Page 37 - the NOISE June 2014

KING SUNNY GRACES AZ
BY TONY BALLZ
PHOTO BY ANDREW ALMENDAREZ
TREASURE MAMMAL, ARTHUR GREENLAND & KARIMA WALKER
BY TONY BALLZ
King Sunny Adé is a prince.
He was born Sunday Adeniyi into a Ni- gerian royal family in 1946. Against his par- ents’ wishes, he abandoned his schooling to pursue music. He developed a fusion of Western pop and traditional African mu- sic called Juju (no relation to the juju of West African witchcraft) of which he was crowned King by his fans.
King Sunny’s Juju, much like his fellow countryman Fela Kuti’s Afrobeat, consists of songs which stretch to over 20 minutes in length. Unlike Afrobeat, which Fela used as a conduit for his political views, Juju is music designed specifically for dancing, with its politics subtly snuck in. Juju mixes the na- tive Nigerian talking drum with Western in- struments such as steel guitar, vibraphone and synthesizer. It is one of the earliest ex- amples of “World Music.”
Upon Bob Marley’s death in 1981, his label Island expanded their scope for an- other international ambassador of good vibes and “discovered” King Sunny Adé, who had been extremely popular in Africa for over a decade. The label released several of King Sunny’s LPs in the 1980s, modern- ized with overdubbed drumbeats and key- boards. While critically lauded, sales were disappointing, and Island dropped him.
However, King Sunny Adé’s brief expo- sure in the West found the right audience. He was nominated for two Grammys (the first African musician to do so) and built a solid fan base by touring. He helped boost the careers of African artists such as Salif Keïta and Youssou N’Dour. He is a cultural treasure in his native Nigeria.
King Sunny Adé will be appearing at the Orpheum Theater on Wednesday, June 10. Wear your dancing shoes.
[Saturday April 18, Fire Creek]
I had no idea I would be going to a party, but what a party it was.
Apparently all the cool people went to see Built to Spill at The Orpheum or Reverend Horton Heat at The Museum Club. The rest of us came to Fire Creek for the experience that is Abelardo Gil and co. a.k.a Phoenix’s Treasure Mam- mal. Rounding out the bill was a couple of Tucson combos featuring The Noise’s own prodigal son Bobbie C. Nothing against the cool people, but I’ve seen Built To Spill twice and the Rev three or four times, and Treasure Mammal eas- ily trumps 95% of the acts out there.
Opening the show was the lovely Ms. Karima Walker, with her hazy Mazzy Star/Gene Clark mutated country/dirge hybrid, featuring occasional backups from The Wanda Junes, Kurt Vonnegut’s favorite band. That lady sure plays a mean 5-string banjo, you betcha.
I talked up Radio Free Flagstaff to all within earshot, and distributed several copies of The Noise, making sure to point out our ad with my stupid face in it. I ran into Stew- art who presented me with a freshly minted copy of the compilation that features our new group. It’s been a few years since any of my musical genius has been preserved on black vinyl, and I immediately began caressing and fetishiz- ing the LP. I felt like a proud daddy.
I showed the record to a friend who grumbled that the track his trio submitted for the comp had been mistakenly interpreted as condoning violence toward women (when it actually condones violence toward men), and the label had nixed it. I congratulated him on being in a group so punk rock that their songs get rejected from punk rock compilations.
Next on stage was Arthur Greenland, the kind of singer/ songwriter that grows big and strong in the fertile loam of Tucson, especially with the right folks behind him. The quartet was much more together than their last appear- ance: Thom’s lead guitar chopped and snapped (as did his high E string on the last number), Bobby’s bass was rock steady, and novice percussionist James has lost his “What are these things?” vibe from behind the drums.
Abe Gil is a good man. I know this because I’ve slept on his floor. Abe has been fronting Treasure Mammal for over a decade, slowly building a reputation in the Valley and elsewhere. After catching a show in Oklahoma City a few years ago, Flaming Lips front man Wayne Coyne taped the Mams for a track on his recent Sgt. Pepper tribute album. Big time boys, big time! Maybe he’ll let them borrow his giant hamster ball.
Treasure Mammal began as a one-guy-with-a-drum-ma- chine project then expanded to include interpretive danc- ers and, in its current incarnation, two drummers with full kits. As they were setting up, I excitedly told Ray I hadn’t seen Abe perform with the drummers before. He looked at me strangely and mentioned the Flag Brewery show
last year that I definitely attended. Damn, two beers and my memory is as blank as a freshly washed blackboard.
We danced like spastics during TM’s set. Abe resembled a dirty hippie with his long beard and beaded dashiki thing. Everyone in the room that he knew by name got a song dedi- cated to them. The group’s fifth member was a huge inflat- able Scooby Doo hovering at stage left. I tried to take Scoob out on the floor for a little crowd surfing until I realized he was plugged into the wall. During one song, Abe invited us onstage to join in so about twenty people trooped up there. I played the rim of a floor tom with a drumstick, salsa style.
The band’s sample bank was chock full of goodness, such as the Seinfeld clip with the guy yelling “Assman!” at Kramer. Anyone who lived in Arizona during the 1990s will remem- ber the cheesy TV commercials for Phoenix head shop Trails, all of which ended with a burly metal dude spitting out the store’s name. Yep, they had that one too. Several of us were drunkenly bellowing “Assman!” or “Trails!” at random intervals between songs.
Somewhere in here the group’s dancer brought out the Shake Weight for a little bromance. Toward the end, we all got in a big group hug to bring it together like Pangaea, and it was quite a moment. Let’s see Built to Spill pull that off with their audience.
After the show, Marty put on the Black Wax All Stars CD, which took the party to the next level. Too bad it was Fire Creek’s “We’re mopping the floor, get the hell out” music. I noticed a copy of The Noise on an empty table, open to the page with my stupid face on it, which I quickly closed out of horror. It was still before midnight so we moseyed down to Mia’s, which had a bunch of patrons and no band. Welcome to Saturday night in Flagstaff.
I was putting up some of the out-of-towners, so back to my place we went for a nightcap and a smoke. Upon arriving home I discovered that our comp LP was not black vinyl at all but a psychedelic forest green rainbow swirl color. Sweet. I put on our song and it sounded badass.
We shot the shiz and wound down while I spun 45s. Ar- thur Greenland noticed my Pere Ubu singles box which led to “Final Solution” and “30 Seconds Over Tokyo” blaring through the garage while I blabbered on about Pere Ubu minutia for
a good ten minutes. This of course was the clarion call for ev- eryone’s bedtime because Pere Ubu can kill any party unless you’re in Cleveland.
Before I crashed, I played our comp track again. It still sounded badass.
treasuremammal.bandcamp.com wandajunes.bandcamp.com karimawalker.bandcamp.com
Nail House Party available from jenandstew.com
| Tony Ballz has a penchant for most
things vinyl. music@thenoise.us
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