The bill at Saturday's B-Live concert at the Brooklyn Navy Yard was pretty irresistible: Calle 13, Talib Kweli, Sean Paul. Something for all the young Brown grinding masses. And the price was right: free. Even the weather cooperated. Cool enough to evaporate body heat, but pleasant in the outdoor fenced-off Steiner Studio lot. Beautiful moon, view of Empire State Building. All good, right?
But as I looked over the lovely crowd -- mostly 20ish, Puerto Rican, Trini, Bed-Stuy, Staten Island even, gorditos and thug wanna-bes and one of the most annoying wigger couples I've seen in a while (who antagonized everyone on line after we'd been waiting over an hour and almost got their asses kicked twenty times over) -- all I could think of was, damn, do we sell ourselves that cheap? Because nothing in life is free, really.
The concert sponsor, Cuban embargo supporters Bacardi, was everywhere. All the graphics featured the familiar red-and-black bat logo and every artist gave some kinda shout-out to the brand, directing people to the bar (et tu, Talib?). To get the free tickets, you had to submit all kinds of intrusive information to a website, including your correct address (to have the paper tickets mailed to you, something that seems downright anachronistic until you realize it's the address they wanted).
Was the concert good? Aside from the non-system for entry (why did we wait 1-1/2 hours in a crushing crowd though there was plenty of room inside?), hells yeah (thanks for the tix, Ada!). Calle 13 (alas, we caught only the end of the set) gets even better, a full band rounding out their already thick sound, with a theremin, even! And yeah, a shirtless Residente (see pic at right) was nice, too. Talib Kweli, one of the few rappers who's caught my ear in the last couple of years, flowed urgent and fun, managing the crowd energy like a conductor. Only a puffy Sean Paul was a bit of a disappointment -- the vocals and the singing seemed to run on two different time tracks. But the backup dancers, with burning orange hot pants and monumental mulazos, were mesmerizing.
But figure the same concert had cost $75. Our information, now endlessly available to Bacardi marketers and whoever they share it with, is worth lots more.
And now, for something completely different, there was Sunday night's concert at the Nuyorican Poets Café with Cosmic Jíbaro, Fernandito Ferrer and Zemog El Gallo Bueno. The occasion? El Grito de Lares. Which most Latinos in NY have never heard of. And which, to many non-independentistas, seems strange given PR's apparent continuing will to stay enslaved. There was also a march earlier, an annual event.
The crowd? Small, very small (when the 9 Zemog players got onstage, it seemed there were more of them than of us, especially if you counted their girlfriends). But all about "Que Viva Puerto RIco Libre!" The music? Santana-ish Latin rock (Jíbaros), amazing percussive guitar and singing that recalled Tracy Chapman and Jorge Drexler (both of whom Ferrer covered), and the sometimes overflowing cosmic slop (Zemog). Here is a boricua/latino underground, the same consciousness you see at Camaradas, Fonda Boricua and Rincón Criollo. It's not just 60s veteranos. There is a crew that sees the connection between social justice and the call of the drum, bomba y palos y rebelión.
So how to get the kids at the Brooklyn Navy Yard (where many of their grandfathers built ships to fight overseas for a country that didn't want them) to sign up for social change instead of a light-up fan? I only wish I knew.
{photo of Residente at Steiner via www.filmmagic.com; Fernando Ferrer via MySpace]