NOMO - Middle East Upstairs (Cambridge, MA; Feb. 9, 2008)

Having never heard NOMO before Saturday’s show apart from the four songs on their myspace page, I duly brushed up on my Fela and Antibalas for a hint of what to expect.  I had trouble even picturing all eight or nine members on that tiny stage upstairs at the Middle East.  But as the savage opening groove exploded and the crowd broke into its irrepressible rhythmic convulsions, the spirit of afro-beat was embodied that evening in some American kids from Ann-Arbor, Michigan.  Not a single person believed his modesty for a second when bandleader Elliott Bergman said “Wow, we’ve played here like 27 times and we’ve never played for more than like 27 people” and went on to ask “Has anyone actually heard us before?” “Yes!” the crowd shouted, implying “and we want to hear a lot more!”

NOMO has for the most part eschewed the epic-length tracks common in Afro-beat in favor of focus and concision.  It’s a welcome variation on a genre known for its repetition, and at times, dare I say, its monotony.  One could argue that it represents a pitch for a wider audience, specifically the indie crowd that seems to shrink in fear (or revulsion? -ed.) from anything that might even vaguely resemble a “jam.” The cover of Joanna Newsom’s “Book of Right On” on New Tones would seem to suggest as much.  But this implication seems a bit unfair.  In fact, I think it’s a credit to Bergman’s sense of his own talent that he doesn’t try to stretch an idea to 25 minutes.  There’s something to be said for always keeping the crowd a little off-guard and ensuring that the band never has time to get complacent.  It’s not a matter of shortening attention spans or a lack of appreciation for subtlety; it’s simply a band taking its inspirations and working its strengths.  So when Dan Bennett gets his moment to tear into his frantic sax solo, face flushed and cheeks poised to burst, he knows it’s make-or-break time, and the crowd just pushes him further.  No one checks his watch during a NOMO show.

If there could be any criticism of Saturday’s show it would have to be that the energy peaked a little too early.  “Oh man, we should have saved that song for later” conceded Bergman while the band caught its breath after a blistering version of “Hand and Mouth.” In truth, I don’t think it had anything to do with the song choice.  Maybe it was the uniquely frenzied crowd, teeming with enthusiasm and propelling the band to ever-greater heights.  Or maybe it was that congested little box of a room—straining to contain the incessant rhythms and blaring horn blasts—driving the set to its climax before its time.  Whatever it was, that first 45 minutes or so of perfect synchrony between band and crowd simply couldn’t be sustained.

That being said, how many bands actually reach those heights at all?  Any recognition of the waning energy was really an implicit acknowledgment of where things had gone.  So when it came time for a particularly rowdy version of “Nu Tones,” complete with distorted electric thumb piano riffs, to close out the show, it was hard to honestly feel we had been let down. 

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