La Plata, Argentina — On a crisp and cloudless, pre-autumnal night in the beginning of March, a little less than a week after Ash Wednesday and the close of Carnival, we stroll under stars that poke through the orange haze of the cities’ light pollution and the towering Eucalyptus trees lining the walkways of El Bosque, La Plata/>‘s “forest”, toward Teatro Martin Fierro. Tonight’s event is a concert by Falta y Resto, a Uruguayan Murga troupe. La Plata/> is the provincial capital of Buenos Aires province and a quick jaunt, about 60 kilometers/>, south of the city. We have come to see the Murga that, along with candombe and milagro, constitutes the Afro-infused musical styles characteristic of Rio Platense (the culture of the people from Uruguay and Argentina who live on or near the Rio La Plata/>) Carnival. I have heard some of this style of music previously; it normally consists of a droning batteria (a group of drummers); snare drum, bass and cymbals; a large (up to 17 men) chorus of vigorous singers who incorporate polyphony and recitative and are dressed in the accoutrement and face paint of Carnival. The themes of their songs are those of folk music; political satire, love, the joy and sadness of the common man and, of course Carnival. As with the famous Uruguayan Murga group Araca La Cana/> during the dictatorship of the 70s, the topics of songs can lean to the subversive and oppositional. There is a playful and rebellious tone to the music which hints at the deeper undercurrents of political unrest flowing just beneath the surface of pop culture in Latin American countries.
El Teatro Martin Fierro was built in 1948-49 near an artificial lake during the affluent Peron years as a summer alternative to the growing popularity of the Teatro Argentino, a trend that continues to this day. It is an amphitheater built in the neo-classical style, like many other public buildings here constructed during Argentina/>‘s gilded past. There is a sense of aging grandeur as you enter through an imperiously arched foyer, walk over its black and white checkered marble floor, (the only real marble in the whole amphitheater) from which the stage structure (made of concrete), is visible. From here, one can also see the beautifully columned and denuded pergola that lines the edge of the theater and rises above stage level as the seating declines gradually toward the orchestra pit. The stage is the center of a larger building that boasts a large dome, ornate floral engravings within a pediment structure, faux ionic columns on either side of the stage and then the receding, ancillary wings which serve as dressing and storage rooms. As we wait an extra hour for the Murga to begin, we drink mate and munch on sweet and salty pastries, glance around at the rapidly filling seats and up into the ceiling of stars.
Martin Fierro and his eponymous Teatro is the most important epic poem of Argentina/>, written in the gauchoesque style. Martin is the principal character of the two volumes, El Gaucho MartÃn Fierro (1872) and La Vuelta/> de MartÃn Fierro (1879). It is written as a protest or reaction to the Europeanizing of Argentinian culture that was encouraged at the time by the president, Domingo Faustino Sarmiento, using rural language and landscape to evoke the true “Argentine” culture as it was lived on the Pampas.
We have come tonight because we could not make it to Montevideo and because we wanted, in some small way, to take part in Carnival. Carnival is taken from the Italian word carnivale “to put away the meat”. It is a Catholic holiday in origin, though the manner of its elaborate costumes, its hypnotic drum beat and its flamboyant afflatus place its true heritage distinctly in the family of African customs. One of these is to have the drummers circle the audience while playing, which is said to bring good luck and harmony to the all participants.
As I look around, I see the slow deterioration that has worn itself upon what must have been a truly magnificent theater in its’ day. The fortunes of present day Argentina/> herself are represented here, in the growing cracks in the walls, in the moss covered columns, and the flowerless pergola. Carnival also is a great metaphor for the current state of Latin culture in the Americas/> in specific and for indigenous cultures in general. The Catholic religion has superimposed most, if not all of its’ holy days over more traditional festivities, as one wears a mask to hide or transform ones identity during Carnival. It has done this in deference to an overriding inclination in all people to celebrate life in all of its raw beauty, to cast off the solemn duties of work and society if only for a day or a week, to flaunt individual creativity while breaking free of our taboos. This inclination is often the enemy of power structures and therefore tolerated in limited capacities. Carnival is not, however, revolutionary. On the contrary, Carnival is the sloughing off of political and social norms. The only active mobilization is toward chaos and mayhem.
The Murga are dressed in the pachuco Zuit Suits of 1940s east Los Angeles. Their faces are painted to look feline or grotesque. They begin the concert by asking the audience, What is Murga? Murga is something vigorous, rebellious, flashy, exhalative, nostalgic. The voices are loud, piercing at times. The singers jiggle up and down or lurch about the stage pantomiming, as if they were twirling flags at Carnival in procession on the streets of Montevideo or pointing out a beautiful woman in the crowd while the guitarist strums simple rhythms off to the side and the batteria stand defiantly from behind on an elevated platform. There is a feisty political number that sounds a lot like rap about the individual problems of countries like Mexico/>, Costa Rica/>, Argentina/> and Uruguay/>. They mention the war in Iraq/> and say they don’t want to sell their country to the U.S./> asking, “Where is democracy?” The crowd is reservedly sympathetic.
There is a back and forth song where people from opposing sides, Argentina/> and Uruguay/>, hurl insults and compliments at one another and everyone is laughing. By the end, the crowd is really getting warmed up. The leading singer, who also does some conducting, encourages people to stand up and start dancing and they eagerly comply. Falta y Resto return to the stage for an encore as the crowd pleads in unison for one more song. They march in procession, stepping down from the stage and out into the audience. They are circumambulating with that touch of African magic, smiling and giving high-fives. They disappear for a while behind the arched entrance and people around me are uncertain what has happened. Did they leave? The Murga suddenly reappears, though their marching line is broken. Here one player is standing on a chair, shouting for the Murga to sing one more. There, another is placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, giving me and then others on down the aisle a warm smile on his way back to the stage.
I am struck by the joy and melancholy inherent in these Latin celebrations. Festivities are encouraged to break limits that our solidified and, by comparison, Puritanical northern culture could not accept. The police would have to be called in, along with the tear gas. We do not seek out such an experience on this edge between ecstasy and death. We save ourselves for private functions, in the comfort of our own homes. We do not demand that the authorities and what’s more, life, submit, if for only a fleeting moment, to our demands. Maybe we should.