David Byrne

I participated in another William Onyeabor spectacular—this time in Acapulco, Mexico. Here are some pictures from the show at BAM earlier this year:

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It was part of a yearly festival there called Trópico…and some of the other acts were Sinkane, Blonde Redhead and Hercules & Love Affair. The band lineup for Atomic Bomb was: Ahmed Gallab, Jonny Lam and Ish Montgomery from Sinkane; Jaytram; Money Mark from Beastie Boys; Lekan Babalola; Jas Walton and Jordan McLean from Antibalas; Luke Jenner from The Rapture; and Alexis Taylor from Hot Chip.

I was frankly apprehensive how our show would be received, as earlier I checked the poolside merrymakers at the hotel where the festival was being held. It was mid-afternoon when I went by and it appeared to be a mix of spring breakers and hipsters—well, that’s what it looked like to me. Girls looked like models and dudes were somewhat pumped-up—those were the spring breaker contingent.

At rehearsal the day before, Ahmed of Sinkane and I had talked about doing something to acknowledge the recent events in Mexico.

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In Mexico, protests have erupted all over the country, and a couple of weeks ago the highway to Acapulco was blocked, as was the airport. Acapulco is in the Guerrero state, where 43 students went missing and are presumed dead.

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I’m not going to summarize those events or the aftermath: it’s ongoing and gets more complicated with time. It has triggered widespread protests directed at the corrupt government and the side effects of the US-mandated war on drugs. The 43 are a bit like Michael Brown in a way, who became the symbol—the straw that broke the camels back—for a sense of national frustration and disgust with police and government behavior.

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I was thinking to myself that if we did something or said something to at least acknowledge our awareness and sympathy…this party crowd might not care. I was proved wrong. We did what is common at many of the Mexican protests: before the Onyeabor song, “Better Change Your Mind,” we simply began counting to 43 in Spanish. By the time I had got to 10 the audience had joined in; by 15 the whole crowd—thousands of people—were all counting to 43. As the numbers climbed, I couldn’t help but think that each number we were counting was a kid, murdered. And there are thousands more who disappeared. By the time we reached 43, I was pretty choked up and had to struggle to begin the next song.