Trinidad & Tobago Carnival — Tsunami of Culture, Energy, and Mas

Where the Prime Minister, the beggar, the thief, and the priest fete together as one. Dat is Carnival.

For epicurean pleasure in the splendor of masquerade, Trinidad and Tobago Carnival is the world’s jeweled oyster. Without this annual feast of gluttonous music symphony and untamed insanity, our people would perish. We are Carnival, and our life is Theatre.

Trini Bacchanal

Trini (Trinidad & Tobago) Carnival begins with Bacchanal—wild revelry, spectacular costumes, infectious riddim, and the sweet abandon of partying “all night long.” It is excess braided with elegance; laughter carried on the backbeat.

The Carnival Vapse

Whether Carnival falls in February or early April, a universe of followers is swept up in the momentum—the Carnival vapse. Behind closed curtains, being Carnival-whipped can feel like a cyclone: the urgent pull to fly home to Mother Carnival has broken itineraries, tested romances, and still—always—restored the soul.

Energy, Music, Mas

Carnival is an energy force. Before Carnival Monday and Tuesday there are band launchings, celebrity fêtes, and every flavor of lime—from by the pool to around the Queen’s Park Savannah, North Stand to Grand Stand. When the solemn hush of Christmas fades, the New Year dawns into fellowship across the island and its diaspora. Calypso and Soca become covenant—call and response between performer and faithful.

Wining — and Why It’s Not Whining (nor Wine in a Glass)

Wining is not sipping Merlot, Chardonnay, or Pinot Grigio. Nor is it the plaintive “whining” of complaint. Wining is the roll of the waist with the cock of the back; hips drawing sacred circles—right, left, and centre. The lower body swerves and spirals in a language older than speech, a conversation between drum and flesh, between earth and spine. It is the dance of the pagans and the prayer of the people—permission to be mash up and jam.

Carnival is Culture

The national instrument—the steelpan—rises from panyard rehearsal to orchestral rivalry. It culminates on the Savannah stage in symphonic contests of arrangement, tone, and showmanship. Judges may hold clipboards; the crowd holds history.

Hugh Masekela, after a 2014 panyard visit: “You do not know how lucky you are… very few countries get to make this much music together. It’s a very rich heritage. I hope it never dies.”

Carnival — The Celebration

Sometimes when yuh at Carnival, yuh partying non-stop—from Friday, Saturday, Sunday till J’ouvert morning. Sometimes, yuh doh even have time to check yuh own pulse said Brian Walker (RIP 1998). 

J’ouvert

Before dawn on Monday, everyone gets dutty—paint, mud, powder, color. Titles vanish. Celebrity or not, black, white, Indian, Hindu, Muslim, Chinese, Greek, Lebanese, Syrian—everybody becomes a beautiful anybody. Joy is the only protocol.

Monday Mas

The Greatest Show on Earth begins in earnest. Pretty Mas premieres: Greek myth and Roman legions, sea monsters and galaxies, indigenous elegance and African royalty—history translated into costume. Port of Spain and beyond become the largest masquerade ball on earth.

Tuesday Laniappe

Tuesday is excess—in the best sense. Bands of thousands in full regalia, music trucks rolling, tourists and town people moving as one river. By nightfall, wings and glitter lie quiet, swept away by the street’s own closing ritual. Carnival takes her leave—until next time.

Brazil has Samba Schools. New Orleans has Mardi Gras. Trinis play Mas without ceasing. We hold a world treasure—the majesty of Carnival. What happens at Trini Carnival stays with you, for lifetimes.

— Grace Notes