folklore with 20th century styles, not only those of “classical” big band but also of Latin jazz, dixieland and funk. I cannot honestly say it was a seamless fusion. For example, I was not exactly convinced with songs such as Maspalomas y tú and Mi tierra guanche (those who grew listening to Широка страна моя родная would understand). The numbers I enjoyed the most were Afro-Cuban flavoured La Aldea (with great support of La Parranda de Teror) and Polka majorera. I loved the vintage sound of the orchestra. The musician I was impressed the most was the violinist Raúl Bermúdez.

  Perinké Big Band Ximo Martínez: music director Rayko León: piano Eduardo Naranjo: alto sax Héctor Guerra: alto sax Echedey Angulo: tenor sax Eliseo Bordón: tenor sax Candy González: baritone sax Marcos Pulido: trumpet Juan Antonio Guerrero: trumpet Silvia Jiménez: trumpet Antonio Ojeda “Tonono”: trumpet Luis Hernández: trumpet Orlando González: trombone Javier Herrera: trombone Franklin Cárdenes: trombone Antonio Peña “Ñito”: trombone Samantha de León: double bass, electric bass Samuel Medina: drums Amelia Gutiérrez: percussion Guests Juan Manuel Alemán: clarinet Raúl Bermúdez Cárdenas: violin Moneiba Hidalgo: vocal Lorena Román: vocal Mari Carmen Segura: vocal La Parranda de Teror

• 27 May: The Josés & Cristina James @ Clipper La Puntilla, Calle Caleta
  I don’t know if this is the time and place to bring it up; I’ll do it anyway. I’ve heard quite a few Spanish bands playing what they call “standards”, “soul standards” or “R&B standards” (whatever “R&B” stands for). And here’s what really pains me: astonishing level of musicianship meeting poorly, carelessly selected repertoire. There are thousands of great songs, why oh why they keep playing the same tunes ad nauseam? Is Summertime obligatory? Can we give Stevie Wonder some rest? What Michael Jackson is even doing here? Ah well. The rant is over. The band playing this Isleta Sunset was solid and inventive, the singer has soul and definitely can sing the blues.

  The Josés & Cristina James José Alberto Medina: piano José Carlos Cejudo: electric bass José Víctor González: drums Cristina James: vocal

• 29 May: Efecto Pasillo @ Plaza de Santa Ana
  I heard of Efecto Pasillo before, not so much their actual music though, and had absolutely no idea that they are hailing from our beautiful island. And, would you believe it, I learned that they were to perform on the eve of the Día de Canarias, hours before the show started, thanks to Tamara. And what a show! What wonderful and positive music — just what I needed. The band administered their medicine of “buenrollismo con la precisión casi farmacológica” from 22:40 till about ten past midnight, followed by a firework display.

  Efecto Pasillo Nau Barreto: guitars Javier Moreno: drums Arturo Sosa: bass Iván Torres: vocals, guitar

Hasta luego, Las Palmas. I’ll be back before Christmas.

Galotia Manifest

I’d never heard of this drink until a couple of weeks ago when Tamara and I visited La Feria Ecológica y de Sostenibilidad organised by Cabildo de Gran Canaria. It was a pleasant Sunday morning becoming a no less pleasant Sunday afternoon; a jazz trio was playing; at long last, it felt like real summer.

And there it was, between stalls of organic produce: Galotia Brewery, based in Vecindario, proudly presenting its friendly reptile-themed craft beer. (The brewery is named after Gallotia, the genus of lizards endemic to Canary Islands.) Cervecita! Exactly what we needed.

There were several kinds of beer; we sampled the “hoppy table beer” Manifest which was served in a paper cup — probably the worst type of tableware to taste this beverage from, not to mention its, ahem, environmental impact. (Something to think about for the next edition of Eco-fair, guys.) Atrocious container notwithstanding, it turned out to be hoppity-hop delicious. So we made sure not to leave without a Manifest.

Low alcohol content (3.7%) and high (by Canarian standards) price (€2.10/33 cl bottle) ensure that you won’t get drunk too fast. It’s also virtually gluten-free (<10 ppm), in case you were worrying.

More photos of beer @ Shutterstock.

A Closed and Common Orbit

by Becky Chambers

This book is as much a sequel as a prequel to The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet, or, better, neither of these but something that happens in the same universe. The protagonists appear in the first book only briefly, and whatever happens with them now has little to do with Wayfarer and its crew, and all the better for that. With fewer and better-developed characters, the novel is noticeably tighter and more interesting than The Long Way. Who could think that AI named Sidra (I wonder what’s her favourite drink is) would ever be interested in getting some ink? In one of the chapters called Sidra (there are many and they are not numbered — get used to it), Sidra manages to fool not only her human friends but also the reader. (OK, I confess, she fooled me. I had to re-read that chapter.)

The best parts, in my opinion, are the least sci-fi ones but those that deal with human experiences. For example, this: 19-year-old Jane tastes spices for the first time in her life.

Inside the cupboard were dozens of little jars and bottles, all labelled with words she could read but didn’t recognise. Crushberry leaf. Ground huptum. River salt. She didn’t understand.

Jane stared at the hard little clumps. This . . . wasn’t food. She didn’t know what this was. She sniffed it. Her sinuses shot open in response. Timidly, she stuck out her tongue and dabbed up a few of the mysterious grains.

Her mouth exploded, but oh, stars, in such a good way. Everything was hot and sharp, but delicious, too, and smoky and dry and — and like nothing she’d ever tasted. Nothing ever. She licked up the rest, not caring about the pain that came with it. The pain almost made it better, in a weird way. Her eyes watered and her nose cleared. She was the most awake she’d felt in days.

Rather disappointingly for such a good start and middle, when two quasi-parallel stories — one in the past, another in the present — finally meet, a rather predictable happy end follows suit.

The Nothing That Is: A Natural History of Zero

by Robert Kaplan

I just finished re-reading, with many long breaks, this book. The first time I read it was on my 2006—2007 New Year holidays in Stockholm and Helsinki. This time I enjoyed it more.

Zero, nought, nil, null, zilch, cipher... So many names for something that isn’t there. We take zero for granted, but it wasn’t always the case. The ancient Greeks had no word for it — or maybe they did? Odysseus introduced himself to Polyphemus as Outis (Οὖτις), “Nobody”; three thousand years later, Prince Dakkar followed his example by adopting the pseudonym Nemo.

Kaplan brings together mathematics, physics, history, philosophy and literature in a marvellously poetic way. Just listen:

So long ago in Greece, when Socrates was young and Parmenides old, the latter laid down a challenge we have sought ever since to pick up. All you can think, he said, is: ‘Being is’. You cannot think non-being, nothing, the void. Using negation, he told us we cannot use negation. All we can think is ‘Being is’. We cannot think motion, change, difference, past or future, here and there, you and me, since each requires thinking ‘not’. We can only think: ‘Being is’. How easy to trivialize Parmenides by teaching him to suck eggs: you cannot outlaw negation and proceed to use it. But Parmenides was a poet, and you miss the music if you point out to a poet that his love isn’t really a red red rose. Parmenides wanted us to stop talking and listen. Like the background hum from the Big Bang, Being pervades. It fills and is the world.

Two millennia later Leibniz heard what he said and recognized with joy the fullness of things. There were no gaps, there was no void, the small became smaller but never nothing. Just as the numbers were choked to bursting with numbers, the world they described was so silted up with beings that it was a continuous whole, a garden whose every leaf was again a garden.

“A Natural History” of the subtitle is a bit of a misnomer though.

Claudius Ptolemy (2^nd century AD) used the modified omicron, ō as “Hellenistic zero”.

The Hindu–Arabic numeral system, complete with zero, reached Europe by the 11^th century.

In Mandarin Chinese, 〇 (Pinyin: líng 🔊) is a word for number zero.

More photos related to numbers and sea glass @ Shutterstock.