Spontaneity captures essence of festival

Saturday, 26 July 2008

It’s one of those ironies of festival organising. Committees, chairpersons and volunteers spend months planning schedules. Yet, the most memorable moments are the spontaneous performances and exchanges.

And at the 10th Pacific Festival of the Arts in Pago Pago, if there is one thing I am fretting about at the moment, it’s that I will miss another unplanned break into song and dance somewhere. Yes, the traditional costumes and action are great at the scheduled performances. I wouldn’t miss them for anything. But the kick I get out of someone jumping out of the crowd and getting everyone into a frenzy is priceless.

For quite some time, I had heard about Fiji’s behind the scenes action at sporting and cultural events. But when team members in their official burnt orange shirts started revving the audience at Fiji pop group Black Rose’s gig at the “Jam House”, I reckon my goosebumps went turkey sized.

It kinda made up for how I felt when I saw my colleague, Australia Network correspondent Sean Dorney’s amazing TV report which captured this type of spontaneity one early morning before the festival began. While waiting for the big “ava” ceremony , half sleepy delegates had broken into song and dance somewhere. Sean captured it. I was despondent for having missed it. And that was his reward for starting at 6am that morning.

My reward for insisting he hang out with me for some late night recording one night was ending up on stage with him. I couldn’t decide on who to focus on – the ravishing Cook Island dancer who picked me, or Sean Dorney and his stage antics.

I’ve got to admit, most of the stories or happenings I have covered here haven’t resulted from checking out schedules. The line-up is changing by the hour anyway.

Not that it’s bothered me. Taking a stroll around the festival village has landed me some amazing encounters, which my Melbourne team have had to deal with during live crosses. I have sprung everything from a chat with the Samoan Head of State in a fale (Samoan traditional house) to throwing myself in the middle of New Caledonian drummers, drowning my on air conversation with Isabelle and Namila back in the studio.

It’s hard not to do that sort of thing here. Everywhere you look, there is a celebration. But that’s not all.

While I am familiar with concepts of earth ovens, Papua New Guinea’s 800 odd ethnic groups well as favourite Pacific pastimes, I had no idea this festival was going to be a crash course into even deeper aspects of the things I thought I already knew.

I had heard of the Tambuan songs and dances of New Ireland, Papua New Guinea. But I knew little about their rarity, their composition and ownership of the songs. I did not know that if someone offered you shell money as you performed and you accepted it, you forfeited your right to perform your own composition ever again. When I asked Cletus Ngafffin, founder of the Port Moresby Tanir Cultural Group which is performing Tumbuan dances at the festival, whether he ever ran out of songs, he gave me this incredulous look. Oh well, at least I asked.

I also knew about Lovos and Umus (earth ovens). But I did not realise that in some cases, there is a heirarchy of roles. In some Samoan communities, only untitled young men prepare the ovens and food. The role of women is to serve the dishes and ensure everyone has enough.

I also found out that at the festival, many of the performances and chants were taken out of their sacred context. And we journalists were asked to be aware of this when recording. What struck me though was just how even the new custodians seemed to be aware of the balance they needed to strike between performance and ritual.

But it’s those behind the scenes moments where you realise how sacred things are and how much respect the young have for their past. When we were allowed to witness the painting of Papua New Guinea’s Tumbuan dancers with lime paint, it wasn’t so much the colours that struck me but the silence that descended around us.

These young people may be at an arts festival. And there may be plenty of spectators around once they’re on stage. But behind the scenes you experience something else. You become infused with the sacred as you watch them confer with the past. You feel the potency of the ritual of painting, dancing and chanting. And if you are anything like me, you are also aware of ancestral scrutiny from another world, watching, guiding and waiting.

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