For those comrades expecting a Marxist brass band musically espousing the teachings of H. Rap Brown, Huey P. Newton and Dr. Ernesto “Che” Guevara, accompanied by fleshy dancers in camouflage thongs, red berets and ammo belts gyrating their derrières before banners of Chairman Mao, heed the warning that the music is not that revolutionary. And despite the lack of any overt announcements that the Rebels are actually from New Orleans (wisely announcing during the “Intro” that they are “live and direct from the world stage…making music by [paraphrasing Malcolm X] any means necessary”), it is unimaginable that this ensemble could come from anywhere but the real estate between Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River.

Decidedly festive New Orleans has never exactly been a hotbed of activism and anarchy. Lee Harvey Oswald killed a lot of hot afternoons distributing pro-Castro leaflets on Canal Street but found virtually no fellow travelers. In the 1960s, when a couple of anti-war marches were staged on St. Charles Avenue, instead of being dour protests against the brutality of war, they resembled Carnival parades out-of-season. When Tulane students, during the same period, occupied the Dean’s Office, their revolutionary terms of surrender included a demand for a discount record store within close proximity. The Mushroom was the result.

The “rebelution” that the Soul Rebels have in mind is summed up in the titles of their songs, “’Nuthin But A Party,” “Shake Something,” “Get Freaky,” “We Rock The Party.” This has pretty much been the New Orleans party line (no pun intended…well, maybe) for the last 150 years. If the world would forget about religion and doctrine for half-an-hour and instead, shake its disparate booties to brass band music, world peace would ensue. Of course, this idea, like revolution, is only a theory and doesn’t explain why the occasional bystander is murdered at second lines.

The dilemma with brass bands is transferring what is an outdoors phenomenon to a commercially-viable compact disc. The common strategy these days is “guest stars” (for example, Norah Jones singing an Irma Thomas hit with the Dirty Dozen Brass Band). On Rebelution, besides the notable substitution of an electric bass for the usual sousaphone on some of the selections, the contributors include turntablists DJ Maxmillion and Calculus, trombonist Josh Roseman, saxophonist Skerik, percussionists Bill Summers and Michael “The Vibe” Woods, pianist/vocalist Thaddeus Clark, guitarist/vocalist Corey Harris and rappers Wordsworth, Rhasheed, CopperTop and Rhodesia a.k.a. Madame X. I welcome the union of brass bands and hip-hop although for those who prefer their African-American culture preserved in a more pacific era, the results might be a bit too real, too wack.

Madame X is featured on the album’s best track, the simmering cha-cha-cha “Spend Some Time.” After a brief vocal tribute by “Mr. Frenchy Suave” wherein he praises Madame’s fearsome “fresh and golden” beauty and promises to deliver satisfaction more satisfying than the sort envisioned by Mick Jagger, Madame slips her manicured nails around the erect microphone stand and in a purr midway between Mae West and Eartha Kitt makes her intentions explicit. She wants a man. No, no just any lowdown, cheating man. A man intoxicated by her perfume. A man not ashamed to show her off to the world. The kind that sits in your living room and holds your hand—he’s not interested in a one-night stand. He caresses her in all the right places and kisses her in all the wrong places. The kind that makes good love two, three times a night but still rolls over and hugs her tight. Workers of the world, unite! The revolution will not be televised—it’ll be between the sheets with a sousaphonist blowing funk, just outside your bedroom, in the street. Word!