Musicians and fans paint the town as they celebrate the Cairo International Jazz Festival Gamal Nkrumah" id="auth" src="../../standard/nkrumah1.jpg" width="100" height="145" / Getting the hang of it Gamal Nkrumah meets Carles Benavent, the Catalan bass player with a dramatically exhilarating take on flamenco jazz-fusion Catalan bass player Carles Benavent enchants Egyptian audiences at the Al-Sawy Cultural Wheel on the banks of the Nile in Zamalek. The riverside setting with feluccas idly passing by is evocative of the drama of an Andalusian feria, a wild fiesta, and the Nile could easily pass for the Niger with the music somewhat suggestive of the seductive sounds of Senegal and Mali. Adolescents rhapsodise over the lissome and lanky middle-aged Catalan with a mop of snow-white hair. He has the swagger and the vigour and that glorious confidence that come to a performer when he senses a special rapport with his audience. The Carles Benavent Quartet's line-up are worthy heirs of Miles Davis, Chick Corea and Gil Goldstein. Benavent's 25-year collaboration with Paco de Lucia, the celebrated virtuoso proponent of modern flamenco and jazz-fusion, chugging guitars and multiculturalism shines through eclectic nightlife by the Nile. He moves on to Makan, another Cairene cultural centre, and on to the Cairo Jazz Club. He is in the country for the Second Cairo Jazz Festival (11-15 March). The Al-Sawy Cultural Wheel show is another feather to affix to the Catalan's convincingly bedecked cap. There is no room for clichéd imagery, however, in this crammed corner of an island-suburb tucked away in the heart of Cairo -- ideal stadium rock material tucked under a bridge. We meet immediately after the electrifying show, in the basement beneath the bridge. He steps out of a podium that seems to spew out hundreds of people. The Catalan seems pretty comfortable with the big crowd. His audience is enraptured. Purple lights flood over the stage. There were perhaps a few over-eager moments, but what Carles Benavent gives jazz is Spanish sentiment without sentimentality. But then what is Spanish? Is it Catalan and Andalusian with an innuendo of West Africa? Flamenco and jazz are matchless bedfellows. On the one hand, flamenco is predicated on incorporating Andalusia's Arab and Moorish past. And jazz jingles to the catchy tunes of tropical Africa. How to reconcile the two? Carles Benavent, electric bass, does it with panache. The Catalan is the creator of flamenco bass itself. His jazz-loving friends on stage are at times even punchier. There is a Faustian side to his flamenco and jazz- fusion. His frenetic show is hugely infectious. He wants to collaborate more closely with like-minded Egyptian, African and Arab artists. So what is a jazz flamenco bass player? It is a pickle, really. But Benavent unravels the puzzle. He does it with a fresh twist. And he does it with a large dose of creative licence and with great good humour, marrying African and Gothic in an ethnic celebration of life itself. The Catalan artist's convictions of his own mission mingled with his habitual optimism means that even at its most unstrung moment, Benavent is essentially cheerful. This is not his first time he has performed in Cairo. He was in the country four years ago and wowed audiences young and more mature, local and expatriate alike. Benavent's show demonstrates a point of contact between different cultures. The Sevillianas, Benavent-style, was superb. It was at once evocative of and contrary to La Feria de Sevilla, the Seville Fair. There are no Andalusian dancers stomping in eloquent theatricality, yet his music captures the very essence of the intoxicating frenzy of the feria. The Baile por Sevillanas springs to mind. Is there something suspiciously second-rate about cities that need to celebrate themselves in song and dance? Not so with Seville. And, especially not when the accolade comes from a Catalan. In April, the citizens of Seville congregate at the Real and they dance, drink and feast for seven days and seven nights. It is an ancient rite, a pre-historic pagan ritual that has survived down the centuries of rigid Roman Catholicism. Benavent can look back with some satisfaction on his Cairo stint. He brings the animism of Andalusia back to life. Roger Blavia, percussion and drums, stylishly assists Benavent. His incessant pounding implodes like fantastic fireworks crackling in the night: lightning and thunder. So what comes after earsplitting percussion and bass? There is a hitch, though. It has the knack of catching the inconspicuous emotions on stage. It is the hang. Ravid Goldschmidt handles the hang, a harmonically tuned steel musical instrument created by a Swiss couple, Felic Rohner and Sabina Scharer in 2000 in Berne, the Swiss capital. Hang, which is Bernese German for hand, is composed of two- deep drawn nitrated steel sheets that give off a sound like Asian gongs and African xylophones. It is however, I am assured, an Alpine, a bewitching European idiophone. Be that as it may, the sound the hang resonates is reminiscent of West African talking drums and reverberates with a unique harmonic expression and a melodic overtone, an intensely rich and melodious sound. Goldschmidt caresses the equivocal hang. He moves like a nursing mother smothering her baby with unconstrained affection. Unlike the Southeast Asian gongs that are banged with a mallet, Goldschmidt rests the hang on his lap, smacking the UFO-shaped instrument with his bare hands. He hits not. He is like a potter at work churning some ethereal wheel. Goldschmidt works with the mesmerising coiling technique of the primeval potter, Khnum, of ancient Egyptian mythology, who miraculously formed the first humans on the divine potters' wheel. God of the source of the River Nile, Khnum was depicted as ram-headed and his cult centre was in Elephantine Island. As the music takes on an increasingly African rhythm, I watch transfixed as Goldschmidt wounds up his toy tunable with mystic energy. It is reminiscent of the ancient molder of men and gods, the very Khnum, manipulating a curious creature under construction. Lo and behold, he is coiling a clay pot, turning it slowly and effortlessly by hand. The toil pays off. Goldschmidt delights his audience and Benavent joins in with the fabulous fusion reaching a deafening crescendo. Jordi Bonell, the amiable guitarist, now comes into play. The romantic themes of Spanish folk music vie with African- inspired jazz to create a magical beat. The communication with the Cairene audience is palpable, unmistakably so. Benavent pays tribute to his mentor, the legendary Spanish guitarist Paco de Lucia. The tempo of the music is heightened and the passion intensified. Then Benavent plays his last piece, an elegy to his own father. The audience is ecstatic. How fortunate we are in Cairo to give ear to the extraordinary Carles Benavent Quartet.
