One Friday evening in 2001 I saw a crowd gathered outside a shopping centre in downtown Toronto, Canada. Performers were distinguishable from the audience only by their uniforms: 20 young men and women wearing tight white pants and shirts, each with a different coloured belt tied at the waist. They were jovial, speaking in English and Portuguese, tuning instruments, mingling with the crowd, stretching and practicing acrobatics, struggling to warm their bodies on a cool spring night. One performer slapped a drum, apparently signalling the others to take off their shoes. Some men also removed their shirts before all formed a circle and fell silent. The audience pressed close into the performers' backs, leaning in for a good view of the spectacular show to come. The leader struck a bow-shaped instrument and began to sing a sorrowful yet melodic cry that welcomed two performers into the circle and invited the rhythmic clapping and singing of those who remained on the perimeter. A large, muscular black man and a petite, lithe white woman entered the circle,