Earlier this summer I missed Seun Kuti, Fela Kuti’s youngest son, when he played with Egypt 80 at the Moore. I was livid. This summer was thus dubbed “the summer of two-thousand-hate.” There has since been a miraculous transformation; after seeing NOMO perform at Nectar this past weekend, this time in my life will hereafter be known as “the summer of Afrobeat love.”
I first heard NOMO on KEXP’s Song of the Day and was instantly mesmerized. The electric calimba, played by (and assumedly created by) Eric Bergman, snapped my attention into place and made me wonder, “When did Konono no.1 start spending money on a producer?” The beat-heavy, repetition driven arrangements were catchy, danceable, and (above all) funky!
From the moment the band hit the stage to when the last note faded from the speakers, NOMO’s set demanded full body gyration and/or pixie-dance hand gestures from every person in the house. I couldn’t spot a single person having little chat about their alcohol tolerance or other such nonsense - all eyes were on stage. The squealing and belching of Dan Bennett’s baritone sax, which appeared taller than he was, took us on a musical acid adventure. At one point in the show, perhaps during “Forth Ward,” I felt as though I were aboard the imploding Nebakanezer from 20,000 Leagues, iron walls slowly compressing my consciousness, beckoning me to lie down and convulse. But in a good way! Not like, “Oh shit! We’re gonna die for real!”
Bergman, the seemingly reluctant front man, spent most of the show switching between his sax and Nords, stage left and in the shadows. Despite his lurking, he ran a tight ship, with the timid ease of a captain whose crew has utter faith in his competency. Not to say that the musicians of Saturday's NOMO (I believe they have an ever-changing line up) needed panopticon supervision; each member was extraordinarily talented in their own right. The other members that I could identify (with 80% certainty) were Dan Piccolo on drums along with two other unidentified male percussionists and Justin Walter on Trumpet. There was also a female bassist whom I could not name. She was incredibly funky, and I feel a bit of remorse for not shaking her hand.
And how could I forget the encore?! When the crowd refused to leave, NOMO descended the stage with more panache than that Moses fellow and with something much, much better to offer us. Throw those Ten Commandments in the "I'm bored with it already closet" because the musical memes this band was spreading is likely to spread like mono in a rural, junior high school. You wonder what I am rambling about, don't you? All I am saying is that when a Afrobeat funk band plays a drum circle in the crowd… they're gonna have some die-hard fans for life. We're talking unconditional faith and love here.
Diagnosis: AMAZING!
Next time Michigan's NOMO swings through your state, buy a ticket, bring $15 for their Nu Tones vinyl, and tell them melophobe sent you. Closing note: an imperial pint of a creamy stout is the most refreshing beverage to enjoy Nu-Afrobeat to.
P.S. The opening band was Altered States of Funk, a solid, classic funk band who put up a delectable intro of hard hitting, Tower of Power-esque arrangements which, essentially, was a sweet ally-oop for NOMO's monster jam!
