Womadelaide
Botanic Park

Reviewed by Murray Bramwell

If ever an event is greater than the sum of its parts it is Womadelaide. Now in its fifth edition since inception in 1992 it is the splendid result of careful cultivation and management. If I use a horticultural image it is because Womad, in the verdant environs of Botanic Park, is like a well-tended garden. Its success is a reminder that events need good planning and infrastructure. They also need good resources and continuity.

Without the initial support of the skilled machine that was the Adelaide Festival team seven years ago it is likely that Womad, like many of its counterparts in the Northern Hemisphere would have toppled. Without the ongoing support of the Adelaide Festival Centre the three day fixture could have gone the way of many a good idea in the music industry. What is unique about Womadelaide is that it is a music event with the production values of theatre. It also remains the cherished project of its original Adelaide team, Artistic Director Rob Brookman, Executive Director Ian Scobie and Marketing Director Colin Koch. Add to that a continuing rapport with Thomas Brooman from Womad UK and the considerable expertise and grunt of the Adelaide Festival Centre crew and you can see why this World Music festival might well meet world’s best practice.

With attendances up ten percent and peaking at over thirty thousand on the Saturday and Sunday nights, Womad is more appealing than ever. And its success is sufficiently unusual to warrant some scrutiny. The continuity of artistic direction and skilled infrastructure is part of the reason. The location is another. Botanic Park is not just a handsome venue, it is enviably close to the city centre and the continuing support of the Adelaide City Council and the Adelaide Zoo has given Womad a privileged place among major events.

But it is the buzz, the vibe, the ambience, the atmosphere -whatever your particular social subgroup might call it- that attracts 65,000 visits over the weekend. Whether locals or the astonishing 33% coming from interstate, the Womad crowd gets broader in its demographic and more devoted in its attendance as time goes on. Estimates suggest that 90% of this year’s turnout had been before- and, when surveyed, punters invariably insist that they will be returning again. And you can see why. The quality of facilities and services, the mix of the weather- this time, hot days with well nigh perfect evenings- and the extraordinary equanimity of the crowd is unmatched almost anywhere.

There can be few places which are safer and more harmonious than Womad. Parents can let their kids roam, with mobile phone numbers pinned to their Oshkoshs, teenagers can mosh it down the front at Stage One, while the less energetic can fan themselves under the Moreton Bay figs and watch Angus Watt’s sumptuously scarlet and saffron coloured banners play in the breeze. For one weekend in February Botanic Park becomes an internment camp for pleasure where workaholics, career paranoids, the worried well and the glum at heart, can all revive and revitalise in their own daft and unconditionally regarded way.

And of course there is the Music. There are, as usual, two alternating main stages, as well as two smaller venues numbered three and four, plus workshop tents and a faraway tree known, somewhat ickily, as Dingly Dell. So many sites make for an awful lot of parallel play and only the most task-oriented are likely to get to more than about two thirds of what is on offer. Interestingly, the program allows for a number of possible Womad narratives. There is drumbeat and rhythm for those who want it, there is acoustic sound and strings for others. There is also a vocal thread to be followed and local talent to be checked out and loyally supported.

This year is, as usual, one of highs and some lows. In fact, you only need ( or can absorb) five or six really peak experiences for Womad to be a success. After that there are the curiosities, whimsies, near misses, the also-rans and a few stinkers.

Friday opens expansively with the Adelaide Symphony’s performance of Shaun Davey’s The Brendan Voyage with soloist Liam O’Flynn. Re-telling the story of the Little Coracle that Could, Davey’s piece verges on Irish schmaltz but O’Flynn’s resonant uillean pipes fill the twilight with such plangent sound that it is churlish to quibble. Kila, the other Celtic component this year, prove to be a disappointment alongside the jiggery of Shooglenifty and techno wizardry of Afro Celt in 1997. Playing a mix of calypso and gaelic reels, Kila work hard to be a goodtime band but despite their catchcry Tog e go bog e (take it easy) I can’t really take them at all. Brothers Snodaigh and associates, notably Eoin Dillon on pipes and the under-represented Dee Armstrong on fiddle, have heaps of talent but, in their first set at least, they really don’t hit their straps.

Another disappointment is Bangarra’s set on Stage Two. Presenting a discrepant combination of stylised indigenous dance and accomplished but derivative nineties r’n’b ballads this influential company seems to be playing down to a broad audience that in fact needs no concessions at all. Gjallorhorn, the Finnish band with a repertoire of sagas about sea witches and such are also both impenetrable and unengaging.

A visual focus on Friday night is the Drummers of Burundi, whose relentless energy and precision around the central inkiranya drum is enough to kick-start even the most reluctant endorphins. But like the Mornington Island Dancers, they leave us with a sense of spectacle rather than of cultural understanding.

By Saturday the program begins to lift. Samoan band Te Vaka play a fine set, and the African Gypsies, led by Ray Phiri, re-create something of their Graceland sound, ably augmented by an understated appearance by former Roxy Music guitarist Phil Manzanera. But it is Oliver Mtukudzi’s workshop which gives us a bit of reality. Talking quietly about his experiences as a musician in Zimbabwe, he raises questions about the nature and ownership of culture. He asks implicitly what we are doing at events such as Womad which, while often creating genuine cultural exchange, can also perpetuate a 19th century spirit of colonial exoticism.

Saturday night is full sweet sounds. After sitting through a long sound check delay I only get a glimpse of fusion chant and percussion bandleader Trilok Gurthu. Instead I head round to Stage Four to hear Argentinian bandeneon virtuoso, Cesar Stroscio perform with guitarist Claude Enriquez and bass player Hubert Tissier. Opening with Cinco de abril, a sprightly accordion tango melody counterpointed by guitar and bowed bass, the musicians create an effortless chemistry. Their set, under a clear night sky, is a sheer delight.

So is the performance on Sunday from Ernest Ranglin, Jamaican guitarist and godfather to Trenchtown ska and reggae. His latest album, in collaboration with members of the Baaba Maal band is called In Search of the Lost Riddum, As far as I can tell that riddum has been well and truly found as Ranglin, with his classy fluid guitar style and keyboard and rhythm quartet, explores both above and below the bassline. It is a flawless display from an artist of tremendous grace and dignity and ranks for many of us as an all time Womad favourite.

There are some excellent sets on the final day full of musical surprises and epiphanies. There’s the workshop from oud player Yair Dalal, the santoor jugalbandi from Shiv Kumar Sharma and his son Rahul, the spirited sounds of Adelaide’s own Fruit, the electicism of Tulipan, there’s some Whaling from Dave Dobbyn and his collaboration with Kaha for Slice of Heaven. And later, Yunchen Lhamo’s chanting and the spritzy Andrews Sisters routines of Cuban singers, Las Perlas del Son.

But the final session from Baaba Maal is hard to beat. Opening with selections from the Nomad Soul album and alternating the vivacious talking drum rhythms of Cherie and Yolela (Africans Unite) with acoustic duets from longterm collaborator, guitarist Mansour Seck, Baaba Maal’s eleven piece band is orchestral in scale and captivating to watch. Walking across Botanic Park late on Sunday night before the set is over, we pick our way through a crowd variously energised, bleary, blissed and replete. Some of Ranglin’s band have joined the stage for the encore. You can hear the opening lines, in English, of Souka Nayo (I Will Follow You) then Maal’s penetrating, arcing vocal followed by the chorus and the sax- heavy drum and synth beats. It is pop music, it is Sengalese music, it is familar and distinctly different. It is also the sound, momentarily at least, of a new world.

The Adelaide Review, March 1999.