"This is the start of the beginning," said the turbaned King Sunny Ade, his round face sporting a blinding smile as the juju churned around him. "Or the beginning of the start . . . "

In any case, the show Saturday at the Vic Theater was almost endless. And for about half the night, that was heavenly.

Ade is a superb guitarist and master showman. Known in Nigeria as "The Minister of Enjoyment," he's the godfather of juju music, a vital ingredient in '70s and '80s Afropop. In Ade's hands, this is a joyful music, with a bed of rolling rhythms, led by the constant congress of three guitars. At the Vic, he played with 15 musicians, eight of whom were percussionists.

The bottom was provided by the Tope Akuni on traps and the young Tosi Hmuwo on congas, each pushing and outdoing the other while the limber Ade exchanged solos with the willowy John Apkan. Septuagenarians Femi Owomuyela and Mattew Olojede, who've been singing backup with Ade for about 40 years, showed off some limber, sexy moves while responding to the King's calls.

And there were the women: three vibrating vixens who made only two short but mesmerizing appearances. These were curvy, full-bodied, fully dressed women loving every minute of their power. Whenever they came on, the Vic exploded in shouts and raised hands.

But somewhere just before 1 a.m. (they'd begun a little after 11, after a relatively calm highlife set by opener Prince Obi Osadebe), things took a turn. That's when the "spraying" began. This is the Yoruba tradition of showering money onto singers in exchange for praise. And Ade is considered a master of this kind of improvisation.

For the first 15 minutes or so, this was great fun. Audience members, hands thick with bills, sauntered onstage and threw them at Ade, or stuck them on his sweaty forehead. Ade would disappear behind a circle of admirers, then pop up on the other side of the stage. By now having doffed the guitar, he made the audience laugh, giggle and roar with his praises, all expressed in his native Yoruba.

But then the praising went on and on, topping off at about an hour. By that time, Ade had lost more than half of the crowd. A show that began with such force ended with a whimper. What was left of the audience, exhausted, didn't even bother to try for an encore. Ade had worn them out.

-- Achy Obejas