They turn out the lights.

“Vamos?” he says.

“Sí,” she responds.

Through the darkness an airy, synthesizer-based tune begins.

In time with the music, white squares are projected onto the wall. The squares make lines. The lines become shapes. The shapes start spinning and changing colour.

In front of the projected images, computer screens light up the faces of a man and a woman. Both are wearing button-up shirts, pants and boots. Both of their heads are bouncing to the beat.

These two people make up Los Automártin, a musical and visual performing duo based out of Buenos Aires.

Fully booked when visiting Berlin but relatively unknown in Argentina, Los Automártin are getting set for a show at home in the capital this month.

The pair, 31-year-old Martin Duarte and 26-year-old Sonsoles Romero, say creating and playing this music is their “passion.”

“We’re doing something that we would like to see ourselves,” Duarte said. “This was the idea of the project. To create something that we would like to see on stage, musically and visually.”

Having worked together for two years, Duarte says he was the assistant director and she was art director when they met on the set of a “terrible” movie. Lifting his left hand to show his ring, Duarte adds that they fell in love, married and now produce their light and music show together.

“We call this our first child”, he said with a laugh.

Their show, a labour of love, mixes visual elements with sound to create a mood. The content, both video and audio, are all original.

“VJs kind of do what we do, but they often play images from other people,” Romero said. “We make all the animations, the videos, the production. We think of the music we’re going to do, the design.”

Their melodies flow along common chords and songs build on musical themes.

The visuals that accompany the music move in time with the tempo and occasionally with the melody. Often based on rainbow colouring, the pictures range from geometric patterns to belly dancers in kaleidoscope.

The couple both work on the music together. Romero creates the artistic visuals that move on screen with the songs, and Duarte works on production of the presentation.

Although relatively unknown in Argentina, this type of show is more popular in Spain, Duarte said. The two both noted that while in Berlin for a month and a half in 2010, their weekends were booked solid.

“Here [at parties], it’s more, ‘Boom-ch boom-ch boom,’” he said. “We like more of a melodic presence, that there’s a melody. The music has more air. There’s more room for filling and listening from the spectator.”

Working in offices during the day, Duarte and Romero spend much of their free time working on new songs and visual shows together.

“Typical office from 9am-5pm – typical work,” he said. “Work is the method for the entire project, perhaps something that supports our project. But, for example, we create all our own music – we’re not DJs. And perhaps, if we didn’t have this work, it would be much harder, and we might have to be DJs or something, because this can’t support us.”

The pair are heading off to Berlin again in 2013, taking off in February and spending three months playing their production and seeing the sights.

Step inside El Cubo theatre and you instantly feel miles from the Almagro street that surrounds it. The building is single-storey and arranged in a square around a courtyard covered in gravel chips that makes you feel you’re walking across the bottom of a fish tank. Chairs and tables are stylishly silver and brick walls are low-lit. It’s a combination of minimalism and cosiness that makes for a great small theatre space.

‘La Musa del Capricho’ (The Muse of Caprice) is a tango show with a difference. Forget slicked back hair, crisp suits and serious expressions; this 90-minute spectacle brings out a cheeky, fun side of tango you never knew existed. The small cast is comprised of dancers from the DNI-Tango dance studio, founded in 2005 by Pablo Villarraza and Dana Frígoli. DNI teachers see the body as a vehicle for expression rather than just aestheticism. They employ the Conceptual Tango Technique (TTC in Spanish) – a combination of yoga, biomechanics, contemporary and classical dance forms. All of these influences become evident when watching this show.

Fresh from a 2010 tour that included Sweden, Italy, Germany and the States, ‘La Musa del Capricho’ “dwells on those small, seemingly casual details that distance us from some people and bring us closer to others. Every day, in all things, we are moving towards somewhere. This piece hints at the signs of this permanent journey.” If this sounds somewhat cryptic, it is reflected in the ambiguous yet compelling plot, which opens with the Spanish lines: “Nobody knows that I am waiting for you…that I’m very far away.” The action goes onto present various dance-filled encounters that take you through situations of passion, betrayal, sweetness and risk.

The opening scene is reminiscent of Grease’s ‘Summer Lovin’, with a guy and girl both excitedly talking to their friends about the other. Another scene centres round a fruit and vegetable stall and makes the audience laugh out loud. Dana Frígoli, co-founder of the DNI-Tango studio and producer/choreographer of this show, appears as the female protagonist (the Muse of Caprice referred to in the title), caught in a love triangle between two men.

In ‘La Musa del Capricho’, my desire to see some great tango, pure and simple, was more than satiated. Tight and impressive sequences are danced by several couples simultaneously, multiplying the wow factor several times over. In one scene two guys dance together, which harks back to the origins of tango as practiced amongst men waiting outside brothels. The strong tango flavour is infused with interpretative dance (think twirls, lifts and a freer style), made memorable by vividly-coloured dresses and bare feet. Throw in a solo, some lines of poetry, dramatic monologues and a few comic conversations and you have a spectacle that packs more punch than a traditional tango show.

As the performance drew to a close, the audience went wild with rapturous applause and a standing ovation, both normally reserved for much bigger theatres and higher-profile shows. But here it was entirely deserved. The dancing was sublime and the action both intriguing and entertaining. Head down on a Thursday evening to see for yourself. You’d be a fool to miss it.

During the long weekend of March 10-13 the city of Buenos Aires sponsored dance performances in three public parks: Plaza San Martin, Plaza Miserere and Parque de la Memoria. These open air events showcased dance troops and gave the public quite a show. Andy Donohoe captured some moments from the performances at Plaza Miserere and shares them with our readers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay would you cut the cards for me please?”

I gingerly shuffled the deck. And then again.

I’d never played a card trick or even met a magician before, let alone sat down to interview one. With the unexpected baiting each whisper of the shuffling card deck, Ezequiel Pertierra just had one question for me: “Is this your card?”

The 27-year old magician, more commonly referred to by his stage name, Perti, has performed in front of Buenos Aires audiences both on stage and on television in shows like ‘Big Brother’ and also with various Argentine television icons.

“I love the stage,” said Pertierra. “I was a singer in some rock bands when I was younger, I like stand up comedy, writing songs —expressing emotions in art.”

Ezequiel was literally ‘enchanted’ from an early age by famous illusionists like David Copperfield and Harry Houdini.

“Here we had them as TV specials,” he reflected with a smile. “And I felt amazed by them — their stage presence, the music, lights and sounds. It impressed me.”

Pertierra discovered his love for magic, illusions and deceptively slick slight-of-hand tricks.

“When I was 15 or 16, two or three of my friends who went to the United States came back with some magic tricks,” he laughed. “They showed them to me when I wasn’t a magician, and now it is the hardest to impress them!”

Since his beginnings in 1998, Ezequiel performed mostly for family and friends when he began to study to be a professional magician at the school of Boridi and Alex, two known magicians at the time. His pursuit of the profession eventually led him to follow Boridi to the Emanuel and Boridi School of magic.

“My grandmother also met a guy who studied at a magic school here, so she sent me there!”

Although it looks like all fun and games, Ezequiel admits that learning to perform magic is not as easy as he makes it look. One of the most difficult parts about magic is mastering the dexterity behind the sleight-of-hand techniques, and fluidity that makes his optical illusions and close-up magic possible. Perti is also famous for his Houdini-esque escapist illusions, which he executes with the greatest of ease and a little comedy on the side.

Coupling his love of performing with his passion for igniting amusement, Pertierra began entertaining his family and friends as he mastered the magician’s touch. He began expanding his routine, his audience, and even experimenting with magic a different language.

“I have studied English all my life, I once performed magic for my entire school in English,” he smiles at the memory. “Now I have had a lot of experience at corporate events doing close up magic for CEOs from other countries who we speak to in English.”

Pertierra feels that being a magician, it being an artist before anything else. A great deal of the magic is in his presentation, the audiences’ experience — the trump card in his magician’s arsenal.

“The presentation defines the trick — not just the lights, and the sounds,” he said leaning forward in his chair, “but in the way you perform, too. My style is funny…I like to make people laugh, great illusions and escapes — big surprises.”

My comical and ambitious host delights in the mystery of magic and the excitement of the unknown, nurturing his dream of one day performing in English at the famous Magic Castle in Hollywood. A magician of many interests and ideas, he also divulges about his other passion, psychology.

Pertierra is also currently studying at the University of Belgrano in psychology. In a couple months, he will be a full-fledged psychologist and would like to begin working in counseling and motivational corporate psychology. Even though he knows that his gift for magic is his true calling, he plays with the ideas of one day fusing his two loves into a mind-bending act.

“I would like to combine magic and psychology to create a new perspective,” he said, fully of energy discussing plans for more elaborate illusions that involve just as much mental teasing as they does magic. “After all, magic has a lot to do with psychology!”

In accordance with rule number one of the Magician’s code, Perti will never reveal his secrets. Only the future will unveil what he’s got up his sleeve next. The only clue he leaves is that it will be more intrigue inducing and bewilderingly fun than before— it won’t be your typical magic show.

The multi-talented and multilingual magician is self-managed and performs mostly in private events for parties along with a variety of social venues, social gatherings, retirement homes and the occasional nightclub. One chance to see him perform live may be all it takes to cast your Buenos Aires experience under a magic spell.

For many gringos, the idea of an open mic night conjures images of off-key hippie types lumbering through clunky Bob Dylan covers in a boho coffee house in some nameless college town. But on Tuesday nights at Gitano Restobar in San Telmo, a rotating cast of porteño, expat, and backpacker musicians turn this stereotype on its head, producing a show reflects the diversity of an international magnet city like Buenos Aires.

On a chilly Tuesday in late June, a dozen groups of musicians and individual performers took the stage to play everything from Spanish-language blues to heavy prog rock into the wee hours. The crowd was similarly diverse, with tables of Argentines and foreigners alike listening to the music over beer and burgers.

The night definitely featured an overabundance of crowd-pleasing covers (everything from Paul Simon to Radiohead to the Kinks), but the overall musicianship was markedly high. And while the performers and the composition of the crowd obviously change from week to week, this kind of musical and cultural mingling is exactly what musician Bronson Tennis, 26, had in mind when he started the event last December.

After arriving in Buenos Aires from Philadelphia, Tennis noticed a conspicuous lack of US-style open mic nights despite the city’s huge arts scene.

“There are so many musicians in BA: the porteños, the expats like myself, and the backpackers,” he said. “I saw that there was a need for people to get together and play, either beginning musicians who needed stage time or more established musicians just to get to meet each other and collaborate.”

Tennis had been playing a weekly solo gig at Gitano, and approached the owner about starting an open mic. Early performers included friends he had made while busking on the Subte and recruits from local hostels. The event has slowly built an audience, and now features a handful of regular acts.

With a legitimate raised stage and a full sound system, performers bring their own instruments, allowing them to branch out from the more standard acoustic fare often featured at open mic nights.

Slots are first-come, first-served, and this particular Tuesday they filled up quick.

The first act of the night was Tennis himself, who went on a little before 11 and played a crop of Jack Johnson-style originals in addition to a few covers, including ‘Just Like Heaven’ and ‘Folsom Prison Blues’. He eventually invited the rest of his 3-piece band on stage, who form part a core group of musicians that have frequented the open mic night for a while, lending each other a hand as back up musicians and doing duets throughout the evening.

But the night also featured many acts that seemed to have come out of left field. Highlights on that front included a Haitian backpacker who crooned a soulful cover of Lionel Ritchie’s ‘Hello’, a four-piece Latin-infused jazz band, two yanquis who did a rousing cover of ‘Because the Night Belongs to Lovers’, and a porteño three-piece comprised of two teenagers on guitar and a middle-aged man on drums (none of whom were related to each other, apparently).

While the bulk of the performers were clearly talented and poised, Tennis said that part of his goal is to create a space for upstart musicians to cut their teeth.

“I think it’s really important for beginning musicians to be encouraged, to be given a chance,” he said. “Making people feel safe to play music is really important to me. I hate when beginning musicians are put down or told to give it up.”

The open mic night happens every Tuesday at 10pm at Gitano Restobar, Chile 424 esq. Defensa. Bring your own instrument; house drummer provided. Entrance is free.

“Theatre in the dark? Why not just listen to the radio?”

Before having been to any of Buenos Aires’ surprisingly broad range of ‘blind’ performances I didn’t know how to answer this question. At first theatre in the dark can sound uninspiring: isn’t the whole point of seeing a show the fact that you actually get to see it? But after sampling three blind events I found that in many ways the experience was more intense than watching a conventional performance.

The events I went to see (sort of) weren’t just about listening to music or theatre in the dark. By taking away your sight, they aim to stimulate not just your ears, but all your other senses as well. This went for taste and smell in ‘A Ciegas Con Luz’, a show in which you eat dinner in complete darkness while listening to music and theatrical scenes. It went for touch and spatial awareness in ‘Tango a Ciegas’, a tango class that also takes place in pitch-blackness. And it went for your sense of reality in ‘Club Silencio’ a bizarre event in which you are blindfolded and listen to a performance inspired by the surrealist films of David Lynch.

In fact, all of these shows end up stimulating your senses of perception in completely unique ways. It was innovative theatre and I can say with certainty that it was nothing like settling down and listening to a bit of radio over breakfast.

A Ciegas con Luz: Blinded by the light

A Ciegas con Luz, a gourmet musical, is the headline show at Buenos Aires’ Teatro Ciego. The performance, like the theatre itself, is the brainchild of director Martín Bondone and producer Gerardo Bentatti, who were both interested in developing the concept of theatre in the dark since it was born in Argentina in the 1990s. Gerardo had been working since 2001 with Ojuro, a theatre group of non-sighted actors, and he helped create Argentina’s first sell-out blind performance, La Isla Desierta. Martín had a background in both economics and art, and wanted to create a new project, partly inspired by the restaurant Dans le Noir in London, which serves food in complete darkness. The two men got together, and their ideas took off. In 2008 they rented the current space in calle Zelaya, and the Teatro Ciego was born. Now the theatre presents a variety of shows and classes, with different options on offer for both the visually impaired and the general public.

A Ciegas con Luz is the main show at the theatre, and, like all the other performances, it takes place without lighting. The first few moments are in some ways the most intense. The darkness in the room is not the kind that you’re used to in your bedroom at night. It is so pitch black that you cannot see your hand an inch in front of your face. After a few moments of disorientation you do start to adapt to your surroundings, but the fact that you can’t see even the tiniest speck of light gives you the strange sensation of being in a dream. The feeling never really goes away, and for me is the most memorable thing about the performance.

The first part of the show is based around dinner (really the way things should be). Martín tells me that the food is created with two aims in mind: firstly to keep the audience guessing, but secondly not to betray their confidence by giving them things they won’t like. The entire meal is made to be eaten with your hands and exploring the texture of the foods and guessing what they are before you put them in your mouth is part of the pleasure of the experience. Our waiter described eating with your fingers as a “return to childhood” and this proved true on lots of levels, as you are literally relearning how to relate to your food once you can no longer see it (in my case, learning how not to keep sticking my fingers in my neighbour’s desert).

Moreover, being in the dark gives you a strange sense of losing your inhibitions. I found that not only could I eat however I wanted without being embarrassed, I also started talking to the other people at my table in a much more open way than I would have done if I were seated in a normal restaurant with strangers. The actors, both blind and sighted, say that they also enjoy this sense of impunity; they can act and sing in whichever way they want, and no one looks at them strangely, simply because no one can look at them at all.

Some light music is played throughout the meal, but it is only when dinner is over that the real performance begins. The musical show is led by Luz Yacianci, a classically trained singer who blends theatrical scenes with singing and interacting with the audience. She plays the part with great skill and complete confidence. The types of music performed during the show are actually quite varied, from tango to folklore to classical. However, not only does she master the different styles, she also has such great control over her voice that she’s able to throw it across the room, and play with your sense of the space, as you begin to be unsure of exactly where she is. The other four performers have key roles, but she is the dominant force and, true to her name, she really does guide you through the evening like a light.

However, although experiencing all of this in the dark is intense, both Martín and Luz are firm that the performance is not supposed to make you feel as if you were really blind. “It would be scary for the audience and impractical, you would be crashing into tables and would feel unsafe” says Luz. “We want the audience to enjoy themselves and feel comfortable.” The cast stress that they don’t want to make out that the show is anything other than what it is: an inventive and highly professional piece of performance.

A Ciegas con Luz is shown Thursdays, Friday and Saturdays at 9pm at the Teatro Ciego, Zelaya 3006 (esquina Jean Jaures al 700). Tickets cost $100 including dinner and drinks. Much of the performance is based around food and music, so it is accessible to English speakers. However, you will get a bit more out of it if you understand Spanish.

Tango a Ciegas: Dancing in the Dark

Tango classes at Teatro Ciego take place on Wednesdays and are open both to monthly subscribers, and curious visitors who just want to try out one class.  In many ways the idea is quite self-explanatory; you go into the same darkened room in which A Ciegas con Luz is performed and you learn to dance tango.It might seem that the tango is quite difficult enough without the added problem of not being able to see your own feet. One of the two instructors, Pablo Ugolini, who has been dancing for 16 years and giving lessons for seven, tells me that he has learned to use very different methods when he is teaching in the dark. Whereas during normal classes he can show students visually what they have to do, here he has to rely entirely on speech and touch.

One of the best things about the class is how well Pablo and his colleague Guiliana Fernández relate to their students. Both have incredibly reassuring voices and exude a sort of calming influence, which is exactly what you need when you are lost in the middle of a dark dance floor. What’s more, they are both very skilful dancers, and somehow are able to show you exactly what to do with a very gentle push or a touch. Both teachers give instructions in Spanish, so being confident with your language is definitely a plus if you are interested in this class. However, they told me that they have had non-Spanish speaking students and have been able to muddle along all the same, so if you are really keen but only speak English you can still go for it.

The class uses a number of techniques to make it easier for students to adapt to the darkness. Music is kept quite low, so that you can hear the sound of your and your partner’s feet, allowing you to get a better sense of where you are moving. The dance floor is bordered by chairs, which you can feel your way around, allowing you to adapt over time to the space you are in. Music is only played from one side of the room to help you get your bearings, and it tends to be instrumental so that you don’t confuse the singer’s voice with the instructor’s. Altogether the class is run in a very thoughtful way, so that challenges, which you would think were completely impossible, turn out to be quite manageable.

Most importantly the class teaches you how to relate to another person by touch. It’s incredible how differently you go about learning to dance when you can’t see you partner’s body. For me, I found it much easier to follow the lead, simply because I couldn’t be distracted by looking at my own feet. In the end I felt like I was dancing better than I ever had done in a normal milonga and began to understand why I have seen so many tango dancers performing with their eyes closed.

All in all, if you want to try something different with tango, or simply have a new experience exploring your sense of touch, this is the class for you.

Tango a Ciegas takes place at the Teatro Ciego on Wednesdays at 7.30pm. Lessons cost $20 for a single class or $70 for a month.

Club Silencio

Of the blind experiences available in Buenos Aires, this is certainly the most bizarre.
When you go to Club Silencio you arrive at an ordinary-looking house on the outskirts of Palermo. Waiting on the pavement outside, with cars driving past and couples wandering by, you could be about to go to any regular party. You stand there, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, as if by magic, the door swings silently open to reveal a long, dark passageway. A figure stands at the far end framed in red light. A man dressed in black, his face covered by a silver mask, appears and beckons you inside. You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to be the first one to go in. Finally you follow him down the corridor and are greeted at the far end by a woman who hands you a blindfold. You cover your eyes. And then…

Obviously it would be wrong to tell you what happens next. The main thrill of going to Club Silencio is the fact that everything is a surprise. Like the Teatro Ciego, Club Silencio really plays with the idea that when you cannot see you are entirely in someone else’s hands and you have to allow yourself to be led. The show is meant to take you on a journey through a range of emotions and to appreciate it you simply have to lay back and accept what happens.

But if allowing yourself to be blindfolded and led into a stranger’s house is everything that your mother ever warned you against, be reassured: nothing shady happens here. The whole experience is essentially an experimental type of concert, with the difference that during the first half you can’t see what’s going on.

The show was created by Shoni Shed, a 33-year-old musician from Buenos Aires, who also studied cinema and wanted to find a way to fuse different forms of art. Shoni tells me that the main source of inspiration behind the show was his favourite director, David Lynch. (In fact, the name ‘Club Silencio’ is taken from a famous scene in Mulholland Drive). Like Lynch’s film, Shoni’s show plays with ideas of perception, and especially with the sense of crossing over between reality and dreaming. However, if you have seen a lot of David Lynch, and feel like his movies are not something you would want to dream about, don’t worry that this experience if going to be equally disturbing. Shoni says that while Lynch can be very dark, his show “is all about light” and the aim of the experience is that the audience come out “with a smile on their faces.”

The major difference between this and Teatro Ciego is that being blindfolded does not feel anything like as intense as being in the dark, simply because you know that you can instantly get out of it by uncovering your eyes. Moreover, the atmospheres during the two performances are very different. In some ways, Club Silencio pushes its audience a little further; sounds are much louder and there are more elements that are intended to shock you. What’s more, the fact that it takes place in Shoni’s house, the type of music played and the recurring theme of nature all give it a slightly hippy-ish, homemade air. Which type of performance you prefer is entirely a question of taste, but I have to say that the audience for both shows came out very satisfied.

If you’re searching for new cultural experiences, any of these events are really worth a visit. Not only are they fun in themselves, they also have the exciting sense that you’re experiencing something entirely new. Luz Yacianci, the star of A Ciegas con Luz, described it perfectly: “In this world, it feels like everything’s already been done, but teatro ciego is unexplored territory.” So go yourself, before everyone else gets there first.

Club Silencio is currently being performed on Fridays at 11pm. Tickets cost $25 and include a free drink. A great deal of the experience is based around music, but understanding Spanish is a definite plus. To reserve tickets, contact Shoni via his website: http://clubsilencioba.blogspot.com/

At 9.30pm the dimly lit courtyard of Ciudad Cultural Konex is filled with expectant silence. At 9.35, it is subsumed by an explosion of carnivalesque colour, wacky instruments, exuberantly Eastern sounds and theatrical costumes. This is Babel Orkesta, and they’ve just erupted onto the stage.

What ensues is a riot of gypsy, tarantella and klezmer, conjuring the sounds of a Balkan back street and accompanied by earnest invitations to dance from the eccentrically burlesque actresses. Their diverse musical recipe is “folklore from around the world” but although the group returns to home turf for chamame and cumbia rhythms, there is a definite South Eastern Mediterranean emphasis with gypsy orchestras and Serbian film director Emir Kusturica cited as influences.

These are the same cultural resources which have given rise to the impossibly cool sounds of US based hipster bands such as Gogol Bordello, Devotchka or Beirut. When mixed with a beat, the interweaving of hip-hop breaks with Eastern melodies brings to mind Balkan clubbing pioneer Dj Shantel. Yet although familiar rhythms recur throughout the set, their compositions are all their own.

Babel Orkesta make no attempt to mimicking the globe-trotting trendsetters – after all, this is early evening fun-for-all-the-family rather than an underground club mixed by Diplo. “Everyone participates in the party, there are no limits for age, genre, whatever” insists the flamboyantly made-up Laura Alonso. Nevertheless they seem to have unintentionally alighted on the same winning concept : the sheer unbridled joy of music from all over the world that really was made for dancing.

A uniformly Argentine team, they come from all different parts of the country and view their emphasis on musical fusion as emblematic of their home country’s cultural melting pot. Even the name Babel panders to the concept, condensing into a single word the confused (but delightfully so) mixture of sounds and voices which forms the essence of every performance.

Babel Orkesta commands a cult following at their weekly Friday night Konex slot, packed to the rafters and leaving even the most jaded of concert-goers on their feet by the end of the show. Remarkably, the group was formed by saxophonist Marcelo ‘Zeta’ Yeyati just two years ago and has since gone from strength to strength, with humble beginnings in Caballito’s Club Premier giving way to a successful tour round Uruguay.

Carolina Castro, press officer, explains that Babel Orkesta’s mission is to reawaken the “spirit of the popular party”, rendered acceptable to sophisticated modern tastes with the addition of a faint “rocker vibe”. The group is keen to draw a distinction between popular and pop music, theirs referring to music born from the ailing tradition of a social dance scene rather than cynical hit-making media conglomerates.

The band clearly knows what it is doing, and it is with resolute certainty that actor Diego Brizuela describes the nature of the Babel Orkesta enterprise: a romantic vision of themselves as a “wandering, itinerant group”. On the subject of their underlying philosophy he declares: “we wanted to create a mix of popular parties, happy music and an atmosphere in which people felt they could get involved”. His female counterpart Ana Granato elaborates on this idea, explaining that the aesthetic which Babel Orkesta seeks to emulate is derived from texts recounting Paseo Colon’s heyday as the site of old-style amusement parks.

There are two shows under the Babel Orkesta umbrella – one which is a theatrical concert performed by the group, the other, entitled “Kermesse”, meaning street fair, a musical piece of theatre. The current series of performances are of the former, and there will be no further Kermesse productions for the time being. Which is not to say that they won’t start up again in the future. When asked what Babel Orkesta’s next move will be, Laura shrugs: “we go wherever the wind takes us”.

It is this successful marriage of theatre and music which sets Babel Orkesta apart. They eschew the shambolic showmanship of many bands today, in which drunken stumblings are what pass for presentation, and replace it with a tightly structured performance. The group combines the rehearsed choreography of theatre with the spontaneity and crowd interaction of a rock concert. The result is a beguilingly well-orchestrated orkesta which never fails to surprise, accented by splashes of Coney Island circa 1920 and all the fun of the fair.

Babel Orkesta perform every Friday at 9.30pm at Ciudad Cultural Konex, Sarmiento 3131, until the end of March. Tickets cost $30 and include entry to the following show Improclash!, a series of improvised comedy sketches in Spanish.

When I think about the art of mime, the first memory that springs to mind is of a Marcel Marceau show I saw when I was a child. This image, combined with the miming performances I have seen on the street, made me think that mimes were provided with special skills I will never have. Going to Alberto Ivern’s class proved I was wrong.

Alberto discovered mime when he travelled to Europe 40 years ago. After falling in love with the art, he came back to Buenos Aires with idea of helping to develop it in Argentina. When asked about the start of his career, Alberto claims mime was the answer to the eternal struggle between the mind and the body. “The mime helps to locate the body in our complex world and then help the mind to deal with it,” explains the teacher. After observing what was in place in Argentina when he returned in the early 1970s, Alberto decided to develop a method for the investigation, teaching and practice of the art.

In 1974, Alberto gave a name to the experimental theatre that he was trying to create with other mimers in Florence, Italy. This new kind of theatre, called teatro corporal, is the fusion of mime, theatre, expression and literature. It was particularly innovative in the sense that the actors used their body to produce the scenery items they needed. It could be anything from a chair to a wall or a tree. “In that sense, I think I was a pioneer and my method also helped to systemise the art of mime,” says the actor. However, he doesn’t claim to be the only one.

Igon Lerchundi brought “classical mime” to Argentina and created the Argentine Mime Company with two other mimers. Angel Elizondo was another important protagonist, creating his own style of mime, teaching classes and promoting shows with his company that he also called the Argentine Mime Company. “I think my contribution was mainly investigation, the proposal of a method for the melodrama, acting and direction of mime plays,” says Alberto to summarise his role in the Argentine Mime.

The class I attended was composed of around ten students with different levels, from beginners to those with six years of experience. Alberto believes everybody can be a good performer after a couple of years of class. “People will evolve differently,” he says. “To be a mimer, you need physical flexibility, creativity and have a good notion of space. So, if you’re struggling on one you can still compensate with the other.”

The class started with what seemed to be a simple exercise. Miming a walk on soft sand and entering seawater to finally lie down at the bottom of the sea. This made me conscious of the importance of controlling every part of my body. I started to go freestyle on this one and finished totally relaxed while I was touching the bottom of the sea. This was a really nice experience after having spent a few months in a big city like Buenos Aires. However the feeling of changing into a character gave me real satisfaction and I felt I got closer to being a mime.

The second exercise was one step forward in this sense, as it aimed to train us about transformation. We had to act as if we were creatures of our own creation. It didn’t have to be animal or human, just something coming from our imagination. I went for a larva changing into a butterfly. Strangely, I recalled some tough mornings when leaving my bed was close to an impossible enterprise.

Everyone had to feedback on each other and recreate their classmates’ actions. It is always interesting to see your actions reproduced by someone else. I saw aspects of my transformation I didn’t think about while I was doing it.

The third part of the class focused on expanding and contracting. Forming duos helped to work on interaction as both parts had to coordinate movements to influence each others’ movement and find a story around it.

I really liked seeing how other duos were dealing with the task. It really shows how mime is a mixture of peoples’ personality. Also, I realised how people who knew more about miming could help beginners and end up with surprising results.

Following this, the whole class had to participate in a small mime play. The play was imagined for every character to transform from occupying a figurant position to leading the action and being one of the main characters. My first task was quite simple: I was a coat hanger.

This tackled several of the points we had previously seen plus we learnt that the aspect of space is a crucial element if you want to surprise the audience. It also recalled the original aspects of the teatro corporal invented by our teacher.

The progression between the first and second class I attended was surprising. I chose to be on the spectator side for my second experience. People were already able to imagine themselves into a new being. They were asked to act together, expressing either fear or admiration on what they were discovering. The hard thing when you mime is to combine focussing on your movements and also thinking about what the spectator is seeing. Therefore, learning but also interacting with a group is crucial, so you can experience being on both sides of the show.

At the end of the two-hour class, I felt that Alberto’s class combines several aspects to make it pleasant and efficient. First, you feel comfortable with your classmates and you know that anything you do will not leave the room. Therefore, you are not ashamed of anything and feel free to act however you want.

The class has a really enjoyable ambience and will suit beginners as well as advanced mimes. Although what was asked of me was quite unusual, I never felt any pressure and Alberto encouraged dialogue and communication between students. It made it an enjoyable experience and helped me concentrate on my body control.

Alberto Ivern gives class every Tuesday at 6:30pm for approximately two hours, for $120 a month. Escuela Latinoamericana de Mimo Y Teatro Corporal, Valentín Gómez 3155.

“So much of our highly valued culture was acquired via sexuality.” Sigmund Freud

“One cannot understand the essence of a country or society without understanding the web of sexual relations of those that built it. Responsible for the birth, the splendour, the decadence, and the fall of the greatest civilizations, nobody can ignore the profound impact of sexuality on the visual art and stories of nations.” This is the creed which prompted Argentine author, Federico Andahazi, to write ‘Pecar Como Dios Manda’, the sexual history of Argentina.

It is therefore unsurprising that he appeared alongside ‘sexologists’, film directors, artists, models and shop owners in September 2009, at Buenos Aires’ first ‘Festival de Cultura Erotica’. The festival provided a glimpse into a lesser known facet of the city’s cultural offerings. Conceived of the sexual and characterised by the sensual, Buenos Aires’ mundo erotico is a pulsing hub of art, literature and performance. It is a world which, according to Andahazi, is alien to many porteños, yet inexorably linked to their heritage and identity.

Erotica versus Pornography

‘Erotica’ is a portrayal of human anatomy and sexuality with high-art aspirations. Strictly speaking, a notion of erotica in Buenos Aires should not be pegged to its red light district, telos (pay-per-hour hotels), or sex shops and strip clubs. A distinction is often also made between erotica and pornography, which serves solely as sexual entertainment. The ‘Festival de Cultura Erotica’ therefore bore its name in the loosest possible sense, hosting big names in the Argentine pornographic industry.

However, artists have wrestled with the line between the two for decades, and one person’s pornography is another’s erotica. It was clear that the festival intended to encompass a multitude of expectations, satisfying both artistic curiosity and a more libidinous agenda. Torn between subtly titillating, creative finesse and brash, concupiscent entertainment, Buenos Aires’ cultura erotica was presented as a mixed bag.

Erratic erotica: ‘Festival de Cultura Erotica’

The three levels of the Palacio Alsina showcased everything from nude figure paintings and photography to heavy-duty sex toys; from provocative lingerie to conferences on ‘Erogenous Psychology’ and ‘Making a Porno’. Live performances oscillated from the thrusts of oiled strippers to a complex balletic duet involving melted wax and bare torsos. The festival’s headline act was Sonia Baby, Spain’s most celebrated vaginal acrobat.

Amongst such entertainments was an array of oddities. The hedonistic atmosphere conjured by the champagne bar was diluted somewhat by the kebab stand. Bikini-clad models posed suggestively for photos, but also gave out pens advertising good nutrition. The guests were a selection of old and young; couples and groups; those with an interest in the artistry, and those who became publicly amorous around 10pm. The festival seemed confused; as though obstinate that erotica held an important position in Argentine culture, though unsure of its exact location.

The art of the act: Paola Kullock

One of the most interesting additions was psychologist, erotic masseuse and general ‘sexpert’: Paola Kullock. The charismatic speaker presented an excerpt from her weekly stand-up show. Taking to the stage at her regular Friday evening gig, Kullock teaches “the professional techniques and secrets of great sex”. Through audience participation and pop-aided borderline-risqué demonstrations, she presents the sexual act as an art-form which can be mastered.

“The problem with a lot of women here is that they feel it’s unimportant to make time for their own pleasure,” she explains. “Argentine women are practical and often busy with their kids, husband or home. I do this because I want to help them find time for themselves through sexual enjoyment, whether with a partner or alone. To me, this is the art of erotica: the art of exploring and understanding your carnal and emotional desires.”

A whole new world

Kullock gives personal classes at her ‘Escuela de sexo’, which – like her show – are well attended, primarily by women in their late 30s. However, she admits: “People in Buenos Aires are still bewildered by erotica. What I do is less taboo than when I started, three years ago; and nobody would bat an eyelid at sex-shops or pornography. But although they are considered normal, they are not commonly used. There is a huge erotic scene in his city, but a lot of porteños don’t know what to do with it.”

Federico Andahazi agrees. He was struck by those at the ‘Festival de Cultura Erotica’ who seemed, “totally alien to the world of erotica”. He asserts that guests were astounded by the wealth of artistry: “It was so new to them. I’m sure these people watch porn, and that’s what they were expecting of an erotic expo. I actually think there is a false dichotomy between eroticism and pornography. There are good and bad versions of both, as was exhibited at the festival!”

Sexual ‘Appetite’: Erotic art in Buenos Aires

With reference to the pornographic yet highly wrought literature of Georges Bataille, Andahazi concludes that whether erotic or otherwise, people always appreciate creative skill. Acknowledged as one of history’s earliest artistic expressions, depictions of carnal pleasure abound in primal cultural production. At a recent exhibition, it was clear that such traditions are not facing extinction in contemporary Argentine art.

‘Sex and Violence’ was held at San Telmo’s Appetite gallery. The space was crammed with photography, sketches, paintings and sculptures, featuring scenes of nudity, sex, masturbation and sado-masochism. The pieces were experimental, combining a range of materials with a kaleidoscopic palette. Around 100 young artists were exhibited, selected by Appetite director, Daniela Luna. The sheer volume of guests at the inauguration verified the profound interest aroused by such work in Buenos Aires.

Many pieces were permeated with evident references to Argentine culture. A naked female figure was superimposed with the comic-strip character, Mafalda; and graphic flyers for Constitución prostitutes hung from meat hooks, alluding to Argentine beef. Lucía Harari, one of the exhibited artists, states: “This art is part of our identity. Through exploring eroticism alongside our heritage, we truly discover who we are.”

The sexual identity, history and politics of a nation

Argentina’s cultural and historical identity pervades Federico Andahazi’s sexual philosophy. He claims that ‘Pecar Como Dios Manda’ was an accidental conception, stumbled upon while researching the country’s colonial history. “Argentines habitually question the impact on our identities of where we are from. I was tracing Argentina’s origins, and realised then that there was no written chronicle of our sexual history: the crux of our origin, the creating force.”

Andahazi charts the sexual relations of key Argentine figures, from the country’s colonial origins to the May Revolution. He encountered some negative reactions from extreme political groups, enraged at suggestions of their heroes’ foul practice. “In Argentina, sex provokes varied reactions, whereas politics provoke stronger reactions. When you deal with both, then it gets complicated!” Yet Andahazi maintains that he cannot separate them. Sex is the organising paradigm of humanity and of Argentina’s heritage. Although still foreign to many, Buenos Aires’ mundo erotico is a rich artistic scene, embedded in its culture.

For more information on Paola Kullock, and to reserve a space at her show, visit www.pkescueladesexo.com.ar.

For more information on the work of Federico Andahazi, visit www.andahazi.com

Admission to Appetite Gallery is free, and it is situated on Chacabuco 551.

Brian Hagenbuch talks to comedian Pablo Mikozzi about life on Buenos Aires’ variety show circuit.

1. ‘Completely free and totally rude’.

Pablo Mikozzi’s characters go straight at Buenos Aires’ deformities: the xenophobia, the paranoia, the violence, the isolation. He manages the tricky business of transforming grotesque trappings into humour with elegance and ease, making people laugh at themselves while avoiding the sardonic and insulting. In his words, he strives to turn the daily tragedy into something ‘ironic and lucid’, therefore drawing strength and clarity.

Through comedy he has built a fort in the city, a place where he can simultaneously keep Buenos Aires at bay while embracing it completely.

“It’s that possibility to walk down the street and observe and write stuff down in a notebook like a teenager. That’s where it all starts. And it’s just great to write something, completely free and totally rude, and then go out and do it and have people laugh,” he says.

Mikozzi’s résumé is extensive. He has written, directed and acted in theatre, spent three years with a bit part on Argentina’s highest rated television show, worked on TyC (Argentina’s ESPN) and he just returned from a summer working a big top circus on the Argentine coast. But the essence of what he does can best be seen on the underground varieté circuit, something that could be considered his day job, except it happens at night, sometimes very late.

2. The varieté.

Buenos Aires’ varieté format is a mash of sketch comedy a la Saturday Night Live, circus sideshow and 50s television variety show. A host introduces comedians, clowns, acrobats, musicians, jugglers and dancers that take their turns on stage with a few acts broken up by an intermission. Alcohol is usually sold and the atmosphere is more like a bar than a theatre, with shows sometimes lasting into the morning hours. Audiences are diverse, often drunk, and sometimes unruly, although some venues have a more wholesome feel.

In Argentina, today’s varietè started to take shape after 1983 and the end of the dictatorship. Years of repressed anger and pain and horror spilled over. Public expression returned and comedy shows, performance art and aerial circus acts began to pop up all over. The young, energetic acrobats who would later form the legendary aerial troupe De La Guarda were hanging off high-profile monuments like the obelisk and La Boca’s towering bridges. A tenebrous San Telmo was the diverse centre for actors and comedians venting after a dark time. Jugglers busked at stoplights.

Eventually, the disciplines began to merge and artists found they could create attractive, diverse shows mixing comic monologues and trapeze artists with jugglers and a band and anything else. Now, varietés can be seen all over town, from the late night punk shows at Galpon Trivenchi to the more family-oriented Aires de Circo to the polished, clown-based Sin Fronteras, the list goes on, stretching from Lanus to Martinez and further a field. Mikozzi has acted in all of them.

3. Cobbling it together from nothing, going nowhere.

“It has to do with the pastiche, with the notion that everything is ending. Everything is done with materials that have been thrown away, with things that don’t work anymore,” Mikozzi says.

The venues reflect this as well. They are marginal places; bar basements, old factories, warehouses occupied by squatters. Like the shows, the places are precarious, in danger of fiscal, structural, even emotional collapse.

“It has to do with something that’s already over and has no future. There’s nothing but a hole coming up, so you have to cover it with something and that’s when great things start to happen.”

Mikozzi adds that hope for recognition and money floats around, sometimes giving the sensation that this underground movement is a waiting room where performers flip through magazines until they are famous.

But he says this is secondary, and most people are already reconciled to the fact that this is a terminal but satisfying environment. They are living their future. 

“The money you make in these spaces doesn’t have anything to do with anything. These are places of resistance where the love of what you are doing is much more important.”

Mikozzi is also very aware of the political nature of the genre, even if few other people seem to be.

“It’s the freedom and the taking over of spaces. Sometimes the political nature of it escapes us because we’ve been so depoliticized, but it’s a strong form of political opposition to open a space where people are free to reflect and express.

Without knowing it, we are educating the crowd.”

The ultimate actor for the rigors of the varieté? Klaus Kinski, Mikozzi says.

“He was formed by poverty and impossibility and his own craziness. He could just go around yelling and doing whatever he wanted and felt at the moment. His spirit is very much for these shows. He’s got that strength.”

4. The money.

Varietés generally pay each artist, but not much. An exceptional night would be 100 pesos, but it’s often 30 or 50 pesos, sometimes even 17. Or maybe just free beer is involved, even a few empanadas.

Mikozzi honed his characters by doing his own comedy show ‘No Hay Peruanos’, an underground legend, in a basement bar for six years. But after he tired of organising, he set up an intense circuit, going from one varieté to the next with the aid of motor mounted on a beach-cruiser bicycle.

“I set up little circuits where I would run around to different shows and make 50 pesos here and 50 pesos there. Every once in a while I would make 300, up to 500 pesos a night. Doing this work! It didn’t save me, but I could survive and move forward. I was making as much as I would have doing marketing in an office or selling vegetables and I was working far less. If there is no future, you can’t waste time. Or at least I prefer to waste my time this way.”

He says he was able to average around $1,500 a month, not a lot of money but a basic salary for many office employees who work longer hours doing something they most likely don’t enjoy. Periodically, he has also been driven back into the workforce by penury, working as an exterminator and a telemarketer, among other things.

And despite flashes of financial success in acting, financial stability is not a reality. When asked if he ever feels desperate without steady work, he says not really, but that he sometimes “dreams of buying incredible things”.

5. Mikozzi confesses satisfaction.

“I always wanted to be an actor. And I still do. But when I had my son and I had to think about making a steady income. I was making 30, 50 pesos a night in varietés and paying the rent any way I could. I thought about getting another job and it didn’t bother me, because I had already done so much that most actors don’t do. I had already gotten out all the ideas that occurred to me as a human being. That freedom to express your ideas about the world, it’s like writing a book. That’s priceless. Sure I would love to act in Teatro San Martin and I would love to have a sketch comedy show on television with ten other people. But tomorrow if I have to start working as a taxi driver, I could get behind the wheel without any regrets, knowing that acting helped me a lot as a person. What we take away from it as people is much than anyone can pay us. And not from a naïve place like, “oh, I’m an artist”, but how you get to know people, the power of communication with people, where you stand with your ideas, to what point your ideas are ridiculous or not.”

Look for Mikozzi at Galpon Trivenchi, Circo del Aire, Teatro el Perro, Sin Fronteras and elsewhere. www.mikozziteatro.blogspot.com