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Al-Ahram Weekly 10 - 16 August 2000 Issue No. 494 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 10 - 16 August 2000 Issue No. 494
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Books Travel Living Sports Profile People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Running the flights
By David Blake
Jazz Recital; Steppes Troupe (Akram El-Sharqawi); Cairo Opera House, Open Air, 31 July
It is a question of digestion. Steppes Troupe draws a clear line between the top and bottom of its musical performance.
In deciding so determinedly on pandering to the zombies, who listen to the bottom line of the band, they are in danger of losing those who prefer the top. And the top is good. The bottom is no more than a heaving series of digestive eruptions, far down in the depths, endlessly repeating the same rhythm.
Steppes leaves the top part of the band to do all the work, making the inventions, varying the tones, while the awful din from deep down swamps everything -- one tone, one rhythm, one bout of indigestion that never stops.
Why don't they lose the bottom half and keep the top. The top is worth saving, there's a lot going on at the top, though the zombies, true to form, soon tire of everything.
The band is made up of bright, colourful players who all have strong individual personalities. They are men aloft in their branches of electronica, springing from level to level as they mix out a big array of sounds -- all differing from one other. The colouring is often far away from routine jazz.
How did Steppes come into being? Was the birth immaculate or just plain good management?
There are no loose ends to their style because they cover a lot of ground in their concerts, and we come across a variety of sounds that would not be unbecoming for even an old established orchestra. Being young, they take the leap. It flops a few times, but for the rest succeeds in being lively and likable. They produce an alluring sound. How strange after all the bash and crash. They meld into romantic time-pocked landscapes full of historical allusions. Then bump comes the bass from the depths -- finito.
They start again. Billed as a jazz recital, there is certainly a taste of jazz about it, but their style is too large, and the range takes in almost everything. It is a long time now since jazz broke out of its Pandora's box. Everything about that era is now long gone, and it is a time to which Steppes pays reverence no more. They show their years with their irreverence.
Tunes, Arabic and Western, fly in before their speed and assurance and fly out again quickly, so as not to be torn to pieces by time. Time bangs around these players like it does on the Piazza d'Espagna. There is not even much time to be young any more. Steppes knows we're moving into new spaces that will leave jazz marooned on the reefs of the past. And if it were not for the subterranean swallowing up of all the ideas and inspirations they could be said to be doing their best with an unenviable situation.
Finding the proper path? Steppes may be on their way up
It is said there's nothing like an old tune. Steppes has a few old visitors paying brief calls, but they soon wilt before the storm. Steppes is, then, an exciting group, not so much for what it does as for what it is attempting with youth and strength, and the endurance of a storm trooper. Anyway, it will succeed, because there is proof enough of thought behind the strutting and posturing. It often tries its best to be street-slick. Then a step in another direction, and we receive some class material, done with a proper air of arrogance.
Steppes is its name, and steps are its present vocation. It steps all over the place, into potholes and out again. Steppes has good feet and is well shod, and will eventually find the proper path.
When you go for a walk in a dangerous city, never look up, always look down like a duck. Ducks never fall over.
Jungle life must have an end. Why not try something blue? Steppes does, and it is the memory of somewhere west of Broadway, landing them right in the river. The sounds are right even if the emotions are not. The air-crash formula never works, whatever the genre.
But they are young. They make a brave try, and out comes a song in spite of the mayhem from below. The stampede is over, the tone and the atmosphere are deeply felt romance. Even zombies dream. The top makes of the night a victory. A depth-charge, perhaps, for that bass.
