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King Sunny Ade’s fifteen minutes of Western fame passed long ago, but don’t feel sorry for the guy. He was already massive in Nigeria before Island Records tried to groom him to be the next Bob Marley, and he’s since parlayed his success as an entertainer into sizable and diversified business holdings. The man doesn’t need the West, but every once in a while it’s nice for us to hear from him. He remains quite popular in his homeland, where he is a renowned entertainer available for weddings, naming ceremonies, and the like. The event that brought him to the US on this rare tour was a 40th birthday party for Nigerian triplet brothers who all hold medical degrees. Since he was in the country, he took in a few other cities, and turned the tour into both a celebration of Nigerian culture and a call for harmony between ethnic groups. The opening act, a highlife band led by Obi Asadebe, differs ethnically from Ade (the former is Igbo, the latter Yoruba). And Ade put out the word that his concerts would follow the African model, ie they’d last a long time, and audience members would be free to “spray” him with cash in return for his songs of praise.
Chicago’s Nigerian expatriate community came out in force for Ade’s appearance. Most of them arrived fashionably late and missed Asadebe’s set, but they didn’t miss much. His small band, which relied heavily on programmed rhythms, percolated pleasantly enough, but they made no attempt to challenge the headliner’s primacy, or even to break a sweat. Ade, by contrast, made a grand entrance, preceded by a dozen musicians and a couple limber septuagenarian male singer-dancers. The massed talking drums and guitars built to a crescendo, then Ade strode out and basked in adulation before he ever played a note. He went on to justify it, leading his band through lengthy songs in which intricate vocal harmonies flowed over bright guitar melodies and undulating rhythms. This band was smaller than the ones Ade brought to the USA during the 80s, and a synth player stood in for several guitar players, but they did the job just fine. The audience’s Nigerian contingent quickly got into the spirit. Ade was more than a master of ceremonies. He cut some moves that belied the fact that he’s in his late 50s and guided his ensemble with beacon-like guitar leads. At one point, perhaps to honor the town in which he played, he broke into some entirely convincing blues riffs. The promised spraying began about two hours into the concert, when small knots of patrons clambered onto the stage and showered Ade with crumpled-up dollar bills. At first it was a blast to watch people strut onto the stage, pose for the waiting cameraman, then beam as Ade serenaded them. But after a while it got a bit old; it was hard to see past the people tossing bills to Ade, and while the band kept up a frenetic pace, their leader’s focus was more on pleasing his temporary patrons than the crowd as a whole. By the time they left the stage, roughly three hours after they had started, the sated audience had thinned considerably. But that was fine; how many people stay to the end of any party? I doubt that many left this one disappointed.
-Bill Meyer
06/29/05
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