10/22 - Nós Somos Muitas

Clandestino Botnik. The bestest festival in the world. Summed up thusly for your aural pleasure:

BCUC - Sikhulekile

Let's begin with the unrivalled kings and queens of the festival. Bantu Continua Uhuru Consciousness. Quite possibly the best live band in the world. Everyone says so. If you don't, you're probably just a little behind.

 

 

HAEPAARY - Born by Irreproachable Gorgeousness

While BCUC was a dear reunion, HAEPAARY was the great new discovery. At a festival priding itself of its leftfield, experimental, global bookings, this Korean duo took the strangeness prize. Combining ancient court music from centuries-old dynasties with electronics, crashing cymbals and klackety woodblocks, they sounded like nothing I've heard before, and if there's one thing I want from music these days, it's to hear something new. I will be listening more to this, I know.

 

 

Ayom - Ayom Manifesto

What started out as perhaps a slightly underwhelming evening gig with slightly too nice and tasteful bossa, gathered significant speed as darkness kept falling, one of the band members started tap dancing, the singer just got hotter and hotter, and ever since the festival I've not been able to get this song out of my head.

 

Lorena Álvarez y los Rondadores de la Val d'Echo - Manolo

The last gig of the festival was a veritable love fest. Remaining bands and audiences alike crowded into an old community hall where three of the most charming spaniards alive drank wine, read lyrics and sang partly whimsical, partly stunning acoustic songs from the stage, framed by a 'Liberty, Equality, Fraternity' banner.

 

Selda Bağcan - Yaz Gazeteci Yaz

Ending with the beginning. I knew what a fantastic festival it would be when already halfway through the first concert I had tears in my eyes. 73-year-old protest singer Selda, who's done more than one prison term for her activisim, limped out slowly onto stage, and during the concert had to take several rests on a chair while her band entertained the audience with sing-along to Bella Ciao. But when she sang – oh my, how she sang. A septuagenarian really shouldn't be able to have a voice like that. Shivers.

Don't write in the suffocating language of fame

Don't write about the roses in your garden

Don't write about the the young unjust hands of murders

Write about those dying in the east without doctors

Write write journalist write

Write write sir write