THE DAYS OF MAS AND WIRE

By Colin Hosten

Sunday Express

Section 2

February 27, 2000

Page 3

"Nowadays everybody joining the 'naked mas'," says legendary wire-bender Cito Velasquez.

"They could have a section in the band called 'Adam and Eve', tell the people to come naked, charge them $1000, and it will sell out - a tie round your neck and a feather in your ear could count as a costume these days." Because of this, the need for wire has decreased considerably from days of yore.

We visited Cito Velasquez at his home in Barataria where for decades he brought out the wire-bending creations for which he became famous.

His hands are no longer as deft as they used to be, due to a pinched nerve, but Velasquez, now 72, acknowledges philosophically that it's all part of the ageing process.

The seasoned masman, who was awarded a Hummingbird Gold Medal in 1973 for his contribution to Carnival, has been working with bands since the 1950s, when he brought out his first band, the truly spectacular Flowers and Fruits, which to this day people still talk about.

This age-old craft is now in danger of becoming extinct.

Wire-bending is certainly not as cumbersome or even as simplistic as it may sound. Quite a lot of skill and precision is required to take a piece of wire, and twist it into the likeness of, say, an elaborate dragon. And the more detail you want to achieve, the more work and care you have to put into it. It's not something that can be perfected overnight.

But at one time wire-bending was, almost literally, the backbone of Carnival. Most of the large costumes on Carnival Monday and Tuesday (not the glittered bikinis of today) would have been shapeless lumps of cloth without their wire frames. And beneath the pomp and ceremony of the imposing and impressive King and Queen costumes seen on Dimanche Gras night, were structures made largely of wire.

So why are young people so reluctant to learn more about this craft?

According to Albert Bailey, 63, "the first thing they want to know is 'How much am I going to get?' I am offering to teach you a skill, I expect you to come and ask questions, and learn as much as you can, work hard at it, and eventually start making some good money. You don't get all the riches in the first step."

Velasquez, and Bailey (brother of the late great George Bailey) are two of the country's few remaining wire-benders. They have been bending wire for many decades.

"When I first started at the age of 14," reminisces Bailey, "I paid $45 for a piece of wire, and I had to hide it from my mother, because that would have been considered a waster of money." However, he diligently pursued the art, learning from the more experienced, and honing his skills. Today he heads the Bailey Mas Factory, and has a team of wire-benders working with him to produce Carnival bands. But he points out; most of them are not young people.

Nevertheless this year he has undertaken to bring out from his Woodbrook headquarters two Carnival King costumes, two Carnival Queens, along with his band Bagu Ya Watu Wasuri, Swahili for "Bagu, the land of beautiful people."

With respect to wire-bending skills both Bailey And Velasquez named only three other professional wire-benders operating in the country, the likes of Señor Gomez, Noble Alexis and Stephen Derek. All are over 50. Between them, they usually handle all of Carnival's major wire-bending requirements. And therein lies the problem.

"I haven't seen any young people getting involved in this aspect of our culture," complained Bailey. "Everybody past 50."

Consider this: one unfortunate day, this country will lose its current generation of wire-benders. And with no younger hands waiting in the wings to pick up the slack, or the wire as the case may be, it is a very real possibility that this craft of wire-bending, this crucial aspect of our culture, may be very well go to the grave with the present wire-benders.

It's not so far-fetched when we think about other types of mas that have all but disappeared. When was the last time you saw a Dame Lorraine or a baby-doll mas outside of theatrical presentations?

Bailey disagrees that wire-bending is feasible only for the two months of Carnival. It is something, he contends, that can be professionally pursued.

"The thing is, this is a traditional aspect of culture, it is an art form that is forever in demand, anywhere there is a carnival." For example, after working through the Trinidad Carnival, Bailey is immediately off to St Thomas, then to the US, where the itinerary includes Brooklyn, Washington, New Jersey, Boston, New York, California, and Miami. "And if I could be bending wire for four to five bands everywhere I go," he explains, "that means that there is definitely a waiting market for this skill."

Velasquez is philosophical about the situation.

"The only thing that remains the same is change Carnival is always changing, even I changed it in my day, adding my own thing to the pretty sailor mas." A big part of this change, according to Velasquez, has to do with the type of costumes being made, and the materials being used to make them."

"Not only that," Velasquez continued, "they hardly using wire to make the big costumes any more. Now they have fibreglass and cardboard, even cane and cocoyea."

These new materials have the advantage of being lighter, more flexible, and faster to fashion.

However, both Velasquez and Bailey noted that wire also has its advantages, such as facilitating a greater amount of detail, and being more affordable.

Neither man was against the changes and evolution of Carnival. In fact, Velasquez stressed, with a twinkle in his eye, that he had "no problem seeing women walking around half-naked." However, both were very wishful that more young people, or rather some young people, would get more actively involved in learning about this aspect of their culture.

"It would be so nice," Bailey said wistfully, "if a lil fella could come to me on his own, and say, "Mr. Bailey, I would like to know more about this."

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