VIEUX FARKA TOURE (PERFORMING SATURDAY, JUL 18TH)
It isn't customary for a 25-year-old West African musician with just one brand-new album to his name to make his American debut before a sold-out house including his nation's ambassador, record label executives, and Harry Belafonte.
But the tall young man in the grand silver-blue traditional robe wielding the black electric guitar at the downtown venue Joe's Pub earlier this month is no ordinary first-timer. He is Vieux Farka Touré, son and musical heir to Ali Farka Touré, the peerless Malian "desert blues" guitarist who died of cancer last March. And his lineage, validated by a nearly flawless first album, makes his maiden North American tour, which comes to Johnny D's in Davis Square Thursday, a major event on the world-music circuit this year.
It would be artificial to consider Vieux -- as everyone calls him -- in isolation from his father, one of the great icons of 20th-century music, in whose haunting, sinewy style many find the clearest evidence of the African origins of the blues. Yet although he inherits from the elder Touré technique, material, and even that black guitar, Vieux plays with less austerity and more of an age-appropriate energy and appetite for experimentation, abetted in this by his American producer, bassist, and buddy Eric Herman.
The two tell the story during a Sunday afternoon visit to the house in Queens that the group has turned into tour headquarters, strewn with suitcases, musical instruments, and boxes of promotional gear. The informal setting -- the scheduled interview time found folks in the kitchen, Vieux browning cubes of beef for a stew, Herman building a turkey sandwich, and percussionist Seckou Touré (no relation) badly overcooking a pot of rice -- suits the affectionate, joshing vibe that prevails in particular between Vieux and Herman, who speaks French with impeccable West African accent and colloquialisms.
Paradoxically, despite Vieux's august musical origins, it took the arrival of Herman, first in 2003 as an exchange student from Wesleyan University, and later as a fledgling record producer, to launch him as a recording artist. Until then, Vieux still thought of himself as a student and a novice.
Ali Farka Touré had originally opposed his son's becoming a musician, wishing for him a more stable career (he suggested the military). When Vieux persisted, the elder Touré allowed him to enroll at Mali's National Arts Institute, and at the same time entrusted him for career and personal guidance to Toumani Diabaté, the kora maestro and Ali Farka's dear friend.
When Herman, who had returned to Mali with plans to produce a compilation of local artists, heard how far his friend's playing had progressed, he suggested it was time for Vieux to stop holding back. The challenge came to Vieux as something of a revelation.
"I was thinking, he really wants us to work together," Vieux says. "And at that time I didn't really have confidence in myself. I wasn't mature, I was still in school, I hadn't yet thought to do a record. So it was a surprise for me."
"And Toumani at that point wasn't even aware of how good you were," Herman says.
"He knew I played, but not like that," Vieux says. "Because I'm a guy who doesn't like to stand out. It's not my way of being. So until then nobody had seen my real talent. I used to hide." But when Herman asked him to record a sample to bring back to the United States and shop around, Vieux says, "I was forced to really put my talent into it and show who I was. And when he played that for Toumani, Toumani was surprised."
They laugh, imitating Diabaté's stunned reaction on hearing Vieux on tape.
"Toumani said, 'I didn't know Vieux in this way!,' " Vieux says. "He said to me, 'I heard something today, was that you? Here, take my guitar and play something.' And even then I took the guitar but I held back. I just didn't want to play in front of them."
Still, the secret was out. And it was around this time as well, Vieux says, with a record project now clearly coming together, that his father finally opened himself fully to him.
"That's when my father said to me that I was ready," Vieux says. "And that was a big encouragement. Because before he would say nothing, show nothing. But when he saw it was really getting serious, that's when we started playing together. He started teaching me things. I think if it wasn't for this project, he wouldn't have done it."
Events moved quickly from that point. For by the time the group was assembled and ready to record, Ali Farka Touré had been diagnosed with terminal bone cancer and was fading. The two songs on Vieux's album that feature the elder Touré, father and son trading resplendent guitar lines, constitute Ali Farka Touré's last recordings.
"I knew what was wrong with him and how he could go at any moment," Vieux says. "So every day I'd come and spend time with him, run his errands, talk to him. We'd usually talk at night, before going to bed. He'd show me certain things about life, about music, everything. Directives and advice. And that's how today, thank God -- I'm just a kid, but I know all the things that he told me. So I have all that in order to stay on the right path."
The death of his father has placed on Vieux a new set of responsibilities. In Niafunké, the family's village on the confines of the Sahara Desert, near the medieval city of Timbuktu, Ali Farka Touré helped support many kinfolk who now look to Vieux and his siblings for assistance. Whenever he goes there to see his mother, he says, people are waiting for him.
At the same time, he sounds much like his father when he says he sees no reason to live elsewhere than Mali -- the only choice being whether to base himself in Bamako or Niafunké. (Right now Bamako has his favor because of easier Internet access.)
"There are a lot of artists who leave Mali as soon as they have a little success," Vieux says. "And then they go and sit somewhere overseas, and they start to lose their style. Other music influences them and they begin to lose their own. I can say today, I'm going to base myself in New York. Who can stop me, if I get the visa? But what would be the point? I'd rather stay there, be with my family, and hold onto my cultural heritage."
It's easy to picture Vieux, especially when he slings on an acoustic guitar and plays solo, as an African elder 50 years from now, perhaps the mayor of Niafunké as his father was, with a half-century of musical and spiritual maturation behind him.
But these are early days in Vieux Farka Touré's career, and for now he is just a young guy with a new album and some music to play. For now, his record label is Herman's upstart, activism-minded Modiba Productions, not one of the powerhouse majors. For now, he's weaving reggae, rock, and blues into his tunes, not hewing to the orthodoxy of cultural preservation.
"I'm feeling relaxed, but I'm intimidated, too," he says of the buzz that has greeted him. "Because there are so many musicians who never came out -- in Mali, in Africa -- who never left Africa. And these are people who started playing long before me. So I know that I am lucky."
Vieux Farka Touré is counting his blessings. The future can wait.
SILA AND THE AFROFUNK EXPERIENCE (July 17 @ Independent and July 24th @ Ashkenaz)
While Sila and the Afrofunk Experience were recording their second album, Black President, in the Bay Area, tribal warfare was threatening the safety of band leader Victor Sila's family in the small Kenyan village where he grew up. The pointless violence drove him crazy, and you can hear the madness in his vocals. The freaked-out falsettos, random screams, and feverish ululations amid the mostly laid-back melodies speak to a lifetime of exasperation with unequal rights and injustice. Sila can't help but bring politics front and center in his songs, and he aims to get audiences directly involved in his passions.
In this way he is connected to conscious artists of the African diaspora, a proud lineage that ranges from Nigerian Afropop legend Fela Kuti to Jamaican reggae patriarch Bob Marley to the U.S.'s own Godfather of Soul, James Brown ("Sing it loud: I'm black and I'm proud!"). Like his predecessors, Sila believes it's his responsibility not only to entertain but also to raise awareness. He wants to inspire civic action, which he argues must come from the grassroots level. Sila believes we can't rely on politicians, who he says may have "the greed gene embedded in their blood." So he created Black President as a call to arms to both the public and Barack Obama to take seriously the task of self-empowerment.
On the chorus to the manic, danceable title track, Sila sings, "I am change/You are change/We are change." The song broadcasts that the only way to overcome the madness of corrupt public policy, centuries of oppression, and mindless brutality is to embrace the idea that we are all in this together. "You Love You," a chilled-out tune dripping with skunky reggae, suggests a starting point for activism with its therapeutic reminder: "Everything is nothing unless you love you."
While such mindful messages arguably serve a noble purpose, they would be little more than obnoxious dogma if the accompanying music weren't similarly ambitious. Fortunately for clubgoers, Sila's concern with the mission of his lyrics is matched by the power of his grooves, an addictive mix of heavy funk, lively Afrobeat, and sun-soaked island rhythms. His nine-piece band is tighter than the goatskin head of a djembe, and the ensemble's well-balanced instrumentation of dual guitars, bass, drums, percussion, and a trio of horns ensures a wide dynamic range. David James, former six-string slinger for the Coup and Michael Franti's Spearhead, especially stands out with his big-echo guitar solos that recall the heyday of Parliament-Funkadelic. Saxophonist David Boyce, trumpeter Mike Pitre, and trombonist Andre Webb also evoke powerful touchstones, from classic Wailers to Ethiopian-style R&B of the early '70s. There's a deep soulfulness here and the implication of cross-cultural solidarity.
Though idealistic, Sila's ambition is far from fantasy: Get enough people on the dancefloor, sweating and writhing together, and collective uplift could occur. From there, the frontman hopes, it's a short hop, skip, and jump (and maybe a booty bump or body roll) to helping your neighbors. Obama likes to talk about this being an era of personal responsibility and accountability. Sila adds to the charge by challenging us to also get our good foot up on the downbeat.
www.afrofunk.net
BAYONICS (PERFORMING FRIDAY, JUL7 17TH)
The San Francisco Bay Area is home to a wide variety of musical styles: salsa, hip-hop, funk, jazz, rock, soul… and Bayonics does them all. A 10-piece ensemble built on the foundation of a traditional salsa orchestra and funk big band, Bayonics incorporates a heavy, streetwise sound to create a unique fusion of influences. Their edgy rhythm derives from a blend of intricate guitar riffs, explosive horn lines, slumping bass, and smokey rap vocals. Their influences include: Fania All-stars, Tower of Power, Sly & the Family Stone, the Roots, Too Short, Los Van Van, Isaac Hayes, Marvin Gaye, and many more.
Bayonics has made a name for themselves up and down the California Coastline, at such venus as LA’s Temple Bar, and the Catalyst in Santa Cruz. Outside of California, Bayonics has participated in the South by Southwest Music Festival in Austin, TX, the Carnival on the Mile Festival in Miami, FL with Arturo Sandoval and the Rebirth Brass Band. Bayonics has even established a residency at Jazzid in Miami’s South Beach. On their home turf in the Bay, they’ve been seen frequently at the Elbo Room, the Independent, Red Devil Lounge, the Shattuck Downlow in Berkeley and the Voo Doo Lounge in San Jose.
They have also performed live on Wild 94.9 FM on the Doghouse morning show, 94.1 KPFA with George Clinton of Parliament-Funkadelic, and on the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk Comcast Spring Break event, sponsored by MTV3. Taking pride in their community, Bayonics supports and participates in Loco Bloco, a youth drum and dance ensemble, Youth Outlook Television on the WB Network, the Chicano Moratorium Festival, and the San Francisco Carnival Festival. They were recently featured on the cover of the San Francisco Chronicle’s Datebook section, and won the SF Weekly Music Award for Best International Band.
AFROBEAT DOWN (PERFORMING FRIDAY, JUL7 24TH @ EBLO ROOM)
AfroBeat Down: L.A.'s Premier Afrobeat Ensemble, delivers driving, raw, un-cut African Funk straight to your Nyash; making your body move and shake to the rhythms of Nigeria circa 1970. ABD's 10-15 members strong are inspired and dedicated to maintaining the Afrobeat musical tradition; the legacy of Fela Anikulapo Kuti. ABD's message is fused in Power packed, Political, Polyrhythmic Consciousness focused on bringing people together to fight Oppression and enjoy a peaceful, light filled life. Aloha.
"...Oppressors, Destroyers, masochists can never be great people. Creativity, not destruction, should be the yardstick of greatness. If you cannot create anything that will make your own life, or that of a fellow human, happier, then get out of the way. Split! Disappear! And give others a chance." -FELA KUTI
LOCO BLOCO (PERFORMING FRIDAY, JUL7 17TH)
Loco Bloco's inter-generational performing ensemble is an explosion of rhythm, movement, color and passion with booming beats, funky horn lines, high-energy dancers in multi-colored costumes and towering stilt walkers, Los Locos y Locas fill the streets and flood onto stages at festivals throughout the Bay Area, lifting everyone's spirits. Loco Bloco combines African, Brazilian, Latin, Hip Hop and Funk music and dance, creating a high-energy presentation with infectious sights and sounds.
DJ JEREMIAH AND THE AFROBEAT NATION (July 18 @ Independent and July 24th @ Ashkenaz)
Since arriving in the Bay Area, Liberian native DJ Jeremiah has been making a commotion, both musically and politically. Jeremiah's experiences as a refugee inform his in-your-face lyrics, which are sung over a mix of hip-hop beats, jazz-inspired tunes, and funk music. - Flavorpill
DJ Jeremiah and his Afrobeat Nation, who provide live trumpet and percussion while Liberia-born DJ Jeremiah spins funk by the likes of James Brown as well as Afrobeat stars like Fela Kuti, infusing orchestral jazz and African tribal chants into the mix. - San Francisco Chronicle
