My user experiences were a mixed bag: from the dirty, stifling and claustrophobic (Lille, London) to the clinically efficient (Fukuoka, Seoul), via the downright airy and arty (Washington DC).

The age of the system certainly has plenty to do with it (DC dates from 1976, London a century earlier), as does atmosphere. Atmosphere or lack of it.

Source: Adrian Pingstone (2004), Wikimedia Commons

Reading a post at the French language bxl.blog reminded me that I’d wanted to write something about subway music.

I can’t recall having heard subway music before I first visited Brussels in 2001. That’s not the kind produced by buskers but rather the strangely disembodied sounds coming from discreetly placed PAs.

Subway subliminal

There’s more than a faint echo of irony associated with listening to piped music while waiting to be piped around a city. Furthermore Mélissa, in the post linked above, seems to be hinting that the Brussels métro playlist is anything but random. Could it be subliminal muzak, a 1950s experimental scientist’s wet dream?

Certainly, it’s no secret that general behaviour is being targeted. Just as I once learned in Criminology 101 that the best way to prevent graffiti in public spaces is to fill them yourself, a Saturday night assault from a string quartet will almost certainly damage the prospect of a knuckle-fisted one. Unless of course you’re a droog and you speak Nadsat.

Individualism and choice

Since humanity is a thing of rich diversity, the opinions of subway users can and do vary.¹

In return for a spot of Mozart, the organisation running the subway system gets significantly improved public order. Naturally, this benefits users too, though it’s probably less obvious to them. Muzak can also help to pass the time while users await the next train, if it’s agreeable.

Now I don’t have any figures, but I’m pretty confident that the majority of those who do not care for subway music are the majority European and North American. Any organised, mass-transit system in those parts of the world must design against ingrained Western individualism. We do not appreciate being couped up in a small cylinder with an accompanying lack of personal choice on which to exercise our free will.

We are given to the celebration of a rebellious sheep, whereas in Eastern cultures, the success of the flock is predicated on social harmony. Tokyo’s underground, for example, uses jingles but it has no need of pacifying muzak.

The next stop will be Our Great Leader

There is a notable Eastern exception however. Spare a thought if you will for North Koreans living in Pyongyang, whose subterranean journeys are apparently subject to a constant aural barrage of strident marches and patriotic anthems. Simon Bone has actually made available some of this music on his fascinating website, as part of a wealth of information about the capital’s underground system. Simon’s site is all the more enigmatic for its understandable lack of credited sources.

Notes

1. All those in favour say “yea”: Matthew Yglesias; all those who are on the fence say “could be”: The Independent; all those against say “nay”: Angry New York Times reader.

The story goes that Rodrigo Sánchez and Gabriela Quintero played in a thrash metal band in their native Mexico. Presumably having failed to thrash the charts the band split, jettisoning our nimble-fingered duo to Dublin, the buskers’ paradise. There they were spotted and snagged by the festival circuit. Massive success followed, with an album produced by none other than John Leckie.

At times it seems as if Rodrigo and Gabriela pick and strum faster than a hummingbird’s wing action. So given that tonight’s the last date on their world tour, their overworked digits must be pretty sore by now. Heedless, they tear through their set with an engaging gusto.

Personally, I prefer these guys in small doses. Something of the miracle of how they coax an extraordinary, polyphonic array of sound from two simple guitars tends to get lost after half an hour of driving rhythms. Every track’s got the same high energy – they cite Megadeth and Slayer as influences after all – but that perhaps removes some of the focus on musicianship that should give them the longevity they deserve.

I first heard of Scottish band Salsa Celtica back in 2004, courtesy of WFMU radio’s Doug Schulkind.

I was just starting to get interested in latin and world music at the time and I hoovered up Schulkind’s Culture Shock collection. The Give The Drummer Some DJ had put together twenty soundclashes in which Latin would rub up against Blues, African musicians did turns on Hawaiian guitar and Brazilians paid homage to the funk of James Brown.

Salsa Celtica’s Fuerte opened the collection. It appears on the band’s second album The Great Scottish Latin Adventure and represents a perfect summary of what the band is about: salsa and bagpipes, Latin and Celtic.

Somehow, against first impressions, the combination works perfectly.

Catching up with them isn’t easy. Their fairly infrequent tours take them to some pretty obscure places. However, only a couple of weeks ago I learned that they were doing a gig in Saltaire, West Yorkshire.

Accordingly, Saltaire became the unlikely destination of our third visit to a UNESCO World Heritage Site in two months.

Salsa Celtica formed in 1995 and has gained considerable popularity since then, receiving acclaim in the UK and further afield. The Saltaire date was their eleventh in a long list that continues until mid August 2008.

There were times during the gig, which was split over two sets, when the wooden floors of the Victoria Hall felt and actually looked like they would cave in. Stacks of sound equipment by the stage wobbled precariously.

The large crowd consisted of those more used to the Celtic-only fare usually heard at the venue, a significant number of salsa dancers and the rest of us there specifically for the band, or just out of curiosity.

Of course, the salsa dancers were by no means the only ones dancing and we all had a bit of a shuffle ourselves. I’d been watching YouTube videos all last week to pick up the basic steps!

The atmosphere was terrific once the crowd had warmed up, with Venezuelan singer Lino Rocha expertly working the crowd. By the second set, the overwhelming majority were on their feet.

With a unusual, totally unique mix of sounds, the eleven members of Salsa Celtica have found a niche but more importantly, an audience.

The problem with being a covers band is that your audience tends to judge you on the quality of your renditions rather than the quality of your musicianship.

Cadillac Jukebox singer Ian McMullen acknowledges this, but for him the enjoyment comes from being able to play a wide, often surprisingly eclectic repertoire. “I don’t even like playing gigs,” he claims, “I do them for the other guys.”

Despite only playing together since March, the band has developed a distinctive sound, making their renditions personal and occasionally peculiar. McMullen’s sharp, high voice is backed by restrained guitars and fizzy keyboards, with time kept by a remarkably florid display of drumming the likes of which the pub circuit is unlikely to see elsewhere.

The music is drawn from styles as diverse as mod, disco, rock and soul. Such a mixed repertoire means taking the odd risk and not every track worked on the night. So whilst the band never seemed completely at ease with Noughties numbers, the barnstorming turns of Town Called Malice, Foxy Lady, Superstition and Land Of 1000 Dances were terrific highlights.