The sound of the United States' future
By Norm Dixon
California is infamous for the 1991 bashing of black motorist Rodney King and the 1992 Los Angeles "riot" — in reality a spontaneous uprising — that was triggered when the cops responsible were acquitted. The reactionary state government has since steered the passage of a series of referenda that undermine affirmative action, discriminate against Spanish speakers and deny medical care and education to the children of "undocumented" workers, primarily from Mexico and Central America.
In contrast to TV images of Los Angeles as a city of spoilt, lilywhite rich kids, movie stars, sun-tanned lawyers and plastic surgeons, demographics boffins estimate that it will not be too long before the city's oppressed, working-class racial and ethnic "minorities" will be the majority. That is probably already the case for California as a whole.
It is no coincidence, then, that LA produced Ozomatli, a sizzling 10-member combo that has risen from the streets to provide the soundtrack for working-class LA at the beginning of the new millennium. This is the sound of the United States' future.
Ozomatli (named after the Aztec god of dance, passion, fire and the harvest) is not a "multicultural" band. Nobody deliberately planned how the band would sound, artificially mixing this with that or amalgamating that with this. Ozomatli's zesty fusion of the many strains of Afro-Latin American music with Mexican, hip hop and funk reflects a working-class street culture that continues to evolve. Tablas and trombones, turntables and trumpets, congas and claves — all fall into place without a hint of incongruity.
"When you walk through LA", explains the band's bass player, Will "Wil-Dog" Abers, "you hear all these sounds. Just walk around and listen. That's the music of Ozomatli."
(This cultural evolution is no recent thing, as any fan of the great '70s Afro-Latin funk super-group War or the wild Latin rock of Carlos Santana will tell you. It just rarely navigates the elaborate filtering and homogenising processes of the big business recording and broadcasting monopolies.)
"We have a deep reverence and awe for the archaic traditions of our music — of salsa, samba — all these traditions go back to Africa. But we also love incorporating modern sounds — hip hop, funk, whatever we feel like. It trips people out!", explains tenor saxophonist Ulises Bella.
Nor did anybody decree in advance that Ozomatli would have this many Mexican-Americans, that many African-Americans, a Japanese-American tabla player, a Jewish-American bass player and even a Scot. The band's composition is as accidental as the brilliant music they produce. "We represent all the ghettos of LA", notes Wil-Dog. "It's really an unconscious thing. We just happen to have a Japanese tabla player, a white DJ and a black rapper."
Ozomatli's music reflects the LA working class' spirit of resistance to racism and oppression, so devastatingly expressed in the 1992 uprising. Ozo was born after Wil-Dog led a 1995 strike in protest at the poverty wages paid to participants in a government-funded post-riot jobs program. The strikers held a three-month sit-in at the program's headquarters. (Wil-Dog's olds, members of the Revolutionary Communist Party, seem to have taught their son well. Musically as well, they took him to see the Clash when he was six and 10.)
While they did not win their jobs back, the strikers were given the building for 12 months, and it became a non-profit community arts centre known as the Peace and Justice Centre. Benefits and jams were held there to support the struggle, including that of the Battered Women's Association, the United Farm Workers and many other causes. Many progressive bands played regularly and out of that musical and political hothouse emerged Ozomatli.
As Bella told the July 4 north England edition of the Big Issue: "I have very little faith in the American political system. Whatever we can do to change something, then we'll do it. What's cool for us is that not only can we play the music we love, we can play it for something that's in our hearts."
"We try to reflect LA's life with all its trials, tribulations and social injustices", sax player Jose "Crunchy" Espinosa told SalsaZine. "It's interesting to see that it's not much different than the rest of the world ... It's everywhere no matter what language you speak. It's all the same the message."
The band sings its incendiary messages in Spanish and raps them in English. Ozomatli's self-titled album (released by Almo Sounds, through Festival) is a mix of great dance music and polemics. The gang tackle police brutality ("Chota"), workers' rights, human rights and advocate revolution ("Coming War"). "Aqui No Sera" is an '80s solidarity song with the people of El Salvador.
Despite its growing popularity and fame (they have toured nationally with Santana, and continually turn down offers from beer companies to use their tunes in commercials), Ozomatli still plays benefits for many causes, including for the campaign to free political prisoner Mumia Abu-Jamal and for the Zapatistas. They spoke out against the bombing of Iraq. When the band appeared on late night TV, they unfurled a banner calling for Mumia's release. As Wil-Dog told ColorLines magazine, "We support any uprising by the underdog".
By all accounts, Ozo concerts provide not only great music and great politics, but also great fun. Their carnivale conga lines that launch and conclude most shows have become legendary.
Catch Ozomatli free in Sydney at Darling Harbour at 7pm, January 21-23. The band is also holding a free percussion jam session for people aged 12 to 25 at the Bondi Pavilion, 4.30pm, January 20. Ozomatli will appear at Sydney's Big Day Out on January 26, at the Perth International Arts Festival on January 27-28 and at Melbourne's Big Day Out on January 30.