Femi Kuti Concert, Prospect Park, BK

Thursday, June 25th, 2009
As the horn section swaying behind Femi Kuti blasted funky brass melodies, and waists wiggled to the drummer on stage, I caught sight of a beautiful woman, hair braided African style with little bits of blue thrown in. A real Nilotic look, with defined cheek bones and a thin physique. An arm from the white guy on her right, short black hair and a slick black shirt, slipped around her waist and pulled her in. She turned to him, looked him in the eyes, and kissed him.

OK, standard romance novel stuff. But, this was a trend at the free concert of Femi Kuti, the loud and loved son of the slightly-more-legendary Nigerian musician, Fela Kuti. As there are certain bars where gays go to find other gays, singles bars for as-of-yet-uncommitted professionals, particular curbs where skateboarding teenagers congregate, and churches where only Black Baptists worship, this concert, in a more subtle way, was THE spot to bring your spouse or significant other of another race. And not just any pairing of ethnicities, but specifically, it seemed, for heterosexual Black/White couples. I was excited, kind of giddy actually, seeing so many young couples, or weddded, middle aged White men being lead adorably by the hand through the shifting crowd by Black women.

These couples were here and there throughout the masses of people standing and swaying before the stage where Femi shouted to us about sex and music in Ibo (?) and English, where his horn section drifted to the right, drifted to the left in unison, and where his dancers shook glorious hips in figure eights, and they seemed to be just part of the natural environment there. That's what I loved. Usually, when, or if, one sees a Black/White interracial couple in public, they stand physically apart, whether on train or sidewalk, adoring one another with hand, lips, and whispers in quiet protest of the standard color-matching lovebirds cruising the streets in normalcy. Or maybe there's no conscious protest at all and I'm overpoliticizing the matter, but these duos of opposing tones ebracing under the bangs of the drums and the pressure of other bodies squeezed in front of the stage added so much to the concert. They made it a thorough experience. Perhaps Femi Kuti concerts are peppered with these couples because Femi and his band have a cosmopolitan aura, being a group of Nigerians dressed to the nines in traditional Nigerian clothes who speak English better than I do, and who are used to touring around Europe. Perhaps it was just coincidence, but I think not. Some hipness in the summer air of Prospect Park, a diverse crowd of Femi devotees, and Femi's open attitude towards sex (love too, maybe), brought these mixed couples together, I think.

But I was soon part of the phenomenon, stopping scribbling in my journal to heed the call of my friend Tori, a brilliant Trinidadian woman and schoolmate, as the crowds funneled out from the bandshell under the trees. We ambled slowly with the directionless masses in shorts and t-shirts, or tight tops and short skirts, and I made mention of the phenomenon I saw throughout the crowd, that I had never seen so many hip, interracial couples in one place, and she jumped right on the comment. She talked about how cool the couples seemed, and by her smile she seemed to be as excited as I was. I realized, as we moved along Prospect Park West, amid carhorns and brownstones, that we looked just like what were going on about: she a well dressed, stylish Black woman, me a White guy in watered down summer clothes. Our talking dipped to silence now and then and a breeze blew.