Latin summer

Four recommendations from an array of Latin American dance, music and culture on its way to the UK.

Over the next two months, Britain will play host to a variety of Latin American performers. Ballet dancers, platinum selling artists and Lucha Libre stars will jet over the Atlantic for your entertainment, most of them for one night only. Performers from all over the continent are set to play in London and elsewhere - the summer of 2011, it would seem, is a Latin one.

Things culminate with the annual Carnival del Pueblo in Burgess Park, south London, in August, as well as the CASA Latin American Theatre Festival in October.

To make things easier, here are four artists that come highly recommended:

Juan Luis Guerra

The giant of Latin American music is yet to appear in the UK. Despite selling thirty million albums worldwide, winning two Grammy awards and fifteen Latin Grammys for good measure, this week's performance will be Juan Luis Guerra's first in London.

The Dominican giant's sound is a product of his birthplace and he only ever composes songs himself. Initially using the rhythms of merengue and bachata, he struck out in all directions folding in salsa, son, Latin pop and even recording mash ups with African artists like Congo's Diblo. The artist himself describes his music as 'full of energy [...] romantic, danceable and made for reflection'.

When we spoke to Juan Luis Guerra he raved about his debut in the country of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. As well as playing to an English crowd for the first time in his twenty-five year long career, he is looking forward to having a pint of ale in a proper English pub, followed by a session in Abbey Road studios.

Asked whether he was concerned about the British and their two left feet, he replied that the 'Latin Americans in the audience will take care of them', and that even in Japan last year he found an unlikely community of bachata aficionados (so much so that he wrote a song about it ).

Como No will be hosting Juan Luis Guerra y 4.40 on Wednesday 22 June at the HMV Hammersmith Apollo. Tickets can be bought from the HMV call centre, on 0843 221 0100. They are also available from Ticketmaster twenty-four hour Ticketline, on 08448 44 47 48. Visit www.ticketmaster.co.uk for further details. Doors 6.45pm

Carlos Acosta

Carlos Acosta is one of the most recognized Latin Americans in London. Haling from Cuba, he won a string of international awards before he joined the Royal Ballet in 1998 and became a Principal in 2003.

The rags to leotard story goes that Acosta was a young rebel who danced to Michael Jackson on the streets of La Habana. Then, at thirteen, he saw a Cuban Ballet performance that would focus in his mind his future profession.

Nowadays he is known for being able to pull of that leap, and for choreographing increasingly biographical work. This year's offering, Premieres Plus, features new creations and collaborations with renowned international dancers and musicians. The pieces have been devised by Acosta, combining his classical training with more contemporary styles.

It has been reworked from the 2010 project of the same name and will be performed in three separate venues. Collaborating with dancers from Rambert Dance Company, Ballet Boyz graduates and an overwhelming number of other international movers, this is one not to be missed.

Carlos Acosta will be performing at the London Coliseum from 27 - 30 July. He will be at The Lowry, Salford Quays, Manchester, on 24 and 25 July and Birmingham Hippodrome from 18-20 August.

Calle 13

Calle 13 is much more than just a band. They are poets, satirists, political activists even, whose unique sound has far surpassed the reggaetón scene they were associated with in the past. They combine Latin American folk music, Afro-beat, ska, polka, salsa with blunt political messages that have earned them the reputation of being some of the most innovative music makers going.

The group is made up of the fraternal Calle 13 ('kai-yay tray-say'), René Pérez Joglar (Residente), and Eduardo José Cabra Martínez (Visitante). The trio's music is a call to action: a torrent of passionate rants about anger, political disillusionment, and international inequality. That said, the obnoxious base line and beats behind each song means that for every crowd there is a floor-filler, whatever their musical bent.

Calle 13 is renowned for giving infectious, raucous concerts, captivating audiences with the range and quality of their music. With an eleven-piece band behind them, this promises to be a powerful, witty and memorable show.

Calle 13 will be hosted by Como No in association with the Barbican, and will be performing at the Hackney Empire on Saturday 8 July 2011. Tickets can be bought from the Box Office 0845 120 7550 www.barbican.org.uk/blaze. Doors 8pm - 2am.

Lucha Future

Recent comments from BBC TV's Top Gear presenters regarding Mexico and its people have been responded to by the stars of Mexico's finest, Lucha Future. The legendary Queen of the Ring, Cassandro, has challenged Clarkson, Hammond and May to a bout in the ring at London's Roundhouse, "If they want to know what Mexico is really like, I'll let them know in five minutes flat".

Lucha Future will see luchadores like Blue Demon Jr., El Paso's lip-locking Cassandro and the acrobatic Magno run, fly and muscle their way across a London ring this week.

Bursting with heroism and villainy, the masked athletes clad in leotards and latex will be putting the hurt on each other, with feats of agility (and slapstick) that the perma-mulleted WWF fights of the past could not even hope to emulate.

To add yet more spice to the mix live music will be served up courtesy of Tijuana's Bostich & Fussible (Nortec Collective) and their Mexican gumbo of Norteño, electronica and techno.

Lucha Future will be on at the Roundhouse, Camden from Friday 24 June - Sunday 26 June. They will also be at The Sage, Gateshead, on 28 June, and Brighton Dome on 2 July.

Mark Maughan writes for Candela magazine

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“My words stayed in folders”: life as a fandom lurker

I was listening to the conversations of other fans, but I wasn’t talking. For years—for more than a decade, in fact—I didn’t say a word.

When I was a child, I wrote stories about my favourite characters. Lots of children do this: whether they write it down or act it out, on playgrounds or with a handful of dolls, this kind of storytelling is a natural part of play.

As I entered adolescence, my stories grew elaborate. I took someone else’s characters and gave them massive backstories and a supporting crew of original characters in what I later realised was fanfiction, original stories drawn from someone else’s source material. (In this case, it was a corporate board: I was fixated on self-made millionaires, and told my parents and teachers I was going to grow up to be a “ruthless businesswoman.”) I wasn’t ashamed of my stories, but I didn’t share them with—or even mention them to—anyone else.

I’ve met a lot of people who played with other writers’ characters as a child. “I did that when I was a kid,” they tell me. “As I got older, I grew out of it.” But as I got older, I grew into it—and I went online. By the time the internet was truly accessible to me, past those blisteringly slow dial-up years to the point where, if I stayed up late enough, I could have the big, clunky desktop in my parents’ kitchen all to myself, I was fourteen. And right around then, I fell hard for Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

The fan sites of the late nineties looked like much of the organic web of the late nineties: garish colours and bad fonts. With Buffy, there was a lot of black. I don’t remember being surprised to find Buffy lovers on the web; after all, many of my friends were as obsessed as I was. (I modelled my Buffy scrapbook, painstakingly cut-out articles about the show and its cast, on one a friend had made, though hers was focussed on Angel, and mine was much more sensibly about Rupert Giles.) Many of the people making and reading these Buffy sites were adults, but that didn’t make a difference to me.

What did make a difference was the night I discovered that other people wrote fanfiction. I’ve written before about the utter dissonance of that moment of discovery, about how confused I was by the first story I encountered. Even though I loved writing this stuff, it never occurred to me that other people would want to spend their time rearranging beloved characters on the page.

There were whole archives built around it, I soon learned, and prolific authors who posted work on individual sites. (This was 1999, early days for future fanfic juggernauts like fanfiction.net and LiveJournal.) There was so much to read. People sorted work by character, by romantic pairing, by genre, by trope. They were using fiction to talk back to the show—and to each other.

I dipped a toe into online fanfiction waters, slowly at first, until suddenly, I was drowning in it. I left one fandom and entered another: within a few years, I was wholly consumed by Harry Potter, where I’d stick around for close to a decade (and where now, weirdly, I have returned). As I read, I kept writing - other peoples’ fanfic only gave me more ideas. My drafts migrated from notebooks to word processors and my desktop folders were full of outlines and half-finished fics.

But my words stayed put in those folders: they were as private as they’d ever been. Online fandom was a world where people were having conversations about the things they loved. For more than a decade, I was listening to the conversations, but I didn’t say a word. I was a lurker.

In fact, most people in online communities are lurkers. What was once relatively easy to define—there were people who posted things on or moderated message boards, for example, and people who didn’t—has grown murkier with the rise of social media. But the prevailing wisdom still favours the 90-10-1 rule, which argues that 90 per cent of the people on the web are largely passive readers, 10 per cent are actively engaging with content, and just one per cent create that content. I, like the majority of my fellow fans, have spent most of my fandom life in the broad base of that pyramid.

Loving something with that deep, fannish love, can be a complicated thing. It’s different for everyone, I suppose, but for me, lurking has always sprung from a weird duality: I simultaneously want to talk about the objects of my fandom while also wanting to keep them incredibly private. In my lurking years, I felt like I loved this stuff just as much as everyone who was posting and creating and sharing, but then, I didn’t have proof  beyond my thousands of words of fanfiction, sitting in endless folders on my desktop.

For me, online fanfiction has always been a very private space that paradoxically exists in the public sphere. Over the years I’ve encountered stories that I hold as close to my heart as the source material they were based upon. Cloistered in my fanfiction-reading world, cut off from a lot of other fannish discussion, I missed interpersonal dramas and ship wars and, as arguments are colloquially known in many fan communities, wank. Even when fanfic writers and readers moved en masse to LiveJournal, I steered clear of the personal posts and diary entries: the most I’d see of authors I was reading were little notes at the beginning of chapters: “Sorry this is going up late! Life got in the way.” Fanfiction writers were, for me, their writing alone.

Lurkers occupy a difficult space in fan communities, which are usually built on unpaid labour. For many fic writers, part of the reward of writing lies in communicating with their readers, who are fellow fans. For most of my lurking life, I read in spaces where the only way to interact with writers was to leave a comment, but in recent years, I’ve done most of my fic reading at the Archive of Our Own, where a “kudos,” a little heart button, can be used instead. I regularly see Tumblr posts about the vast gulf between the number of people who leave kudos versus comments. Fandom, many argue, is powered on dialogue and verbal encouragement, and writers need more than a little “like.” And who can blame them?

But after years lurking, of revelling in fanfiction communities while staying resolutely silent, how do I learn to speak up? Social media has helped: I’ve made fandom friends on Twitter and Tumblr, aided by my pivot into writing about fan culture as a journalist. (I’m not going to pretend this doesn’t make my story fairly unusual amongst fanfic lurkers, but still!) I’ve floated little pieces of my personal fannishness out into the world. Now, people know what I ship, what characters I relate to, even some of the stories I love, as I shyly recommend the stuff that’s left me flailing or smacking the couch in glee or saying aloud to literally no one, “This is so good,” as I read it.

My natural instinct remains to lurk. I pepper the web with little hearts and favourites and kudos, but I rarely go in deep on public forums about the things I really love. It’s a curious position for someone who writes and talks a lot about fan culture: I am the perpetual observer, and the incredibly reluctant participant. But as the web has evolved, so have I: I’m inching closer to participatory culture, not just creating, but sharing what I create. And I’ve got thousands of words of new fanfiction, sitting in a folder in my desktop. Perhaps it’s time to finally speak up.

Elizabeth Minkel is a staff writer for The Millions, and writes a regular column on fan culture for the New Statesman. She is on Twitter @ElizabethMinkel.