Unlike the cavernous Symphony Hall in which Boston Pops regularly performs, the Somerville Theater is a cozier and more intimate performance venue, although by no means less striking. Its architecture and design harks back to the Renaissance period, as emphasized by the scene of an angel's music-making displayed as a painting on the ceiling. The unusual array of colors though, uncannily reminded me of Native-American art, especially the turquoise, red, and pale yellow borders that laced the walls and the ceiling.
The performance itself was even more culturally unique. The band, which calls itself the Orchestra Baobob, consists of all Senegalese males (most over the age of 40 or 50) whose music is a lively mix of African drums, electric guitars, saxophones, and other percussion instruments such as tambourines. The kernel, the gravitational center of the music, however, lay in the dynamic vocals that brimmed with an African style of singing, which sometimes sounded like a conversation and other times like a shout-out to the audience.
The energy and jollity of the performers quickly diffused through the room, and in a short time, after some prodding by the lead saxophonist, most people in the audience (including me) stood up, approached the stage, and started dancing to their music. It would have been nice to know what they were singing (apparently most - or all - of it was in French), but the melodies and beats themselves kept us dancing nonstop. The entire concert was sweatily fun! I particularly remember an old couple dancing carefreely in front of me. I could see in their expression, movements, and gestures how much they loved each other, and how much they savored life. They certainly made old age seem more endearing to me.
Anyway, one strange practice during the concert was the act of throwing money bills to the performers. At first, I feared that they would be offended (I certainly would: What am I? A street performer?), but later we found out (from the old couple actually) that it is commonplace in African performances like this for people to express their appreciation towards the music by giving money to the singers and performers, usually by pressing money bills on their sweat-studded skins and letting the money stick to the performers. Because in our case the performers were on the stage and therefore less accessible, money was handed (or less reverently, chucked) to them.
Regardless of how they received such laudatory tips, the singers and instrumentalists seemed pretty satisfied - the sum would definitely afford them many celebratory drinks after their successful concert.
The performance itself was even more culturally unique. The band, which calls itself the Orchestra Baobob, consists of all Senegalese males (most over the age of 40 or 50) whose music is a lively mix of African drums, electric guitars, saxophones, and other percussion instruments such as tambourines. The kernel, the gravitational center of the music, however, lay in the dynamic vocals that brimmed with an African style of singing, which sometimes sounded like a conversation and other times like a shout-out to the audience.
The energy and jollity of the performers quickly diffused through the room, and in a short time, after some prodding by the lead saxophonist, most people in the audience (including me) stood up, approached the stage, and started dancing to their music. It would have been nice to know what they were singing (apparently most - or all - of it was in French), but the melodies and beats themselves kept us dancing nonstop. The entire concert was sweatily fun! I particularly remember an old couple dancing carefreely in front of me. I could see in their expression, movements, and gestures how much they loved each other, and how much they savored life. They certainly made old age seem more endearing to me.
Anyway, one strange practice during the concert was the act of throwing money bills to the performers. At first, I feared that they would be offended (I certainly would: What am I? A street performer?), but later we found out (from the old couple actually) that it is commonplace in African performances like this for people to express their appreciation towards the music by giving money to the singers and performers, usually by pressing money bills on their sweat-studded skins and letting the money stick to the performers. Because in our case the performers were on the stage and therefore less accessible, money was handed (or less reverently, chucked) to them.
Regardless of how they received such laudatory tips, the singers and instrumentalists seemed pretty satisfied - the sum would definitely afford them many celebratory drinks after their successful concert.
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