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It's OK to toss cash at royalty
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Los Angeles Times, It's OK to toss cash at royalty >>
The musicians in King Sunny Ade's band have many talents. They can play his polyrhythmic pieces for hours with unflagging spirit and precision. They look sharp in their patterned Nigerian garments. They're able to dance when called upon and are always ready with an infectious smile.
And on Wednesday they showed their skill at scooping up the money that fluttered to the floor of the stage during the group's concert at the Belly Up Tavern here. This abundant currency was presented to singer- guitarist Ade by audience members who approached him as he played and, with great ceremony, either showered the greenbacks over him like confetti or stuck them to his perspiring forehead.
This custom, known as "spraying" or "dashing," is rarely enacted outside of its African setting, but Ade, one of the big gest international stars in African music for more than two decades, is including it as an added attraction on his first U.S. tour in several years. The opening act is an exponent of eastern Nigeria's highlife music, Prince Obi Osa- debe.
"A lot of people really wanted to see how we normally do it in Nigeria, in our parties and Nigerian concerts," Ade, 58, said back stage before Wednesday's show. "Many people said they saw it on TV or a video ... so my management said I should include it.... We started doing it and every body really enjoys it. It has been going very well."
The tour will stop tonight at the Vanguard in Hollywood, where Ade will introduce locals to another regular feature of his performances back home: He'll play until 4 in the morning.
The spraying and the "praise singing" in which the performer reciprocates by singing flattering words about his benefactors are part of the musical/social fabric in Nigeria. At parties held for naming ceremonies, weddings, business openings and other occasions, people's prominence is often measured by the exchange.
"It's a sign of respect, and it's also a means of getting the singer to sing your praise," says CC Smith, editor of the Los Angeles-based world music magazine the Beat. "It actually is a demonstration of status -- showing off your wealth makes you the big man or top dog in the society. The more you can give away, the richer you are considered. And then, of course, the singer starts singing your praises for all to hear.
"I've been to shows where they've done nothing but. People were virtually lining up to throw money on the singer, and the whole song was talking about whoever was currently pasting the money on his head."
At the Belly Up, the spraying began about halfway through the nearly two-hour show, when a man in an African-design shirt danced up to Ade and began tucking bills into his collar and pressing them against his head. Three women soon joined him, and they remained on stage and danced after bestowing their cash.
Ade stood at the side of the stage and faced them as he began the praise singing. At Nigerian parties the singer knows a lot about the people he's addressing, but here it appeared more impromptu. At one point one of the women whispered to a back up singer, who in turn said some thing to Ade, presumably some information for him to incorporate in his lyrics.
Ade sings in the Yoruba language, so while the words themselves might have been foreign to the predominantly non-African audience, the intimacy and spontaneity of this moment were mesmerizing, all the more so because it was delivered with dazzling rhythmic complexity and precision.
That's been the hallmark of King Sunny Ade's juju music for decades, and his sound is as fresh and vibrant in 2005 as it was when he made his initial splash in the U.S.
At the Belly Up, the size of the stage limited his lineup to 14 players (with three vivacious female dancers occasionally squeezing in to shake their stuff), but with a phalanx of drums behind three electric guitars and keyboards, they mounted the same rippling, intricate, effervescent kind of grooves that first endeared him to Western audiences.
Ade was already a star in Nigeria when his fame began to spread in Europe in the early '80s. He signed with Island Records and was presented to the world as an emissary of a great Third World music, somewhat in the tradition of Bob Marley.
Ade wasn't political like Marley, but his influence has been profound on the international spread of African music and the growth of world music as a vital genre.
Though his prominence here faded after the initial wave, when he and his band headlined such venues as the Hollywood Palladium and the Greek Theatre, Ade has nothing but good memories about those times.
"I'd been longing to let the whole world hear my music, juju music, and it was like a door opener for me from Island Records," he said backstage Wednesday. "It was like a new thing to the Western world, and they gave me an opportunity to play it .
"They opened the door not only for me but for other African musicians and all African music....And the people here are still liking it."
-Richard Cromelin 04/23/05
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