Festival: Afrofest 2011 (Sunday)

Afrofest 2011 (feat. Tich Maredza Band / Ijo Vudu / Ruth Mathiang and Waleed Kush / JP Buse / Dizu Plaatjies / Thomas Mapfumo)

Queen's Park. Sunday, July 10, 2011.

On the festival's second and final day, there were looming clouds overhead, the threat of rain turning the park into a humid sweatbox with just enough of a pleasing breeze to take the edge off. That wouldn't keep the crowds away, of course, but as usual, for the earlier acts you had to look beyond the open area in front of the stage to see just how many people were taking part.

I arrived just in time to see the Tich Maredza Band taking the stage. This unit evolved from Maredza's former band Masaisai, shifting from their mbira-based traditionalism to a more streamlined sound focusing on his own compositions. In fact, he started off on a gentle singer-songwriter note — recalling his idol Oliver "Tuku" Mtukudzi — in order to "give you some time to breathe" before ramping things up with more of a dance vibe.

Maredza would lead by example there, teaching the crowd how to say "dance" in Shona, and then busting out some moves, including his racehorse dance, which got the crowd's approval as the band showed off some co-ordinated backing steps. That four-piece backing unit would be described by Maredza as being like "honey without the bees" and featured Larry Lewis (guitar), Tich Gombiro (bass), Gordon Mapeka (drums) and Ruben Esguerra (percussion). Ever the showman, Maredza danced right off the stage to end the set.

For a little while it looked like the clouds were about to burst, but there would only be a few scattered drops of rain before the sun started breaking through as Ijo Vudu took the stage. This percussion and dance group was founded by Sani-Abu, who grew up in a family of traditional dancers in Nigeria before making his home in Toronto. The troupe featured five drummers behind the highly-kinetic dancers, but the ensemble started with some sing/chanting before getting down to the movement.

Once they got to it, the stage was a blur of beautiful costumes. Given that I was sweating through my sunscreen as fast as I could apply it, I could only imagine how hot it much be for the dancers moving like that up on stage. This was one of the points in the weekend where the visual element was predominant, but the pounding drums certainly held their own appeal.

Listen to a track from this set here.

This was a special weekend for Ruth Mathiang, who came to Toronto from South Sudan, which was celebrating its birth as an independent nation. And in a sign that musical alliances can matter more than lines on a map, she was joined by Waleed "Kush" Abdulhamid, born to the north in Sudan.

I'd previously seen the pair play as a more stripped-down duo, and here things started off based around their two voices, with a sort of invocation from each, delivered with a spiritual seriousness before the celebration (and the beat) kicked in and the crowd, waving their South Sudanese flags, started dancing in front of the stage.

With the full band treatment (drums/percussion/keyb/bass on stage) there were some more expansive arrangements to the songs. The band's celebratory uplift grooves were just right for Mathiang giving praise to "Mama Africa" before then moving on to a Miriam Makeba song.

The two voices made for a nice contrast — a dry desert wind and a lush green field — with Abdulhamid's rasp contrasting with Mathiang's pure, sweet tones. Abdulhamid was in more of a support role — though he did sing one of the songs I recalled from his Afrofest set the previous year, this was mostly Mathiang's set, and a memorable celebration for South Sudan.

Listen to a track from this set here.

A mid-afternoon set from JP Buse¹ was quite likely something of a make-up date for his set at the previous Afrofest which was moved to the smaller Baobab stage and cut short after a falling tree shut down the main stage area. This time out, he had a younger group with a bit more of a casual vibe.

Buse gained renown in the Congo as a member of the renowned soukous group Zaiko Langa Langa — the same long-running band from which Papa Wemba had earlier emerged. Nowadays in Toronto, he works more in the gospel scene, but for this set he definitely brought the soukous rhythms — though there would be a few sanctified messages slipping their way in.

The set led off with a lengthy groove from the band, a half-dozen strong, before Buse took to the stage. His function here was to act as bandleader and elder statesman as much as a performer — a lot of vocals were delegated to a second-in-command/hype man — and to show off his work in mentoring the next generation of local Conolese musicians. If his eleven-year-old bassist — who played with dexterous aplomb — was anything to go by, he's definitely a good talent-spotter and musical influence. Sometimes, he'd pick out parts of the crowd to cajole into singing along, and then point out who in the band he wanted to play to accompany them.

Although the worst of the day's heat was starting to fade, it was still rather sultry out, and this was exactly the sort of music you could dance to in the thick, heavy heat — not so fast that you exhaust yourself right away, but groovy enough enough to get some momentum in your hips.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Between sets, the DJ threw down some Ethio-groove and soon there was a big circle of dancers in front of the stage that was quickly attracting its own onlookers. That gave a spark to the quickly-growing crowd, who were ready to be entertained, even if many on hand didn't know much about Dizu Plaatjies and Ibuyambo. Coming from South Africa, Plaatjies is a teacher as much as an entertainer, dedicated to preserving traditional sounds.

Plaatjies started the set alone on stage, making a musical offering to the ancestors with a mouth-bow and whistling, which together created an eerie effect. He was then joined by four more musicians, all playing animal horns — "they all look like rabbis," a guy behind me joked.

Every song would bring a different instrument or style to the fore — the set most certainly wasn't lacking for variety. "African Refugee", with its triple marimba action and 12-string guitar, was a rather gorgeous folk song in the mode of "Mbube"/"Wimoweh".

This project brought an interesting tension that I could feel a bit around me. A contemporary African is more likely to be standing in a city talking on a cellphone than dancing in a loincloth and facepaint, and I think to some folks this sort of folkloric display felt a bit out of the past — the sort of pageant that would be put on for tourists or for support-your-traditions edification. Or worse: the sense that this is your parents' music — there was a group of younger guys standing beside me, and I could sort of sense that they were a little put off by this at the start — eye-rolling awkwardness at a bit of enforced cultural appreciation apparently being a cross-cultural feeling in the young.

The flipside is that the crosswinds of modern cultural exchange made some of this sound downright contemporary — one song with pan pipes and backward-sounding yelps would probably be right at home on Tune-Yards' next album. At any rate, the joy of the performers and the power of the music were kinda undeniable — one song with non-stop rapidfire sing-speaking, sounding like the product of a Xhosa Spoonie Gee, got the young folks around me more on side. And then the percussion — not just drums, but also lot of homemade shakers and other implements — took over, and pretty much the whole crowd was fully into it.

Plaatjies also brought a lot of musicological knowledge to the stage, but presented it with a soft-sell smile. And though at first the crowd had a bit of a wait-and-see attitude toward the band, this was a big favourite by the time they finished. By the time Plaatjies introduced the players at the end, everyone got big cheers. Definitely a highlight of the weekend.

I had previously shared a track from this set here — and now you can check out a different style here.

New-found friends are one thing, but the crowd was pronouncedly eager to hear the night's headliner, and there was a huge cheer even for Thomas Mapfumo's first guitar riff as he soundchecked. Legends get an extra-warm welcome. Making his 3rd Afrofest appearance, though the first since '99, Mapfumo is a true innovator who transposed the plucked lines of Zimbabwe's mbira (thumb piano) to the electric guitar — his rocking recordings from the 70's and 80's are truly essential.

Border Trouble, that frequent pox on bands visiting Toronto, reared its head and the band's lead guitarist and bassist were not on hand. After some behind-the-scenes considerations, some local fill-ins were brought in to round out the band. They included Larry Lewis on guitar and Tich Maredza, who was playing bass. That's not his primary instrument, but as a guy who surely grew up with this music in Zimbabwe, he had a strong feel for it.² And perhaps to act as reinforcement, there was also Evelyn Mukwedeya, a young but very talented local player, on mbira.

Mapfumo was apologetic for not presenting his full band, and seemed a little pained, at times — as if this was more a gig to be gotten through than cherished. That might be one reason why Mapfumo, dressed in black, and often singing while half doubled-over, gave off an air more of sorrow than joy. But still, it brought a shiver to hear that keening yelp in his voice.

I'd seen Mapfumo a few years before — he was last in town in 2006 as part of the International AIDS Conference — and even then, his rhythms relied more toward on mbira than guitar. At this show, there were two guitars on stage, but Mapfumo didn't always feel the need to play his own (sometimes he'd just comp on a single chord while the band was playing) and Lewis was, I'm sure, being careful to pick his spots. There were also drums, a keyboard player/percussionist and a pair of horns, and marshalling his resources, Mapfumo shifted the lineup a bit from song to song. One had no guitar at all, just stripped-down mbira lines intertwining behind his voice.

At first the set felt more like a triumph of perseverance than musically majestic. A couple songs felt like trucks bouncing around on a pothole-filled road, just barely making it to the destination. But as the set went on, it felt like everyone was getting a little more comfortable on stage. And when things were working, the band smartly rode out the grooves for a little longer, creating some tasty passages. Though Mapfumo never seemed quite settled or entirely happy with the sound until toward the end of the set, when he did relax a bit, it was ultimately a worthy effort — though telling that there would be no encore to close out the festival.

Listen to a track from this set here.

But on the whole, another fine year. Although there were a lot of calls from the stage of "next year we'll be back here or nowhere at all", the tradition of Afrofest is too strong to be derailed, and a year later, even without its traditional venue, the show would go on at Woodbine Park, leaving Al Purdy — who had spent the entirety of both days hanging around in the backstage area — to drink by himself.

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¹ It should be noted that his name has the French pronunciation gee-pay, not the English-style initials jay-pea.

² The story, as I later heard it, was that after finishing their own set earlier in the afternoon, Maredza and Lewis rushed over to Mapfumo's hotel to cram in as much rehearsal as possible.

Festival: Afrofest 2011 (Saturday)

Afrofest 2011 (feat. Anastasio & Zalang / Zekuhl / Afrafranto / Femi Abosede & Culture Force / Cheick Hamala Diabate)

Queen's Park. Saturday, July 9, 2011.

Afrofest at Queen's Park is an essential part of summer — and possibly a victim of its own success. With the city having some concerns about the sheer size that the event had grown to, and trying to give a respite to the trees and turf in the park, it wanted the festival to find another venue. It was only after mobilizing the community and putting some pressure on the City that everything came together. But this would be the last — at least for now — Afrofest at Queen's Park.

And though I dearly love the venue, for both its easy transit access and the comforting, shady vibe, one could see the reason for the city's discomfort at having so many people using the space. The trees were under a lot of stress from all the foot traffic compacting the dirt above their roots, and there had been a near-crisis the previous year when a large falling branch caused some injuries. And the ground in front of the stage was definitely looking very beaten up. The miniature dustbowl was bigger than ever, and what grass was left was brown and scrubby.

That didn't subtract from the enjoyment of the day, however. It was hot out, but rather perfect weather. I came into the park in time to catch the end of Afro-Cuban band Rumba Iyambo, a dancer jumping down from the stage to lead a conga line. The early crowd in front of the stage wasn't that thick, but there were people lounging in shade under the trees as far back as the eye could see, and well as plenty of folks wandering around through the food booths and the vendors.

The first full set I caught was from Anastasio & Zalang, a six-piece band behind Anastasio Bickie, with saxophone and percussion driving the weaving guitar lines of Bickie and Simon Akirov.

Hailing from Equatorial Guinea, Bickie has mixed a lot of diverse influences with the fang rhythms he grew up with. He formed a band in Spain before he came to Canada in '85 where he became one of the pioneers in Toronto's African music scene. His catchy rhythms included a dollop of reggae in "Would You Come By". Definitely a seasoned pro, he delivered with veteran savvy, showing some flashes of a spryer, younger self with a couple little jumps in the air during closer "Mamaye".

Listen to a track from this set here.

Shifting from A to Z, Zekuhl labels his music "Bolbo-Jazz". The stage name of Montréal-based Atna Njock, originally from Cameroon, this band had strong jazzy/funky undertones. Backed by drums/bass/sax, Njock played a nimble guitar, and he'd also add some percussion on what I took to be a big log on the stage, but was, in fact, a nkuu ("a wooden, cylinder-shaped drum with hollowed-out slits").

The afternoon sun was bright in front of the stage, and again, there were a lot of people back relaxing in the shade. Although, as you'd often see happen during Afrofest, one older guy who'd been dancing out front suddenly appeared on stage to stick some bills to Njock's pate. In acknowledgement, the singer switched back to the nkuu and the guy danced on stage for a bit before heading off. The set, including some of the songs from his then-new album¹, occasionally brushed up against rumba and zouk rhythms, and the music was unrushed throughout, stretching out into sunny afternoon sky.

Listen to a track from this set here.

The crowd built up through the afternoon, with lots of people on hand celebrating the birth of South Sudan. Things had been running a little late, but a quick turnaround got things back on schedule as Afrafranto took the stage. Hailing from Ghana ("by way of Brampton and the Republic of Etobicoke," as the band joked) it was nice to see the band back at full force, and especially to see guitar hero Pa Joe on the stage, after a bit of a jury-rigged line the last time I had seen 'em. Here, they were nine deep all together, including sax and dual keyboards that were a bit more prominent in the mix than usual.

This is a band that knows how to play a big stage, stretching out their grooves as required. Vocalist Theo Yaw Boakye acted as the ringleader, singing low and almost toasting during "Agoro" but then picking it up to inveigh the crowd to get dancing. Otherwise, the band did their usual excellent job of playing off each other, stretching some sections of the songs and compressing others. After an extended percussion breakdown, you could hear the keyboardists making little darting stabs, as if sticking a toe in the water to see if it's time to jump back in. And always, when it seemed like the musicians might start drifting apart, Ebenezer Agyekum's bass kept things tethered.

In the first part of the set, the pacing was a bit stilted, with the band actually winding down between songs instead of the turn-on-a-dime segues that often happen. But once they really found their groove, the songs started to flow seamlessly. As it headed to the conclusion, Boakye sent out a birthday greeting to South Sudan and the band paid tribute to Miriam Makeba with an extended version of "Pata Pata" — a true Saturday night dance anthem — to close out the set.

Listen to a track from this set here.

The stage was filled up as Femi Abosede's set started with an extended instrumental groove from his backing unit Culture Force — a five-piece band (including a trio of players from Afrafranto), a six-piece horn section and three backing singers. They let that build for a few minutes before Abosede emerged to address the crowd briefly before taking his place up front with his saxophone and sinking back into the funky groove.

There's no doubt as to where Abosede's inspirations lie. With all the hallmarks of classic Afrobeat — that big horn section, pulsing keybs, and guitars keeping the scratchy rhythm — he hardly needed to tell the crowd that the song "No Compromise" was dedicated to Fela Kuti. And if there were any grounds for criticism, it would be for the fact that Abosede's sound is rigourously classicist to a fault. There's no envelopes being pushed here, and the set did lean a bit too much on covers of Fela's songs in the second half.

But when the hot summer sun has gone down and it's wonderfully pleasant out and you're dancing under the trees, a band playing full-force Afrobeat isn't something to argue with. And at any rate, there's no doubting Abosede's love of the music, or the fact that he came by his knowledge of it honestly — he spent a lot of time in his teenage years at The Shrine in Lagos, and when he sings that "Fela still lives" it's a promise he's committed to.

The band was a little bit more active a few years ago — his No Compromise album came out in '06 — but it looks like Abosede is still nurturing local music at Femi's Place, his restaurant up in Weston.

Listen to a track from this set here.

The festival's first night was headlined by Cheick Hamala Diabate, a griot from Mali who now makes his home in Washington D.C. With a full seven-piece band behind him, the music was very good right off the hop — extended grooves with solos all around. No slavish traditionalists, there were some adventurous sonics at play here — on the first song the guitarist had a pleasingly fuzzy tone, and the trumpet player was using some cool effects as well.

The second song had hints of afrobeat funkiness to it and was even better than the first — it was easy to see why this guy was the headliner — this was immersive stuff, and more than a half-hour zipped by in a flash. As with any griot worth their salt, Diabate was a natural and affable entertainer.

"Mali De Nou" switched it up again, a delicious slowburner with plenty of that effect-laden trumpet. A master of the ngoni (playing lefty to boot!), Diabate's playing was precise but never fussy. One song even incorporated a good dose of "Frère Jacques" and was played with an effect on the ngoni that almost made it sound like a steel drum. A really exciting discovery and a good close to the festival's first day, leaving a joyful feeling as the crowds shuffled out of the park, which was now in nestled in darkness, with everything feeling larger yet gathered in, cloaked and mysterious.

Listen to a track from this set here.

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¹ You can grab this on his bandcamp.

Festival: Afrofest 2010 (Sunday)

Afrofest 2010 (feat. Kae Sun / Nati Haile / Occidental Brothers Dance Band International with Samba Mapangala / Muna Mingole / Chiwoniso)

Queen's Park. Sunday, July 11, 2010.

I arrived at Queen's Park with Kae Sun, the day's third act already on stage, but caught most of his set. Toronto-based, but of Ghanaian background, Sun brought something quite different to the table — something like a modern rock sound. Some of the lyrics ("we burn/ we burn/ we burn") could be taken for angsty rock tropes, but by and large his soulful delivery kept it from veering too far into mere complaint rock. Although, to be sure, there were shades of that in evidence.

The lineup was more standard rock band-esque (bass, keyb, drums and an electric guitarist backing Sun with his acoustic) — no extra percussion here. But there was a bit more than just mershy alt.rock going on — "Lion on a Leash", the title track to his album, had a reggae undertone, and "Free" came with a hip-hop delivery. Given the reverb that Sun preferred on his vocals, it seems clear that he's been picking up some elements of his sound from alternative rock and in the end, this stuff would be as much at home at Afrofest as it would be on a Tuesday night at The Horseshoe.

Although this wasn't particularly the flavour of rock I prefer, I have no doubt that Sun could make good with his talent — there's definite commercial potential here. And some good compositions, like closing track "On The Lookout" with a driving piano line, indicating that Kae Sun might grow into something interesting.

Meanwhile, looming clouds were rolling in overhead. It looked like the stage crew were planning on rain, moving lights back from the lip of the stage and bringing out tarps to cover the stacks while the next act was getting ready. That would be Nati Haile, and I knew that this would be worth listening to when I saw that his backing band included a few of the Ethio Stars crew, including sax master Girma Woldemichael. Also, drummer Daniel Barnes' playing gave the music a very tasty kick.

From what I can gather, like most Ethiopian musicians, Haile pays respect to the cannon of songs, throwing in a few well-known classics in his set. From reading around a bit, I get the impression that on record he cross-charges with hip-hop and dancier fare, but as I've seen before, the live incarnation with a full band tends to be a bit more traditional-leaning. But he also brought some other influences in, including a reggae vibe in his original "Shalom".

A couple songs in, the first few spare drops of rain began to fall, but even then, there were a good number of people up and dancing. Only when it began to rain more steadily did the bulk of the crowd move back to the shelter of the trees.¹ As is standard practice, the songs all stretched out a bit, usually six or seven minutes apiece, so there were only a half-dozen in the forty-five minute set. But it was pretty good stuff. And by the end, the rain had moved over and wouldn't be a problem for the rest of the day.

Listen to a track from this set here.

And then, just what the doctor ordered — the sun breaking through the clouds, the world cup complete, and some delicious African guitar-band music, courtesy of the Occidental Brothers Dance Band International with Samba Mapangala. Starting off with a whip-it-up instrumental, the five-piece band (two guitars, drums, sax, bass) ended up playing an extra long intro as leader Nathaniel Braddock lost power to his amp or pedals. But once that was fixed, his lines were incredibly tightly intertwined with Greg Ward's alto saxophone. Result: inevitable dancing.²

Appearances can be deceiving, of course, but the Chicago-based crew didn't necessarily look like a world-beating highlife/soukous unit. Especially with Braddock's refined, studious appearance, you could as easily have imagined the band playing coldly precise math-rock — at least until the emergence of the real star of the show.

Samba Mapangala is a true legend of Congolese music, releasing albums for twenty years. He's been performing with the Occidental Brothers since the fall of '09 and it seems to be working out for all involved. It was easy to get lost in the skittering drums or the bass following Mapangala's vocal line as Braddock played intersecting chiming guitar lines with Antonio Carella. That first burst of songs with Mapangala to start the set were arguably the best stuff I heard all weekend.

After that, the instrumental "Circle Circle Circle" gave Mapangala a chance to catch his breath. That and the slower "Masanga" following it were okay, but less vital than the faster stuff. And sometimes a little bit of alto sax can go a long way. Things picked back up when Mapangala returned to the stage for his own "Vunja Mifupa", which brought the pep back and kept it going right through the closing "Malako Disco", his signature hit. A fine introduction. Apparently a recording of this collaboration is in the works, so do keep your eyes out for that.

Listen to a track from this set here.

As I came back toward the main stage after a between-sets wander, I noted with interest that next up was a band that takes soundcheck seriously. Muna Mingole, wireless mic in hand, was out in front of the stage checking the percussion sound and making comments back to the booth. That exacting technician would soon re-emerge as a smiling entertainer. Known as the "Blue Flame of Cameroon", her band was certainly dressed to suit that moniker — colour coordinated in blue/white/black garb, right down the blue streaks in Mingole's hair matching her eyeshadow.

The set started off on a mellow note with a slow song backed with recorder, but slowly picked up from there. Mingole came across as slightly diva-esque, but not unjustifiably so with her commanding presence and pure, strong voice. The band behind her was eight strong, with a pair of singers and a pair of guitarists to go with keyb/bass/percussion/drums. Once things revved up to makossa speed, it was pretty engaging.

Although there's no doubting the talent at hand, there were a few points that were a bit too soul-lite smooth — not entirely my thing. But when it clicked, there was a feeling of joyful celebration. Weird moment: about forty-five minutes into her set, Rob Ford dropped by for some handshaking right in front of the main stage. Looking around, I was the only one plotzing at the sight of the disagreeable demagogue. Most people were more focused on the music, especially when an upbeat bikutsi rhythm took over, and she invited up members of the crowd to dance on stage.

In an interesting bit of cultural re-claiming, the band covered "The Lion Sleeps Tonight", a song whose history is a potent lesson in cultural globalism and the venality of the music industry.³ Interestingly, in the cross-currents of give-and-take of the whole thing, Mingole's version arguably owed as much to Disney as to Solomon Linda, and the crowd was more interested in singing along than considering the vagaries of music publishing and cultural appropriation. Also tipping in an easy header was the closing jam/medley of several songs that included the weekend's second kick at World Cup anthem "Zangalewa".

On the whole, not everything in the set worked for me, but count Mingole as a gifted performer and a positivity-packing entertainer who definitely won over the crowd on hand.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Whereas Mingole had to prove herself somewhat to win over the crowd, that wasn't so much needed for Chiwoniso, who has enthusiastically welcomed to the stage by a crowd whose size had swelled severalfold. Chiwoniso Maraire, American-born daughter to Zimbabwean mbira master Dumisani Maraire, has carried on the family tradition with her mastery of the thumb-piano, but in taking on what was considered to be a man's instrument, she is also pushing things forward. She mixed tradition and new ideas as easily as she mixed lyrics in English and Shona, all with an unshowy, natural command of the stage.

The set led off with the balladic "Rebel Woman" (the title track to her recent fourth album) with the warm, resonant tones from her mbira at the centre of the sound. Promising more of a dance groove after that, she sang "Kurima", which simmered along nicely, although the ripping guitar solos didn't totally click with me. The relatively compact five-piece band (guit/bass/drums/keyb/percussion) did show a lot of flexibility, though, in moving between some different musical flavours.

Playing a couple songs "by her friends", the band performed a pair from Max Wild's Tamba album, composed by saxophonist Wild and Sam Mtukudzi⁴. They also stretched out on the reggae-tinged anti-corruption groover "Matsotsi". Throughout, the music was fine, though I must admit for me it often fell more towards "pleasant" than "vital". Closer "Nguva Ye Kufara" did take things out on a winning note, though, loud roars from the crowd ending another year at Afrofest.⁵

Listen to a track from this set here.

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¹ And after the branch collapse of the night before, there was one less to take shelter under, still with a cordoned-off area around it.

² One downside of African music festivals is that guys will sit down beside you with a drum and start playing. I mean, look — I don't wanna work either, but I don't particularly want to hear random people banging on their drums all day while I'm listening to a band.

³ There's a précis of this song's interesting history in the Wikipedia article, but I strongly advise you to read Rian Malan's article, "In The Jungle", which you can find in a PDF version here.

⁴ Mtukudzi, son of Zimbabwean legend Oliver "Tuku" Mtukudzi was a promising musician who was killed in a tragic car crash earlier this year.

⁵ If you're a fan of planning ahead, Afrofest 2011 will be held on July 9th and 10th. See you there!

Festival: Afrofest 2010 (Saturday)

Afrofest 2010 (feat. Mohamed Diaby & Manding Foli Kan Don / Waleed "Kush" Abdulhamid / Doody Le Tigre / Dramane Kone / JP Buse)

Queen's Park. Saturday, July 10, 2010.

Time again for one of the best weekends of the year. Regardless of who is on the big stage, Afrofest fills Queen's Park up with animated crowds, some of whom show up to check out the bands, some to dance, and a lot of people to just linger in the festival atmosphere. From the stage to the merchandise booths to the beer garden the park was filled from end to end, even if there was often a lot of elbow room right up by the stage. And even if the weekend's final didn't feature any of the African teams, World Cup fever was in the air.

As I emerged from the subway and made my way down to the main stage (set up near the north end of the park), I could hear the pounding beats of Mohamed Diaby & Manding Foli Kan Don rolling out to meet me. The percussion-based ensemble featured five brightly-dressed drummers at first, but by the second selection there were nine on stage — and then dancers on top of that — so there was a lot to watch. One song featured a vocal call-and-response, but by and large singing took a backseat to the interlocking rhythms. Which went pretty much non-stop — the set featured four different grooves in forty minutes, so these were long selections, one going for twelve minutes.

Diaby — originally from Guinea, but now calling Toronto home — didn't have much to say, but managed to spread some good vibes in a few words, telling the crowd, "music is supposed to make you feel good!" It doesn't take too much to get people up and dancing at Afrofest, and though most of the crowd was sitting in the shade, back a bit, the space in front of the stage filled in nicely. Whole families were up and dancing, joined by wandering stilt-walkers who joined in for a bit.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Bringing a more considered and cerebral approach was Waleed "Kush" Abdulhamid, whose music rises out of his Sudanese roots, but is not narrowly limited to any one musical tradition. The set opened with an interesting number, a slow one with slick, atmospheric keybs and layered guitars that brought to mind Daniel Lanois' soundscapes. Things picked up from there, Abdulhamid leading the with his moody but spry six-string bass playing. His strong, emotive vocals were complemented by the violin, which added an interesting edge to the band's sound.

The best material here featured that striking North African mix of upbeat and melancholy, and this is where the six-piece band (keybs/accordion, guit, violin, percussion, drums) was at its best. Despite some sound problems throughout the set — the violin player couldn't quite get his sound right, or possibly couldn't hear himself in the monitors — it was fine from down in the crowd. As a pan-African tribute to the World Cup, Abdulhamid did a Zulu song, and to close things out, he brought local Sudanese singer Ruth Mathiang to sing on the final number.¹ There were a couple of the songs didn't do as much for me, but overall this was an interesting mix — dare we say fusion? — of sounds.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Playing for the first time in Toronto, Montréal's Doody Le Tigre brought a mix of Caribbean and African musical styles. With a female co-vocalist, Doody played the frontman with a five-piece band behind. After establishing a party vibe with his opening track, he changed things up musically, telling the audience, "now we're going to take the plane to Haiti!" — his own homeland — leading off with a snatch of a folksong, accompanied just by guitar before the rhythm section kicked in and took the tempo back up. Walking the stage with his namesake's swagger, Doody did what he could to pump up the crowd, starting some singalongs, even throwing in a little tiger roar after while calling out his name.

The music wasn't all party-minded fun. His single "Ça ne va pas", with stabs of reggae keybs, is a reflection on Québec's still-roiling discussion on "reasonable accommodation". Doody made his own preference for diversity clear with the number of styles his band incorporated into their songs — he threw down some rhymes, hip-hop style, on one and brought a rumba-esque beat after that. The crowd favourite was his own version of "Waka Waka Africa" — an interpretation of the makossa hit "Zangalewa", originally by Golden Sounds, it was revived with Shakira's re-make as an an anthem for this year's World Cup.

After closing out his set with a zouk-flavoured number, host Justine Gogoua — who has such an engagingly commanding personality that I should imagine she is not told "no" very often — asked for a reprise of "Waka Waka", which the band obliged.

And then a near-tragic turn in the day's festive events. Between sets, I'd wandered to the other end of the park to the bustling rows of food vendors, only to return to a chaotic scene back near the main stage. There were police cars and ambulances everywhere, emergency workers cordoning off an area with bright yellow emergency tape. It turns out that several large branches from one of the park's beautiful old oak trees had snapped and come crashing to the ground, nearly falling right onto some of the people sitting below.² Somehow, there were only minor injuries.

An unusual silence from the stage, with the ubiquitous background music silenced while the emergency workers bustled about. There was a call, of all things, for a Norwegian translator, but not too much information as the crowd waited for the next act.

Finally, the scene was cleared — with a large area around the tree blocked off — and the festival resumed. Dramane Kone, from the musically-rich Wassoulou region of Mali, led a band that was almost all rhythm, with two kamalé ngoni in front of bass, drums and percussion. When this got into a groove, it was utterly funky stuff. For the second song, the band found that sweet spot and just settled in for almost ten minutes, time for the backing vocalist to step up front and dance, spurred on by the hand drum as the music slowly sped up. There were more hypnotic grooves after that, in one song Kone getting the audience to sing along to the refrain of "c'est la vie", and another a fifteen-minute titanic that again built up into a frenzy.

Just a couple minutes into the next song, a glum-faced Michael Stohr, president of Music Africa, stepped onto the stage, gesturing for the band to wrap it up — "it's not good news, I'm afraid," he told the crowd. The city's arbourist had declared that the tree that had lost its branches was rotten right through, and more of it could come down at any time, leading the authorities to shut down the stage for the night. Declaring that it would be better to lose an hour of music than to risk further injuries, Stohr apologized, but had next-best options in hand: the early shut-down would allow city crews to get to work and cut the tree down overnight, meaning Sunday's performances were not in danger, while the last act of the night was being moved to the smaller Baobab Stage, further south in the park. Dramane Kone had gotten most of his set in, so all things considered, it wasn't nearly as bad an outcome as it could have been.

Listen to a track from this set here.

So I moved it on over to the Baobab Stage, where what looked and sounded like a pretty cool DJ set was shut down as stagehands began hurriedly setting things up. It looked like a lot of people were eager to hear the evening's headliner JP Buse — people began to get a bit restive as the clock ticked past the ten o'clock starting time. But with lots of equipment to check on the fly, including quite a few microphones, it took some time to get things going.

With a large backing band including six instrumentalists and three backing vocalists, this was a group that would have been right at home on the big stage. Here, on the smaller side stage, they looked a little awkwardly crammed in as they went through a rudimentary soundcheck. But as the band kicked off with an instrumental, it felt all right. Featuring a tightly-wound two guitar sound — low-slung rhythm parts complementing the glittering leads — this was the sort of thing I'd been waiting all day for. Those guitars, the synth-horn stabs and that skittering drumbeat riding tak-a-tap-tap on the snare. Then, Buse emerged to rile up the crowd, shouting, "are you ready for some soukous?"

Buse, who had established himself musically in the Congo as a member of the seminal Zaiko Langa Langa in the 80's,³ sang with a supple voice and brought a relaxed manner to the stage, playing the role of dignified musical statesman, mostly leaving the flashy moves to the younger bandmembers surrounding him. But he was undoubtedly running the show, expertly employing plenty of frontman tricks to get the crowd worked up.

Like a lot of other dance-friendly African guitar bands, one got the feeling that the instrumental passages of the songs were infinitely scalable and as the band hit the turnarounds I was keeping an eye on the players to see how they knew if they were taking another go 'round or segueing into another song. The band was pretty locked in, but there were a few times where it seemed apparent they couldn't hear each other very well. As could be expected with the last-minute set up there were a few glitches with the sound and it was overall not the greatest mix, but it couldn't cover over how good this band was.

The first burst ran about twenty minutes of three (I think) non-stop songs before the band stopped for breath, Buse eliciting shouts from the crowd as he called out for a cheer from various African countries. he also stopped the next song as the band began to teach the crowd how to sing along. Tearing into another series of mashed-together songs, Buse brought up some members of the crowd to dance on stage as the band played right up to the curfew — "the stage manager tells us we have three more minutes," Buse said, "so enjoy the last three minutes!"

Even though the band probably didn't get to play the set they wanted on the stage they deserved to be on, the talent on the stage ensured this was a really solid set. This is very much a group I'd revisit for future dance-y fun.

Listen to a track from this set here.

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¹ Abdulhamid is also a member of the Ethio Stars Band, a top-notch all-star crew, and you can hear hints of that Ethiopian flavour in his own music as well.

² Such is the uneasy cost of coexistence between trees and humans, a looming problem that will require thought and attention as the canopy ages.

³ Zaiko Langa Langa, founded in the 70's, included a who's-who of Congolese musical stars, including Papa Wemba. The band revolutionized the country's musical scene by getting rid of the horn section and cranking up the electric guitars, and many of its members went on to become stars in their own right.

Festival: Pride 2010 (Saturday)

Pride Toronto 2010 (feat. Woodhands / Cyndi Lauper)

South Stage / Queen's Park. Saturday, July 3, 2010.

Time for Pride — the festival for all things LGBTTIQQ2SA¹ — once again, and notwithstanding a controversy here or there, out on the streets it was the usual party vibe. Met up with A., and we spent some time exploring the booths while he queued up to get his picture taken with a variety of well-crafted dudes. I'm sure at some point in my past that I wouldn't have thought that I'd be regularly pressed into service to take photos like this.

We had planned things out to get over to the South Stage (the parking lot on the other side of Church Street from Maple Leaf Gardens) a bit early, as it's usually a terrible time getting into the licenced areas, but this time it wasn't so bad — and rather empty inside. Even J. came down for this one, so we at least had company as we waited for the show to start.

We were here to check out local DOR duo Woodhands. Somewhat amusingly, as the show started I realized that in this sea of a million partiers, I actually recognized a good percentage of the small-ish crowd that was up front and dancing. But then, Dan Werb (keybs, vox) and Paul Banwatt (drums) do have a contingent of highly-committed fans. I suppose I'm not amongst their number, but I was first convinced of their merits upon seeing them in performance. Especially live, there's an interesting tension between the sexual desperation of Werb's lyrics and the dance-y release of the music, evident here right off the top with "Pockets" — the lead-off track to this year's Remorsecapade — which has all of the band's strengths on offer. Throughout, Werb would play with a scrunched-up face, as if birthing this music was a pain, while Banwatt smoothly kept the beat as the songs stretched out.

That was followed by the slower tempo of the entirely-appropriate-for-Pride "Can't See Straight" — one of the highlights of their '08 debut, Heart Attack. Banwatt threw down with some rapping, slipping into a verse from Run DMC's "It's Tricky".² Following a "remix" version of "CP24", Maylee Todd came on stage — wearing a Kids on TV "BRING BACK GAY" shirt and what I guess could be described as a jim-hat — to add her voice to "Dancer", with her silky smooth vocals on the verses punctuated by Werb's awkward-pickup-line chorus: "You're a very good dancer! Whatisyourname?" This one, too, stretched out with an extended outro groove. With the songs coming at 12" dance mix lengths, there were just four titles in the half-hour set. But really good fun — enough to leave a body wanting more.³

Listen to a track from this set here.

After that, we had plenty of time to make a relaxed walk over towards Queen's Park. I had heard some grousing about Pride moving the big concert stage away from the village, but I was cautiously optimistic as we headed over, thinking back to a fair number of shows that I'd enjoyed there under the tree canopy. Sadly, the same cattle-pen approach that Pride uses at their other stages was in force here as well — instead of letting people have the run of the park and creating a hassle for anyone wanting to drink at a beer garden, the whole area was licenced and fenced-off, meaning there a monumentally long queue to get in as we approached.⁴

The line was so long — almost stretching around the circumference of half the park — that we really didn't feel like standing in it. We wandered and ended up just sitting in a spot outside the fence, figuring we'd try our luck with seeing/hearing out here. But just by chance, we were settled down by what was quickly turned into a second entrance (why weren't they planning for this all along? Weren't they expecting a crowd?) so we joined that rapidly-forming line and got in without too much trouble. There was already a large crowd inside, and we weren't going to get too near the stage without pushing our way there. We weren't that keen. So as the nine o'clock start time approached, and then passed, we waited, as the crowd kept filling in, soon making it tightly packed around us in all directions.

Now, most of the time I'm pretty anti-nostalgia — I prefer it when musicians aren't just stuck replicating moments of past glory. That said, unusually for me, I was here expecting something of a warm hug of fondly-remembered greatest hits. It's a big, festival-style crowd, not a collection of hardcore fans, so I figured there might be a smattering of new material to show artistic determination in amongst the crowdpleasers.

Nope.

Once things got started, at about twenty after, Cyndi Lauper came out and burst right into material from her new album Memphis Blues, which is exactly what the title implies — Lauper's interpretations of some classic blues sides. For the first couple songs, we were politely impatient and figuring she was getting this out of the way early on. But by the third or fourth song, A. was hitting the limits of his patience, eyes darting around as if there was some sort of gigantic practical joke being played on him.

Long story short, it turned out to be pretty much a full set of "new material". Well — ecch. It didn't help that it was particularly insipid sub-late-night-talk-show-band blooze, really smooth and watered down like a casino cocktail. By the time of about the fourth song, we bailed from where we were and moved back to find, at least, some elbow room. Soon, the greatest source of entertainment was watching A.'s reaction after each song, as he waited for something he recognized. When Lauper led in to a song saying, "here's one by B.B. King!" he threw up his arms in theatrical defeat/disgust. We went and found the beer line.

And then we just wandered the perimeter for a spell, walking past merch stalls and hanging out, which was much more fun than the concert we were now largely ignoring. Oddly though, the further away we moved, the better the view and the sound were, and eventually we found an open area near the back with a nice sightline and not too many people around and A. just grimly waiting, realizing by now that any "hits" were going to be reserved for the finale/encore part of the show. And, indeed, eventually we did get "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun", in a blues-band arrangement well-suited to throw off anyone who'd want to actually sing along. After the long leadup to that, it didn't feel cathartic or rewarding so much as, "I waited all night for this?"

Truth be told, I'd've probably gotten the effect that I was looking for at this show if I'd just stayed at home and watched the ending to Romy and Michele's High School Reunion three or four times. The burden of the nostalgia-seeker, I guess. Backhanded kudos are due to Lauper for, like, sticking with her artistic vision and all, but it really felt like the wrong set for this kind of crowd.

I guess all of this — especially dealing with artists proving they're still relevant while waiting for some fondly-remembered songs — is what "concert-going" is like for most people. At least it was a freebie, and I didn't complete the mersh experience with fifty dollar tickets and highway-robbery service charges, but there was definitely with a "Get to the 'workin' overtime' part!" vibe.

With such a crummy experience — company notwithstanding — as we got out of the caged-in zone, I was definitely ready for something less corporate — like standing under a bridge at midnight and hearing some abrasive noise.

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¹ And yes, this hard-to-remember mouthful deliniates the communities that Pride is serving — in full: Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transsexual, Transgender, Intersex, Queer/Questioning, 2 Spirited, Allies. Note that last one, giving official sanction that Pride is officially for straight people now, too! I think I'm going to try and remember it from now on by pronouncing it "legbittikwakwatoosa" — useful for any occasion where you want to say "queer" but feel that seven syllables would work better than one.

² "This is where I tell that story about that girl I met last year at Pride," he said by way of introduction to the verse. That's actually an under-advertised but generally acknowledged side of Pride — plenty of those "Allies" are out to hook up, too.

³ Woodhands will be playing at Lee's Palace on Friday, November 19th at what will almost certainly be a sweaty good time.

⁴ Obviously, the bigger problem here is the archaic liquor laws that Pride has to operate under. But there are other solutions that don't punish the young and the part of the crowd that doesn't care to drink anyway.

Festival: An African Prom

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.

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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.