From: Biniam Tekle (biniamt@dehai.org)
Date: Thu Oct 22 2009 - 10:14:24 EDT
"In the middle of the set, an audience member joins the band. The band
doesn't need more cowbell, but someone needs to play the African gourd shell
shaker. Top has joked that they call themselves Fool's Gold because even
though they incorporate a mixture of soukous music, East African music,
Ethiopian music, Eritrean music and Touareg desert blues music, none of them
are actually from Africa. Los Angeles is their home"
Fool's Gold on My Space http://www.myspace.com/foolsgold
http://nyunews.com/entertainment/2009/oct/21/fools/
Fool's Gold is a real experience
by Stelios Phili
Published October 22, 2009
Luke Top is a fantastic grunter: His guttural yelps rival those of the most
powerful panther, and he chomps away at the air as if biting an imaginary
cookie and storing the crumbs in his cheeks.
Images
Courtesy of Heather Goldberg
Expect to be carried away by their rhythm, chanting, and grunts.
Earlier, he said his mother would never have guessed that he would be
grunting, but there he is, heading Fool's Gold, the 11-person Afro-pop,
tropicalia influenced band. He sings predominately in Hebrew, occasionally
straying away from the song's melody to speak rapidly in his foreign tongue.
We have no idea what he is saying. And yet, the message is clear: Dance, be
merry! Follow my grunt, and the rest will fall into place.
With crimson lighting and a man dancing in the front of the crowd, the
basement of the Cake Shop turns into a castaway island rave. His arms poke
vertically, up and down; they are spears, urging our tribal riot. Meanwhile,
guitarist Lewis Pesacov plays the lead riff to the band's single, "Surprise
Hotel." He is riding atop the galloping African polyrhythms in a trance,
barely acknowledging the guitar's fretboard as his fingers create the
springy, high-noted riff. The song later jumps into double-time, and the
dancing man's rocketing arms follow suit. On the last note, Top gives him a
high-five; it was a job well done. But given the tune's carefree, sunset
nostalgia, it was also a job that is very, very hard to mess up.
In the middle of the set, an audience member joins the band. The band
doesn't need more cowbell, but someone needs to play the African gourd shell
shaker. Top has joked that they call themselves Fool's Gold because even
though they incorporate a mixture of soukous music, East African music,
Ethiopian music, Eritrean music and Touareg desert blues music, none of them
are actually from Africa. Los Angeles is their home.
During their first interview, a French journalist asked the band members if
their music, like Paul Simon's "Graceland," could be considered ethnic
thievery. Top responded that the question itself is rooted in a bizarrely
old-fashioned, colonial mindset. He said the band doesn't think of its music
in those terms; instead, it kindles a musical dialogue between the U.S. and
Africa. In the past, we exchanged rock and country music; now we are
enjoying Afro-pop.
The final song of the night, "The World Is All There Is," chugs along
methodically, cueing a cathartic chant with each rumble. Polyrhythms are
ablaze; a pair of claves click between each beat. We learn the five note
"oh-ooo-oh-oh-oh" chant, and our presence is no longer just about the
dancing — we are cheering for some unspecified communal cause.
Pesacov puts down his guitar, the band summoning him like a group of
snakecharmers. His body flows back and forth; he is chanting, too. He
reaches for a bushel of nut rattles and holds it high above his fellow band
members' heads. He exits backwards into the crowd, shaking the bushel like
holy water. The audience parts, and Fool's Gold walks through in an
unamplified procession. The music has quieted, but the chant is as loud as
when the song first began. The band exits the room, but our cries remain.
Awaiting their return, we keep singing, forgetting whose voice belongs to
whom.
Stelios Phili is music editor.
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