PLAY Magazine
July 27, 2007
Manu Chao’s resume is certainly impressive. He sings in seven languages. He’s produced Grammy-nominated albums. He’s crisscrossed the globe bringing his politically-charged lyrics and diverse musical range to the culturally rich, the musically deprived and the oppressed and impoverished alike. He even managed to remain in a touring band with his brother for an impressive eight years with few reports of serious altercations. Chew on that, Gallagher boys.
His most impressive feat, however, may have come just a few short months ago right here in the good ol’ U. S. of A. He somehow placated an impatient and restless crowd of 30,000 Rage Against the Machine fans who were growing increasingly dissatisfied with the fact that their beloved angst rockers were late for their own reunion. Granted, the setting was the Coachella Arts and Music Festival in Salinas, California and the hot, tired and mostly intoxicated crowd had been baking in the desert sun for hours anxiously awaiting one of the most anticipated reunions in recent musical memory. As Coachella is, after all, a music festival, some adjustments to the scheduled slotting of artists was simply inevitable. Apparently 30,000 Rage fans don’t much give a damn about the reality of festival scheduling – they just wanted to RAWK.
Enter Manu Chao. The scheduling adjustments had basically shifted his penultimate set of the evening into the slot originally occupied by Rage, thus pushing Rage’s set back by about 90 minutes. Concert organizers were well aware of the dangers of upsetting a music festival crowd, especially in such blazing heat. They, too, had seen the now all-too-familiar footage of the Woodstock ’99 debacle.
There were brief internal discussions about simply nixing Manu Chao from the bill and allowing Rage to storm the stage in grand fashion and defuse any possible rioting.
Thankfully, however, cool heads prevailed and organizers stood by their lineup. Manu Chao took the stage. Chao, along with his group Radio Bemba Sound System, miraculously not only played a set stirring enough to distract and amuse the crowd until Rage’s set, but had those kids eating from the palm of his hand by set’s end. Calls for extended encores rushed from the crowd and Chao was more than happy to oblige his new converts. More than a few reports go so far as to intimate that Chao outshone Rage that night, expertly and effortlessly stealing their thunder. A night that was originally expected to go down as an epic one in the annals of rock history did just that - but for completely unanticipated reasons.
If that was the first time Manu Chao had managed to endear himself and his group to a mosty unfamiliar crowd, it could be considered a fluke, an anomaly or a glitch in the space-time continuum. Hell, considering that the rockers at Coachella had been drinking all day in the hot Cali sun, some might even just chalk it up to drunken delusions. However, Chao and company have trekked the globe, hopping from continent to continent with their infectious Latin-tinged rhythms and French- and Spanish-influenced music. Everywhere they go, they leave crowds dancing in their wake. It’s almost as if Chao’s extensive globetrotting has gifted him with the power to bring the best of all the worlds he’s visited to whichever one he happens to be serenading on any given night.
Manu Chao concerts are an exercise in the beautiful nuances of world music as a whole juxtaposed with the tragedy of misguided politics of oppressive and controlling regimes. He brings music with a message to the people of the world. What’s most impressive is the fact that regardless of in which language that message is delivered, the music always seems to do wonders for the translation. It’s as if Radio Bemba’s dazzling technical artistry is the Babelfish to Chao’s diverse lyricism.
Friday’s Electric Factory gig is one of what’s shaping up to be increasingly rare stateside appearances for Chao. That simple fact alone should be enough to pack the Factory to the gills. In reality, however, the sad truth is that America’s brief obsession with world music (hello, Gypsy Kings!) and Latin music in particular (um, Ricky Martin, anyone?) turned out to be another in a long line of fads to be tossed to the side of the road alongside hair crimpers and women’s shoulder pads. Unlike those fashion travesties, however, Chao’s music and message has a distinctly timeless quality about it and to allow him to pass through our culturally-rich city with nary even a nod of recognition would be more tragic than resurrecting jelly shoes and friendship bracelets. I mean it’s bad enough that the damn hipsters are wearing leg warmers as accessories. Where do we draw the line?
If Chao’s powerful lyrics and Radio Bemba’s accomplished musicianship isn’t enough to get your ass through those Factory gates, consider this: Even if you don’t speak a lick of a foreign language and can’t understand a single word all night, you’ll dance yourself into a frenzy. Guaranteed.
While Chao is all about his politics for the most part, he can still throw down the jams and the flat-out “dumb-ass party music,” as Beck is so wont to call it. It’s not all Zen and Zapatistas all the time with Chao and gang. Sometimes it’s just about the music and the moment. When that moment comes, and it will – and more than once, be prepared for crazy audience participation and unrestrained dancing. Sometimes you have to just let go and let the music take you where it will. If Chao’s learned anything in his years of world travel, he’s mastered the art of letting the music master the crowd.
If You Go:
Manu Chao and Radio Bemba Sound System
Friday, June 29, 9pm. $25-27. Electric Factory, 421 N. Seventh St. 215.627.1332. www.livenation.com
July 27, 2007
Manu Chao’s resume is certainly impressive. He sings in seven languages. He’s produced Grammy-nominated albums. He’s crisscrossed the globe bringing his politically-charged lyrics and diverse musical range to the culturally rich, the musically deprived and the oppressed and impoverished alike. He even managed to remain in a touring band with his brother for an impressive eight years with few reports of serious altercations. Chew on that, Gallagher boys.
His most impressive feat, however, may have come just a few short months ago right here in the good ol’ U. S. of A. He somehow placated an impatient and restless crowd of 30,000 Rage Against the Machine fans who were growing increasingly dissatisfied with the fact that their beloved angst rockers were late for their own reunion. Granted, the setting was the Coachella Arts and Music Festival in Salinas, California and the hot, tired and mostly intoxicated crowd had been baking in the desert sun for hours anxiously awaiting one of the most anticipated reunions in recent musical memory. As Coachella is, after all, a music festival, some adjustments to the scheduled slotting of artists was simply inevitable. Apparently 30,000 Rage fans don’t much give a damn about the reality of festival scheduling – they just wanted to RAWK.
Enter Manu Chao. The scheduling adjustments had basically shifted his penultimate set of the evening into the slot originally occupied by Rage, thus pushing Rage’s set back by about 90 minutes. Concert organizers were well aware of the dangers of upsetting a music festival crowd, especially in such blazing heat. They, too, had seen the now all-too-familiar footage of the Woodstock ’99 debacle.
There were brief internal discussions about simply nixing Manu Chao from the bill and allowing Rage to storm the stage in grand fashion and defuse any possible rioting.
Thankfully, however, cool heads prevailed and organizers stood by their lineup. Manu Chao took the stage. Chao, along with his group Radio Bemba Sound System, miraculously not only played a set stirring enough to distract and amuse the crowd until Rage’s set, but had those kids eating from the palm of his hand by set’s end. Calls for extended encores rushed from the crowd and Chao was more than happy to oblige his new converts. More than a few reports go so far as to intimate that Chao outshone Rage that night, expertly and effortlessly stealing their thunder. A night that was originally expected to go down as an epic one in the annals of rock history did just that - but for completely unanticipated reasons.
If that was the first time Manu Chao had managed to endear himself and his group to a mosty unfamiliar crowd, it could be considered a fluke, an anomaly or a glitch in the space-time continuum. Hell, considering that the rockers at Coachella had been drinking all day in the hot Cali sun, some might even just chalk it up to drunken delusions. However, Chao and company have trekked the globe, hopping from continent to continent with their infectious Latin-tinged rhythms and French- and Spanish-influenced music. Everywhere they go, they leave crowds dancing in their wake. It’s almost as if Chao’s extensive globetrotting has gifted him with the power to bring the best of all the worlds he’s visited to whichever one he happens to be serenading on any given night.
Manu Chao concerts are an exercise in the beautiful nuances of world music as a whole juxtaposed with the tragedy of misguided politics of oppressive and controlling regimes. He brings music with a message to the people of the world. What’s most impressive is the fact that regardless of in which language that message is delivered, the music always seems to do wonders for the translation. It’s as if Radio Bemba’s dazzling technical artistry is the Babelfish to Chao’s diverse lyricism.
Friday’s Electric Factory gig is one of what’s shaping up to be increasingly rare stateside appearances for Chao. That simple fact alone should be enough to pack the Factory to the gills. In reality, however, the sad truth is that America’s brief obsession with world music (hello, Gypsy Kings!) and Latin music in particular (um, Ricky Martin, anyone?) turned out to be another in a long line of fads to be tossed to the side of the road alongside hair crimpers and women’s shoulder pads. Unlike those fashion travesties, however, Chao’s music and message has a distinctly timeless quality about it and to allow him to pass through our culturally-rich city with nary even a nod of recognition would be more tragic than resurrecting jelly shoes and friendship bracelets. I mean it’s bad enough that the damn hipsters are wearing leg warmers as accessories. Where do we draw the line?
If Chao’s powerful lyrics and Radio Bemba’s accomplished musicianship isn’t enough to get your ass through those Factory gates, consider this: Even if you don’t speak a lick of a foreign language and can’t understand a single word all night, you’ll dance yourself into a frenzy. Guaranteed.
While Chao is all about his politics for the most part, he can still throw down the jams and the flat-out “dumb-ass party music,” as Beck is so wont to call it. It’s not all Zen and Zapatistas all the time with Chao and gang. Sometimes it’s just about the music and the moment. When that moment comes, and it will – and more than once, be prepared for crazy audience participation and unrestrained dancing. Sometimes you have to just let go and let the music take you where it will. If Chao’s learned anything in his years of world travel, he’s mastered the art of letting the music master the crowd.
If You Go:
Manu Chao and Radio Bemba Sound System
Friday, June 29, 9pm. $25-27. Electric Factory, 421 N. Seventh St. 215.627.1332. www.livenation.com
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