Leading up to seeing Orchestre Poly-Rythmo in Chicago earlier this month, I felt like a kid waiting for Christmas. The same frantic anticipation that I had previously felt for video games and action figures was now inspired by a Beninese funk band. But not just any Beninese funk band — Le Tout Puissant Orchestre Poly Rythmo de Cotonou, the kings of groove.
The Orchestre was the first real African music I had ever heard. They are the reason I’ve been obsessed with Africa’s musical output for the better part of two years. They’re my Pink Floyd, my Nirvana, my Social Distortion; they’re one of those bands that turns fans into fanatics.
Initially, I was a little disappointed to hear that they were playing a free show at Millennium Park. Every Chicagoan knows that free shows there often are an open invitation for elderly suburbanites and grumpy park security guards to stifle any fun or livelihood that the music may bring. But it was clear from the moment that opener La 33 came on that this was not a typical Millennium Park show.
Colombia’s La 33 are a fairly straightforward yet talented salsa band. They kicked the night off with a rousing set of Latin American sounds. Couples stood up and danced in the aisles. The brass section stole the show with bombastic solos and a trombonist that acted like the Gene Simmons of salsa, complete with tongue flapping and pelvic thrusting.
The Orchestre came on after a brief stage adjustment. They paraded in while reciting a traditional Vodoun chant, wearing vintage silk shirts that looked as though they had been picked off the set of Superfly.
I rushed to the front of the stage and screamed as I heard the opening notes of “Se Ba Ho.” It was thrilling to see everybody around me begin to dance while the band played. And though it had been many years since the Orchestre laid down the track in the studio, they managed to play with the same energy captured indelibly on record.
They played with just the right mix of improvisation and precision and never once got carried away in self-indulgent solos or dull numbers. “Gbeti Madjro” displayed the impeccable guitar work of Fifi LePrince as well as the vocal capabilities of Cosme Anago, Vincent Ahéhéhinnou, and Mélomé Clément.
The two drummers fed off of each other, creating entrancing poly-rhythms to which the crowd danced ecstatically. They played an encore before exiting the stage to thunderous applause and the same Vodoun chant that they came in with.
“We love playing shows; we do it as often as we can,” said Clément, a jolly middle-aged man who speaks with a hushed rasp. “Our tour manager booked us for a tour of Europe after our music was reissued, and we had always wanted to play in the US. Some of our biggest musical idols are American — Otis Redding and James Brown — so it seemed natural to play here. But playing in Chicago was a real thrill; we’ve never played for so many people before.”
I asked him how the band has stayed together for so long, and he laughed heartily before saying, “We love what we do. Money is secondary to music for me, and I’ve always found a way to balance my two worlds. My band mates are my closest friends, so we just kept doing what we always did, getting together and playing music.”
This sense of kinship and a collective love of music have kept the Orchestre together since the 1970s, a feat of longevity not often equaled.
“Our new album is coming out in a few months; we’re very excited to see that released,” Clément said as we parted ways. “We really want to tour more, so look out for us.”
For the sake of live music, I certainly hope they do.