2014 calypso semi finals – no real losers

Are we at the semis or at the clash of the bands? Calypsonians seemed to have a special appreciation for the phrase ‘to each his own’ evidenced by the game of musical chairs played with band members from competing tents. Calypsonians also seemed appreciative of swanky clothing: purple cloaks magically blowing in the wind, immaculate white suits that dazzled the eyes, red silk which mesmerized; they also opted for costume dressing, wearing Bolt’s track suits readying for a race, hospital night gowns complete with IV drips, or raging bulls and Chinese farmers.

On a night filled with popular, beautiful compositions, craftsmanship, vocal ability and performance would determine the divide. As envious a construction as Chinaman Wok was, as enjoyable as Lar Jay Lang Mwen proved to be, and as moving as Nurse became, Jay Dee, Young Bull and Mighty Logars were all outdone in the first half, by the melodious but crafty Webb and the formidable anthem of Wave’s call to Speak. Explosion quite likely had an interesting play with Bwa Poo Wee, but articulation difficulties made it hard to follow, hence, even harder to appreciate. Similarly, Sye, presented a song of potential but following the narrative was also troublesome. In fact, it was his presentation, both in attire and background skit which provided some semblance of understanding the Race to the White House. So in the end, he too, lost the race. Sigh, Sye! Chris B, despite a minor gaffe of a line, did not seem to own the stage as he had leading up to the semis, neither did Observer, who as hard as he tried, could not resonate with Mandela. Daddy Chess, who probably could have slipped in, was left out. Apparently sometimes, and for some, Mama alone, just isn’t enough.

Despite some problems with the overall sound or mic quality, the second half was truly a photo finish. It was the round of the gifted voices belting out masterful tunes. Bobb, self proclaimed, Original Calypsonian boldly, with deserved confidence after his performance, declared, “the stage is mine–take me or leave me!” The judges took him. Boople needed no special magic to cast a spell. It was all him, effortless and resounding. Leona was undeniably in her element after a slow, uncertain start. Once she realized that the crowd warmed up to her, she and her Baby Machine roared their way into the finals. Black Diamond, tall, stately, shone radiantly over his subjects with his wily Upon Video. Beno silenced a charmed audience into his vision of a New Peace only to have Picky wake them up again. Hello Hello, Relax! Love You Love You, as he scolded his enthralled children while taking them through a lesson in Rumours. Checker, with an earful to process, Beetle J, sadly, too timid this time around, and Jama B, a bit too exaggerated, could not keep up. Hunter though, was capable enough to squeeze into the tight space of nine with his provocative They Don’t Know.

In retrospect, there were no real losers at the semis. In fact, it was really just the right amount of charisma which separated the best from the best. Perhaps it’s time the DCA heeds the calls to launch an initiative to school caiso patrons on the judging criteria so that we fanatics may better understand the judges’ decisions. Finals are fast approaching and should be quite the nail biter–but then again, finals come with the dreaded curse of the second song!