10 Days of Mardi Gras
November 29, 2003

At this point I've got a significant list of topics to write about, but this story shouldn't wait any longer. Back in October I worked for 10 days as a translator and guide for a festival here in Brasil promoting music from New Orleans. I'm not going to use names here as I don't want to piss anyone off. I was given the task of taking care of a group of about 10 guys from New Orleans, basically a party-R&B band that has its roots in the history of Mardi Gras Indians (of which I knew nothing about). One sentence explanation - various Indian tribes harbored run-way slaves way back when and eventually those blacks and their predecessors paid tribute to the Indians during Mardi Gras celebrations.

The director of the festival told me he was giving me this band because it wouldn't be easy and he knew I wouldn't take any shit. The moment the guys got off the plane I understood what he was talking about! There were 6 musicians, plus the manager and his brother. Later they were joined by a local Brazilian drummer. Everyone was black, except for the guitarist who was japanese. It took a few days to realize it, but the guitarist and I have a lot in common ... we're both playing music we're not supposed to play, in someone else's country!

Anyway, the first guy to come out of the gate (who later became a friend), was in dreads, wearing shades, had his bass on his back. The first thing he said was, "Hey man, I need to get me a picture of that big Jesus statue!". The rest of the guys followed and were quite an interesting mix. The oldest guys were around 60, one of them, the leader and singer (called a "Chief"), a very quite guy and the other, a percussionist and singer, who wound up becoming a friend as well. The youngest guy was 21 and sort of a southern, rurual homeboy. Really quiet and serious looking, but by the middle of the tour we were goofing around and he was teaching me some current southern slang. I should mention that almost everyone had a gold tooth.

Once I met the manager and his brother I knew it was going to be a long 10 days. A physical description is necessary here. Two big, fat black guys with close shaven heads and goatees. They basically looked like bouncers at a night club, especially the brother (who I was later told was on the trip to "back up his loud mouth brother"). The director of the festival at one point dubbed them "dumb + dumber" ... perfect! The manager was one really difficult ... asshole (just one of the names I could use to describe him). One of those guys who thinks he knows everything and walks around speaking in a ridiculously loud voice and trying to intimidate people. A classic case of a 'little' knowledge is a dangerous thing. He was embarrassing and annoying in two ways - he represented the ugly American and at the same time the worst in American blacks (and I say that without any racist intention - it was pure fact). I almost forgot, this guy had a nice, big, gold chain around his neck with his name on it! Classy, eh?

So, we pile into the van and I start pointing out and explaining the favelas and other things about Rio. The minute the guys saw anything resembling a woman (the bigger the ass, the better) they went crazy and wanted to know about hookers, etc.. It was pretty funny actually. Even though I could see I was going to have my hands full, I was enjoying joking around with the guys in English and hearing all that slang again. I could also tell that a few of the guys were cool and that we'd get along - which we did.

The manager didn't wait very long before he started to become difficult. They had to wait to check into their rooms and he started his first tirade - which also included his first comments that showed his reverse racism and the chip he has on his shoulder. By the end of the first day the hotel had informed us that some of the guys had tried to bring hookers into their rooms and would have to pay a charge for that (typical, especially in Copacabana) ... I don't even feel like explaining the headaches I went through with the manager about this. Fucking exasperating!

They spent a few days in Rio, but only had to play one show and give a performance/workshop at a favela in Niteroi. The show was great, they're a fun band and really groove. The Brazilian drummer who made the gig did a great job and they really liked him (I should mention that he didn't speak a word of English, so I had my hands full translating!).

Early in the morning, on the same day we had to fly to Sao Paulo, we drove out to São Gonçalo in Niteroi. It's a poor area where the Porto da Pedra samba school is from. I almost forgot, before we went to Niteroi we visited the giant warehouse (barracão) space where the samba school builds their floats. This visit and the rest of the day was put together by Dreams Can Be, a US based charitable organization for kids in Brasil. So, we went to meet the directors of the samba school and they gave us a tour of their production facility. They were super nice and really excited to have this exchange with guys from New Orleans. I was the ONLY bilingual person there and had to translate for about 10 people or so, trying to communicate at the same time. Tons of questions about Carnaval in both cities (Rio / New Orleans). I enjoyed it quite a bit. Then representatives from the cultural program out in Niteroi (run by the samba school and assisted by the Non-profit organization) took us out to Niteroi to the workshop were they made the Carnaval costumes. The people at the workshop were so nice and gave the band a couple of costume pieces. We then went for a big lunch at a Mineiro restaurant (food from Minas Gerais) and on to the workshop/performance.

It was at the "quadra" of the samba school - a big, concrete, sort of playground like area with a stage. There were tons of kids there doing all sorts of things, but mainly acrobatics - they have a sort of circus program there. There was also a music group rehearsing - percussion and vocals. The kids gave a performance for us and then the New Orleans band performed. It was really nice and one of the guys in the band - the percussionist/singer was wonderful, inviting the kids to join in (he also played with a demonstration of samba school drumming). He turned out to be a really interesting guy and I hope to see him again one day. He loved his experience in Brasil and was touched by the kids. He said, "Man, did you see the look in their eyes?!". This is a 60 year old black guy from the south. A guy who personally experienced all of that horrible racism in the US and yet, showed absolutely no resentment as a result. We talked in depth about all of that stuff and I found him to truly be a great soul. I also found out that when things are slow he works as a sheet-rocker and house painter. He wanted to experience everything ... he was game to try every food, hear music, visit favelas ... everything. I found him inspiring. He said to me, "Man, drop me off in the favela, I'll build me one of them shacks and be just fine!". I really think he meant it.

Out at this workshop was my first aggressive run-in with the manager. I told his big, fat brother to grab a CD and give it to a local musican who wantetd to swap it for his. He told the manager who game over, pulled me aside and started screaming at me for telling him what to do. I looked at him in his eyes and told him he must be kidding. I then told him he was yelling at the wrong guy and turned around and walked away from him in the middle of his tantrum.

It was as if this idiot was intent on ruining anything good that might actually occurr on the trip. One of the mothers' of the kids came up to me at the end of the workshop and asked me to tell the guys how important this was to the kids ... that most of them have never been out of their neighborhood! I was touched.

We finally got to Sao Paulo later that evening (after a bunch of airline hassles) and checked into a great hotel. The two guy I referred to as new friends (the bassist and the percussionist) immediately got together in one of our rooms to smoke a joint (they had requested some pot the first day the arrrived ... and who was I to deny the request? ;-)). When I told the bassist what had happened earlier he told me that the manager does that kind of shit all the time.

The manager and I had no more words the rest of the evening and the next day we went for a TV appearance on the Jo Soares show (kind of a Brazilian copy of David Letterman). We then went for a sound check at Bourbon Street, back to the hotel and then back to the club for the show. Here's where the fun begins ...

Just before the band is getting set to play I went to take care of the drink tickets they were going to receive. The manager comes up to me and in an agressive tone tells me "We need to talk right now". He starts to tell me I need to learn how to work with bands and a bunch of other bullshit. Something clicked inside of me and I couldn't take it anymore. I exploded. My left leg startetd to twitch I was so furious. I really think that I that moment I could have lifted that fat motherfucker up over my head and thrown him over a table. I let it all out, right there in the middle of the club. I told him what an embarrassing, obnoxious asshole he was. I told him how he'd been offending the Brazilians ever since he arrived in the country. I told him I didn't work for him and that he was crazy if he thought I was going to listen to his bullshit. I then told him if he wanted I'd leave him in Sao Paulo and let him fend for himself the rest of the tour. It was quite a scene. He obviously wasn't expected my reaction and didn't know how to respond. He just said, "well, that's your opinion". That Mohammed Ali t-shirt wearing motherfucker was so used to bullying people around that he didn't expect some jewish whiteboy to tell him to go fuck himself. Looking back, I guess I was lucky he didn't break me in two! ;-).

I think in the end he was just feeling threatened by me, because with me there there really wasn't any need for him on the tour.

So, there I was, steam coming out of my ears in the middle of this club. I had invited 2 friends from Sao Paulo to the gig. I went over to the director, explained to him what had happened and said, "So, what do we do know? I refuse to have another word with that guy". I still had another 4 days left and we had to drive about 4 hours the next day by van (and then take a ferry) to an island called Ilhabela. The director said he wanted me to go, that the island would be relaxing and fun and to give it a shot.

So, I did. I didn't look at, nor speak to the manager the entire next day. I then realized that the director wasn't going to help me at all with intervening, so I just dealt with the manager in an all biz, no bullshit tone and tried to avoid him as much as possible. I stayed in a separate hotel and expected to have minimal contact. I was looking forward to the 4 days and spending some time at some of the beautiful beaches and waterfalls (yeah right!). In 4 days on the island I got to spend ONE hour at the beach ... and just in front of the hotel.

Get ready for more adventure. The second day on the island the band had to give another workshop. The youngest guy in the group got really sick and was vomiting like crazy. We had to rush him to the hospital ... the WE was me and the manager! So, there we are at the hospital ... I'm translating for the doctor and the manager and the sick guy. So much for my beach time. Finally we got him fixed up and the day was over. The next day was their show day. During the sound check I was talking with a Globo TV reporter who was just about to start shooting the sound check when a commotion began. Someone screamed for me to come over and I found the band leader in convultions ... his eyes rolled back in his head, face contorted and he had shat himself.

I yelled to the van driver and the guys in the band (one of them the leader's son) carried him over to the van and we raced off to the hospital. I was in the passenger seat hanging out the window and holding onto the slidding door so no one would fall out (the door was open because they couldn't get the sick guy's legs into the van). The van driver has his hand on the horn the whole time, I'm out the window, one arm on the door and the other waving and screaming "get out of the way" to all of the cars. The manager is pleading to the singer to hang on. It was quite a scene.

We get to the hospital and I go charging into the emergency room yellling for a doctor. They get him inside and try to block us from entering. I explain I'm the only one able to translate. They said that only I can enter, but then I explain that the manager knows his medical history and I don't. So, there we are ... about 3 or 4 nurses, the young doctor and me and the asshole manager. The doctor is trying to figure out the situation, the singer is a mess, totally delirious and swinging at the nurses (who are affraid to get close). Someone had taken out his false teeth and I couldn't understand a word he was saying. I'm trying to help translate the guy's medical past from the manager to the doctor ... and the whole place smells horrible because he had shit his pants.

Finally we get things under control ... I really had to use my diplomatic powers to help calm down the patient and get the trust of the medical staff. I really thought the guy was going to die. The doctor thought it was epilipsy and/or alcohol poisioning ... in the end it turned out to be that the guy has bad high blood pressure and stopped taking his medication! Plus he drinks and smokes almost non-stop.

Remember, all of this was happening just hours before the show. Check this out ... the guy made the gig!! I couldn't believe it. I must say, that was one strong guy. You couldn't even tell what had happened earlier that day. Absolutely amazing.

The next day we climb into the van and drive for about 6 or 7 hours back to Rio for them to fly home. I was exhausted. I should mention that after I exploded on the manager he changed his tune and didn't fuck with me ever again. We got to the airport in Rio and we all said our goodbyes. It was clear I had made a few friends ... I exchanged numbers with the bassist (who was back here 3 weeks later for another gig) and the percussionist. The both thanked me for making the trip special. The young guy in the band said I had to go visit New Orleans for Mardi Gras and hang out with him. I was pretty amazed that I didn't even receive a clear THANK YOU from either the singer, his son, nor the manager for my help ... in probably saving that guy's life.

Oh yeah, and I got paid like shit for the job.

Posted by Scott at 01:20 PM