Rwanda: Reluctant Superheroes and Street Musicians Battle of the Bands

It had been a while since I had been out to watch live music. You know, work, a toddler, and everything in between. So, I stepped out this weekend to see the Battle of the Bands. What is that?

The Mariott Hotel supports upcoming bands in a competition that awards the best-performing band with an annual contract. Very thoughtful stuff.

I enjoyed the evening because judging the performers is the only thing better than being a performer. So, I appointed myself as the extra judge.

The first band on stage was okay. But they seemed like they found out about the battle that same afternoon because they didn't seem very coordinated. They would spend minutes deciding on the next song and who stood where.

However, their energy was giving! There was a lady with a deep, beautiful Brenda Fassie-like voice who really danced like no one was watching.

As for the dress code, the band leader must have texted them 30 minutes before the show to find something black in their closet. This is how I picture their group chat going down.

Band Leader: "Guys! Wear black tonight!"

Member 1: "Do black shoes count?"

Leader: "Anything goes. Myself, I'm wearing a black wristband."

When they announced, "We are done," with all the ceremony of reading a grocery list, we were oddly charmed but thoroughly entertained.

The second band came ready. These ones knew about the show weeks ago and even made an effort to dress up in well-tailored suits. One of the lead singers even had a fat ring on his finger. He was the Congolese music lead. I am not saying those two things have anything in common, but it seemed convenient. He was in character!

Their immaculate dress code was accompanied by beautiful vocals and fantastic music transitions that really slapped! They had so much chemistry, and one could tell they had spent much time working together.

Then we had the third band - with a beautiful story. They had been street performers for a while and it was time to take their talent off the streets and onto the stage. They had a trumpet player who was also performing on the street when they met, and when they locked eyes (or instruments, in this case), it was love at first sight. The rest is history.

His mic, however, was either off the entire time or muted by the sound tech. It's always us, man - the muted woodwind or brass section. I think sound technicians have something against us. You could tell he was adding a beautiful flavor to the presentation, but we could barely hear a thing.

They wore all African attire, and the two brothers who played "umuduri," the traditional calabash-decorated instrument, enjoyed themselves on the stage. They gave us the traditional music show we all needed for the night.

The last group shuffled onto the stage, looking like they had lost a bet. The backup singer especially - her face said it all: "My agent promised me this would be good for my resume."

But then they started singing, and our jaws dropped! That same backup singer who looked ready to file a complaint with the manager? Turns out she was hiding a voice that could shake the foundations. Talk about a plot twist! Both singers had angelic voices, knew their way around instruments, and were well-coordinated. They totally made getting out of the house worth it!

While we were all playing critic for the night, the Marriott quietly worked on changing the local music scene. In a world where artists often have to choose between their passion and dinner, a corporate giant was saying, " Why not have both?" And that is the kind of energy needed to change the otherwise almost-sorry state for local artists.

This article was originally published The New Times.