Rhythms of Resistance

Samba Drums and Popular Protest by Dave Willetts 2002 This article is dedicated to Pato Fuentes, founder of LSS and Batucada Mandela, who died whilst it was being written.

There are three basic ingredients which are seemingly essential to any self-respecting demo nowadays:

The first two were presumably vital to those Iron Agers demonstrating against the building of Chysauster on the green fields of Cornwall, and have been ever since. But samba? Why have the instruments and rhythms of the Brasilian carnival become such a vital part of the struggle against injustice? How did these rhythms become associated with resistance?

Samba was, from its birth, rebel music. The story of the samba is the story of the greatest rebellion of all - that of an enslaved people over European dominance. We need to discover how the samba came about before we can understand its place in today’s global protest movement.

Samba music, and the variety of instruments on which it is sounded out, has its roots in the cultures of West Africa, amongst the generations of people who were forcibly transported as slaves to the Portuguese colony of Brasil. By dividing up families, the Portuguese hoped to ensure that any remnants of cultural pride or inheritance (irrelevant and potentially dangerous as they were to the plantation owners) would be obliterated. Whilst some forms of music and dancing were permitted – the ‘erotic’ circle dance which involved touching navels known as Semba amongst them – the Owners saw them as little more than an opportunity to encourage greater productivity. Put bluntly, a ‘sexy’ rhythm and dance means more babies and thus more slaves.

Semba, in the mouths of the Portuguese, soon became ‘Samba’, their generic term for all African music and dance. However, unbeknown to their masters, the diverse dances and rhythms that were heroically being recreated by Africans from the remains of cultures shattered by slavery were rather more than exercises in raising libido. Deliberate ignorance blinded the white owners to the fact that dance and music in West Africa could not be separated from the religious life of the community. Every rhythm was associated with a God or Goddess and every rhythm had a dance which related to these deities. On the plantations, every time a drum or bell was struck, the old legends were alive once more; Every time a circle was formed, the African Gods and Goddesses were called to dance on Brasilian soil.

By dividing Africans up into ‘Nations’ (in order to encourage rivalry) the Portuguese unwittingly gave them an opportunity to develop centres of resistance, especially in the cities. Black ‘brotherhoods’ created ostensibly to ‘save’ Africans through Catholicism soon became masks for covert practice of candomble, the religion which gave a direct link to the world which Africans had left behind.

Consciously using catholic saints as ‘fronts’ for African deities, the communities paraded through the city streets in audacious demonstrations of Black pride. West African parading traditions such as ‘Pa-Agbo’ or ‘Yide’, where large groups of musicians encircled the neighbourhood singing and drumming in order to rid the area of ill feeling and bring a renewing spirit were thus brought into the official Brasilian religious celebrations. This was masquerade in its most extreme form – Catholicism as a mask for Candomble, Western European culture as a mask for celebrations of Africanness.

The drums and dances had reached the streets, and it was only a matter of time (and the official abolition of slavery) before they were incorporated into the Pre-Lent festival known as Carnaval. In Brasil, this event had mostly consisted in large crowds squirting coloured liquid of any and all types at each other whilst musical parades were mostly confined to the military with their snare and bass drums. Samba was still an ‘underground’ phenomenon, being practiced in backyards of ‘Aunties’ who held regular parties in old Rio, recalling the Afro-Brasilian temples to be found further north in Bahia. Despite the fact that even covert African culture was still effectively illegal outside of the temples or on celebration days, women such as Tia Ciata were hostesses to regular nights where backyard batuque was hidden behind both singing in the kitchen and formal dancing in the front room. Legend has it that one night in 1916 at Tia Ciata’s house a singer began improvising a call-and-response song about an illegal gambling den to the rhythm of the drums and the samba was born.

Before long, sambas were being composed specifically for parading groups, known as Schools of Samba, in order to enhance whichever theme the community wished to express on the street. All over Brasil, military snare drums were combining with African calling drums and bells to create new hybrids which encapsulated the annual explosion of emotional release and abandon which was carnaval. Samba-Enredo, Maracatu, Bumba-meu Boi, Afoxe, Marcha, Frevo- each street rhythm and dance a strong reminder of the African heritage on which Brasil was founded, and every one a prick to the conscience of the white population which held Africans and their culture in contempt. In short, in every beat a small rebellion.

Back in Bahia, where the links with Africa have always remained strongest, the Afro-Blocs remained militant in their outlook. Groups such as ‘Ile Aye’, ‘Olodum’ and more recently ‘Timbalada’ took the samba into new territory with the inclusion of massed ranks of home-made bass drums, hand drums reminiscent of Nigerian Djembes and musical styles which through the intervening years have taken their influences from Dub Reggae, Hip-Hop and Drum and Bass in a conscious reclaiming of African rhythmic roots.

In this way, the rhythms of Brasil have become the greatest and most vital expression of ‘official’ Brasilian culture whilst also maintaining a role as the vehicle for popular expression and rebellion. A parading band has the potential to unite hundreds of ritmistas in its percussion section, all combining to create a sound which is at once disciplined and wildly powerful. The elements that are common to every one of these styles- huge numbers, immense volume, a vast array of instruments from enormous bass drums to small hand drums, accessibility for ‘non-professional’ musicians, solid and infectious rhythm, calls-and-responses, roots in parading tradition and a flexibility which allows each group to show a personality through the music means that this is the ideal music for any street event. Coupled with the masquerade elements of carnival, Brasilian street music would seem to be the obvious choice for any budding rebel.
Parading music in England, rebellious or otherwise, had always reflected some of these aspects. Many saints’ days were a signal for the same musical revels and masked mischief that symbolised carnival elsewhere in the catholic world; all swept away, of course, by the reformation. The only remnant of this vast culture is the Lord Mayor’s Show, which despite contemporary attempts to incorporate carnival bands remains strictly a demonstration of military and corporate might. During the 18th and 19th century the tradition of ‘rough music’ whereby an undesired member of the community- often a disliked member of the aristocracy or member of parliament- was symbolically ejected in the form of an effigy following a parade around local streets to the sound of rhythms beaten out on pots, pans, spades and other metal objects which represented the hard labour to which all but the fortunate were chained. Ironically, around the same time, it was immensely fashionable in the military for every regimental band to incorporate a group of African drummers. Every regiment competed to obtain the best players who were encouraged to wear traditional dress. We can only guess at the sound these bands made under the watchful eye of the regimental authorities.

With parading traditions either forgotten or tamed (apart from a few isolated events such as the Helston Furry Dance, the Hal-an Tow and the Padstow Merry Makers, all in Cornwall and which old recordings show to be suitably semi-anarchic) it took another rebellion, once again fighting against white prejudice, to bring the sounds of Afro-based rhythms to the streets of England.

The first steel bands had appeared in London during the 1950’s as ‘exotic’ demonstrations of the culture of Empire. However it was not until Rhaune Lazlett, a community leader in Notting Hill, had a vision of a carnival in the streets of West London that the pan would finally get on the road. The first parade included cultural dancers from the Ukraine, Cyprus and India alongside the Trinidadian steel drums. Lazlett spoke of an event for ‘rebellious elements of society’, an open revolt against the racism of 1960’s Britain. That this revolt took the form of a cultural celebration on the streets, to the sound of rhythms which had already made one momentous journey from Africa to the Caribbean, showed the seriousness of purpose and depth of feeling that can only be expressed through communal parade.

As Leslie Palmer recalled in ‘Masquerading’ (1986):

By 1975 a newly formed carnival committee was presiding over a parade which encompassed many of the Caribbean carnival traditions. The carnival itself was soon to be a centre of rebellion when it became the focus for riots against police. This tension continued throughout the following years following an almost classical official response to street parade. Any documentation of carnival history includes countless police or government bans on masquerade or drums as well as a barrage of ‘respectable’ complaints about the rowdy and violent nature of carnival, repeated almost verbatim year after year. Notting Hill was no exception as lines of police cut off roads, the route was changed in order to counter potential protest (this actually resulted in a sit-down protest which virtually halted the carnival), helicopters roared overhead, an early curfew was imposed and armoured vehicles sped into the area along the main route as soon as the 7.00pm time limit arrived.

It was in this militant atmosphere that in 1984 the newly formed London School of Samba emerged. Created by a small group of Brasilian and Chilean exiles, the group provided a focus for London’s Latin community, many of whom were understandably politicised. Although the aim of the group was to promote the Brasilian carnival arts in London, given the contemporary climate in GLC- run London, the School of Samba were soon to be regular participants in the many free festivals and events organised with an overtly political aim in mind. It soon became obvious that the sound of samba drumming had the potential to inspire a crowd and lead a parade as well as encouraging participation. The School held open workshops in the Piazza at Covent Garden and in this way the numbers rapidly expanded. It was not long before the London School could parade at carnival with a huge number of drummers and dancers, giving the carnival crowd something new to enjoy amongst the Trinidadian mas. Although the School’s carnival themes were not always overtly rebellious, carnival and street parade was a cause in itself.

Very rapidly, the London sambistas were gaining enormous experience in playing for a crowd, seeing at first hand the effect that samba was having on the people. With this in mind, members of the school decided to form an offshoot group in order to participate in political demonstrations without endangering the funding of the carnival group. ‘Batucada Mandela’ was created originally to provide regular entertainment and inspiration to the non-stop picket outside South Africa House in Trafalgar Square at the height of apartheid. This group of dedicated picketers included the inspirational Steve Kitson who had been tortured as a prisoner in South Africa and who was instrumental in linking the Samba with the protests against apartheid. Kitson was a member of the School of Samba, along with others who had escaped the tyranny of Pinochet’s Chile and the violence of Colombia.

The initial sessions on the pavement outside the headquarters of the regime that kept Nelson Mandela locked up were almost shocking in their success- Trafalgar square was closed off, enormous crowds were attracted to the demos and the name of Nelson Mandela was spread across London. Alongside a brilliantly organised campaign against apartheid, the Samba drums created a focus for positive celebration of a world beyond discrimination.

In Mrs. Thatcher’s Britain there were many reasons to demonstrate and the Batucada Mandela were always present on the regular parades which for many just causes wound through the London streets or gathered at embassies.

Thus there was no doubt that the group would be present at the 1990 gathering in Kennington Park to protest against the Community Charge (more famously known as the ‘Poll Tax’). A Channel 4 film of this event showed a larger than normal group creating a ‘carnival atmosphere’ at the outset (this film used samba as its soundtrack), no different to countless other demonstrations where they had been present. But once the march set off, it soon became obvious that there was a real seriousness of purpose and that these demonstrators meant business. Both the London School of Samba and its sister group Batucada Mandela had learned about how certain musical tricks work on the road- such as call-and-response and building up layers of sound which explode in rhythm- and it seemed that on this day they were all coming off. The surrounding crowds were going wild every time the group played a ‘break’ or called a rhythm to which they could respond with a chant. The special break which had been planned so that it climaxed when the group passed under a bridge was so explosive that it almost resulted in tragedy as the crowds in front of the band turned and came back to witness the wild dancing and chanting that it had aroused, almost crushing the drummers between them.

Once Batucada Mandela reached the approach to Trafalgar Square it was obvious that once again this site was witness to a major act of social rebellion. The band decided to keep going through the crowds as far as it could. Encouraged by large numbers of demonstrators hanging from scaffolding which covered the surrounding buildings, the Samba struck up once more. Almost immediately, the people high up began beating out rhythms on the metal, responding to musical calls with their own rebellious responses. Within minutes the buildings were alight. The sambistas were pursued back down the hill, along with their fellow demonstrators, by police charging on horseback.

Those who had played or heard the samba on that day were left in no doubt about the effect that the drums had had on the demonstration. Every element that was present in street samba had come into force to unite an angry crowd and inspire action. Outraged MP’s claimed on national news that ‘It was under control until the drums started.’

Whilst the spread of samba across Europe had already had an effect (in 1989, initial radio reports from Berlin claiming the wall was being dismantled began with the sound of the Berlin School of Samba) the sounds of Brasilian carnival took a while to take root throughout the U.K. Slowly though, inspired by similar parades, open workshops and determined drummers and dancers, the surdo, tamborim, agogo, caixa, repique and chocalho – all percussion instruments basic to the samba- were already being heard outside London. Manchester, Bristol, Southampton, Cardiff, Reading, Ipswich, Hemel Hempsted, Cambridge and Brighton all gave rise to percussion bands playing some form of Brasilian street music. Groups took the opportunity to innovate and create new styles and rhythms which were appropriate to their local streets and players. Some mixed samba with dance music such as house or jungle, others added Punjabi Bhangra to the rhythms of Salvador. Just as the samba had emerged in Rio from a cultural mix, so these groups were making this music their own. Often this meant straying far from the samba itself (indeed, many groups who style themselves ‘samba bands’ do not actually play samba at all) but the effect of a large, well drilled and funky percussion band still provided an irresistible heartbeat to a parade.

Due to the efforts of the carnival artists themselves throughout the 90’s, carnival was becoming more and more popular and respected as a serious art form. Groups such as Perpetual Beauty Carnival Club were taking carnival into schools and colleges and organisations like Emergency Exit, Carnival 365 and Zap Arts were promoting carnival and parading arts as a vital element in community life, social inclusion and regeneration. Carnival was seen as a subject worthy of serious study at universities. It was now possible to study The Anthropology of Carnival as well as attending practical sessions in the form of the University samba band. One such group- initiated by a lecturer who had been alongside Batucada Mandela throughout the Poll Tax march- soon had a purpose when the students and teachers found themselves in dispute with the Management of the University. The band kicked off an occupation and were then regular participants in actions across the campus. The effect, once again, was electrifying.

With the protest movement growing across Europe and North America, samba became inextricably linked with an increasing number of demonstrations against capitalism and environmental thuggery. A ‘Reclaim The Streets’ demo in 1996 used classic masquerade techniques by surrounding a large carried costume with drummers whilst those underneath dug up the A4. Appearances by drumming groups at regular ‘Stop The City’ events in cities across the world, at Mayday celebrations and most recently at the huge ‘Stop the War’ demos have further cemented the link between street drumming and popular protest.

The day after the Poll Tax riots, a picture in The Guardian of a protest in Trafalgar Square 100 years previously showed Victorian subjects causing mayhem alongside a youth playing a large military bass drum. In more recent times, samba has helped to provide the rhythms for direct action. By harvesting the rebellious power which has always been inherent in this music, a new generation of protesters has added another chapter to the story of the samba. In an age when, once again, simply gathering in protest is regarded as a provocative offence to civilised life, the old methods of rebellion-samba amongst them- are still the best.

The author was Musical Director of London School of Samba from 1989 to 2000, led Batucada Mandela on numerous demonstrations, has been workshop leader and teacher for a large number of U.K. drumming bands. Having paraded at carnival on numerous occasions in both Brasil and Cuba, he is generally involved in the carnival arts with people of all ages. He is currently Bateria Director of the Paraiso School of Samba in London.

- Hence the bias of this story. There must be others out there who saw other chapters of this story being written and I apologise if I have overlooked them. DW