still battling jet lag and hungry for a bit of lagos in new york, i walked in the doors of s.o.b.'s last night eager to hear music from seun kuti's new brian eno-produced album, from africa with fury: rise.

wearing jeans and little makeup, i parked myself inconspicuously halfway between the bar and the stage, immediately spotting kunle ade--king sunny ade's son--whom i've never actually seen out at an event with 'normal' people. he gave me a hug and obligatory kiss on the cheek, before sliding away to mix and mingle. soon the crowd started pouring in and i glimpsed a few more friends--an academic; a drummer; a dancer; a photographer who covered the africa aspire ball with me, at the national museum of african art, during obama's inauguration--as well as a few brooklyn mainstays whom i haven't seen in ages--namely, ngozi odita of harriets alter ego.

it had been four years since i first saw seun kuti & egypt 80 perform at s.o.b.'s.

i was 25 then, writing for the african magazine. showed up with my notebook wearing a gold tube dress and plenty makeup, was paparazzied to death while dancing, and stayed till the last patrons had already left. i wasn't the shy, silent type as i found seun to be then--though he was also uber-talented, energetic, and mesmerizing to watch. i loved the way he defered to his band members on their solos, leaving centerstage to stand somewhere near the back. and how he paid homage to his late father, starting his set off with a fela tune and displaying a 'fela lives' back tat proudly.

seun has changed a lot in four years. now balding, he was high most of the night and gazed at the audience through half-opened eyelids. in spite of all that, or maybe because of it, i loved his performance--the dancing, the stripping down to his bareback from a business shirt, the preaching about politics, revolution and government. he opened the first set with fela's zombie before launching into songs from his album. preached about marijuana, sex, and politics--'what is the u.s. doing in libya? it's because of the economy. they know libya doesn't have the corporations to rebuild the country after they're done bombing. just wait, the contracts are coming.'--to a rapt crowd of fans.

i danced all the way to the end of the second set before jet lag hit me, leaving still hungry for lagos, tho temporarily sated. on the subway ride home, i thot about my fascination with seun. it stems from the fact that we're roughly the same age. and in the past four years, he has made a significant transition that is largely governed by age: he doesn't give a damn what anybody else thinks anymore. he is making music his way, performing his way, living his way. he isn't shy anymore; he is liberated. i saw so much of fela in him--in a way that both awed and worried me.

all of this to say. i am looking forward to seeing seun in another four years, to seeing him sell a lot of records. a free black man is a dangerous and powerful thing.

read my african magazine review from four years ago here. --AL.

there will be a film screening of fela! on broadway at the new afrika shrine in lagos tomorrow. i have seen it twice in nyc already, but still might check out the screening just to see the response of a nigerian audience to the show. tix cost N500 and are available on site the day of the show or at the british council office in ikoyi beforehand. live performances to come later in the year. --AL.

fela! on broadway comes to nigeria on the heels of a $5M lawsuit by fela friend/historian dr. carlos moore. the suit claims that portions of the show were lifted from moore's biography, this bitch of a life, netting producers over $30 million in profits. (get the biography now from cassava republic press.) having spoken with sources close to dr. moore, it sounds legit. and having spoken with sources close to the musical regarding the piecemeal/convoluted writing process, it sounds doubly legit. at any rate, money talks, and the show's coming to lagos.

i am eating my words. figured the musical, which plays like a history lesson with dance interludes, would never sell to an audience who knew the man so well. but nigerians will likely eat it up all the same--at least femi is, and that's half the battle. but what's really interesting is the phenomenon of white appropriation of an african story, repackaged and resold to an african audience at cost. i hardly know whether to laugh or cry or shout arararara. everybody say yeah yeah.

find out more about the lawsuit here. find out more about the show at the new afrika shrine on facebook. find out more about and sign cassava republic's declaration in support of the lawsuit here. --AL.

"The point is that the lawsuit Carlos Moore filed on November 8th, 2010 sets a precedent, one that is long overdue; too many creative spirits, born in poverty-striken communities and/or countries, have had to watch impotently as their intellectual production is violated with impunity."
--Bibi Bakare-Yusuf, Cassava Republic Press

this is too hilarious. i couldn't resist posting it. happy friday! --AL.

I really wish I had made it to the event last night, but my writers' workshop ran overtime. I didn't get home till midnight coming from Bklyn back to the Bronx. Either I am a very dedicated writer or I am a fool. I can't figure out which one and I'm sure none of you would tell me the truth. Eish. I wouldn't have had the courage to speak to Wole Soyinka anyways.

Below is an excerpt from his memoir that deals with the passing of his late great cousin. You can read the entirety of the excerpt here. As I stare at Opera Wonyosi on my bookshelf, an old copy I picked up at Left Bank bookstore, I am left wanting for a Fela play by Soyinka. I wonder what he thought of the show?

I realize that I must have sounded angry and somewhat bitter in my blog yesterday. It's just that I work at a theater company for a rich white male producer who trades in stories of black and brown people, while seeking as much distance as possible from them (ie, fame and celebrity). Every day I face the same frustration, thoughts about the means of production and how we can tell our own stories.

Sometimes I think of epic stories I'd like to tell and shrink away at the thought of trying to capture so much, of appropriating, in a certain way, experiences or histories I didn't live through. At times like these, I secretly wish for a heavy dose of rich white male entitlement. Used sparingly, I imagine it can be employed for enormous good. --AL.

Update: So it appears that Soyinka slipped out before the reception and even missed the cast singing happy birthday for him and bringing out a cake. He wanted the show to be about Fela and not him, or some such. Ah well, guess I didn't miss anything after all! ;)

"The news came on my portable radio and it sounded so strange, a floating contradiction that was at once detached from, yet infused with the world from which I had myself just earned a lover’s rebuff. My young cousin, the abàmì èdá1 that the world knew as Fela, was dead. He had not yet attained his sixtieth year.

A naked torso over spangled pants, over which a saxophone or microphone would oscillate on stage, receiving guests or journalists in underpants while running down a tune from his head, in the open courtyard at rehearsals or in any space where he held court – all constituted the trademark of his unyielding non-conformism.

Fela loved to buck the system. His music, to many, was both salvation and echo of their anguish, frustrations and suppressed aggression. The black race was the beginning and end of knowledge and wisdom, his life mission, to effect a mental and physical liberation of the race."

-- From You Must Set Forth at Dawn, by Wole Soyinka

NollywoodNYC is planning a group outing to see Fela! on Broadway (Tuesday, July 27th, 2010 at 7pm), at which Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka will be in attendance. After the show, they will be hosting a reception in honor of Soyinka next door at Serafina (224 West 49th Street, NYC 10019).

This would be right up my alley if not for my writing workshop tonight and the fact that I've seen the show twice already. I've been meaning to congratulate Bill T. Jones, Sahr Ngaujah and the rest of the Fela! crew for the 11 Tony noms and one win. I have my reservations about the show, which I've been loathe to get into on here, but maybe I will write that blog someday.

In a Times article about his father's legacy, Femi said, "I'm protesting for [Fela!] to come to Lagos, so if I see it now, I will lose that fight." Frankly, I don't think the show could play in Lagos. The story is a thinly-veiled attempt to educate Americans about a largely unknown and controversial man. Most Nigerians would say, Tell me something I don't know already. Unless I'm the only one with a thing against docudramas.

You could call it a renaissance of afrobeat with the U.S. finally discovering his music. But I've had enough of American portrayals of Africa and Africans. I have a problem with the white man who bought Fela's story and hired Bill T. Jones and cast a show absent any Nigerians. I also have a problem with the white man who wrote it ("hey, guys, i learned all i could about this really cool musician and wrote a show about it!"). It never ceases to amaze me how appropriation never goes out of fashion. And I think to myself, Damn, the Egypt 80 are still performing, and they're not in it?

I'm not gonna dig in to Bill T. Jones. He was hired to choreograph the dances and he did his job well (the man's gotta eat, right?). But I just wish that it had come together differently because there will never be another Fela! on Broadway. The story, as far as the West is concerned, has been told.

Thankfully (a glimmer of hope on the horizon?), Chiwetel Ejiofor is starring in a biopic directed by Steve McQueen, with the help of Naija-Brit novelist/playwright Biyi Bandele. Perhaps history CAN be re-written? --AL.

missed last night's opening reception for a new multimedia exhibit at the caribbean cultural center in midtown, life after death: a multi-media analysis of the persona that was/is fela anikulapo kuti. several friends of mine are showing works, including my homie aaqil ka (second to last photo below). i totally spaced on the invite, went to a dance class and then a rather disappointing african party/world cup mixer where everybody in the spot was watching the nba finals. boo.











the exhibit's running through august 10.

June 7, 2009
I will not spend the entire summer @ a festival, cookout, or party. Have killed many a NYC summer that way and besides, I'm a serious woman. Disclaimers aside though, went to a phat cookout at Prospect Park yesterday (I heart veggie burgers on spelt bread) followed by a Fela v. James Brown spinoff @ Club Love with Rich Medina and DJ Spinna. Party c/o Keistar Productions, producers of the annual Wonder-FULL party, who incidentally brought the Inauguration edition, Volume IX, and Volume X (next month) this year alone, making me think it's less an annual celebration of Stevie than a monthly expansion of their income.

Haven't been to Love in a minute, forgot about the black lights that made my white top, teeth, and eyeballs glow in the dark. The crowd was off the chain, and me and my girls brought a nice Brooklyn vibe to warm up the city. I heard there were a bunch of cats in from Austin, too. Afrobeat and funk make the world go 'round.

There was a guy walking around with a camera with one of those really bright and annoying spotlights. Hated it. No idea what he captured in that crowded ass room apart from a couple of sweaty heads and elbows. I was a lightweight, though, legs already tired from dance class, so I split after a couple of hours. On my way out, ran into a photographer friend I'm crushing on and almost followed him back inside. LOL.

What got me to the Brooklyn Museum for First Saturdays yesterday was a conversation between choreographer Bill T. Jones and noted film critic Elvis Mitchell, of NPR fame.

Jones -- who is featured in a new exhibit, The Black List Project, by photographer Timothy Greenfield-Sanders and interviewer Mitchell -- discussed his life, Lincoln, Fela Kuti, and the role of anger in art.

Jones was a wannabe actor who, after discovering African dance through the late great Percival Borde, began his dance career at the age of 19. He went on to become a celebrated postmodern choreographer with notable commissioned works, including a project commemorating Abraham Lincoln.

Describing a scene typical of his younger days, when he flashed a man and his two young children during a performance, Jones considered the role of an artist in society:

"He ought to be running naked through the streets thumbing his nose at people. Absolutely free. But there's a conservativizing effect that comes with success. I began to ask whether I should edit myself more."

Jones urged all artists to "describe your world with as much accuracy and generosity as you can," noting that only then can you engage in a higher dialogue about issues of race, class, and gender. All too often, artists make the mistake of starting with the big picture and working backwards to the personal. They paint with too broad a brush, losing their point-of-view and failing to tap the raw material of their emotions -- namely anger, desire, and love.

"Fela! was primarily an entertainment. Work for hire," Jones said. "My producer brought the story to me and I created a show." Jones's latest production was amazingly well choreograped, scored (by Antibalas), designed, and performed -- lead actor Sahr was phenomenal and the dancers were fiery -- but it was a little too light on story.

Jones felt that imparting Fela's message was more important than being true to how he would've spoken or even behaved in certain situations. "[My producer] asked me why I wanted to translate some of the words [Fela sang] and I said because most people would not understand pidgin English."

There was more Fela to come, at a dance party pitting DJs Rich Medina and Spinna in a Fela vs. James Brown spinoff. It was a little too light on Fela, but I danced the night away all the same.