Blackout Shoppers were practicing in a small Brooklyn studio. We were having an uneventful rehearsal when someone knocked on the door.

We opened the door to find a young hipster couple.

The woman spoke up. “I beg your pardon, but we’re trying to dine upstairs, and the music is really loud, especially the bass. If you could turn it down, we would really appreciate it, thanks. We’re dining with Fela Kuti. You should know who he is. He’s like the James Brown of Nigeria.”

The couple left, presumably to finish dining at the restaurant upstairs from the studio, and we resumed our rehearsal at the same volume.

But we also made a note to look into who this Fela Kuti was, as this request sounded absurd. African music is traditionally heavily percussive, often featuring lots of drums, and now, supposedly, a hotshot African musician found our bass disturbing his peace.

What made it more ironic is that the restaurant they were dining in was the Roebling Tea Room, which was owned and operated by Squid, bass player of the outstanding punk rock band the Lunachicks. Squid has an excellent down-stroking playing style that I have tried to emulate. It would be wrong for her restaurant to be used to suppress punk rock bass.

After rehearsal, I looked up Fela Kuti. He is indeed a legendary figure in music. He is the father of Afrobeat, which combines traditional African music with popular Western musical styles. The Broadway musical ‘Fela!’ celebrates his life and musical contributions. In addition to his musical innovations, he is also known for his political activism, speaking out against the repressive government of his native Nigeria. This year, Fela Kuti is making history again as the first African artist to be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

And… Fela Kuti died in 1997. At the time we were told he was bothered by our bass, he had been dead more than 12 years.

We imagine that when the couple returned to their table at the Roebling Tea Room, they heard the same loud sounds of my bass guitar as they discovered that the fraudster they believed was Fela Kuti had disappeared and left them with the check.

We wrote a song, Fela (Hates Our Bass), about this incident, and dedicate it to whatever out-of-work musician convinced a clueless Brooklyn couple that he was the famed African musician. We hope it will inspire you to keep things loud.