An African Prom (feat. Béla Fleck and The Africa Project featuring Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba / Tony Allen)
Queen's Park (Luminato Festival). Saturday, June 12, 2010.
The time gap between the afternoon and evening programmes was theoretically shrunk by the rain-induced late starting time for the afternoon acts. Doing what they could to keep things on schedule, the organizers scotched an appearance by local afrobeat-funksters Mr. Something Something. There were still behind-the-scenes problems a-plenty, though, as the soundcheck for the later acts stretched out to marathon lengths. That delay, added to incomprehensibly cold unseasonable weather on an entirely grey evening, meant for a bit of a dead zone between things. Luckily, though, I was joined by H., who wanted to see something both dance-worthy and not-indie-rock-ish. So the company filled in the time nicely, the disheartening cold tempered by promises of the banjo yet to come.
Once we eventually made our way over to the stage, there was still a lot of distressed sound-checking and gear-wrangling going on as the crowd began to get a bit eager for things to get going. As with the afternoon, the weather presumably cut into what would have been a more robust turnout, but the net effect was a pleasantly full-but-uncrowded area in front of the stage with a little bit of elbow room intact. After a "support the arts" talking-to from a city councillor, the music finally got underway with a wah-wah guitar, that beat, a fanfare of horns and then a mess of rhythm guitars. Ah.
Tony Allen had an eight-piece band behind him. Or beside him, as the case would be — he was perched over stage right. Not up front like most "name" performers, but not stashed at the back like most drummers, either. Just like his drumming, the seventy-year-old Nigerian master (most famed for his pioneering work with Fela's Africa 70) was a presence, but an unforced one. Allen's expression was semi-inscrutable throughout — he looked mildly grumpy at the late start time and compressed set length, but never griped. Didn't say much, either, besides noting that with so little time, he wasn't going to spend much of it talking.
The set led off with "Elewon po", the closer from his recent Secret Agent album. With Fela-esque political lyrics ("Too many prisoners / Too many prisoners / Too many, far too many") this had the feel of classic afrobeat and a helluva funky groove. Allen sang some deadpan lead vocals, but ceded most of the singing to the rest of his ensemble. He was certainly something to watch, in a "how does he do it?" sense. His drumming style is so economical, relaxed and unhurried and his gestures completely unforced. So much so that you might not pick up on how good it is.
Despite the delays, the band was never happy with the sound on stage during the set. Fortunately, they were in top form regardless and it all sounded pretty good in the crowd, and it was, more or less, nonstop dancing fun. There was a delicate mix of a full pot not quite simmering over, where suddenly keyboards would bubble up to the forefront, then the horns, boosting the whole thing up but without upsetting the unified groove. I couldn't pick out too many of the songs, but that seems a bit besides the point. I did dig the punchy "Ijo", with lead vox by Orobiyi Adunni, who wrote the lyrics as well.
All told, with the stage manager signalling for the band to wrap things up we got just under fifty minutes of music, but there wasn't a second wasted. More would have been welcome, but it might also have been exhausting — suffice it to say after this set I was not feeling cold any more. This was apparently Allen's first time in T.O. as a leader and a return trip would certainly be welcomed.
Listen to a track from this set here.
There was a quicker turnover after that, but by now it was past ten, and I was feeling antsy as Béla Fleck took the stage, worried about that eleven o'clock curfew that tends to stop T.O. outdoor events dead in their tracks. Fleck, widely considered to be one of the world's most proficient banjo players and known for his work with his group The Flecktones, started off playing solo. Seated on a stool, he unspooled a simple tune that quickly got dexterously complicated.
Everything he played in his solo set was sheer virtuoso stuff, including one track that sped up to a dizzyingly unimaginable pace, like a clockwork toy amped up nearly to the point of breaking a spring, but knowing what was yet to come I must admit after the first couple songs I was looking at my watch and worrying about how everything was going to get fit in before the curfew. Perhaps most interesting was when Fleck blew past the inherent bluegrassiness of his métier to play a song that he learned on one of his trips to Africa, where he'd ventured to learn about the origins of his instrument, as documented in the film Throw Down Your Heart.
Listen to one of Fleck's solo selections here.
After four tunes, Fleck gave way to Malian master Bassekou Kouyate — as much of a virtuoso of the ngoni as Fleck is of the banjo — who took the stage playing solo, as if returning tribute to Fleck. Meanwhile the members of his band Ngoni Ba took the stage and quickly kicked into a full-fledged groove. There were some sound problems at the outset, and once again, the bandmembers weren't entirely happy with the monitors, but this was another fabulous set.
The band was powered by four ngonis (including a large ngoni bass) plus percussion and the vocals of his wife, Ami Sacko. The music was powered by the interweaving ngoni lines, with runs of notes whirling out at blinding speed. While introducing "Ngoni Fola", Kouyate — who radiated a sort of serene beneficence throughout — was delighted to learn he could get away with speaking to the crowd in French1. The song turned out to be an eleven-minute tour de force, about the same length as the following barnburner, which included a chance for each of the players to step forward and solo as well as for some showy co-ordinated dance moves. And, in case it hadn't been mentioned, it was all as groovy as heck.
Béla Fleck then returned, adding one more set of strings to the interlocking lines weaving around each other on stage. The American banjo meshed well with its older cousins, Fleck watching the ngonis carefully and generally playing as another part of the ensemble until called upon to solo. Cue another storming number before the band brought it down for an ancient griot number, the mournful song giving everyone a chance to catch their breath. At first, the slower pace felt like a bit of a deflation after the previous cookers, but it turned out to be as engaging as the rest of the set with Sacko's showstopping vocals over the stately ngoni line. After introducing the band, the set then closed out with "Musow (For Our Women)", wrapping up at 11:30, well past curfew, but so very worth it. Rather a fabulous show, weather notwithstanding, so kudos to Luminato for putting a world-class concert like this for free.
Listen to a track from this set here.
1 Besides the large contingent of French speakers from Mali and neighbouring countries in attendance, Torontonians tend to play along with a sort of noblesse oblige when visitors act as if this is truly a bilingual country.
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