“Jump”
Deshant Paul
Imagine this: you
are young, you are intelligent, and you are gorgeous. Not too hard, is it? Now
imagine you have a cause worth fighting for. This is a little more difficult,
no? Now imagine you have a place to go where there are other young, intelligent,
beautiful people talking about the same concerns and fighting for the same the
rights; and not just talking but dancing and grooving to powerful music that
speaks to the soul and the fighting spirit of mankind. This may be impossible
to imagine unless you have partaken in one of the most socially-aware parties
this side of a Central Park Anti-War protest.
The place: The Jump ‘N’ Funk Party at The Martinez Gallery (37 Greenpoint
Ave. in Greenpoint, Brooklyn). The time: The last Saturday of every month. The
reason: To celebrate the work of Fela Anikulapo Kuti, the pioneer of Afro-Funk
and the solitary voice of the Nigerian people during the post-colonial rule
of Nigeria in the early Seventies and Eighties.
Originally a way of generating excitement about FelaProject, a multimedia venture
headed up by Trevor Schoonmaker — curator of the current “Black President”
exhibition at the NewMuseum — the Jump ‘N’ Funk party has become
the cooler younger brother that brings the people in with the enticing sexy
sounds of Fela. The Martinez Gallery is a crucible that threatens to boil over
with every Fela favorite the DJ spins. This rebellious energy is the engine
of resistance against the oppressive regimes anywhere in the world. As Fela
Kuti has said, “music is a weapon,” and the people who participate
in the collective outpouring of dance and conversation at the Jump ‘N’
Funk become the most potent political ammunition: educated young people. Music
and dance don’t change policy, but they give people the joy and strength
they need if they are to keep their struggles going in the face of repression,
inertia, and despair. Fela knew all this, and so does everybody who bounces
to his genius all night.
Fela’s death in 1997 from AIDS-related illness has opened many eyes in
the African and African-American community, showing once more that the disease
is more than just a question of gay and straight or clean and dirty. But more
than any other figure laid low by the illness, Fela’s spirit lives on through
his music and the best way to experience his music is with the floorboards thumping
with the heavy stomps of a liberated people. The bass fills a room and shakes
any curious investigators as soon as they walk in . It is hard to ignore the
inviting non-intimidating vibe of the staff and guests. Soon everyone is moving
in a sea of sexy inhibition and an orgy is taking place all around you. Hands
will grab your waist and full bottom will be thrust into your body like a drunken
lover. The wrong idea is very rarely received nor given because this is the
experience that Fela intended us to have; a feeling of safety and sexy, an impression
of right and rebellion and an embracing of Africa and America.
