KONONO NO. 1

Lucky for me most of the bands I missed at Coachella are swinging through NYC. I’d heard that Konono No. 1’s low-fi thumb piano trance-inducing (Congotronic) rhythmic laboratory was not to be missed, and I shouldn’t have been surprised the show was sold out. The abysmal opening act Magic Markers couldn’t have been more inappropriate for the lineup, noisy nuisance they were, all clatter and din and harsh grievous mayhem. They played to a handful and drove me out of the club for a walk while their set explored new ways to avoid melody. What the fuck.

By the time I returned Konono No. 1 had set up shop with their alarming DIY twin-megaphone sound system. One woman and six men: she sang and danced and the rest laid down a phenomenally complicated groove that moved the gawky (and predominantly white) audience into fits of spontaneous articulation. Tunes were long enough compell the entering of altered states with the body trying to sort out how many rhythmic ideas were happening at once. Introductions were short, as no one spoke English except a consistent appeal to “Dance! Dance.”

I’ve been to enough shows from African artists to wonder why more black people in this country fail to support African music when it generously comes to our shores. It’s something that’s never made much sense to me unless it has something to do with ticket prices, which I have to believe is bullshit since throngs will be shelling out some serious cash to see Wu-Tang.