Jujuba, Saturday April 26

[April 23rd, 2008]

[AFROBEAT] Nojeem Lasisi doesn’t say much. He nods throughout a conversation, his head bobbing atop his short frame, and speaks softly in a thick Nigerian accent. But that’s not to say Lasisi isn’t a good communicator. As the leader of Jujuba, Portland’s 11-piece Afrobeat orchestra, he annihilates language and sound barriers.

“When I play my talking drum, I play to make you dance, to make you happy,” he says, a modest smile on his broad face. “People in my country call me doctor,” he continues. “I say, ‘Why do you call me a doctor?’ They said when I play my talking drum, it makes them feel better. Happy.”

Lasisi is a master of the talking drum—a double-headed instrument covered in tonal straps. Of ancient West African origins, the talking drum can be played so intricately that it’s frequently used to carry messages over long distances. Now 45, Lasisi began playing as a boy in Lagos, Nigeria, before being recruited by Juju legend King Sunny Adé for an eight-year stint that took him around the world.

He brings these experiences, in full, to Jujuba, a band whose sometimes three-hour shows combine elements of Fela-spiked Afrobeat and Juju with traditional Ghanaian and Nigerian music. It’s an explosion of orchestral funk, jazz, rock, roots and improv with careful attention paid to keeping the rhythm tight while individual players—barry sax, trumpet, percussion, dancers—alternately take the lead during 10-plus-minute songs. “You can’t have 11 people go up there and just wail away,” says guitarist Ethan Flaherty, a founding member who, along with Lasisi and keyboardist Marc Silverman, shares conducting duties. The trifecta ensures the band follows call-and-response percussive cues and glances that bring its complex sound together.

“We know [Nojeem’s] looks,” says Flaherty. “Nojeem turns up the heat. He’s got various stages of fire. When the crowd is on fire too, he can take off—and we follow.” That makes the rest of the band members heat-seeking missiles targeting the audience, which functions as the band’s fuel, particularly during shows at its unofficial home base, Southeast’s Goodfoot Lounge. Here, Jujuba (pronounced ‘joo-joo-bah’) has become something of an institution—and a crowd favorite. “It’s the African sensibility of the dancer and the music,” explains Flaherty. “You have to communicate. Once we’re connecting with the crowd, we can keep going.”

Leading that conversation is Lasisi, controlling his bandmates and the audience through languages most don’t understand—the talking drum and his native tongue of Yoruba. Yet somehow, despite the barrier, Jujuba’s message is heard loud and clear. “I don’t sing in English, but you can still feel it,” he says. “I think they understand.”