Places to listen The Reno band People with Bodies recently toured South America. Here, in their own words, is what they found. by Fil Corbitt and Kent irwin
Kent Irwin and Fil Corbitt are freelance music and travel writers based in Reno. They both contribute to the RN&R, and Corbitt also hosts and produces the Van Sounds podcast about music and travel. And, along with bassist Mark Nesbitt and guitarist Julian Jacobs, they perform in the group People with Bodies.
Marcos Vinicius lopes rosa and rael brian, a member of the band decurso drama, stand on a beach called Praia de Mocambique near Florianapolis, brazil. PhoTo/FIl CoRBITT
When we start shows in the United States, we usually say “We are People with Bodies and so are you.” This September, in four cities across southern Brazil we said, “Somos Pessoas Com Corpos e você esta também,” and later in Uruguay and Argentina, “Somos Personas Con Cuerpos y ustedes estan también.” It was our second time touring Brazil, our first time playing Montevideo and Buenos Aires. We booked the five-week tour across three countries exactly the way we’d book a D.I.Y. tour in the U.S.—finding bands, asking around, and writing a bunch of emails. There’s an air of importance when you tell somebody you’re touring internationally. It must mean your band is big, or that you’ve made it. But that’s simply not the case. In 2016, we toured twice—in Brazil and in the Pacific Northwest. In 2017, we returned to both, and each time booking in South America was the easier and more fun of the two routes. Reno band the Vampirates said something on stage once after returning from a sprawling international tour. It was along the lines of “If the Vampirates can do it, so can you.” That’s the perfect way to put it. If you want to be in an internationally touring band, you can. You just have to do it yourself. In Curitiba, a city south of São Paulo, there’s a DIY house called Lavanderia. Lavanderia means laundry room in Portuguese, and the show space is exactly that—a tiny room in the basement with no windows and just enough space for a small band and maybe 20 people. They moved the washing machine into the bathroom.
There’s a semi-enclosed, down-sloped driveway—think Reno’s Fort Ryland—and a large backyard. The outside of the house is covered in art and tags, and when the show starts a person sits at the front gate and collects a cover. Like any DIY show, the cover goes mostly to the band, but what sets Lavanderia apart is the bar. In the corner of the living room, there’s a counter with a selection of liquor, a fridge full of beer, and a lit up delistyle hot box filled with empanadas made in the home’s own kitchen. The roommates DJ behind the bar and mix drinks, selling them for a mark up, but still less than they’d cost at a conventional club. “It pays almost everything … the rent, lights, water, internet,” João Paulino told me. Paulino is one of three housemates, and on the night we played there, he shifted between tending bar and checking in on the 100 or more people who filled the living room and backyard. “Yeah, we do it like two or three times a week, and it covers everything.” We shoulder through the packed basement and set up. The room can fit 20 people, and there are about 30, some pouring out into the hallway. It’s sweaty, it’s loud, and people listen.
“Places to listen” continued on page 12
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