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Concert Review
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eyeweekly.com, Concert Review >>
After a free and frantic show that jammed Yonge-Dundas Square, one would be forgiven for wondering how Serbian beats-and-brass alchemist Goran Bregovic could expect to fill Kool Haus at $45 a head the following night.
While not quite at capacity, it appeared that the proceedings worked out splendidly for Bregovic and the Luminato festival alike. International superstars pass through the GTA frequently with little mass-media interest, so it’s likely that Luminato’s publicity was able to build a much bigger buzz for Bregovic than an entrepreneurial effort focused mostly on the Serbian community (though Serbs were the clear majority in the crowd judging from the reaction to the songs). Not to mention that most entrepreneurs couldn’t swing a buy-one-(show)-get-one-free kind of deal from a 19-piece orchestra.
Bregovic is an immensely talented film composer, well known for his contributions to the films of Emir Kusturica, but he is a key figure in the sometimes controversial practice of club reinventions of traditional Balkan sounds often termed “Balkan Beats.” With such a vast repertoire and four decades of fame, he attracted a wide-ranging crowd from the GTA's substantial Serbian and Balkan communities, from glammed-up 20-year-olds to Freedom 55ers.
Bregovic delivered one of the best-realized combinations of acoustic and electronic sounds I’ve ever witnessed, and the large ensemble’s many orchestral possibilities were explored with both grace and power. Though this was a big group, it actually felt stripped down. Bregovic’s laptop took care of most of the rhythm programming. With only Alen Ademovic’s double headed bass drum reinforcing the programmed kick drums, the stage sound was unencumbered by high- volume hand percussion like derboukas, which probably made everyone’s monitor mixes easier to deal with. For the audience, however, Kool Haus’ thudding sound system provided a depth to Bregovic’s rhythmic elements that came across far more heavily than his latest disc, Alkohol, suggested.
The rest of the personnel fanned out from the Bregovic and Ademovic at centre: two baritone horns, a string quartet, two trumpets, a multi-reed player, two female Bulgarian vocalists in traditional dress, and a six-piece male choir dressed in tuxedos.
After an opening spar between the string section and the brass that suggested Ornette Coleman, Bregovic plugged in his electric guitar and humbly announced “I am very happy to be here tonight, and I hope you like my concert.” With that, the band tore into his music, setting a pace north of 140bpm. The bass drum simultaneously nailed the beats home while swinging with the baritones. The burnished brass sound blended into the blaring trumpets, who executed their parts with skull crushing volume. And nobody had even sung yet.
The male vocalists, as their attire suggested, were classy all the way, with operatic strength up high and down low. But the real stars were the Bulgarian ladies, who not only hit micro-tonal harmonies with precision, but echoed Bette Midler’s sassy Harlettes or the George Clinton’s satirical Brides of Funkenstein.
The crowd was up for a serious party, though this didn’t preclude vigorous conversation over the more delicate or challenging filmic cues for string quartet and choir. People weren’t just chatting away, they were literally bellowing at each other. And yet they weren’t disconnected from the stage; as soon as a familiar riff or vocal came in, people snapped right back, unlike so many Toronto crowds who are lost forever once conversation starts. Besides, these were good opportunities to hit the bar for fortifications — the ultra-professional band looked as though they had seen this potentially disrespectful behaviour a million times over and summarily ignored it.
Two thirds of the way into the two-and-a-quarter-hour show, it was obvious that a corner had been turned, and Bregovic plunged into an increasingly frantic parade of hits. This happened around the time when a six-foot guy climbed and sat upon another guy’s shoulders, prompting much imitation. The beats got faster and more techno-oriented, stoking liquored-up youth to shout out the lyrics of each song with football-like gusto. In my concert going experience, only Fishbone has ever been capable of working up a crowd like this. When the gabba-oompah of “Kalashnikov” ended the set, the crowd was delirious and begging for more.
The encore comprised a generous 30 minutes of solo showcases, but when everybody locked into a final, righteous Balkan reggaeton-type groove, bliss was achieved once again.
The "world-music cult-favourite" artist label that has been attached to Bregovic prior to this first domestic album release ought to be blown away by this powerful and sophisticated party music. Bregovic is a world class visionary in combining regional folkloric sounds with grand orchestrations and contemporary beats.
06/15/09 >> go there
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