Papa and Hasbun performance

Roberto Hasbun and Simon Papa took an audience of about 50 for a trip into the Brazilian experience in their concert at the Idromeno restaurant near the center of Shkoder last night, with about a dozen songs that covered from the experience of the military dictatorship in that country in the 70s, to the seduction of beautiful women and leftovers from those, to the religious, Catholic element, and, of course, football.

 

This was a good intro into the repertoire the duo will sing at the Kole Idromeno Street tonight at seven.

 

Hasbun, a guitar player who sings as well as plays the occasional drum, and Papa, a vocalist who has her own drums, kicked off with tunes from Papa’s recent album.

Both are active in northern Italy but also in a wider western European scene.

 

For two tunes towards the end of the program, they invited first Gigi Bioncati, and then Sokol Prekalori, a local violinist into what then turned to be more of a jamming. One song was called Terra, and involved reflections on the continuity of the earth. Bioncati can maintain rhythm of music on anything, give him a concrete slab and he can beat it to African drum rhythm. Prekalori as well, had his own soft violin tunes sneak in, and for those four playing for the first time with each other, the performance was quite enjoyable, though the violin and guitar interplay lost its way for some moments.

 

Not much comprehension or empathy went along with the audience, despite the good vocals and music. This was due to language barriers, and the fact that Albanians can be beaten only by uninterested Americans as far as their understanding of Latin America. But when the duo began the two last songs of the regular program, a religious tune, Ole Maria, or Maria, Watch, and the other on a football match between Brazil and Uruguay which Brazil won in the last minute, they clicked on the name of the composer. He was a composer from Southeast Brasil whose name was Lenini, and that rang a bell for the Albanians, who lived under a Communist dictatorship until eighteen years ago.

 

Among the audience, there were some who chatted, some local entrepreneurs with the odd Italian entrepreneur thrown in, but also some young local musicians who have followed the festival from day one, and from what I hear, from day one.

 

That table of entrepreneurs was very convivial, applauses laud and fast after a soft tune, but quieter after the final rush with more rhythmic music. When the musicians asked for some quiet to experience a soft love song, Luisa, they happily clinked and clanked their glasses and spoons on places with each other. Anyway, this does not have to be a piece on class warfare.

 

The local musicians sitting on the other table seemed to suck every tune in, and when the bis was done, they asked for a tris.

 

Hasbrun, who had performed with Gigi earlier that afternoon as well, cut it politely short: “For that,” he said, “we have to ask the trade union for permission.” The midnight had already passed.