Tone Deaf’s Anaya Latter got more than she bargained for when El Guincho turned a gig disaster into a highlight of the year.
Rooftop bar’s first foray into their Happy Monday summer concert series was a memorable night by all accounts. It swung from an untimely end to a happy ending in the time it takes to finish a pint or two of cider.
The sold out Washed Out/El Guincho gig was suitably full of pretty young things unafraid to show some skin. With blue sky above and the sun still streaming onto our backs at 8pm (hats off to daylight saving) gave the impression that this was going to be the best summer we’d ever imagined.
As Washed Out took the stage, their synthy gurgle overlaid with Ernest Greene’s sincere vocals was the ideal lo-fi soundtrack to a sultry evening. Fans in the crowd were dancing in appreciation, or perhaps it was perpetual Meredith-induced motion that caused them to sway and grin.
Friends chatted to each other, chomped on beatbox kitchen burgers, or sipped at their icy ciders under the open sky and the city reverberating with reflected sun.
Despite the good vibes, Washed Out were too quiet. The sound levels were not as loud as you’d expect, and often the waves of hipster chatter rose to compete with the musicians.
As dusk fell, El Guincho took to the stage in the usual we’re just setting up and sound-checking way, although it took forever, and those of us who managed to drift off from the conversations around us noticed that Pablo Diaz-Reixa kept staring and muttering to the sound tech at the other side of the Astroturf promenade.
Señor El Guincho was locked in a soundless exchange of intense looks at his equipment, his fellow musicians and the man behind the mixing desk.
Eventually Diaz-Reixa apologised and explained that they were having massive technical problems. They started playing, although you could tell that he was far from happy, trying to play and sing, but wincing all the while.
On my way to the bar I noticed two cops arrive with arms sternly folded over reflective vests. They shut El Guincho down at exactly 10:03pm, presumably for noise complaints, or perhaps because the gig had a strict curfew.
Diaz-Reixa explained that they had been forced to stop, and he sweetly asked the crowd if there was anywhere else, even a house, where they could continue playing.
Of course, The Toff took off their monocle and invited them to pop down and play there, so the El Guincho lads lugged their gear piece by piece down the stairs, while the rest of us waited patiently (around 40 minutes) for them to set up and resume.
What a different experience the second El Guincho set was! Crystal clear sound that put the rooftop resonance to shame, excited and energetic musicians enlivened by the newfound ease of their equipment and the crowd’s ecstatic response.
The beats were infectious and dancing took up with gusto. The Toff was bouncing, and El Guincho were the darlings of Curtin House, having effectively played twice. Their encore performance of Bombay sealed the deal, and the sweaty fans were grinning and gratefully moving to the effortless pomp of El Guincho’s afrobeat synthpop specialty.
Who knows what would’ve happened if it had been a different performer, and one less willing to play twice. But from the genuine pleasure on the faces of the El Guincho three; and from the crowd around me – playing a second time was definitely worth it, and made it a summer gig to remember. If you believe in omens, perhaps it bodes well for a spontaneous summer of great gigs to come.
