Battle cries, not booty calls

>> Brooklyn-based Antibalas Orchestra stoke the fires of Fela Kuti

by RUPERT BOTTENBERG

A couple of years back, when my interest in '70s African funk was sparked, I snagged a disc on NYC's retro-soul label Desco, by a mysterious act called the Daktaris. Devoid of bio info but raw and fully in the style, I, like many others, was convinced I'd discovered a lost gem of the genre.

So was NYC percussionist/radio DJ Phil Ballman, until he found himself jamming with a bunch of big-haired, open-eared, multiculti Brooklyn musicians. They revealed that it was they who had cut the disc right there in NYC, not some weathered neo-griots in a ramshackle African studio. What started as a loving hoax, though, has evolved into Antibalas (Spanish for "bulletproof") Orchestra, not only a fully functional Afro-beat revival band but an exemplary instance of the band as self-sufficient and ethically sound community--a commune with an "ity" at the end, but without Wavy Gravy chasing goats to and fro. They're Brooklyn-based, of course. Not prime farmland, is it.

The lineup is a racial toss-up, and likewise musically (members hail from the ska, funk, worldbeat and jazz scenes) and in their extracurricular pursuits (massotherapists and martial artists, activists and football players). At the heart of Antibalas, though, is a shared reverence for deceased Afro-beat godfather Fela Anikulapo Kuti, musical visionary and fierce political firebrand.



Mirror: Antibalas draws on literally global resources, both in the cultural makeup of the band and also where everyone's coming from musically. But the band, judging from the record and what I've seen live, sticks to the Afro-beat formula. I'm curious if there's a temptation to bring in stronger shades of, say, reggae or salsa?

Phil Ballman: There has been, but what's always happened, as we've discovered, is that if you try to sneak those things in, unless it happens really organically, it feels forced. I have to say that all of us came into the project really enamoured with the music and with Fela's compositional sense. But it got to the point where we realized that this is really a language, a form. I think that Antibalas has had the success that it has because it's not just a novelty thing. What Fela did was create a really workable, valid synthesis of these different kinds of music.

M: That's what I remarked when I first got into the sound--it had really deep and complex grooves, the brass rocked hard and punchy, and long songs! Fifteen-minute jams you can just get lost in--

PB: Which at the same time don't become noodly and self-indulgent. We began to really understand that, and decided to stick to the template, because we were just scratching the surface. We wanted to respect the integrity of the form, the integrity of Fela's vision. We felt one of the keys to success of Fela's band was discipline. As with so many other African styles, the music is a sort of microcosm of society, with the same division of responsibilities and roles and hierarchy that exists to some extent in a traditional African society. Everyone does their thing, but in service of the larger group. Actually, you can see that in traditional music all over the world. This was [Antibalas frontmeister/saxologist] Martin Perna's inspiration to start the band, the guiding influence in putting everything together. The other question, Why do we stick to straight Afro-beat--Martin is very involved in political issues, and was very deeply inspired by Fela as a political person, for his courage, strength, honesty and integrity. Martin wanted this to be more than just a band, to mean something more--to have a message.

Sufferhead reprise

M: Now, this is a goofy question to ask a Guiliani-era New Yorker, but do you think Fela's politics apply over here?

PB: That's a good question, and the short answer is no, but the long answer is yes. Obviously, this is not Lagos, Nigeria in the 1970s. We're not facing the same kind of dire, direct crises that Fela faced. We're not dealing with a military dictatorship and out-of-control police force. Some people might argue with that to a degree, but this is not Africa in '75, it's New York City in the year 2001. Of course it's different, but the principle behind it, to speak out, to encourage people as much as possible to be free, creative and open, to reject any kind of authority imposed on them that is oppressive, invalid or unjust--I mean, thank God we don't have to worry about someone burning our studio down, like Fela did. Thank God we don't have to worry about being beaten and imprisoned dozens of times. What happened to Fela was very, very, very heavy, you know what I mean? It's important that it be understood that we're not trying to ape that or gain some cred from it. It's more about being inspired by a man who was so rare in this modern world, who had the courage and tenacity to really speak the truth.

M: And the talent to communicate it effectively.

PB: Of course, he was operating in a longstanding tradition in Africa. There's praise singers, and then there's derisive singers who will make fun of prominent people. He was very much in that tradition, very much a trickster figure. But I will say that, okay, this is America in 2001--

M: Hold on. I have to say, as a Canadian, that we're constantly watching what happens down there because it will end up happening here, only perhaps not so harshly. We see teenagers thrown in prison for 20 years for selling pot. We cross the border and the first thing we see, literally, is the border guard deliberately standing in such a way that his automatic pistol is directly in your face. There are often things that we're stunned by--the United States is supposed to be an enlightened, progressive nation.

PB: Exactly. And that's what Martin is motivated to speak out against. He is really the most political person in the band, but we all have opinions on these things. For example--this isn't Lagos 1972, but we have an illegitimate ruler. George W. Bush did not win the presidency. It's like the Fela tune, "Authority Stealing," all over again. Not in the details--the song's about diverted oil money--but it's very relevant. Bush has stolen the election. You have people thrown in jail for years for carrying a small amount of pot. One of the biggest growth industries in America is the prison industry, the privatization of prisons. That's now how America makes money, by throwing people in jail, and that's sick! It's sick and wrong! So if even in a small way, we can focus people on this--there's a song we have called "Resurrection of Courage," about just that--having the courage to address these issues, to speak out against perceived injustice. I mean, it's a diverse band, and we don't always agree on everything.

A baobob grows in Brooklyn

M: I was curious about that, if things ever reach a point where someone says, Look, I can't get with that.

PB: That happens. It's 15 people in a band. But this has been for me personally, and I think it's safe to say so for the rest of the band, a growing experience, a lesson in how to work within a small-scale democracy. We're not a totally egalitarian community, in that everyone is doing exactly the same thing. Because it's a big band, there's different levels of commitment and availability, but for each of us, it's taught us how to accommodate different points of view and still maintain unity.

M: There's a line on the CD jacket, "Antibalas is trying to lead by example..." I like that idea, that's it's a collective, not just a band spouting opinions.

PB: Every single person in Antibalas has a unique, valuable gift or talent that they bring to the band, be it musically or in some other realm. For instance, we have designed and maintained our own Web site, built our own studio, set up our own rehearsal space, booked our own weekly Africalia party at NoMoore on West Broadway--and keep it going even when we're out of town playing--and manufactured and distributed our own CDs. We make our own T-shirts and book our own tours. Of course, many bands aren't as lucky as Antibalas. On the one hand, 15 people are a burden--they have to be paid, travel is tough etc. On the other hand, a quartet or trio, you might not have a Web designer, or an equipped silkscreener, or an experienced tour booker. The other thing is, we're now starting to work with outside people, having just signed with Ninja Tune [Their CD, Liberation Afro-beat Vol. 1, sees its Ninja rerelease April 3]. How that ties into our idea of self-sufficiency is that we ourselves built up the band to a point where we're not dependent on a record label saying, "We'll sign you guys and make things happen for you." We've made things happen for ourselves. We've got a lot to offer--without even having a widely-distributed CD, we've built a fanbase, contacts and self-sufficiency. We're in a position to dictate the terms.

With DJs Luv, Troubleman and Alex Robbins at Pub Quartier Latin this Saturday, March 3, $10. Three sets, the first at 9pm