Hey, Lawrence. Forget for a moment the rich history and politics and positive "consciousness" attendant with afro-funk. Instead, just picture the honkiest honky you know. Maybe that soul-patched college kid in the Barenaked Ladies shirt who, being all Midwestern, can't even tell his mama he loves her. Now, picture that cat throwing the fuck down
, all right? Because when Antibalas
-- African by way of Brooklyn, funky by right of God, Allah, or whatever deity's playing deadbeat dad with your particular sect -- barrels through town, any ass not shaking is an ass underground. We're talking blasting horns, chicken-scratch guitars, percussion that's really percussion and not just some stooge with too many drums. We're talking 12-minute jams and chants that'll scrape your throat red. We're talking -- seriously, here -- the funkiest thing this boy's ever seen. You could be Ralph Reed, Wendell Anschutz or Larry goddamn Flynt and you'll still be up and down and getting to it.