BY MIKE EDISON

It was about halfway through Afrika Bambaataa’s set at Summerstage this past weekend that I got sort of misty and nostalgic for a part of New York that I used to really love. Bambaataa, behind the virtual turntables (lack of real vinyl was a disappointment, but you can’t fault a guy for keeping up with the times) mixed and matched and scratched a barrage of old-school beats, feeding his sloppy but enthusiastic posse of Zulu Nation rappers with a tidal wave of sound to surf on, and what they lacked in precision (the rappers, that is; Bambaataa was spot-on) they made up for with Bronx-born balls and gusto. For anyone who wasn’t there in 1982, this was as close as they were going to get. Slurping beer and smoking dope at stageside, I declared this the best party of the summer.

And this was just the warm up for Seun Kuti and the Africa 80 band, the fearsome Nigerians working to keep the fire of Fela Kuti, Seun’s dad and the King of Afrobeat, not only alive, but relevant. Fela’s music, although fairly consistent and unchanging (and really, why would anyone want to change the formula?) was always on the cutting edge of progressive and aggressive politics. And in these troubled times, his pro-people, anti-government songs are a snug fit.

Seun follows in his brother’s path. Femi Kuti and Positive Force hit Summerstage a couple of years ago and the show was a full-on assault of Nigerian funk and raw sex. Keeping with the family brand, one would expect no less from Seun (here making his New York debut), especially carrying his dad’s old group. And what a group they are: I am here to testify that they carried the best horn section I have ever heard. They were as sharp as knives and could turn on a dime. James Brown’s best would have stood back in admiration as Seun ran them through the changes. And no slacking from the rhythm section, either. Brutal in funk and force.

As for Seun, he is a charismatic soul singer in his father’s mold, with a few new moves, twisting and jumping, more jubilant than father or brother, but less aggressive and commanding. Where he lost points was the constant pandering (I love you New York, I am Glad to be in New York, New York sing along with me — blah blah blah) and a between-song ad for his MySpace page. I suppose I could forgive him, being from Africa and all that, but someone should have told him that he didn’t have to go there with this crowd. New Yorkers are pretty smart. We get it.

His only other deficit was his sax playing. He just isn’t that good. He can bust out a few virile riffs and look charismatic as all hell doing it, but no one is going to confuse him with Eric Dolphy, or Maceo Parker for that matter. He doesn’t play as well as Fela or Femi, or the guys in the Africa 80 horn section. But much to his credit, when one of the section players was out front soloing, he took his place back by the drums with the other horn players, just to show that he may be the star, but he is still one of the people.

And then it was over. Great while it lasted, maybe an hour and a half, which may sound like a lot, but these Afrobeat affairs should go and go and go until exhaustion turns to bliss. Powerful and groovy, but not the life-affirming experience that was Femi Kuti and Positive Force when they terrorized this crowd. Seun and group worked hard, but it seemed like they still had a few gallons left in the tank when they left.

Somebody ought to tell him: you gotta do it ta death, and leave it all up on that stage. Welcome to New York.

(Pictured above, L-R: Afrika Bambaataa, Sean Kuti; Photo of Seun Kuti by John Leeson:  www.to-music.ca)