Story
The uber car drove to this decrepit warehouse in the northern industrial part of Brooklyn, a little before midnight. As I got out, Mal Devisa jumped in and said "I'll be right back, I'll see you inside" and sped away for some mysterious errand. I ended up mingled with about a hundred twenty year olds camped in the corridor in front of one of the artist studios/squats where the evening concerts were taking place. To pass the time they graffitied the walls from floor to ceiling, covering the works of their predecessors. Inside, the furniture was pushed against the walls, below recent artworks of the occupant, and in the back a little stage was set up, perhaps 9x9 feet. One punk rock band was making its best attempt to be noticed by the thirty something members of the crowd when I got -very officially- stamped on the wrist and allowed in to drink warm beer.
Mal Devisa played after them. Alone, and barefeet on this piece of dirty carpet. By then, they were no longer letting people in because it was too crowded. She was the event of the night. This girl, barely out of high school stood there and shook the night with the power of her basse guitar, her single drum and of her voice which carried the rage of her words. I felt I was witnessing a very privileged moment, the bloom of a true artist and character. I had heard of couple of her tunes which she performed very shyly at the Schomberg Center as she shared the stage with Alicia Hall Moran a few days before. I had been hypnotized then and there by the rawness of her presence, tracked her down and then met her that second night in Brooklyn.
Minutes after she got of the stage one of the guys from the organization started yelling "5-0, the cops are coming! Hide the drugs! The cops are coming". That -surely enough- triggered a mass movement from the corridor to the building's door. As kids were pouring out I pulled the singer up one flight of stairs in order to make a couple portraits before the night blew. Stepping out of the building I jumped into a taxi who had lost its way, and as we drove away we crossed two police cars heading towards this crowd of young adults, frozen on the sidewalk by the siren, and fascinated by their blinking red and blue lights. They would probably have a story to tell the next day. Just as I.
Mal Devisa played after them. Alone, and barefeet on this piece of dirty carpet. By then, they were no longer letting people in because it was too crowded. She was the event of the night. This girl, barely out of high school stood there and shook the night with the power of her basse guitar, her single drum and of her voice which carried the rage of her words. I felt I was witnessing a very privileged moment, the bloom of a true artist and character. I had heard of couple of her tunes which she performed very shyly at the Schomberg Center as she shared the stage with Alicia Hall Moran a few days before. I had been hypnotized then and there by the rawness of her presence, tracked her down and then met her that second night in Brooklyn.
Minutes after she got of the stage one of the guys from the organization started yelling "5-0, the cops are coming! Hide the drugs! The cops are coming". That -surely enough- triggered a mass movement from the corridor to the building's door. As kids were pouring out I pulled the singer up one flight of stairs in order to make a couple portraits before the night blew. Stepping out of the building I jumped into a taxi who had lost its way, and as we drove away we crossed two police cars heading towards this crowd of young adults, frozen on the sidewalk by the siren, and fascinated by their blinking red and blue lights. They would probably have a story to tell the next day. Just as I.
