Lágbájá

Live Concert Report by Joel Berg

July 6, 2001

Club Warehouse", East Flatbush, Brooklyn, New York, USA

During a recent trip to Nigeria, when I asked locals to name the most exciting musician on the current music scene, taxi drivers, diplomats, and porters alike inevitably replied: "that guy with the mask," or "that masked man who plays at the Motherlan' Club." Occasionally they'd even state his name, "Lágbájá."

I never did get to see Lágbájá perform on that trip, but his street myth was firmly implanted on my brain so that, for months, I kept asking myself: "Who WAS that masked man?"

This July 6, when Lágbájá stormed through New York to perform, I finally got to find out for myself. It turns out that this masked man is much, much more exciting than the Lone Ranger.

The performance I caught was at the "Club Warehouse," a large and sparse dance room (befitting its name) in East Flatbush, Brooklyn. Miles from even the nearest subway, it takes effort --- real serious effort --- to get there, if, like most New Yorkers, you don't own a car. My friend and I had to hire a "car service" for the round-trip. (For the unitiated in the ways of New York, "car services' are unofficial, unmarked, un-yellow taxis, that take people to the far-flung, diverse parts neighborhoods of the city to which official taxis often refuse to venture.

The flyer advertising the show said doors would open at 8:30 p.m. The club itself told me in on the phone that the doors would open at 9:30 p.m, the opening act would go on shortly after that, and Lágbájá would go on around midnight. I knew better … and arranged to arrive with my friend at 11:00 p.m. The place was still empty.

Soon the club swelled with masses of people of Yoruba (the largest ethnic group in Nigeria) heritage, as well as significant numbers of other Africans, many East Indians and African-Americans, and a handful of Anglos.

Both "Lágbájá" and the Brooklyn-based opening act, Emperor Adiche and the Jungle International Band, are of Yoruba background. Their fellow Yoruba turned-out in full force.

The Yoruba people are world-renewed for their spectacular drumming --- and for good reason. The reining superstars of Nigerian music past and present --- Babatunde Olatunji, King Sunny Ade, Fela and Femi Kuti --- all are Yoruba. The key is the powerful yet controlled sound of percussion (usually highlighting the traditional talking drum, although the Afro-Beat style has emphasized the western-style trap set as a counterpoint) --- often with an unbelievable number of drums and other percussion instruments playing with tight precision, alternating unison playing with polyrhythmic.

The opening act, Emperor Adiche, started at around 1:15 a.m. Playing a loose set of Afro-Beat/juju/reggae that built up to a fever pitch over the course of an hour, the Emperor was hobbled by both sound troubles and a small but vocal group of men in the back itching for the Lágbájá --- and not shy about yelling for him. His calls for unity among all people's of the African Diaspora notwithstanding, the Emperor had difficulty holding the crowd's attention until his buoyant finale piece got even the hecklers into a dancing groove.

Lágbájá --- colorful mask and all --- and his 14-piece power band, took the stage at around 2:45 a.m. Beset by the same sound problems as his opening act, he actually stopped his performance until the monitors were fixed to his satisfaction. (Such is the leverage of the headline band). Apparently, he couldn't properly hear the drummers, which, in Yoruba music that is drum driven, is a huge problem indeed.

Sound system fixed (not to perfection, but as close as the venue could provide), Lágbájá and his 14-piece band finally really got going at about 3:00 p.m. Billed by promoters as an "Afrobeat, African, Jazz-Funk Sensation," he and the band did not disappoint. The crowd went wild at the start --- and stayed there - usually chanting back to Lágbájá word-for-word (in Yoruba and in Yoruba and English slang) every song he sang.

The promoters further describe his music this way: "Lagbaja's music is an amalgamation of Jazz, Highlife and traditional Yoruba music. Often the music is purely instrumental and interplay between traditional Yoruba percussion, chants, talking drums and Western instruments, especially the saxophone (which he solos on). And when there are lyrics, they are usually sung in Yoruba, English or a blend of the two as is colloquially spoken in Lagos. Some songs dwell on serious social issues, while others simply entertain - dance inducing or humorous. Three families of talking drums are employed in Lagbaja's music. The gangan family is most prominent and is played by three musicians who combine all the various sizes for the basic polyrhythms. The bata family is performed by two musicians who alternate between soft high toned drivingrhythms with their omele bata and powerful, loud talk with their mother drum iya ilu. The general percussionist handles the sakara. This ensemble of six drummers constitute half of the band. The other half is made up of vocalists and Western instrumentalists. While Lagbaja himself has not categorically given his music a name, the fusion has been referred to by various critics as Afro Jazz, Afro Beat, Highlife and Afro Pop."

Not being fluent in (or for that mater, speaking even a word of Yoruba), I'll have to take their word for it on what Lágbájá's lyrics Of course, being an African concert, crowd-participation was vital - including not only the call-and response, but throwing money on stage, and then, ultimately, leaping up on stage in groups, demonstrating a dance style featuring ample, wiggling buttocks propelled in an amazing way so that's its sometimes hard to see the feet moving. After a number of relatively skinny women danced on stage, Lágbájá reinforced the African cultural appreciation for larger women, demanding that "heavyweight champion" women take the stage --- a few did, and set new heights of buttocks wiggling.

All throughout, the audience still never saw him take off his mask. Is it a mere coincidence that we never see Lágbájá and Clark Kent together in the same place at the same time?

Yet, ultimately, it was the music that reigned. Fluid and powerful, with more than enough layers of sound and rhythm to make Western pop music seem positively childish in contrast. Lágbájá's saxophone's Coltrane-like "sheets of sound," alternating with his bands fast and light guitar picking, deep-thudding bass, glorious back-up singers and dancers, and (did I mention this already?) amazing, simply amazing, percussion. In the end, you did not need to see his face or understand so much as a syllable of Yoruba for the music to send a powerful message shaking every one of your bones into spasms of movements and every nerve of your brain into gushers of joy.

The night was brought to an abrupt end, mid-song, when dozens of New York City cops closed down the show at 4:37 a.m., manufacturing a claim that there was fighting in the club. (For the record, it was one of the most peaceful, least drugged-out or intoxicated, audiences I have ever seen in more than two decades of concert going). I guess the city government didn't want to spend its resources fighting real crime --- or for that matter dealing with grave city problems like hunger, HIV, lack of affordable housing, crumbling schools, etc. --- so instead they chose to waste the time of dozens of police officers breaking up a peaceful concert. In fact, there were so many cops there, even some of the officers seemed surprised; one said to another when they didn't know an outsider was listening: "What, did they bring the whole station house here?"

In any case, when we exited the club, it was light out. Imagine how late (or early) Lágbájá would have played if the cops didn't intervene? Lets' recap: Opening band started real late. Headline band started real, real late. The sound system was awful. The Music was nothing short of amazing. The dancing and music went on so long they didn't end until past daybreak. All in all, the closest thing to Africa as being there.