It was like a set-piece scene from a big-budget film. Picture the scene: the downtrodden of the city, dressed in old, ragged clothes, rise up as one and fill the streets, marching towards the presidential palace on the hill, uttering blood-curdling cries as they go. This, surely, is revolution: the overthrow of the accepted order. The world is about to be turned upside down.
Many are masked; many carry weapons, discharging multicoloured tracer in all directions. Every so often, explosions of colour burst above the heads of the crowd. Rhythmic chants and discordant clangs reverberate off the walls as the citizen army advances beneath the motorway. In its wake, the road glistens with a slick sheen of water, paint and oil.
To heighten the cinematic drama, I am the only person facing them: a lone ranger walking towards a solid phalanx of humanity seemingly bent on mischief and mayhem. Behind me, the empty road stretches into the distance as the early morning sun spreads buttery hues across the roofs of grand mansions.
J’Ouvert: the last outpost of magic in Carnival. When all else in London’s hyper-managed celebration of freedom has been tamed and turned into mere display, J’Ouvert still buzzes with raw energy and happy unpredictability. However many times you experience it, Carnival’s early morning eruption of fun, eccentricity and randomness can still deliver surprises. Like this year: no steel bands. Not one.
Two weeks before Carnival 2024, organiser NHCL announced that J’Ouvert had been cancelled because no steel bands had registered. It told revellers: “It is important that those who were planning to attend please refrain from doing so.” But refraining is not in the spirit of Carnival, so people turned up regardless. It was, of course, the right decision.
There was no such warning this year, and the biggest J’Ouvert crowd SN has ever seen assembled at the top of Ladbroke Grove. When it became clear there would be no music, they moved off anyway. The mystery of the bands’ no-show has not been explained. No matter; help was on its way.
At about 7am, an excellent iron band led by a motorised “donkey” emerged from Kensal Road and kept up an irresistible rhythm down Ladbroke Grove, travelling beyond the flyover before turning around and heading back. The dress code was hessian sacking. The band was accompanied by two magnificent moko jumbies and large flags of Cuba, Sudan and Burkina Faso. Where steel had failed, iron showed its strength.
All the same, it would be nice to have pan back on the road for J’Ouvert 2027. It is the one time we can hear sweet steel without the noisy distraction of sound systems fore and aft. Would an alarm clock help next year?
