Kanda's Yolanda

Kanda Bongo Man's music, so well exemplified by Yolanda, is, stylistically, an important link or milestone in the progression of African music -- integral to which is, inescapably, Congolese music -- in the last 65+ years or so; that is, in the period from the late Fifties to now -- the middle of the second decade of the 21st century. 

The usual criteria/aspects of interest when tracking this change are, in broad terms: voice, sound and optics. That is, how voice and sound fuse, what body texts interpret (so to speak) this fusion and how far they go in doing so, and how all of this carries the baton of creativity from Yolanda's past to its time and place and on to its future -- that is, to our "present" and well beyond. 

Yolanda is thus to be seen as a genealogical artifact of sorts, which we are happy to have in our hands. It is a window on the past of now, but not the only window -- and not the only artifact we have from Kanda or his artistic contemporaries. It is, to be sure, a Golden that's not quite yet, perhaps, Oldie for some. There's much to be said about all that it represents, and others likewise do, in time and space, but the time to do so in any detail is not quite now. 

All I want to say right now is that Yolanda is a precursor -- if perhaps by default or long-winded and fuzzy influence -- for what the younger artistes of the present decade are crafting and giving us by way of so many permutations and combinations, and departures.

Suffice it to add that the fine melody we hear here is typical Kanda. The fluid dance moves of the man -- the body and soul synchrony -- are signature Kanda. Kanda's never-say-die spirit is solid sapeur. His sartorial sensibilities are pure sapeur. And his supporting cast of supple bodies are a firm and charmed bough in the sturdy family tree of African dance.

Take a listen, take a look.

Music All The Way With Victoria Kimani And Khuli Chana

Victoria Kimani has a stand-out performance in All the Way, in all respects. She dances in a cool, sophisticated and charming way. Her voice enchants -- seduces. She carries the whole thing, all the way, in the way she carries herself.  

The song's visuals are all in-the-groove. The drumbeat -- the irreplaceable drumbeat -- steers, in tandem with all that VK does, all the goings-on: A literal moveable feast of dancing bodies and cultured postures, of wonderfully modulated voices and sumptuous colors, of groomed personas and an altogether "glad you're watching" attitude. It's all very African. All symphonic. And all truly lovely. It whispers, anticipates and echoes all that we hear and see (and, p'raps, do) through (alas, too brief) 3:40 minutes of pure funk. 

South Africa's Khuli Chana, an accomplished musician in his own right, happily plays a supporting role in this video; but his contribution is golden -- and his 'spirits' fusing. His voice adds rich punctuation to all the singing, and the drumbeat, and all the dancing.

The leading lady's singing all her heart out here, for sure. Cool, controlled. The supporting cast knows it is in a charmed place, due in no small part precisely to it, and the members are all the merrier for it. As we ourselves are. We, the spectators, are all swayed by all this, in an existential sort of context. Even, if it must be so, unto the Twelfth Night. And so, let us each say it too, what was said so long ago: "if music be the food of love, play on. Give me excess of it...". Play on, VK!

READ: All The Way Lyrics

NOTE: Published on January 21, 2016, this song had gained 178,394 YouTube views by 12:30 a.m. on December 31, 2016.

PS: Victoria Kimani certainly isn't getting the frequency of airplay she deserves on Africa's music channels. Since September this year, all Eastern African eyes are specifically on Trace Mziki and even Trace Naija. The neglect is there for all to see. The officials and DJs concerned owe the viewers, paying or not, an explanation. Fairness matters. A transparent, well-structured rotation policy is a necessity if artistes are to earn their fair rewards.

MUSIC: Akothee's Amazing Bougerle

I must confess I had never seen Akothee's Bourgele until fifty minutes ago. Isn't it a sumptuous piece of music video? It has all the verve, hoarse and irrepressible laughter (a la HRC), high-energy motion and girlie karate kicks (which wouldn't hurt a fly) that we have come to know her for. And, as we now know, she can sing in many tongues.  She wags, then; as much as she can twerk. And, with the cameraman's collusion, she can do you the ladies' version of swag -- but not here.

[I think "Bouger le" means to move something. You guess what that suggests in pop music. It's plentiful in the video]

Akothee "Nya Kadera" sings wonderfully here in Lingala -- with a pinch here and there of French, Swahili and dare-devil Dholuo. We know from other 'sources' that she speaks more refined Swahili than most bara Kenyans -- and nearly all of Kenya's politicians. Just a sunny, sunny production, this! Stunning/charming VSO (= Voice, Sound and Optics) -- in sum. Credit too to Sarkozie, who's very much there in the mix of this 2015 production.


Click here to watch the Bougerle video

MUSIC (Naija): Korede Bello's "Do Like That"

To the singer's lyrical and desperate declaration of love at the very outset:
"I feel it in my soul
Let them know now."

The more confident Guardian Angel replies, presumably on behalf of the one who is loved: "You know eh."

And so the story goes: Do Like That must be the kind of song all of Korede Bello's fans and well-wishers have been waiting for, perhaps with some frustration, since his part in Dorobucci. Now he's gone and done it. The song brings out the best in him -- and in Mavins Records. Both of them have exceeded expectations in a massive and emphatic way, and they thus show what they are now ready to do to meet the competition toe-to-toe, head-to-head.

This song, with its tantalizing lyrics and a superb fusion of voice and sound -- and shorn of all of lovers' platitudes that we're all familiar with -- meets one's expectations of an earnestly and finely crafted love song which, for all we know, reveals a charmingly awkward adolescence. And Korede is just the right choice for the vocalist's part. He's here a singing suitor with complicated (some, more parental, may say naughty) but seemingly unintended humor, and a rough-edged respect for his lover's hesitations which casual passers-by will not discern. 

There may be a jogoo's (a rooster's) intent behind all that 'accidentally' cerebral phraseology -- clumsy muttering if you like -- with which he is seeding the air all around her, this way and that. But it is not by design. He is only being a truly not-yet-fully-done him; true to what he feels is becoming him, truly. His pleadings are earnest and truthful and consistent with his love, and his hope is that she will in the end understand this -- this "hopelessness" that drives him to say these things that he says: 

"Why you gon' do like that.
Why you gon' keep that thing from me."
.............

"Girl come feed me don't be stingy"

A foggy place somewhere is where the story begins. Like an autumn rendezvous with the 'chick' of KB's fondest dreams. Like an obscure train station, the engine puffing as much steam as love can bear, without fudging the fonder feelings. 

This improbable meeting place: it might as well have been a smoke-filled subway cavern, chilled with an eerie avant design. In which case how on earth did they get there, and feel the way they do so unscripted? Above all, what lingers in the memory about the beginning is the eerie hiss we hear, as of a purposeful iron snake (at 0:05-0:08); joined soon enough by voices seemingly hidden in an unmistakable but likewise hidden echo-chamber.  

KB's charm-offensive is reinforced with echoes of his own words bouncing back from these hidden voices, led by a kind of guardian angel and his troops (heard particularly at 0:15-0:16, 1:21-1:38, 2:18-2:25, 2:58-3:12). The angels of love are in that love-starved place doing their darnedest to get this thing really, really going; to help along this seemingly hapless prince.

Watch Do Like That here
I think the best segments of this clip, which outperforms in melody and creativity, are at 0:05-0:10, 0:16-0:18, 1:05-1:08 and 1:56-3:12. The musical instruments are all played with accomplished hands, and the result is entrancing. 

Published on November 22, 2016, the clip (directed by Konstantin and produced by Altims) already had 5,873,059 YouTube views in the early hours of November 30, 2016. On May 2, 2019 (9:30 PM, EAT), it had 82,167,856. 

Read: The Lyrics of Korede Bello's Do Like That

Updated: May 2, 2019

Autumn Sound: Haiku

Some kind of jamming.
Autumn ghost in mama's chine,
Chaff-cutting de hay.

MUSIC: Sente(nced) ~ Be Be Cool's Eyeview of Uganda's Club Culture

Sente, we are told, means money. But Be Be Cool isn't singing here only about some kind of Cash Daddy. Though perhaps he is, obliquely. He sings in three languages -- Luganda, English and Swahili -- though perhaps he sees them all as one really big thing.

The video component of Sente serves us vignettes of well-remembered beer-club doings in Uganda. But this is not unique to his country. It has historically been a feature of lumpen-proletarian life across much of Sub-Sahara: East to Central to West, South to the Equator. Here, Ayatolla Be Be in make-believe fighter-pilot's goggles and an assortment of dandy-garbs -- all of which perhaps make him a garba(atulla) of sorts but not quite a Sapeur -- preachifies against the corrosive-corrupting power of money. 

In the refrain to his song we hear:

"Love is free, never for sale.
If you sell, money will kill.

You'll witness your marriage die.

You'll bury alive."

In sight and sound, Sente portrays the leisure interludes of hard-knuckle urban life: centered on dance, beer and shifting fidelities -- plus the awkward sleuthing that betrayal prompts. Money is hard to find. And so see what it does to the social fabric when it appears, in whatever semblance of plenitude! The question invariably asked by perplexed onlookers, who are yet to know the underlying story, then is:

"Huyu ni nani?
Huyu ni nani?" 
[Trans. Who be this dude?]

The threads and moves of the dance scenes, enhanced by the song's worry-free tempo, evoke beer-club chic, of sorts, on a good weekend or holiday (holy!). Lucky them dancers. With all the fussiness that such dressing entails, they were not allowed to wallow in drunken mud. So changing-room logistics were kept to a minimum. It was dry season, too, p'raps. 

The high visibility of the members of Be Be's band is unusual in music-videos. It is remarkable -- see the guitar player, see the accordionist, see the percussionista -- and adds to the totality of the everyone's experience.

MUSIC: The Nigerian Voice

I.
In a piece on Patoranking's Make Am which I posted on January 1st this year, I made these remarks on the sounds that typify Nigerian music for us non-Nigerians: 

"...one of the most attention-grabbing songs out of Nigeria right now (certainly to me), and which I think is distinctly Nigerian and truly accomplished in its vocal heaves and turns -- the kind we other Africans will hear, perhaps in a supermarket or on radio, and quickly say "That's Nigerian" -- is KJV's Common Sense (forget the awkwardly hilarious 'bedroom' shenanigans which we may blame on the story-line, but which might in turn be blamed entirely on a portion of the lyrics). It's such a memorable song."

Make Am itself, I thought, had a distinctly Great Lakes and Rivers ring. I still do, but that's another line of thought. What I want to say a little more about here is what I see as the Nigerian Voice in African music. There is a background to that, too, which we should touch on as we proceed.

Nigerian musicians, individually and collectively, nowadays seem to produce much more music -- more good music -- in any given month than most Eastern and Southern African musicians, for example, do in a whole year. They currently dominate in the same way as their compatriots do in cinema. This dominance is, of course, helped along by two TV channels with a continent-wide reach:

1. HipTV, which is controlled by a Nigerian magnate, as I understand.

2. AfroPop, which to many viewers is Nigerian in all respects (including 'musical taste' and preferences) though it supposedly has Angolan and Portugues roots and/or links. AfroPop hardly gives airplay to Angolan, or Lusophone, music. 

These two channels, together with MTV Base and Sound City (both of which still have a distinct bias for European and US music) already have a tight grip on the DStv's musical ecosystem -- which is the only pan-African network "in town." To non-Nigerian artistes and the wider African audience, if you don't appear via DStv, it's like you don't exist at all. If Kenya is anything to go by, national TV channels are clueless about giving structured airplay to artistes who deserve regular exposure. 

It may be a chicken-an-egg paradox: How do you launch such a TV program if there are not enough 'straight-off-the-oven' songs for a 24/7 proposition? Well, Trace Africa, the fifth music channel, provided the emphatic and perfect answer this past September with its split into Trace Mziki (for Eastern African music) and Trace Naija (for the Nigerian audience, but available to East African viewers as well). But more on all this on another occasion.

Given all the changes (some potentially seismic) that one suspects lie ahead, the Nigerian Voice continues to be the leading voice in African music today, but perhaps not for long. 

II.
It wasn't always the case that this Nigerian Voice dominated the airwaves. This dominance goes back only about four years, at most. First, as far as I can personally remember of the preponderance of the songs we heard in colonial Nairobi day-to-day, and specifically on public holidays when other distractions were largely muffled, it was South(ern) African (Miriam Makeba, Hugh Masekela, DorothyMasuka and others). 

In the late Fifties and early Sixties, Congolese music began to erode the South African influence, and by the mid-60s had practically carried out a sweeping overthrow -- aided by autonomous accomplices in Kenya's lake region. It was not just the melody and the tunefulness, it was also the opportunity it gave for impassioned, up-close dancing. Thereafter, it reigned for almost forever, fusing with local styles to spawn a highly influential Eastern African sound that came to be known as Benga. 

READ: 10 Greatest Musicians From South Africa

West African music (spearheaded by icons like Fela Kuti, Manu Dibango, Osibisa and all that High Life stuff) began to assert its influence in the early Seventies. It did not completely displace Congolese music, however. Pockets of resistance stayed with Lingala, particularly in proletarian and rural areas. But it can still be said that this West African sound soon morphed in two ways: (a) It became less "High Life" as influences from the Caribbean kicked in; and (b), it turned, in the period since c. 2013, more emphatically Nigerian. This Nigerian era is in turn already under threat -- certainly from increasingly assertive and reflective Eastern African voices. More on this in conversations to follow. 

[incidentally, as I began to write this blog post on Christmas Day afternoon, Trace Mziki (Channel 741 on DSTV) had a retrospective on African legends -- #FOCUS MZIKILEGENDS -- featuring a number of Southern African icons such as Miriam Makeba (she who was made famous by a classic Tanzanian song, Malaika, which she made famous), but also latter-day heroes and heroines from both South Africa and a larger swathe of the continent, including Brenda Fassie, Lucky Dube, Alpha Blondy, and Papa Wemba]  

READ: Makeba's bio and the Malaika Lyrics in Swahili and English translation


III.
The Nigerian Voice has a multiplicity of forms and content. It is a self-confident voice. Its lyrics are the most creative in both their written and sung forms, aided by the fact that pidgin is the almost inescapable component of the language used in any popular song. Pidgin has built into it the most linguistically confounding, intriguing, mesmerizing, frustrating and undecipherable expressions and turns of phrase -- certainly to the hapless outsider. It adds a flavor to the songs that's not encountered elsewhere, and is thus most bewitching.

This Nigerian Voice is supremely creative. It is gifted with the most poetic language, rivaled only by Lingala. The artistes mix and match the words they have had at their disposal since childhood in the most astounding ways. Thus they really, collectively, bear the African music flag still.

To highlight this varied voice, here's an A to Z sampling (and only a sampling) of Nigeria's Musical Pantheon -- The Triple Dirty Dozen of sorts:

1. Adenkule Gold ~ Orente, Sade
2. Boj ~ Paper, Ire
3. Burna Boy ~ (w/ AKA,...) All Eyes On Me, Soke, Pree Me
4. Cheezy Chi ~ She Need Am, Monica, MAYE
5. Chidinma ~ Fallen in Love, For You
6. Davido ~ Fans Mi, Ekuro, Gobe
7. D'Banj ~ Emergency, Knocking on My Door, Extraordinary, 
8. Di'ja ~ Awww
9. Don Jazzy ~ (ft. Reekado Banks x Di'ja x Korede Bello) Adaobi, (ft. Korede Bello x Tiwa Savage x Dr. SID x Korede Bello x Di'ja x D'Prince) Dorobucci, (w/ Timaya) I concur
10. Falz ~ (ft. Reekado Banks) Celebrity Girlfriend, (ft. Simi) Soldier, (w/ Simi) Chemistry
11. Mr. Flavour ~ (ft. Tiwa Savage) Oyi Remix, Gollibe, (ft. Chidinma) Ololufe 
12. Humblesmith ~ (ft. Mr. Flavour) Jukwese, (ft. Davido) Osinachi
13. Iyanya ~ (ft. Don Jazzy x Dr. Sid) Up 2 Sumting, (ft. Mr. Flavour) Jombolo, Type of Woman
14. Kiss Daniel ~ Laye, (ft. Davido x Tiwa Savage) Woju, (ft. Sugarboy) Upon Me
15. KJV ~ Common Sense
16. Lola Rae ~ (ft. Davido) Biko, One Time 
17. Korede Bello ~ Mungo Park,  Do Like That, (ft. Tiwa Savage) Romantic
18. Mr. Eazi ~ (w/ Eugy) Dance for Me, (w/ Eugy) Body, Hollup 
19. Olamide ~ (ft. Don Jazzy) Skelemba, MVP, Story of the Gods, Bobo, Melo Melo, (w/ Stormrex) Walk With Me
20. Oritshe Femi ~ (ft. Reminisce) Tomorrow, Igbeyawo, (ft. D'Banj) Double Wahala Part 2, (w/ El Phlex) Aiye Mi, Awoo Ewaa.
21. Patoranking ~ Daniella Whine, (ft. Wande Coal My Woman, My Everything)
22. Phyno ~ Connect, Nme Nme, (ft. Stormrex) Nnunu, (ft. Olamide) Fada Fada
23. PSquare ~ Bank Alert, Beautiful Onyinye
24. Niniola ~ Jigi Jigi, Akara Oyibo, 
25. Rayce ~ Tetela, Wetin Dey 
26. Reekado Banks ~ (ft. Don Jazzy) Sugar Baby, Oluwa Ni, Katapot
27. SDC (ft. Poe x Boj) ~ Feel Alright
28. Sean Tizzle ~ (ft. Tiwa savage) Sho Lee, Igi Orombo
29. Seyi Shay ~ Jangilova, (ft. Olamide) Pack and Go
30. Simi -~ Tiff, Jamb Question, Open and Close
31. Skales ~ Shake Body, Temper
32. Skuki  ~ (ft. Olamide) Peteru, (ft. Tiwa Savage) Gbemileke, (ft. Phyno) E Pass Go
33. Tiwa Savage ~ My Darling, Wanted
34. Vector ~ EMI, (ft. Phyno x Reminisce x Classiq x Uzi) King Kong Remix
35. Wizkid ~ Ojuelegba, (ft. Femi Kuti) Jaiye Jaiye, (ft. L.A.X) Caro, (w/ Justine Skye) U Don't Know Me
36. Yemi Alade ~ Johnny, (ft. Phyno) Taking Over Me,


IV.

If, by way of a conclusion, I were to choose out of the 36 (and others not mentioned) the half-dozen artistes most representative of the Nigerian Voice today, I would single out these: Oritse Femi, Olamide, Phyno, Yemi Alade, Simi and Tiwa Savage. So there you are.

Poiema

No year returns,
If ever,
Just as it was.

And no year is the reincarnation:
Of nor another -- 
Nor the other.
Nor the selfsame.

There's never a promise:
That it shall be, as it was. 
What (ever) we imagine 
 It, a wannabe, to have been.

What (ever) we imagined it'd b.

Nor do we ever walk,
As (if) it were, full-back(ward),
Our heels leading the way,
Anyhow,
Toward heaven's gate.
Over there in
Naivasha.

Or some place else: Giza's Orion p'raps.

Toward the very same Ness.

No year ever returns
Ever, ev'n as we do
The very same old things.
Nay, the same difference.

What we wanted so badly to
End returns, only 
In the famed manner of another,
Moon.

No year returns to meet tomorrow's wind.
V-winged. Stealthy. 
Shrouded in visible irony and 
Smart-boy alloys.

The wind 
Which
Has no driver in the scheme of things
And rides
Alone. Headless. Chicken. Dead meat. 

It alone is (in) its own horse-power(s).

It alone (in) its lock, stock and barrel.

Chief.

The wind rides alone
Toward its past lives.
Where ever it left 'em.
A cat's, ahead of Time,
Nine.

And won't find 'em!
And no year returns to witness
The very same wind
Fall.
The very same December!

All dose years we wanted
So badly to end.
Return only under
De usual guises.
Of ill-winds plowing,
And fortunes falling,
And reality convoluted,
Farther behind the curve.
To the right.

Faster. Fainter. Painter. Farther. Father!

There are no winds
Between here and forever.
Only sunsets misread as
Gale force. Tsunami.
Working class.
As a million dead-ends.

Dividends --
We couldn't take along
For the ride,
If we so very badly wanted.
So so badly.