Searching for Carnaval in Rio de Janeiro

This week in North Philly Notes, it’s “Carnaval in Rio!” Philip Evanson, co-author of Living in the Crossfire, pens an entry on this year’s annual celebration in Brazil.

CARNAVAL is a summons to enjoy ourselves. It is supposed to bring easement, at the very least a few brief days to forget personal and collective worries. It’s out with the Apollonian, in with the Dionysian. Above all, Carnaval means dancing. So what does an old gringo like myself do in Rio de Janeiro during Carnaval? The easy and obvious thing is to be an observer and to watch the televised transmission of the escolas de samba or samba schools as they parade in the Sambodromo of Rio de Janeiro. If you follow the selling of Carnaval in Rio, especially to tourists, the Sambodromo is where it largely takes place. This venue is a couple of long city blocks of viewer stands (there are also VIP boxes), and parade grounds designed by Oscar Niemeyer (1907-2012), Brazil’s master architect and designer of the buildings of modernist Brasília. The complex was completed in 1984, expanded in 2012, and has space for 108,000 spectators. They come to watch 12 schools parade, each of which will be graded on the quality of its performance. Two nights starting at 10 pm and finishing at dawn are necessary so that each school gets 90 minutes but no more to perform. The school with the highest score is the champion. These 12 belong to the “Special Group” membership in which is by no means permanent. Each year the two schools with the lowest scores will fall out to be replaced by two from a group that strives “for access” to the Special Group. Competition between the samba schools in the Special Group, and among schools striving for access is fierce.
Layout 1As a friend pointed out, a samba school parade is a great dancing opera. A visual wonder of luxurious costumes and floats, with dancing and music making provided by several thousand participants. Every year each school offers a new production. There must be a new theme, and a new theme song. You need not join a samba school to participate. Anyone including a foreigner can buy a costume and take part in the performance. But this entails months of rehearsals including at the Sambodromo.

The samba schools and their parades in the Sambodromo have been marketed as the glory of  Rio de Janeiro Carnaval, and they go a long way to allowing the city to claim it has the greatest celebration and party in the world. But there have been troubling issues. A recurrent one has been sponsorship. Many  schools are sponsored by gamblers or bicheiros who virtually own them. Bicheiros originally organized a version of the local numbers racket. However, people bet on animals (bichos) rather than numbers. Everyday there is winning animal. Winning bettors bring their receipt and leave with their payoff. No wait, and no bureaucracy. There is more to gambling in Rio de Janeiro than this popular betting game which though illegal is nonetheless allowed partly because it is said to be rooted in Brazilian culture. However, illegality has led to a corrupt relationship between bicheiros, police and public officials. So it is that gambler sponsorship of samba schools, and the purported influence of bicheiros on samba schools becomes a reason to criticize and even investigate samba schools. There is also an issue of foreign sponsorship. In 2006, Venezuela led by its president Hugo Chavez sponsored the winning Vila Isabel school with the theme “Soy loco por ti America.” It was a  Spanish, not Portuguese title which some people questioned. But sponsorship money and the popularity of Hugo Chavez spoke louder. Nor was Spanish an obstacle to winning. Vila Isabel was judged as having the most original and best realized parade performance, and became that year’s champion. This year the Beija Flor (Humming bird) school, a perennial favorite to win the competition, was criticized for accepting money–an estimated $4.5 million at the current exchange rate–from oil rich Equatorial Guinea. But Equatorial Guinea is governed  by a decades old personalist dictatorship widely condemned by human rights organizations though now striving  to improve its image. Beijo Flor spokespeople argued its script was meant to celebrate west Africa, not Equatorial Guinea, and that the importance of west Africa for Brazil long preceded Equatorial Guinea’s appearance as an independent nation in l968. Would this sponsorship prevent Beijo Flor from being selected once again champion of the Special Group? In fact, Beijo Flor won the prize with a characteristically impeccable parade performance enhanced by sumptuous costumes and imaginative floats (carros alegoricos). However, the contradiction of a substantial gift from a notorious dictatorship to a samba school where participation and creative freedom are supposed to be prime examples of popular democracy was glaring, and the controversy has continued.

While always enjoyable, even astonishing as spectacle, anyone who only watched the Special Group samba schools on parade would miss much, even most of Carnaval in Rio. With all their opulence, artistry and creativity in choreography, samba schools are only part of the party. A bigger part is mass participation in blocos. These are community organized street dancing groups that materialize during Carnaval. In fact, as the famous samba schools have become more commercialized, so have blocos grown in importance and number in reaction to excessive commercialization. Sambodromo commercialization works to exclude rather than include popular classes among the spectators. The high price of admission can reach a thousand dollars and more for the best seats if purchased from scalpers. The samba schools on parade at the Sambodromo are no longer within easy reach of middle and lower class wage earners.

There are currently more than 94 registered blocos scattered throughout Rio de Janeiro and its suburbs, and still more uncounted “rebel” groups not yet registered. Blocos are easy enough to locate by consulting listings in newspapers that state where and when they will gather. Each day of Carnaval, thirty or more will be on the street. Participation is open to everyone, and it doesn’t cost anything. Carnaval for me finally became a matter of seeking, finding and participating in one, then another, then another bloco.


If you are interested in Brazilian music, check out this related Temple University Press book, The Brazilian Sound, by Chris McGowan and Ricardo Pessnha

Each bloco at the very least has a band, a male singer (some version of a tenor), and a sound truck. Everyone seems to wear some sort of costume (fantasia). None of my blocos required a fantasia which can be as simple as headgear, perhaps a wig, feathers, a pirate’s hat or a king or queen’s crown. I wore an old pink and green hat of the famous Mangueira samba school. And not without some trepidation. The hat is at least 30 years old, a relic that might be better off in a display case. Given its age and good condition, might it not be coveted by a fanatic follower of Mangueira recognizing the hat as something  different from today’s Mangueira paraphernalia, something from the past, and therefore of special interest. History counts when discussing the samba schools. Might someone snatch this cherished hat off my head? As I walked along the street on my way to the first bloco, one car slowed and people cheered this gesture celebrating Mangueira. Other people noticing the hat smiled, gave the thumbs up sign, waved. Nothing untoward happened.

The bloco prepares to move and dance down the street. The musicians and singer warm up, the revelers or foliões keep arriving, and the loud speaker primes us: “Just five more minutes, and we’re on our way.” Finally, there is movement. I decided I wouldn’t shy away from strenuous dancing if I fell in with others who were doing it. I was soon to be tested when a handful of young people dressed as harlequins placed themselves at the head of our bloco and danced with vigor and imagination, and with some improvised steps I had never seen. Some of us picked up the enthusiasm wanting it to continue. Suddenly I was dancing with an energetic woman in her mid, or perhaps late 30’s. Certainly she was much younger than myself. Could I keep up? You watch and match the other’s steps. I even tried to incorporate a step of our dancing  harlequins. This stimulated my partner, and we danced on for a while. Great fun. Finally, I found what I was seeking in the joy and participation of the bloco. 

The neighborhood blocos are more and more becoming the heart and soul of  Rio de Janeiro’s Carnaval. They are magnets that attract large numbers of revelers all over the city. They have I think added vitality to the Rio de Janeiro carnaval, as they are doing in other large Brazilian cities notably São Paulo. Some occupy a special niche such as the Cordão da Bola Preto which was said to attract a million people on the early Friday morning in downtown Rio, even in sun drenched 100 plus degree heat. At the other end of the spectrum is the bloco of Carmelitas (Carmelites) much smaller, but the object of growing interest. The bloco pays homage to the cloistered nuns in the local Carmelite convent with a simple, highly appropriate story that has captivated followers. A Carmelite nun suddenly flees the convent to join the revelers. People start looking for her including the Pope. The bloco does this part of the story on Friday, the first day of Carnaval. On Tuesday, the last day of Carnaval, the bloco is on the street for a second time when the nun returns undetected to the convent. Of course, the bloco is largely celebrating the escaped Carmelite nun and wishes to protect her identity. How?  With their fantasia: a veil of the Carmelite order. “Genial” (ingenious) as Brazilians might say.

Recognized for Rappin’

1987_regHip Hop Underground author Anthony Kwame Harrison reflects upon being an emcee in the Bay Area music scene

It was a magical feeling the first time I was recognized outside the scene as an emcee. “Wasn’t that you rappin’ at the Justice League the other night?” a guy in a yellow jacket yelled to me at the corner of Fifteenth Street and Church.  Then there was the time I managed to talk my way into a deejay booth freestyle cypher going on at a Lower Haight Street hip hop club.  All the other emcees on the mic that night were much more club-hit oriented in their deliveries.  They certainly weren’t fans of more avant-garde rapping styles like mine.  The moment I got on the mic, the deejay, who had had his back to me the entire time, turned around like “who the hell is that?!” After a minute or so some of the other emcees started tapping me on the shoulder to get off.  I got off and immediately exited the booth. Outside one of the regular emcees from the weekly open mic I took part in was waiting. “Thank You!” he said with a clasp of my hand and a quick embrace, “for bringing some flavor to the mic.” In the book these types of stories are kept to a minimum.

Participating in a scene so saturated with racial symbolism and meaning teaches a person a lot about race and ethnicity in the multiracial metropoles of the new America – especially when you pay attention. I’ve always paid attention, and been a little daring in testing race’s boundaries. Hip Hop Underground captures this, and shares the stories from the clubs, house-parties, open mics, record stores, curbsides, and recording studios of an important period in one of the great underground music scenes in America.

For video of emcee Mad Squirrel (aka Anthony Kwame Harrison, visit:–QT6aE6CJY

For more information about Hip Hop Underground, visit:

Notes from the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition

1776_regIn this entry, Mari Yoshihara, author of Musicians from a Different Shore: Asians and Asians Americans and Classical Music, offers her impressions on the recent Van Cliburn International Piano Competition

By Mari Yoshihara

I had the fortune of attending the Thirteenth Van Cliburn International Piano Competition held in Fort Worth, TX, from May 22 through June 7, 2009. Held every four years in Fort Worth, the Cliburn competition is now considered one of the most prestigious piano competitions in the world. In addition to the $20,000 cash prize and a CD recording, the winners get three-year concert management for performances around the world that often launches their performing career.

The competition is a perfect example of the phenomenon I discuss in my book, Musicians from a Different Shore: Asians and Asian Americans in Classical Music. This year, 16 out of 30 contestants were Asian. This year’s list of awardees—the gold medal was shared by Nobuyuki Tsujii of Japan and Haochen Zhang of China; Yeol Eum Son of South Korea won the silver; the crystal medal was not awarded—is historic in many ways. For one thing, this was the first time in the history of the competition that the gold medal went to an Asian. Also, the two gold medalists were the two youngest contestants in this year’s competition. And finally—this is certainly the most attention-grabbing fact of all—Tsujii is blind from birth.

While I had mentioned the competition in Musicians from a Different Shore, this was the first time that I had actually attended the event. And it quickly became clear to me that studying the event through documentary films, recordings, and media coverage is one thing, and experiencing it in situ is quite another. In the course of my interviews with the event’s organizers and jurors, I was persuaded of the competitions’ merit in identifying those artists who are most prepared to launch a concertizing career; but in the end, who wins and who doesn’t interest me beyond the reality TV-like curiosity. I did become a convert, however, of the event as an occasion to experience the intensity of a live musical performance. These young (age 19 to 30) musicians have dedicated their entire lives to this art form and worked for years toward this competition. They perform with their future career at stake, making bare every bit of their musical ideas, technical skills, spiritual and emotional state, out for the world to peruse (for the first time, the entire competition was webcast throughout the world) and for the jurors to assess. To witness this extremely courageous and vulnerable act live in the performance hall was immensely moving. And regardless of what happens to the long-term trajectory of these musicians (as a performing career involves many variables beyond musical skills and talent, not all competition winners end up having a renowned performing career), it is an incredible honor to share in the moment of the launching of the career of these young artists. And to have experienced live the performances of these pianists—from his recital in the preliminary round, Zhang’s performance had struck me as something by an extraordinary genius; and Tsujii’s playing moves the audience on so many levels, musical and spiritual—brings the listeners together in a way that defies facile description.

Listening to all the performances live, interviewing the contestants and jurors, meeting various people involved in the event, observing what goes on offstage and outside the concert hall, and getting to know some things about the Fort Worth community greatly expanded my understanding of the practice of classical music in the context of an event such as the Cliburn. It gave me tremendous food for thought as I reflect upon my own ideas about identity and music. Yet I was glad to confirm that my concluding sentences in Musicians from a Different Shore were proven by my experience at the Cliburn: “I believe that music produces power through the meetings of the performers’ and listeners’ subjective engagement with the musical text and the social, collective experience of music. Asians’ and Asian Americans’ realization and performance of identity in and through music help us see how the subjective and the social meet.”

Mari Yoshihara is the author of Musicians from a Different Shore: Asians and Asians Americans and Classical Music


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