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Jazzmandu 2005, Day 3: Latin with a Nepali accent

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When it comes to offering foreigners the familiarities of home, Nepal is decidedly Impressionistic.



Bakeries from the cities to the high mountain trails sell brownies, burgers and bagels of widely varying appearance and taste, but all blurry renditions of their American counterparts. Not necessarily worse; it depends on how a person feels about eating pizza topped with yak cheese.



Phrases like "hot showers" and "high-speed Internet" need liberal interpretation. Those $9 North Face jackets and $2 new-release DVDs are as corporate approved as their Chinese counterparts. Signs may read 7-Eleven or feature the Golden Arches, but good luck finding a Slurpee or Big Mac inside.



To be sure, imperfect emulations are equally bad in the U.S. So-called Nepalese restaurants seem to offer Indian food and a couple poor imitations of local fare. The staple food here basically a tin plate of lentil soup and rice; those 10-section platters with assortments of vegetables, meats and curries are nowhere to be found in Nepal except for restaurants only Westerners can afford (although it's worth mentioning one in Pokhara, the country's second-biggest city, serves a massive feast that ranks among the top five meals I've encountered on the planet).



But Nepali restaurants and import shops are scarce in the U.S. compared to the rampant Americana in the Himalayas. The Annapurna Circuit, Nepal's most popular trek besides Everest Base Camp, is known as the "apple pie" trail because of the continuous procession of huts selling it and other Western comfort food. Want a Snickers bar upon reaching the 18,500-foot summit? No problem; they're sold in a tiny hut along with far more nurturing butter-and-salt tea (don't knock it until you've tried it in the proper setting, which doesn't include Starbucks).



So I don't have high hopes for Latin night on day three of Jazzmandu 2005, Nepal's biggest jazz festival. Among other things, Nepalis don't have the temperament.



I have never encountered people as universally friendly, a constant amazement given their terrible hardships and various indignities Westerns inflict. All those empty plastic water bottles and bits of used toilet paper along mountain trails aren't from locals, and porters carrying staggering loads for a few dollars a day are constantly subject to abuse from trekkers ( my encounter with it, ending in what might called a hostile takeover in mid-trail, can be read here).



Admittedly the sincerity is often questionable. One learns to ignore the always-cheerful greetings from every local on the streets of Kathmandu as the inevitable intent is a transfer of money. But when money isn't involved or something's already paid for—say a meal and a night's lodging at some family's hut—the smiles, friendly words and offers of service are unflagging despite what must be exasperating challenges. Imagine a 10-member hiking group each ordering different Western-style dishes that must be cooked in a single-burner kitchen, all before feeding one's own family (here's a thought: find out what the family is eating—probably those lentils and rice—and go with the flow).



(By the way, if one feels I'm indulging in too many personal rants and parentheses there's a reason. Nepal is one of my five favorite countries on the planet, even if I wouldn't recommend it to one Western traveler in 20 and in reality don't know as much about everyday life as I probably imply. But as a writer attracted to all things quirky, there's endless material to expound on. Apologies and time to get to the relevant stuff).



Jazzmandu's "Red Hot Latin Jazz" night featured many of the local and foreign bands playing throughout the eight-day festival gathering for what was largely a jam session at the luxurious Hotel Yak And Yetti, just down the street from King Gyanendra's palace and "King Burger" fast-food joint. By any standard it's a four- or five-star palatial hotel for the wealthiest of tourists, with brightly-lit shopping promenades that could be mistaken for Caesar's Palace leading to a cocktail area and ballroom that could pass muster at the New York Hilton.



A ticket costing 1,300 rupees (about $19, or more than a month's wages for an average Nepali) included a free starter drink and buffet of Indian, Thai and Mexican dishes (a cut above the typical hotel-banquet safety of boneless chicken breasts, if something short of gourmet—but a pretty good bargain by Western wallet standards). About 100 or so people half-filled the ballroom for the two-hour performance, most appearing to be foreigners, dignitaries or expatriates.



As for the music, expectations of something a bit different from the norm came true. Two comments from listeners afterward are ideal representations of whether that's a good or bad thing. One woman said she didn't really enjoy it because the playing wasn't suitable for dancing (there were seldom more than a handful on the dance floor until maybe 20 rose for the finale). Another gushed about the opportunity to hear true development and creativity from the musicians, unlike popular music designed to make money by emphasizing steady beats and short lengths for the largest possible crowd.



Put me in the latter camp, since too often I find large Latin ensembles overly dense and offering little discernible to the ear beyond dance rhythms. This felt more like a evening for the musicians and listeners wanting exposure to a different flavor of their talents.



Opening somewhat low-key was the Quebec-area duo of vocalist Carmen Genest and classical guitarist David Jacques. Playing non-Latin standards like "Ticket To Ride" and "Misty," Jacques' guitar fed a mellow undertone of the genre into fairly consistent strumming and note-picking. Genest held center stage throughout with even-volume but wide-ranging vocals and a decent amount of interlude scat, supplemented with some minimal percussion (a snare drum at some points, hand slaps on her lap at others). It was pleasantly listenable, but felt like a warm-up act; one audience member expressed concern about being in for an evening of dinner jazz.



That vanished with the next act.



A drum/percussion trio anchored by Nabin Chettri, the festival's founder and a player who's shown strong ability for getting the most from familiar and visiting musicians, performed a no-holds-barred jam of varying driving Latin beats, dialing it back at one mid-point for the sake of breathing space before a final assault. It felt more like a street jam than something for a room of linen-covered tables and - while describing nuances of their techniques is beyond my analytical abilities for this type of stuff—it's fair to say each got some quality time to strut a lot of them.



"We're going to invite more musicians on the stage," Chettri said, perhaps his most uttered phrase of the festival as the two sets that followed started with small ensembles and kept bringing more performers aboard. The ensuing "A Night In Tunisia" didn't hit the same heights, however, as the larger group meant a more controlled arrangement. But the drummers reasserted themselves with powerful backings and long solos on "Blue Bossa," ending the set on a lively note.



A rare (for me) opportunity to appreciate Latin contributions from other instrumentals came during the second set, with saxophonist/flutist Mariano Aballa in particular cutting through the mix well with strong work ranging from rapid complex running trills to edgy and well-spaced contemporary bursts. Norweigan gutarist Bjorn Solli and bassist Rajan Shrestha were playing licks more in line with West Coast blues than Afro/Cuban, but somehow they managed to be a good fit. Generally, there was good communication between everyone, knowing when to dial it back for others and when to pour on the group treatment.



A reggae composition near the end was somewhat lackluster and the finale (don't have the names) something short of the evening's best, although as noted it had enough life to get extra dancers up for a final go on the floor.



Like many Jazzmandu events, this one ranks as successful on a local level for providing music rarely heard here, and gets something of an extra boost from the musician-centric approach and opportunity hear something different from players fast becoming familiar to listeners attending multiple events. It loses points for inconsistency, but not enough by small festival standards to make it one of those "off-nights" to which all events seem to succumb to at least once.



There is no question that day four will be an "off-night," however, as no evening performances are scheduled. But it will be one of the two most anticipated days of Jazzmandu personally, as the lone event is a free concert in a popular historic square—the first opportunity so far to see how the masses react to jazz in a country with so little of it.



Continue: Day 4

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