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

Photo: Getty
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The End We Start From imagines London underwater

Megan Hunter's fictional apocalypse is a tender one. 

It is six months after the flood. The nameless narrator of The End We Start From is a new mother and a refugee, and by the midpoint of the novel we have followed her and her baby from the “Gulp Zone”, where their London flat was swallowed, to a safe house that proved to be not safe enough, and then refugee camps, every move stripping life a little closer to the essentials. First what can be fitted in a car as you flee to safety, then what can be carried in your arms; first porridge, then only gruel.

Halfway through, the narrator and her baby make it to an island under the guidance of another new mother she befriended in the camps. Here, a family has established a small life of plenty. The narrator has left behind a “place of not-enough”, but here there is food to spare. Seeds grow into vegetables. The baby “likes to eat butter in chunks”. But where has the butter come from? There’s no mention of cattle on the island, no bucolic descriptions of churning. We’re told there is no electricity. So how do they have butter and why is it not rancid?

It’s a small thing, but an outsize irritant in a book whose prose is pared back to match the minimal existence it describes. Every detail feels weighted with significance because it was chosen over something else. Megan Hunter is a poet (this is her first novel), and her poetic instincts are underlined by the TS Eliot-referencing title, borrowed from Four Quartets: “What we call the beginning is often the end / And to make an end is to make a beginning. / The end is where we start from.”

Apocalypse and rebirth are central to Hunter’s story. Butter aside, it invokes a thoroughly plausible end of the world. Like Emily St John Mandel’s luminous Station Eleven, or Margaret Atwood’s MaddAddam trilogy, you read it with the conviction that this is what it would be like. (These stories are told from the perspective of the resourceful fortunates who make it through. Apocalypse literature kindly dodges the reality that, if it came to it, most of us would die whimpering in a dirt hole.)

But realism is not the only dictate here. The End We Start From is also deeply invested with symbolism. It begins with the narrator going into labour: “Finally I am waterless, the pool of myself spreading slowly past my toes.” Maternity is a kind of apocalypse, an end to being one kind of self who lives one kind of life, and the beginning of another. Names, like everything else here, are cut back to the barest essentials, becoming just initials. The narrator’s husband is R, her in-laws are N and G, and her baby Z – an alphabetical end who is at the beginning of his life. Anyone who has welcomed the catastrophe of a newborn into their lives is likely to feel sympathy for this parallelbetween infant and Armageddon.

There is a cost to the allegory, though, and it comes through in moments when Hunter sacrifices the merciless logic of calculating survival in favour of giving play to her metaphor. Milk is, as it would be for a new mother, a theme. The milk in the narrator’s breasts that keeps her baby alive becomes an analogue for all sustenance: “As for food, I have started to think of it all as milk,” she says. “I wonder how long we would survive, how quickly human milk runs out in famine.” Perhaps it’s inevitable, then, that the unexpected gift of security and nourishment the narrator and Z find on the island should be represented through dairy; but it also punctures a world you could otherwise believe in utterly.

Hunter’s apocalypse is a tender one. There is violence and disorder at the start: one of the most affecting uses of Hunter’s spare style is when the narrator’s mother-in-law fails to return from a brutal trip to gather provisions, and the narrator simply announces: “No G.” But while R chooses isolation and suspicion of others, leaving his wife and child to make his own way, the narrator chooses humanity. She tells us how she “falls in love”, deep and quick, with those with whom she forms alliances. To borrow again from Four Quartets, “The houses are all gone under the sea” – but The End We Start From promises the possibility of life afterwards. 

The End We Start From
Megan Hunter
Picador, 127pp, £9.99

Sarah Ditum is a journalist who writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman and others. Her website is here.

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear