As Bolivia celebrates its cultural identity, Robin Perkins travels to Latin America to witness one of the world’s most intriguing carnivals

Bolivia may well be known for its lofty peaks, its indigenous population and its position as Latin America’s second landlocked country, however, what most people do not realise is that it is also home to one of Latin America’s most colourful and intriguing Carnavals. Once a year the former mining city of Oruro, lying some 200 kilometres south of capital La Paz, is transformed into a sea of dance, music and debauchery — all done in the name of the mysterious Virgen del Socavon.

Now recognised as the captial of Bolivian folkore, Oruro’s carnaval has its origins in a rare mix of catholic piety, paganic ritual and indigenous folklore. The festivities are held in the name of La Virgen del Socavon (Virgin of the Mineshaft), an apparition of the Virgin Mary said to have appeared on the wall of one of the city’s mine shafts in 1789. Ever since, the mining community has paid homage with outlandish parades in her honour. The festivites however, also incorporate indigenous celebrations, such as the Ito festival of the Uru pepople, which were forbidden by the Spanish in the 17th Century, but the people continued to celebrate, concealing their beliefs within Catholic symbolism.

The Carnaval is the highlight of the calender, not only the Oruro community but for the whole of Bolivia, now accepted as Bolivia’s best Carnaval and named by UNESCO in 2001 as a Masterpiece of the Oral and Itangible Heritage of Humanity. The preperations begin as early as November building to a five day weekend the week before Ash Wednesday.

The highlight of the festivities is Saturday’s four kilometer parade through the city by some fifty or so groups of dancers and musicians in outlandish costumes culminating in the Socavon Church where they pay homage to the Virgen and enact scenes between good and evil, the devil and angels. The parade starts at 7am and lasts into the early hours of the following morning, repeated again the next day and ending in the Diablada (Devil dance) on the Monday.

Since the first homage some two hundred years ago the numbers of participents has grown to nearly 30,000 dancers and some 10,000 musicians. Each group consists of teams of dancers and a band, not too dissimilar to the British brass bands, associated with the former mining communities. However, Oruro is no ‘Brassed Off’.

The dances include satirical representations of the Spanish Conquistadores, traditional folkloric dances such as the Llamerada, Morenadas (inspired by the suffering of the black slaves brought by the Spanish to work in Bolivia’s mines) and Tobas, from the indigenous communities of the Amazon.

Each group of dancers has its own specific identity, traditions and dances; some with hundreds of years of history and others relatively recent. Every year the costumes are more impressive, the dances more expressive and the music louder and brasher. The most impressive and recogniseable of these groups are the Diabladas, leading the Carnaval and ending it. They are seen to represent the Devil or to others, the indigenous god if the mountains Tio Suapi, dressed with bright costumes and intricate masks, dancing alongside evil bears and seductive she-devils. They do however, also represent the high society of Oruro, who are able to pay for expensive costumes and the privelege to be the stars of the Carnaval.

Over the weekend of the Carnaval, a normally quiet, poor, alti-plano city fills with tourists from Bolivia celebrating their own folkloric traditions and visitors from all over the world wishing to witness the impressive spectacle.

Another rather less pious tradition is the throwing of water between the audience and the excessive drinking not only of specators but particpents as well. Come Sunday evening many dancers are visibly inebriated, stumbling behind their troops or supported by fellow dancers, not at all helped by their participation in the exhausting parades.

As a local Ormeno said, this year’s Carnaval was the biggest yet and that it continues to grow each year. It represents an economic lifeline for one of the poorest areas of Bolivia where the mining industry is a shadow of its former self and where employment rates remain low.

Every hotel changes its rates from Bolivianos to Dollars, (around seven times more valuable), and every citizen becomes an entrepreneur, selling waterproofs, umbrellas, water baloons, cold beers and food. Alongside this influx of tourists, the city was visited this year by President Evo Morales, on the dawn of his succesful attempt to implement a new Bolivian constiutution on February 7th. Morales showed his own indigenous heritige, dancing alongside the Diabladas and later joining one the marching bands, mainly made up of indigenous Oruroenos, playing along to the joy of the watchful crowds.

Each year the festivites continue to grow and Oruro’s renown continues to spread. Though a Christian tradition, the Carnaval is keeping alive local, indigenous traditions and culture in a country with one of the biggest indigenous populations in Latin America. It has also become an important economic influx for the region with the aid of tourism, albeit concentrated on one weekend in the year.

A number of the Carnaval’s dancing troops are open to anyone who wishes to participate, or those who have the money and time. Many non-Oruroenos have participated in this unique event, however, regardless of any influx of tourists and new participants, the Carnaval remains a celebration of Bolivia’s folkloric and historic traditions.

Photo - Al Taylor

After years of political alienation, Venezuelan freedom fighters show Crystal Chesters how to fight for the right to party

They could have been filming the new Bacardi advert the other night in Blackfriars. There was Latin spirit bursting from all corners thanks to twelve-piece revolutionary salsa band, La Redonda. “Venezuela! Venezuela!” they chanted as the sweaty crowd clapped and attempted to salsa.

Unfortunately I didn’t take the initiative to get on the bar and start pouring shots down the necks of innocent boys. I did however manage to catch up with the band before the show to find out what the ruckus was about.

It’s something to do with Venezuelan President, Hugo Chavez according to La Redonda. His outrageous political performances, in particular his comments on the stench of sulphur that emanates from George Bush, have both mortified and impressed young Venezuelans. He almost assumes the role of an embarrassing parent. In that vein he has become famous for being able to relate to the needs of his poorest people, whether in terms of education, artistic encouragement or job creation. As enthusiastic participants of the revolution, La Redonda were keen to find out about movement towards social change in Scotland.

It was for this reason that I came to be sat patiently with earnest members of Scottish Socialist Youth as the band members barged in late in bright stripy hats brimming with Caribbean charm. I immediately felt pale and boring. They enthusiastically shook hands with everyone and we made our way to the sofas. Carlos Martinez and Alex Acosta stole the limelight while the Scottish contingent sat back and watched the show.

Alex unselfconsciously launched into fluid conversation in loud broken English, “La Redonda, our band, was formed around the time that Hugo Chavez came in to power in 1998.”

“We are more an artistic collective than anything else,” Carlos cut in smiling, with a thick Spanish accent, “We do street art, circus performances, and music.” Alex took over again, “Chavez is our first Leader to care about artists. He provides us with institutions and gives us funding, and TV channels where we can express ourselves!” He flaps his hands around colourfully while elaborating, “There is a huge art movement now — it has blown up!” he chuckles and looks over to the translator sitting with us, for approval; “exploded,” she corrects him.

“Our education system has changed so much, and the art has blown up!” he continues, “We now have the strongest education system in South America besides Cuba. We are taking inspiration from every good socialist movement in the world,” he grabs the air energetically, “and combining it to make our own system. Venezuelans have finally realised that they aren’t all about oil, baseball and bitches!” he grins. I assume he means women; somehow it’s endearing not offensive. Carlos, who has been sitting back, stroking his goatee and smirking leans in, “Yeah, Chavez has made us open our eyes! Before, we just sat around in a dream watching TV because we had no education. We grew up without being able to identify with our president Carlos Andres Perez”

They went on to explain in excited unison that the band was formed as a protest to the economic stagnation and political frustration experienced throughout eighties and nineties in Venezuela while their translator struggled to keep up, “Now we are with the government and we are benefiting from its riches.” Alex concludes heartily.

A member of Scottish Socialist Youth steals a quick moment to throw in a question, “So do you think Venezuela has got rid of corruption?” “No!” Alex zestfully starts, “Corruption is a sickness! Everyone wants to be rich and white! American TV sells us the dream. The only time it’s good to be Latin is in the club!”

The conversation was a whirling skipping rope and I took my chance to jump in with my question; “Obama! Will he change relations between the U.S and Venezuela?” Alex looks me in the eye, “Maybe, but it’s always impossible to tell how a leader is going to turn out. The most important thing is that he is black and that symbolises an international change. He shows that there is hope for everyone.” Carlos adds, “I think many people have good intentions but it will take a long time to change such a corrupt country.”
Alex continues, “Yeah I mean behind Obama there is Mac and IBM and the motherfuckin’ banks. But he is the symbol of a change among the people. In New York, what’s cool is being hip-hop but now there’s Obama, more people are developing a critical conscience because they can see things changing on a large scale.”

Kike, who has been smiling sleepily in his bright orange beret throughout the meeting, awakens and begins rambling in Spanish at perturbed James Nesbitt from Scottish Socialist Youth. It quickly becomes apparent that no one speaks Spanish so Kike turns to the translator who asks the Socialists what they are doing to achieve autonomy.

Finally allowed in to the conversation, James answers, “We are in favour of Scotland becoming a separate state from England. Britain is a huge world power and we don’t want nuclear weapons being stored twenty miles away from here; a third of the soldiers in Iraq are Scottish despite the fact that only one tenth of the UK population is made up of Scots. We don’t want to be part of the British Empire fighting abroad. We can’t have control over our oil either and it’s inspiring to see your example of how things can change for the better.”

Alex looks touched and replies, “We arrived five hours ago and there is this different energy in Scotland to that in England. People here look you in the eye and they talk to you. The U.S. are the motherfuckers with everything and it’s the same for Scottish people in the UK.”

Everyone chuckles slightly embarrassed and Kike moves on to ask what Scottish Socialists are heading towards. James replies, “Well there is going to be a referendum in two years but at the moment with the economic crisis, no one is really very certain and national momentum is slightly against independence.”

Kike continues, “It’s good for us to know what’s going on here so we can take it back to Venezuela with us. We are going to show this meeting on Avila TV to demonstrate to the people what we are doing abroad to support our revolution.” The camera man gives us a twirl in his Avila t-shirt. They all grin and point. “We are having a concert on Thursday night and we hope you all can come,” Kike continues.

The Scottish Socialists nod and say they’ll be there. James thanks the band and comments, “The passion and richness of your discussion was really inspiring and it’s great to see that you are part of a revolution, and it’s real, and it’s happening right now.”

The meeting comes to a close after two hours with a round of applause. The Venezuelans get us to repeat altogether, “Patria, Socialismo o Muerte.” We all shout it grinning. I had never considered myself a socialist but their enthusiasm and nerve was infectious. It was only on my way home that I realised what I had been chanting actually meant; “Patriotism, socialism or Death.”

Unashamed fan Crystal Chesters flags down Jason McGerr from Death Cab in Edinburgh for a chat

Death Cab for Cutie were originally a preppy indie band from Seattle, whose melodic, poetic songs about being clever and confused attracted a large base of wussy fans.

One of them was The O.C’s Seth Cohen, and once Seth fans got wind of “Death Cab” they were financially set — but it wasn’t until the band topped the U.S charts this year with Narrow Stairs that they could be accused of selling out. However, given that the band don’t wear skinny ties or sing songs about going to discos in ball-hugging jeans, perhaps Death Cab have proven that it is possible to maintain integrity at the top.

I begin to understand how they manage this when I encounter Jason McGerr’s goofy smile as he welcomes me into the interview room. He takes his phone out of his pocket to switch it off and for a moment I think he’s going to record the interview too, “Yeah, I’m gonna sue you and use this as evidence!” I want to make a hilarious joke about his susceptibility to money-making schemes but decide to take the more subtle line of enquiry and ask him how Narrow Stairs compares to their previous records.

Jason leans forward and looks up attentively through thick framed glasses, “I think it’s the best snapshot of what we do live on stage. Our records tend to be mellow but Narrow Stairs is pure excitement. Up until now it was always a surgical process. Plans was a little more groomed. Narrow Stairs just has wild hairs and torn jeans,” he smiles fondly at his metaphor. “We recorded on a tape for this one. You can hit tape lot harder than with a digital process. There’s just this raw frenzied feel to Narrow Stairs and the majority of the tracks are made live.”

I ask if Narrow Stairs is a divergence from typical Death Cab material and whether that was a contrivance in order to target a more mainstream audience. “I mean it’s still like a Death Cab record.” He goes on to describe the recording of their previous album, Plans, which was completed in a month in an isolated farmhouse in Massachusetts. “With Narrow Stairs we wanted to take the pressure off so we recorded in our studios in Seattle. It was like doing it in our practise space. With Plans it was more like putting our suits on and going to work but Narrow Stairs was just a hell of a lot of fun.” Yet despite the meticulous effort put into Plans it was the more organic Narrow Stairs that ended up topping the U.S charts.

I ask Jason what he makes of this: “Yeah!” he laughs uneasily, “It was nice that we went up against Kanye West and came in before him. Maybe I’m speaking too humbly about it but the band was going for 10 years without being a hot topic. Still, the fact that by recording by ourselves we could achieve something like that is amazing!”

I ask whether the energy compressed into Narrow Stairs reflects the political excitement of the last year in the U.S considering Death Cab’s overt support of Obama, “I guess none of our songs are about tax payments or anything. But we have been pretty open about our support for Obama.

“Both Chris and Ben played at the Democratic National Convention in Denver earlier this year. I guess there are more philanthropic bands than us but we try and give back to local governments by contributing to musical programmes, grants and scholarships. It just feels good to have a focus towards a great purpose if that doesn’t sound too redundant.” He looks down at his thumbs and smiles bashfully.

“We just want to show that we care about young people in America and the future of our country.” I ask him if there is any advice for young Scottish bands who want to catch the attention of platinum record sellers like Death Cab; “Just tour your arse off,” he smiles, pleased with himself for his familiarity with our nation.

“Getting a bit of praise on the internet and selling a bunch of records isn’t enough. We were really fortunate that we started touring before the internet became such a deciding factor. Now it just takes one fantastic or terrible Pitchfork review to make or break your band. Stick together. That’s the key. Just stick at it.

Any Death Cab fan on hearing Narrow Stairs, whether they like it more or less than the band’s previous work, would probably be convinced to stick with them as their Pitchfork review recommends. So I wonder then what they have next for us. “I guess this album will run its course and it’ll probably wrap up at some point next year.

“There’s talk maybe of a 2010 release. Now that we are buzzing we are definitely ready to start all over again,” he nods pleasantly. It becomes clear that the band’s success derives from mastering and nurturing their creations with skill, intelligence, and barely a hint of smugness. Death Cab for Cutie, on the awkward tightrope between indie and mainstream, have held on to their integrity.