L-R: Triniti, Kes, and Maximus Dan (captured by the bf)
It cannot be helped. I am a slave to the dance.
I call this a review of sorts because I’m not a very good recorder of life events. Not in the conventional way at least. It’s not what you would call a strength. I like to say that all I know is in my head. And that’s what this is–a review of what was in my head the night I went to see Kes the Band, Triniti, and Maximus Dan at Temple Bar last Saturday (May 10. 2008).
My childhood in Trinidad may not have been typical, but like any true Trini, I love a good fete. A party. I live for it. And by good fete I mean plenty winin’, dancin’, jumpin up and wavin’ and misbehavin’.
Dance kills the overthink, you know? It’s primal. You just move. You don’t think. You lose yourself in the vibes. You just let the vibes ketch you and you let them take you. It’s pure. It’s vital.
It represents one of the biggest holes in my life here in foreign.
Saturday night was more of a concert than a fete, but it had the same vibe as a good fete, and isn’t that what really matters? Hearing Kes, Triniti, and Maximus Dan in a bar two blocks from my apartment in Santa Monica was the little piece of my home that I was desperately craving.
It was the first time I’d heard all three artists live and they really exceeded expectations. I brought a string of American friends with me and I can’t say I wasn’t a little nervous as to what their reactions might be to Trini music. The beats per minute, as one friend pointed out, tend to be a lot more than the American ear is used to. And I’m not so good at explaining. I honestly don’t think they knew what they were in for, musically. They were probably thinking more along the lines of reggae, Bob-type stuff.
But Trini music? It’s hype, it’s fast, it’s non-stop. To me, it’s so infectious that it’s impossible not to get caught up in the energy. I live for those moments when I am just in it. I was hoping the friends would just “get it” and let it wash over them and love it as much as I do. Luckily, I think they did.
Kes, man, Kes was great. A consummate entertainer. He knew how to work the foreign crowd. He taught them to wine, explained the significance of the legendary soca/ calypso superstars. He made it accessible. All the things that I struggle to express about what being a Trini means to my identity he presented effortlessly on stage. I felt that my friends had the opportunity to learn more about me, the real me, in that one night than a million conversations could ever accomplish.
Do you understand, people? This, to me, is the heart of my Trini-ness. The root. My adolescent years did not consist of going out to bars and getting drunk. I went out and I partied. In the true sense. At least three times a week from the time I was 16 and every summer and Christmas I came home from college. Every Carnival Monday and Tuesday, this is what it was about. In the streets. Chippin’ down the road. I dance. I wine. I sweat. It’s my stress relief, it’s my release, it’s me. This is me. There’s no ambivalence. You start up the music and I’m there. Pure and unadulterated. Do you know how rare that is?
To me, that was the real beauty of the night.
I walked into Temple Bar and Triniti was going, sexy glow stick costume, dancin up a storm and I was gone. It doh take much. Some of the friends had to stop and stare at the dancer girls’ rubber waists but me, I just let the music take over, I let the dance embrace me, and that was all I needed. I was in it.
And Maximus Dan–what a presence. Another one to get the crowd going, but also to get to the heart of the matter. A message worth hearing. Love Generation had to be my favorite (listen to it here).
It’s impossible to live in foreign for any length of time and not see your country and your culture from the view of an outsider. That happened too. And I still loved it. Positive vibes.
I never realized just how happy and positive music from Trinidad is. It’s peace. It’s love. It’s community. It’s family. It’s yay Trinidad! At the end of one song, Kes bawls out: Trinidad, we love you! My friend asks if it was some kind of national, Trinidad song. I thought about it for a sec and told her, actually no, pretty much all songs from Trinidad are about how much we love our country.
In that moment, I reaaallly loved my country. I don’t always. I miss it. But it’s not perfect. At its best, soca music represents the ideal of Trinidad society–how we wish it could be all the time. Happy and dancin’ and lovin’ up and everybody is your family.
My hands were in the air. I was waving my rag (actually, my zip-up) and jumpin and wavin for the whooooooooole night. I went outside to smoke a cigarette and I still couldn’t stop jumping up and down like a mad ass.
Honestly, the amount of in it I was in it probably made me look more like a tourist than a Trini. My winin could probably use a little practice. Now I can admit I was a little over-excited. If my friends from back home were there I might have toned it down a little. But in the moment? I was too in the moment to care. It happens too infrequently for me to study how foolish I look. It wasn’t about that.
It’s funny how it all comes together, no? I start this blog to explore my relationship between me and where I’m from, and here ups and comes an opportunity to do more than just intellectualize it. Far, far, far, away from home, I felt all over again what it means to be a Trini. That hasn’t happened in foreign for a long, long, long time.
All in all, a bess night.
For those of you in LA who missed it, Kes the Band is playing tonight at Molly Malone’s in Hollywood. You should do it.
