Five minutes before last night's Seun Kuti show at the Moore Theater, the room was nearly empty. Five minutes after the show began, the room was swimming with a wild, dancing crowd. The music and the weather whipped up the perfect summer storm, and Seattle — or at least a small, enthusiastic contingent of it — was intent on making the most of it.
A little background: Seun Kuti is the youngest son of Fela Anikulapo Kuti, originator of Afrobeat music. Nigerian born and London educated, Fela first fused percolating African rhythms and big-band James Brown-style funk in the late 1960s. Until his death from AIDS complications in 1997, he was his country's most revered musical (and, to a degree, political) icon. Fela's legacy lives on — in the past 10 years, Afrobeat bands have sprung up in major cities around America. And there are the family ties: Oldest son Femi has found success on the world stage; with a new album, "Many Things," and his first tour of America, Seun is staking his claim there as well.
The differences between brothers were evident last night. Seun stuck to his dad's gritty, rigidly syncopated formula, whereas during a performance at the Showbox last July, Femi incorporated club-friendly dance beats and hip-hop bounce. Rather than the young stable of players Femi tours with, Seun was backed by Egypt 80, Fela's old band, most of whom appeared to be in their late 50s. Several of the oldest members sported T-shirts that read "Afrobeat Rules." The 14-piece band included two trumpets, two saxophones, two guitarists, two female backup singers, three percussionists, a kit drummer, a bassist, and a keyboard player. It was a small army of musicians onstage, but the clear-ringing clave (wood block) and shakere (gourd-and-bead shaker) provided the music's heartbeat. These foundational instruments opened each number, and one by one, the other instruments settled on top, until, five or six minutes into the song, a raging deluge of sound poured from the stage. When Seun stepped to the microphone, he sang with the same husky authority of his father and danced a similar, modified funky chicken, legs bowed, wiry arms swinging.
In the mold of his father, every one of Seun's lengthy jams addressed an African political issue. He introduced each with an explanation, and though the sound in the elegantly dilapidated Moore was pristine, it was difficult to discern his speech. For the final song, Seun pulled another trick out of his father's bag: His percussionist helped him out of his button-down shirt, and he strutted half-naked through the last 10 minutes of the performance. Those dancing in the front row noticed a telling detail: Tattooed across Seun's bare shoulder blades in gothic lettering were the words "Fela Lives."
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