Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Orchestre Vévé Star - Baluti (get it)
Georges Kiamuangana was born in Kisantu, Bas-Congo on 19 May 1944. He took the name Verckys after being impressed with American sax player King Curtis and he heard the name "Curtis" as "Verckys." He started out in 1962 with Los Cantina, then Jamel Jazz. He joined Paul Ebengo a.k.a. Dewayon's Congo-Rock before joining OK Jazz in 1963 with some musicians from the band of Gerard Kazembe: Christophe Djali, trumpet, singer Henriette Boranzima and Dele Pedro. Georges became Franco's right-hand man and delighted audiences with his onstage antics and wild clothes. But when Franco was away in Europe in 1968 he took a splinter group with vocalist Youlou Mabiala into the studio to cut four sides, causing an irreparable rift. On 5 April 1969 he left OK Jazz to form Orchestra Vévé. The original singers of his group were Bovic Bondo, along with three who would later form the Trio Madjesi, Marcel Loko Massengo a.k.a. Djeskain, Sinatra Bonga Tsekabu a.k.a. Saak Saakul, and Mario Matadidi. Verckys started recording with a more stripped-down sound than OK Jazz, which gave him ample room for wild sax solos in the seben. His original band included Danila on solo guitar, Jim on bass, and veteran Maproco alongside himself on sax. He adopted Dr Nico's dance the Kiri Kiri and invented the Cavacha which was a precursor of Soukous. His first hits were "Mfumbwa" and "Bankoko baboyi" along with Saakul's "Fifi Solange." (These two songs were reissued as a 45 on the Ngoma label.) "Ah mokili" and "Linga ngai zuwa te" soon followed. With an unerring ear for quality, he recorded and produced Les Grands Maquisards, Orchestre Kiam, Bella Bella, Lipua Lipua, Les Kamale and Empire Bakuba, the most interesting bands to come up in his generation. He also recorded Thu Zaina (whose guitarist Roxy played on some Vévé recordings), Victoria Eleison and Zaiko Langa Langa. His label defined the new sound of Congolese music as it evolved away from the rumbas of the Generation Kalle to a more exciting dance sound. His singers [below] were so popular they broke away in 1972 to form Trio Ma-dje-si with their own band Orchestre Sosoliso and, recording for Socodi in Brazzaville, remained one of the top bands of the day.
With help from Roger Izeidi, young Georges, only 25, established a studio on Avenue Eyala, in Kasa-Vubu, Kinshasa. Vercky's early 70s recordings were collected on some LPs on the Sonodisc label, and his mid-career output as a producer appeared in a great 9-volume series Les Grands Succès des Editions Vévé on the Sonafric label, which featured many of the hits produced in his studio by Vévé and other bands such as Lipua Lipua, Les Kamale, Orchestre Kiam, and Zaiko Langa Langa. In 1972 he recruited Pepe Kalle and Nyboma, two youngsters from Bella Bella, to sing "Sola," "Mbuta" and "Kamale." He started orchestres Baya Baya, Lipua Lipua and Kiam, named for himself. Their first hits were "Yoyowe" and "Masumi." He rented equipment to Nyboma and Lipua Lipua who recorded "Amba," "Mombasa" and "Niki bue," but as soon as they were established they quit Verckys' label and regrouped as Orchestre Les Kamale. On his visit to Kinshasa James Brown dubbed him "Mister Dynamite"! He founded Editions Vévé in 1974. In 1976 he changed the name of his label to ZADIS (for "Zaire disc"). That year he issued "Papy Baluti" & "Muana Mburu" written by Francis Bitsoumani a.k.a. Celi Bitsou. The line-up at this time was Tino Muinkwa, Djo Roy, Nejos Tusevo, Pepitho Fukiau on vocals, Lambion on solo guitar, Aladji Baba on rhythm guitar, Ndolo & Celi Bitsou on bass, Bayard on drums, Ponta Vickys on congas, himself, Dibuidi and Sax Matalanza on saxes and Makamba on trombone. But after the success of "Muana Mburu," Celi Bitsou quit to go solo.
Verckys retired from performing to concentrate on his nightclub, his shop ZADIS on Place Victoire, his label, and promotion. His Vévé Center became the hot spot for Grand Zaiko Wa Wa, Langa Langa Stars, Victoria Eleison, Mbonda Africa, Afro International, Wenge Musica and other groups. In 1978 he recorded young sensation Koffi Olomide. In 1980 Verckys came out of retirement to release some new albums on the Vévé International label in Paris with his backing band also renamed Vévé International. Vocalist Diatho Lukoki was supported by Sonama, Michel Sax, along with Djo Mpoyi and Dizzy Mandjeku, formerly of OK Jazz (who quit to return to Franco). Luciana quit Viva la Musica to replace Djo Mpoy for three months. Later members included Elba Kuluma, Serge Lemvo, Asi Kapela, Rochesi and Lawi. Verckys was elected president of the Congolese Musicians Union in 1988. In 2008 Verckys was in hospital in Brussels for leg operations soon after completing a new album COUP DE MARTEAU.
muzikifan.com
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Tracklist
1. Baluti 1 & 2 (Nguendi Aladji) 1976
2. Muana Mburu 1 & 2 (Bitshoumanou Boniface) 1977
3. Nakoma Juste 1 & 2 (Mwinkua) 1977
4. Mikolo Mileki Mingi 1 & 2 (Fukiau) 1976
5. Bilobela 1 & 2 (Kiamwangana Mateta) 1977
6. Fifi (Verckys) 1973
Friday, June 6, 2014
Afropolitian dreaming with Blitz The Ambassador - An interview
Originally published @ afropop.org!
Blitz the Ambassador is one of the leading voices in the growing movement connecting the classic sound of American hip-hop with stories and musical traditions of Africa and the African diaspora. The title of his new album, Afropolitan Dreams (released on April 28 by Jakarta Records), refers to this mixture of African roots with a cosmopolitan disposition. Now five albums into his career, Blitz has received numerous accolades, including last year’s Musician of the Year award from the African Diaspora Awards. We have been big supporters of his music and message for several years and featured Blitz on “The Trans-National African Hip-Hop Train” program. Recently, Jesse Brent caught up with the internationally-minded artist via Skype to discuss Afropolitan Dreams and his vision for an artistically strengthened Africa.
Jesse Brent: What does “Afropolitan” mean for you and how does that word relate to your audience?
Blitz the Ambassador: It’s not just about people who get to physically travel. I feel like that’s a misconception about this Afropolitan idea–that it’s like people getting on planes and zooming all over the world. To me, it’s more about people who mentally travel, and people who are engaged with issues that are global, and issues that affect us all as a race of human beings on this planet. So, that’s important–that I connect with folks that are local and folks that are global as well, and influence, and give people an opportunity to hear a new African story.
Do you see a movement forming with more and more people that you associate with who are thinking the same way as you?
Absolutely. I think that movement was been forming way before I got here and way before I even became a musician. I think the idea of connecting intellectually and giving each other some tools to be able to solve our problems has been there for a while. The only difference is that I’m using a specific medium, which is hip-hop music, to bridge those gaps. There are a lot of people doing the same, and I’m glad that we’re getting more of a platform to do that.
How would you say you relate to music that’s going on right now in Ghana?
Well, I never really lost touch with music from back home. That’s where I began my career as a musician. I’ve always had contact, and I’ve always been linked with those movements, as they’ve evolved from the original hiplife base and highlife before hiplife. Now there are sub-genres like azonto and others that have been birthed out of all these movements. I’m as connected as possible to it. On my new record, I feature Sarkodie, who is one of the most popular artists right now in Ghana, and one of the leaders of his sub-genre, as well. I’m always trying to make sure I’m linked up and connected because, in my opinion, all we’re doing right now, as this intermediary, is creating a lane or a highway of sort so that people from the continent can have access to a global audience. That’s not so easy–not having that bridge. So, one of the things I’m most focused on is trying to create this bridge so that people have a portal into the African sound.
You went back to Ghana before you started recording, right?
Yep. I did before and after.
What did you get out of those trips that made it onto the album?
The entire vibe, but more importantly, what I think I got was the fact that I’m needed at home. That influenced the record greatly–knowing that what I’m doing globally is important, but there’s nothing more important than people in Africa having access to me.
In terms of American hip-hop, how do you see the scene now? And who are some of your favorite current rappers from the U.S.?
The scene in America is kind of what it’s always been. The loudest voices are the ones that are commercial in a way that helps sell products, and the least commercial have less of a platform. And I think it goes back to the beginning of the culture. I don’t think that it’s anything new. I think that what’s new now is just the discrepancy between how many people are in the balance. It’s way out of balance now, in terms of how many people are even willing to take that risk to not be a commercial product. But again, that’s what the culture has always been, and so, you’ll always find the more authentic and more content-driven stuff underground and you’ll find the least content-driven stuff in the commercial mainstream. Who are some of my favorites? I listen to a lot of Kendrick Lamar. I listen to a lot of Joey Bada$$, the Underachievers, and a few other guys. I don’t necessarily listen to them looking for anything new because that story that they’re telling, in my opinion, has been told, but I listen to them for their take on it–how they’re able to take an old story and tell it with some updates. So, them I appreciate, but if you ask me what I’m most interested in–it’s music that isn’t coming from America because, again, that story has been widely told. What’s interesting to me now is music that’s telling me about a story that’s new. So when Kendrick Lamar says “Compton,” I’m already familiar with Compton because I know Dr. Dre. I’ve heard The Chronic and I know what Compton is. But when somebody’s telling me about Nairobi or Johannesburg or Bogotá, wherever–I’m not familiar with it, so it’s way more interesting to me, as an audience member, to pick apart what they’re saying, and I appreciate that.
You’re recording without any kind of major label support, basically on your own. Have you had a lot of difficulties with that or has that felt pretty liberating?
I guess you can’t have one without the other. Having the freedom to choose, having the freedom to say “no,” having the freedom to access your audience however you want, whenever you want, without middlemen, who don’t really know or care about the culture–whether it’s African culture, whether it’s hip-hop culture… They’re just in it for the culture of money, and how money influences. So, I have that freedom. I never have to ask a single question. If I want to release my next album for free, I’ll release it for free. If I want to release my next record tomorrow, I’ll release it tomorrow. Nobody stands in the way of my art and my audience. Of course, with that comes a big challenge. The big challenge is how do you fund your revolution? How do you fund this idea that you have? You don’t want your art to suffer from not having access to funds. You don’t want your art to not be heard because it’s not getting the love that it should from these bigger blogs and these bigger magazines.
But I’ve also learned that you can create something that’s absolutely yours and it’s unique. And the best way I’ve been able to do it is invest greatly in my live show. So, with my live show I’ve been able to go around the world, speaking first-hand about my music. I’m not really locked into this idea that I have to be a commercial or corporate rapper. I probably make more touring than most of these guys will, especially with the deals that they have today–with 360 deals where the label takes everything. I’m probably doing much better and I probably have way more autonomy. I definitely have more autonomy, as far as my work and how I release it and when I release it. So, I think that’s the main thing, but one comes with the other, and I embrace both.
Can you talk about some of the people you worked with on this record, like Angelique Kidjo and Seun Kuti? What was it like to work with them?
It was great. All these people were really gracious and they understand the story and they understand the message and they understand what I’m trying to achieve, in terms of the story. They were all great in terms of their contributions–from Nneka to Angelique to Oum to Just A Band. Everybody was super with the story. That was very easy. I didn’t have any problems in terms of sound. And also I wanted to prove that I’m not a solitary voice. I use a lot of voices to tell this story. It’s important for me to show the multi-dimensionality of our movement, going back to the legends–like the Angeliques–all the way down to some of the ones who are much more up-and-coming like the Just A Bands or Amma Whatt. It was important that I was able to make those bridges happen.
The band that you’ve been working with, Embassy Ensemble–you’ve been with them for a long time, right?
Yeah, I’ve developed a very solid crew. But now I have an international crew. I have a crew that I play with in the western hemisphere and I have a crew that I play with more in the eastern hemisphere. So it’s like we’re all playing at the same time. When I’m playing North America, South America, Japan, I have a crew. When I’m playing Asia, Europe, Africa, I have another crew. Australia–I have another crew. It’s a very global operation, but everybody is super committed and understands what this mission is and we’re able to put on some really amazing shows.
It sounds like you’ve been touring quite a bit. Is that part of the reason why it took so long for this album to come out? I understand it took two years for this album to come together.
Yeah, it did take two years. But, if you remember, I also released an EP in between–the Warm Up EP, which came out last year. So, really, that’s a whole lot of music that I’ve been working on and releasing periodically. Also, I never really care about time. What I care about is the quality of the product and how the product is going to live. If it takes me five years to make a record, it takes me five years to make a record. I’m not ever going to rush the record because I feel like people need one. I feel like if people wait for the right product, the product will live on for as long as possible. So, I don’t really focus on that. Touring does have an effect, but I think that it also has a super positive effect, in that you’re able to test new music, you’re able to test new ideas, and I’m also playing some of the biggest festivals in the world. I’m opening for Sting. I’m opening for some really huge names globally. I’m also getting ideas from watching these guys. When I’m backstage and, say, Damien Marley’s playing, when I’m back stage and Public Enemy’s playing, I’m learning a lot and I’m adding to my artistry. And it’s also informing my story. So, all of that has been really positive, and I’m trying to maintain a really good work ethic to make sure that I’m never going too long without art–whether it’s a short film, whether it’s new videos, whether it’s music, whether it’s visual arts, I’m just constantly trying to release work that I will influence.
The song “Call Waiting” with Angelique Kidjo is about traveling and calling home. What has that been like to be on the road and still maintain your ties to home?
It’s difficult–not being physically present with family, missing important events in family, but it’s the life you choose when you choose a name like The Ambassador and your tour schedule is something ridiculous. It’s a choice I’ve made and I have to live with. I believe in transparency and vulnerability and writing music that’s honest to me. That’s why I wrote “Call Waiting”–because it’s true. That’s my truth. It helps me cope with that when other people can sympathize and say, “Yeah, I get it.” It makes it easier to be on this journey, trying to influence the world while still maintaining a family. So, that definitely is one of my favorite songs on the album.
I read the article you wrote for the blog Africa Is A Country, and I was really impressed by it. In the article, you talk about how you got this cassette tape from your brother and it had a lot of classic hip-hop on it, including Public Enemy. And now, more recently, you’ve gotten to be on stage with Chuck D and even collaborate with him.
Yeah, it’s been amazing. It’s like when your destiny finds you, but it’s also a testament to hard work and dedication. I’ve never stopped believing that I was good enough. I’ve never stopped believing that my story was important. It’s definitely not easy when you’re ahead of your time, when you’re ahead of the understanding of who you are. When I was doing this in 2001, 2002, nobody could even fathom what an African rapper would sound like, what an African rapper, who has immigrated to America, would sound like, what kind of samples you would use to tell your story. So, in a lot of ways, we’re pioneers and we’re the first of this breed. Chuck D is a mentor in a way, as well. And that is the most amazing thing one can ever think about. This guy used to be on my wall. And here I am with full access to him, supporting this amazing movement. Chuck D’s unique in a lot of ways because he understands the effect hip-hop has globally. I don’t think a lot of so-called legends do. I don’t think a lot of people who came early in the game understood their impact globally or understand how that global impact has ricocheted back here. Chuck understands the ricochet and understands that I’m part of that ricochet. It’s absurd to think that you can speak for 40 years to a people and not be spoken back to. That’s what hip-hop culture was. All we’re doing is talking back. So it’s been great to have Chuck D in my corner.
What would you say that you’ve learned from him?
Just stay humble. Frankly, he’s probably one of the most humble guys that you’ll ever meet, but it’s not dumb humility. It’s humility that’s steeped in a deep knowledge of his power and his role in the world. That is a stark reminder to me that, as I get bigger and as I get more global, the more my responsibility is to remain accessible because my accessibility is what’s going to grow my lane of the culture. The less accessible I am, the less my lane is going to grow. Chuck D understands that, and Chuck D has made himself very available to young artists coming up, very available to the movement. So, that’s one thing that I’ve learned from him.
You’ve been living in Brooklyn for a while, right? How many years have you been here?
It’s probably going on eight years, maybe nine.
Have you thought about returning to Ghana to live there?
Absolutely. Yes. I have made major investments into doing that. That’s where the record ends. The record ends in this limbo, which is, in a lot of ways, where I am in real life. You have family in America and you have family in Africa, you have goals in America–I shouldn’t even say America, but in the West because I’m everywhere now–but Africa is where you’re needed the most. I appreciate that people all over the world appreciate what I do. I know that my most important work is the work that is going to be done on the continent of Africa, in a lot of ways: figuring out ways that we can bridge some of these gaps that have been created in post-colonial ruling, and, whether it’s culturally, whether it’s socially… I don’t believe in politics. I think that politics is meant to separate. I’m more of a culturalist. I understand that the power that I have is cultural and I have to be able to use that to bridge a lot of gaps that we have currently, as African people all over the continent. That’s my major work. That’s not easy work, but I know that’s my next frontier. So, here I am trying to make that leap forward.
What would you say in Ghana, in particular, needs help and what would you hope to do by returning there?
I think, specifically, it’s an issue of funding–funding for the arts. I think that’s one of our biggest problems because there isn’t a lot of value that’s placed on art. If you’re young in Africa and you say you want to be a painter or a singer or a graphic designer, nobody really takes you seriously. It’s like you’re a joke. We still are locked into the colonial concept of what success is. You have all these professions that you’re supposed to go for, and if you’re not one of those–like a doctor or a lawyer, a pilot… The world has moved on and I think we need to show that it’s possible to make it as an artist in Africa because our role is the most important. The issues that we have–a lot of them can easily be solved in a cultural context when you have people dialoguing. Unfortunately, a lot of dialogue doesn’t happen because there isn’t a lot of public space. Because there isn’t a lot of public space there aren’t a lot of public arts situations that go on in the continent. For instance, when I go back to play in Africa, a lot of times, I have to go under the auspices of the French Consul or the Goethe-Institut or the British Council. Those are very typical. And I’m not the only one. A ton of artists that go to Africa have to go through those mediums. The problem with that is that you’re clearly doing the bidding of these foreign countries, who have their own selfish goals. You’re just a pawn for them. My goal, in time, is to create a situation where we’re able to perform and influence, culturally, while being supported by our states or our people because that’s when I feel like the dialogue is the most open and the most accessible. It’s not just geared toward a certain class of people. It’s a more general and more broad and more proletarian approach where you can influence a larger amount of people.
I saw that you wrote a film about boxing in Ghana. Can you tell me anything about that?
It’s a film that I’ve been trying to make for a while, and I recently got contacted by Isaiah Washington, who’s an amazing actor and producer, who starred in numerous films, and he’s going to be coming on board to help produce the film. It’s exciting. I’m a fan of boxing–the idea of it: the lone warrior. The story is about a community, which is Bukom, and that’s what the movie’s called. The community is a boxing community, and everybody in that town is, one way or another, connected to boxing. The story is about what happens when a physical location that has harnessed all this energy gets taken away. What happens to the people, and what happens to the culture of boxing? It’s juxtaposed with a lot of land grabbing, which is happening right now in a lot of places on the continent, where big multinational corporations are buying up huge chunks of land for one reason or another–usually for development purposes–for developing things that locals will never be able to afford. Because Bukom’s a coastal town it’s very prime for this kind of incursion. That’s what the film is about. What happens when the land is threatened–a land that is so important to a sport or a culture?
Do you see a comparison between music and boxing a little bit?
It’s an art. Boxing is an art form. If you’re anybody that appreciates art then there’s most certainly a connection. Like I always say, Ali was a lyrical boxer. His punches were lyrical. You have to know when to duck. You’ve gotta know when to drop the chorus, drop the hook, you know? So that’s very similar. It’s all about timing. Music is all about timing and boxing’s all about timing.
Is there anything else that you’d like to say about your album or about what’s next for you?
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Musi-O-Tunya - Give Love To Your Children
The legendary Zamrock band’s second album and rare 7” tracks. 1972–1976.
Funk, Psych-Rock, and Fuzz-Guitar-lead Afrobeat from Zambia’s groundbreaking band.
Finally! The legendary Zamrock band’s second album and two rare 7” tracks. Give Love To Your Children follows Now-Again’s first foray into the Zamrock genre, guitarist, vocalist and songwriter Rikki Ililonga and Musi-O-Tuyna’s Dark Sunrise, which compiled Musi-O-Tunya’s Pathe East Africa 7″ singles, their first album Wings of Africa and Ililonga’s first two solo albums, released under his own name: Zambia and Sunshine Love.
soundcolourvibration.com
The legendary Zambian band's compilation captures the energy, excitement and unpredictability of Zamrock at the peak of its 1970s glory.
"Give love to your children / like the sun gives strength to the soil / the moon gives fear to the night / and the stars lead the way for the blind / and the wind gives life to the leaves. / Give love to your children."
These majestic opening lines offer a powerful taste of the holistic, even cosmic, span of Give Love To Your Children by the legendary Zambian band Musi-O-Tunya.
The recently re-released compilation brings together songs recorded between 1972 and 1976, in the heyday of the Zamrock, a psychedelic genre that emerged amidst the economic troubles and social tensions of mid-70s Zambia.
Many people credit Musi-O-Tunya and their renowned front man Rikki Llilonga with creating the flamboyant musical style, but this album was their second after Llilonga left the band. The remaining line-up, however, was still more than enough to spark that Zamrock magic with Wayne Barnes on guitars, band leader Derek Mbao on bass and vocals, Brian Chengala on drums alongside Aliki Kunda and Jasper Lungu on congas, and all backed up by a bold brass section.
Even with its wide scope, Give Love To Your Children is a collision of worlds. The cover is a sign of this, made up of a cross-section of interwoven colourised photographs, showing the eclectic mien of traditional Zambian music alongside the hip image of 1970s Zamrock.
The unpredictable soundscape of the album similarly juxtaposes a myriad of diverse influences. Musi-O-Tunya were clearly inspired by the rock sounds of 1970s Europe and the US, but this is only a fraction of the psychedelic textures and sounds. Fuzzy, frenzied solos from guitarist Wayne Barnes whip across songs as Derek Mbao's earthy bass restlessly moves the groove forwards and round. Brian Chengala’s percussion meanwhile brilliantly pushes the beat and jams through an entire arc of feeling, building and dropping the intensity while – above all − maintaining a completely danceable afrobeat or kalindula. The brass section too is glorious, triumphantly leading the band at times. Together, as Musi-O-Tunya, the band has sheer groove.
Throughout Give Love To Your Children, Musi-O-Tunya explore a huge number of ideas, whether through the recurring joyful, sprawling guitar solos or the sombre – in meaning, if not in tone − lyrics of ‘Starving Child’ ("Someday everything will be alright / Everything’s going to be alright").
The result is still a consistent, powerful record. So often cover-all statements like ‘great energy’ are readily applied to albums but if there was ever a time to use the cliché, it is here. This is a band intimately in tune with one another and the result is a full-to-bursting sound.
However, that is perhaps where the clichés should end. In fact, to some ears Give Love To Your Children could be unpredictable and it's certainly complex. But this is arguably to its strength, and it is the moments of sheer excess that are most filled with personality and character. The album's lyrics also cover typical Zamrock concerns and darker social and personal issues (the profound ‘My Baby’ for example) but also break with that convention by entering hazy, hallucinogenic territory too.
But this is what is so compelling about Musi-O-Tunya: they are unafraid to experiment with traditional ideas and spoken word. For example, there are whole sections that are free from all traces of ‘modern’ instrumentation. ‘Bashi Mwana’ is in this vein and is perhaps even a welcome break from the fuzz and intensity of the previous tracks. Lyrically, songs are an even balance between English, Bemba and Nyanja. ‘Katonga’ is one of the album’s highlights, opening with a traditional call and answer and accompanying trumpets, only to kick into to a trippy guitar solo and slick afrobeat rhythms before turning again to a bright sung harmony.
You may have trouble keeping up, but this is an album not to be missed.
thinkafricapress.com
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In the last few years a little-known movement of 70s rock music from the African nation of Zambia has become one of the more satisfying discoveries of the Internet age. Reissues of albums made by groups and singers like Witch, Amanaz, Paul Ngozi, and Chrissy "Zebby" Tembo have exposed this peculiar strain of pysch-flavored rock, known as Zamrock, to new ears. In 2011 the great Now-Again label released Dark Sunrise, a deluxe two-CD package of music by a singer and guitarist named Rikki Ililonga, widely regarded as the driving force behind the movement and the guy who's helped chronicle its history by facilitating the surge of reissues. Now-Again is back with a fantastic reissue of Give Love to Your Children by Musi-O-Tunya, made after Ililonga left his backing behind to go solo. The record displays a broader stylistic range than any of the other Zamrock recordings I've heard, with the wild, post-Hendrix psychedelic guitar solos surrounded, alternately, by deep funk grooves, terse Afrobeat, traditional African percussion music, and R&B balladry. The album's driving, fatback "Give Love to Your Children," with its timeless message of nurturing, is today's 12 O'Clock Track. Check it out after the jump.
1. Give Love To Your Children
2. Sunkha
3. Starving Child
4. Ayeye
5. Njala
6. Katonga
7. When I’m Gone
8. Bashi Mwana
9. My Baby
10. Mwana Osauka
11. Musi-O-Tunya (Bonus)
12. Thunder Man (Bonus)
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Monday, May 26, 2014
Fela Kuti
Originally published @
sabotagetimes.com, written by Len Brown
Despite his death over a decade ago, Fela Kuti is undergoing something of a resurgence with the re-release of his back catalogue and the award-winning musical, Fela. Here's part one of an archive interview with the great man...
Hot-foot from Broadway, the award-winning musical Fela! arrives at the National Theatre in London, while his complete recordings have just been re-released. But who the hell was the real FELA KUTI? Back in the autumn of 1986, I spent several heady, hedonistic days with the cocksure, copulating King of Afrobeat. Was Fela ever a serious contender for the Presidency of Nigeria? A truly revolutionary force in world music? Or was he simply a polygamist with dodgy politics and even dodgier underpants?
IT’S AS HOT as hell in here. The heat is on, 12 floors up, mid-80s. A gaggle of colourfully clad-women stare at me, amused by my sweaty pinkness. It could be sun-stroked Lagos, anywhere typically tropical, but it’s Paris in October.
A big-eyed, very naughty, very small boy continually punches me in the leg; his sister giggles at my discomfort. As if this wasn’t enough, the man next to me is wearing only red and blue underpants. Apart from spiritual blasts on his saxophone and scratching his scrotal sac, he assures me he will soon be the President of Nigeria.
He is, how you say, a hero; a celebrated musician of some 50 albums; a world famous political dissident; a man who married 27 women in one day; the possessor of a legendary libido. In layman’s terms he’s a cross between Robin Hood and Bob Marley – a Nigerian James Last, a bandleader whose fame has risen above and beyond the category ‘superstar’. For nearly two years, until April 24 (1986), he languished in Kirkiri gaol; found guilty of a trumped-up charge of currency smuggling. No jury, no appeal. He was released when the judge, who sentenced him to over five years, admitted the trial was rigged.
His detention was politically motivated. He’s a rebel king, a pretender to the presidency, and for the past decade he has been a continuous thorn in the Nigerian authorities’ side. He refused to be silenced and used his music as a means of exposing the dishonesty and corruption of successive governments. At 48, and despite prison, his love of life and his life of love have preserved his physique. In Africa where the ample girth and wealth of leaders is often associated with power corruption and lies, this muscular torso could be interpreted as a sign of honesty.
I WANNA BE ELECTED
THE PRE-weed, pre-coital Feta Anikulapo Kuti is a rare find. He blinks, he stretches, he scratches. He stares out over Paris in the late-afternoon light. He’s worked his band, Egypt 80, through the night, procreating his familiar brass-and-keyboard dominated big sound, based on traditional African rhythms and featuring the call-and-response vocals of Fela and his queens. It will be his first album since prison, Just Like That, and it’s going to be more political, more direct in its attack on institutional injustice, declaring war on bureaucratic bullshit.
“No one wants the military, the country is telling them to quit,” he growls. “The military are saying they are laying the conditions for a civilian government, but how can you bring a tailor to lay the foundation for a building when he’s supposed to sew clothes. A tailor or a shoemaker cannot construct a building. Yet in Nigeria soldiers want to lay the foundation of government. It’s madness.”
Fela’s solution is to stand for the Presidency – in the 1990 elections if not before: “My popularity is so great now that I could even be made President by acclamation. I don’t think anyone will have the guts to stand against me”.
Undoubtedly he takes his political ambitions seriously. Why else would he have suffered so terribly for his belief? In ’77, during the reign of Obasanjo, Fela’s self-proclaimed independent state of Kalakuta was invaded by the military. Along with many of his followers he was brutally assaulted and gaoled; the Kuti women were raped (some with bottles and bayonets); his home was burnt down; and his 77-year-old mother died from her injuries. In ’81 he was detained again, charged with armed robbery and, he claims, the authorities tried to kill him.
And yet, while some take his Presidential candidature seriously and even fear his election, others regard his political dream as laughable. He’s been compared to Screaming Lord Sutch of the Monster Raving Loony Party or the late French comedian Coluche. John Howe of West Africa magazine wrote that Fela “wants to purify Nigerian society, not from the paternal posture of a real politician, but like a cheeky small boy jeering at the open fly of the passing banker”.
His elder brother Olikoye is a minister in the current government – “you can not make a wrong system work,” Fela argues, “he’s trying his best but they’re using him to give them credibility” – so he clearly has the contacts. And, in the face of the unpopular military, Fela’s vision of democracy combined with his rebel superstar status surely has all the romantic ingredients for mass appeal.
But what exactly would he do for Nigeria? “I want to go everywhere and play my music. I want to make people happy. Imagine the President playing music to announce budgets and policies. I want to preach spiritual and political changes, that Pan-Africanism is the stepping-stone to human internationalism. That all human beings are one race; black, white, any coloured shit, it’s just a superficial cover of the inside of human life. Africa will teach that racism is negative, an institutional problem.
“I think artists will remove this negative stereotyped trend in peoples’ thoughts. Artists must be the future leaders of men: they will aim for more freedom of thought, more wanting to meet people, more participation in what will bring happiness. People will tend to remove themselves from what causes violence; the Reagan/Thatcher type leaders cannot do this. Their mind is too institutionally stereotyped.”
Radical idealism, you can’t beat it; fighting talk for cultural freedom, spiritual enlightenment, peace. But what’s this? He says that when he becomes President he will “create a law to make all citizens members of the police and military forces so as to legally annihilate violence”.
Sounds ominous; shades of Robespierre. And what’s to stop the Babangida military government from gaoling Fela tomorrow?
“The people! My popularity has gone beyond that now. My last experience has really broken the camel’s back as far as the people are concerned. You can’t keep harassing one man in Africa like that for a long time, people will go against the government. It was getting too much for them even before I went to prison, too attritious. But I’m not putting my guards down, I expect anything at any time.”
PROMISED LAND
EIGHTEEN MONTHS off the job may not have affected Fela Kuti physically, but he’s been altered spiritually by the experience and his music is now more “truthful” as a result. Before prison he was influenced by the teachings of Professor Hindi; often described, in derogatory fashion, as a “witchdoctor”, Hindi was last seen on these shores slitting throats, burying the victims and bringing them back to life days later. Now Fela’s developed his own brand of spiritualism, utilising his experiences in ’60s America with the Black Panther movement, and uniting traditional Yoruba mysticism with the ideals of leaders like Martin Luther King and Malcolm X.
But, I remind him, these spiritual heroes were assassinated, doesn’t he fear a similar fate?
“Nothing happens in this world that is not supposed to be. I know who Martin Luther King is, I know who Malcolm X is. I don’t want to say was because they still exist. They were special entities, not just politicians, who came to do their bit and die. They were supposed to die and they did. I have found that in my life it’s almost impossible for man to kill me. They’ve tried, I have physically experienced death and went through it and came back.
“When about 15-policemen turn their gun butts and hit you on the head and you don’t have a single scratch on your head and you don’t die, that is power. There is a spiritual life, a life that people don’t see, that people cannot explain. This life is there and you cannot kill anybody whose destiny is not to die. They try to form scientific philosophies on what this life is about but really the truth lies in the spiritual knowledge of the human race.”
The implication of Fela’s argument is that Europe is spiritually bankrupt. The colonial governments raped Africa and tried to impose institutionalised morality and religion on her peoples. But now, according to Fela, the boot’s on the other foot.
“I see Africa as the teacher of this new philosophy. I call it truth. The knowledge is not in Europe, it is in Africa, the formula of the spirit world is known in Africa. The secret is there. This information was placed in Africa at the beginning of civilization, in Egypt. Africa was supposed to pass this information to the Europeans and the Europeans were supposed to learn from this. But the powerful entities in European society did not want to wait for this systematic change and instead they came to Africa and took the powers, not wanting to learn how this power was developed. Because of this science was born. They disrupted the systematic plan for the universe, that was made for human beings to progress, so now the knowledge has gone back to Africa, to start to teach again.”
Well, I can swallow this. I’ve been spoon-fed centuries of institutionalised, proudly-revised English history. I usually welcome alternative interpretations. But what’s this…
“There was a witchpot,” Fela continues, “a witch-craft pot. Civilisation was placed in Egypt, all races were there to learn civilisation. But because of evil the maker dispersed all human beings away from Egypt. He gave the power pot to the Yorubas but instead of it remaining there, in 1470 Queen Elizabeth came to steal the pot. Mungo Park came with the story of exploration and brought the witchpot directly to Buckingham Palace. The pot gave the power of technology to Europe but technology was the wrong step to take at that time. And that’s why the whole thing has to go back again to Africa. Queen Elizabeth at that time was an entity, she knew about the pot, she had powers and that’s how she changed the whole plan.”
Mm, it’s an interesting theory.
“Okay people may call it theory, people always call things theories but I’m giving you fact whether people like to know it or not. When you give spiritual information it sounds like theory. Science uses words like theory to debase spiritual happenings. Science to me is doing a lot of harm to people by not allowing them to see the spiritual importance of their lives.”
HAIR OF THE GOD
IN STUDIO Davout near Montreuil, in the middle of the night, Fela pushes the 22-piece Egypt 80 through ‘O.A.U.’ in one take; threatening to sack the next “motherfucker” who falters; laying down his own sax solo sublimely, almost lazily. Then it’s his vocals: an attack on the red-taped incompetence of the Organisation for African Unity, answered by his queens with chants of “O.A.Eunuchs”, “O.A.Useless”.
In his blue-embroidered pink suit, he’s a benevolent dictator, hard but fair, a Brian Clough of a bandleader. Although Wally Badrou’s co-producing Just Like That, Fela’s in charge. He’s still bitter about ‘Army Arrangement’– an album released while he was in prison – being given the dance floor treatment by Bill Laswell, with Bernie Worrell on keyboards and Sly Dunbar on drums. “There was no permission, no asking. He didn’t see the beauty of what I’d done.”
Nevertheless he admits that, as the military’s aim in imprisoning him was to stop his music, the album’s release – with Egypt 80 led by Fela’s son Femi and held together by Fela’s younger brother Beko – was a triumph and drew attention to the injustice of his imprisonment.
And despite the polishing Laswell gave ‘Army Arrangement’ it marked a return to form, featuring the excellent title track and also ‘Cross Examination’, his strongest song since ‘Colonial Mentality’. It may lack the raw, energetic, freshly recorded quality of his past, but ‘Army’ still ranks alongside his best, his most politically outspoken work: ‘Why Black Men They Suffer’ (’71), ‘No Bread’ (’76), ‘Sorrow Tears And Blood’ (’78), ‘Vagabonds In Power’ and ‘International Thief Third’ (both ’79) and ‘Original Sufferhead’ (’81). Before he called his music Afrobeat; now it’s classical African.
"I want to play music that is meaningful, that stands the test of time,” he says with uncharacteristic modesty. “It’s no longer commercial; it’s deep African music, serious music, so I no longer want to give it that cheap name.”
The truths he sings about, the political and spiritual statements he’s making, are often hidden in analogies.
“The tune I’m thinking of now is about African women who palm oil their hair. It’s becoming so disgraceful that every African woman’s hair is shining like white man’s hair. It’s a chemical from America, big business. I will ask these women one question. Why the hair on the head is shining, but not the hair down there? What happens to the hair at the cunt? I want to discourage women from doing this thing because it destroys their hair. African women have not learnt that having hard hair is a gift, that every time you comb your hair, it creates much electricity, so you can communicate much more with the spirit world. That is the only reason your hair is hard. This chemical makes their hair soft and it destroys it. It’s unnatural. In the same way that woman is treating her hair to make it look artificially nice, how many of our bureaucratic leaders are looking artificially nice?”
THEY’RE EVERYWHERE. Hanging around the studio, sleeping in the hallway, cluttering the room. It’s like a medieval court; Fela’s subjects, his women, some of his 27 queens, mistresses, lovers. Of course, in the West he’s taken some stick over the years for his “traditional” views of women.
Let’s recall that he wrote ‘Lady’ (’72) and ‘Mattress‘ (’75) attacking women’s liberation, ridiculing demands for equality and, in the case of the latter, depicting women as mere procreation machines, vessels for man’s desire. But, since his release from Kirikiri prison, Fela’s technically divorced his 27 wives. Hasn’t he?
“I’ve not divorced them. I don’t believe in marriage so divorce does not arise. Marriage does not belong to my own environment, it’s evil, and it doesn’t go along with freedom. If I’m singing to marry then I’m telling a woman that she belongs to me, that her cunt belongs to me. But how can her cunt belong to me, it’s not possible to institutionalize her cunt? She moves about with it, she can travel to America with it. If they put you in prison you cannot take her cunt with you to prison.”
But what of his attitude towards women? Has that changed? Cynics will say that Fela Kuti, while giving his wives freedom, has really just reduced his possessions and is back playing the field. Does he regret the sentiments of ‘Lady’ and ‘Mattress’?
“You see, what I said in ‘Mattress’ then, I did not know I was going to arrive at this conclusion of marriage today. It was a different period of my life and I did not know how to say it. Man must not take woman matters seriously, he must not put woman matters in his head. If you do you will get sick. I’ve seen myself having pain in my stomach, shitting, going through this syndrome people call jealousy. I’ve seen myself sick to the bones. That cannot be a good thing. So you must see woman as something you sleep with, not something that you let go to your head. Woman are mattress, but you must be nice to them, and make them happy. That is what they are and that is what life is about. Use your money to make women happy, make them dress well, make them fine.”
It’s pathetic coming from the son of Funmilayo Ransome Kuti, a pioneer of women’s rights, who met Mao and Nkrumah (Fela’s Pan-African hero), and set up the powerful Nigerian Women’s Union in the 1940s. He says she makes him see what life is all about, that he communicates with her spirit, and he sees no contradiction. But Fela no longer gets angry when judged by ‘Western standards’: “Before it annoyed me, before I went to prison, but now I find that to be annoyed is something negative. Happiness is the most important thing.”
Just as well. Maybe I envy Fela’s ease with women, but I don’t see woman as merely “something you sleep with”. Okay, so it’s a different world, a different culture, but if we resent the hot-crotched metal muthas and macho rappers for their negative views of women then surely we must resent Fela too. Cultural, social and economic excuses could no doubt be made for every category.
But what of Fela’s wives? Back in ’82, his wives expressed their contentment with life in the Kuti camp. They remain hooked on charisma, they want to be close to him. Let’s not forget that they’re mainly Nigerian women raised in the Yoruban climate of polygamy, and naturally there was a reluctance on their part to express any discontent with their lot.
The one exception is Kevwe – a Kuti queen for 20 years, who suffered terribly in the attack on Kalakuta and remains emotionally scarred by the experience. She feels rejected and is thinking of leaving Fela’s court. “Do you think he’s normal?” she later asked me. “Because I have no babies he doesn’t want me anymore.”
But back to Fela and the value of woman.
“Sex is life,” says Fela, profoundly. “That’s why I don’t understand those spiritualists, those monks who say they don’t fuck women. Women are the source of power in the kind of spiritualism I understand. You cannot have power without women’s participation. Sex is the main source of power. When people say that sex makes you weak, sex makes you older, that’s bullshit. Much more sex, much more energy, much more everything.”
Nice work if you can get it, and keep it up. Trouble is, particularly in the West, promiscuity is regarded as evil, and sexual power is seen as dangerous to the establishment.
“People who start all these moralistic trends and shit they could be impotent!” Fela laughs. “For me, I see with my eyes, I walk with my legs, I work with my hands, my stomach takes my food, and I need my prick. It’s just as important as any other part of my body. For me, sex is everything clean.”
Yeah, but what about sexually transmitted diseases? How does AIDS fit into your spiritual scheme of things?
“It gets to the point now where they say that there’s AIDS all over the world, so because there’s AIDS I must not fuck? Okay, very soon people will not fuck. But I will fuck because I do not believe that I use my sex wrongfully, so I do not think I will be the victim of sexual disease.
“Sex disease is a spiritually influenced happening. When you die, everything that you do in this world, you are going to get your judgement for every evil. So when you are reincarnated and you have been using sex for evil purposes you’ll be reincarnated as a homosexual.”
Eh up, we’re back at the witchpot.
“That pot breeds societies, it breeds behaviour in societies, secret societies, cults. The pot breeds the misuse of sex in the spirit world, so the punishment for stealing the pot, is centuries of homosexuality in Europe.”
But not in Africa?
“Oh no, we don’t have homosexuals, at least in Nigeria it’s possibly only one per cent” (if true, one per cent of the current Nigerian population is approximately 767,000).
We’ve reached stalemate here. On women and homosexuality we’re worlds apart. But the light is failing, the night’s approaching, and it’s time for Fela to get some ‘rest’. He dismisses his entourage: only the chosen one remains. And me. “Make yourself comfortable,” he says kindly, taking her into the bedroom off the lounge in his suite.
So I’m sitting there, listening to the telly, French telly, to drown the cries of passion. Fela’s back on the job, and I feel a right gooseberry.
MORRISSEY FOR POPE
YOU MADE me judge him; I didn’t want to do it. No, I didn’t want to do it. He was kind to me; offered me his food, his grass, his hospitality in Nigeria. I could have chucked all this in, woken up in Lagos with a shaker and several wives. I was forced into making these value judgements about him, and I’ve no grounds to believe I’m right. Perhaps I haven’t seen further than my colonial nose and, as a result, trivialized his religion, trivialized his personal beliefs. He let me get close to him, one of my musical heroes, and I can’t be sure that I haven’t betrayed his confidence. I totally disagree with his views on women and homosexuals, but I guess that doesn’t mean I’m right and he’s wrong.
Where will his political philosophy take him next? I totally respect his courage, his commitment in the face of adversity…so who knows what the future will bring for Fela Anikulapo Kuti? With a geriatric cracked actor leading the “Free World”, surely you’re not going to tell me that the man with the two-tone underpants and the red-and-gold horn can’t be President of Nigeria?
Originally published @
sabotagetimes.com, written by Len Brown
Friday, May 23, 2014
... flashed by Blitz the Ambassador's new album
It’s not fair that other rappers have to survive in a world with Blitz The Ambassador. I don’t think I’ve heard a hip/hop artist more respectable than Blitz. His vocals are magic, whether it’s his smooth operator flow, his pleasant timbre, or more than everything, his lyrics. A mindful, courageous artist that uses a live band instead of overly-computerized beats or samples- Blitz embarks on his next quest with Afropolitan Dreams. The album is somewhat conceptual, as all his records have been. Here he captures life on the road, especially an international one, a musician traveling from his home country to his second home in New York City, and then everywhere in between. The album is funky, heady, and astute- a must have.
“The Arrival” is a great choice to start off the record. The intro has sounds of the NYC subway system, strings, booming bass, and plunking keys, setting a dark tone. Then Blitz comes in over the splintering horns with “It’s never as easy as it seems/ living Afropolitan dreams.” When the whole band comes in it’s pure fire, with Blitz offering his first thoughts on current music: “Kids in Africa/ forgetting Little Wayne/ can never feel their pain.” Later he has one of the album’s best lines: “They say you can force a horse to water/ but you can’t force it to drink/ Well, you can force knowledge on people/ but you can’t force them to think.”
Blitz rushes the stage again with “Dollar and a Dream”, a funkier track with the guitars soaring in and out. The song’s about becoming a rapper in the big city, “Just a kid from Africa/ here to tell my story.” Later he raps about going everywhere with his CDs in his backpack, trying to sling a few before Rolling Stone gave him “four stars outta five.”
“Call Waiting” is a sad track where Blitz first calls his son from the road. “You been practicin’ on your drumset?/ You broke your sticks?/ Don’t be upset.” In the second verse he speaks with his mom, where he’s a little more vulnerable than when he stays positive for his son. “Of course I’m taking time out to eat/ I get a little sleep.”
Throughout all of this, the band matches West African rhythms and vibes with New York funk and zinging hip-hop, like The Roots with more worldliness. Hand percussion, horns, and tight drum n’ bass support Blitz incredibly well, and because it’s all live, the album has a cohesive sound. Blitz is either rapping in his mid-tempo swagger or triple-timing it to live up to his namesake.
“Some things change/ and some might not,” Blitz swears on “Make You No Forget”, and he may be speaking to his own sound, with the same energy that made Native Son unforgettable, but each of his albums has taken on particular qualities that make them stand alone.
This album bridges West African rock, funk, soul, and hip/hop, and therefore is deliciously digestible. If Blitz is the bow and his raps the arrow, and your eardrums are the targets, then Afropolitan Dreams is the bullseye.
angelica-music.com
Samuel Bazawule was born and raised in Accra, Ghana. In his youth he was introduced to the Highlife and Afrobeat sounds popularized in West Africa, but it wasn’t until his older brother played It Takes a Nation of Millions To Hold Us Back by Public Enemy that his musical passion was ignited. Bazawule became enamored with Western hip-hop lyricists of the late-’80s and ’90s (Rakim, KRS-One, Q-Tip, Posdnuos etc.) and their ability to use music as an outlet for socio-political commentary. He hadn’t heard young black people express themselves in this way before, and he was hooked.
Currently, Bazawule is a resident of New York City and is better known by his stage name Blitz the Ambassador. His third studio album, Afropolitan Dreams, is his most focused release to date. Featuring a balance of West African instrumentation and rhythms with a firm rooting in Westernized hip-hop, Blitz is making a name for himself in an era of hip-hop music that chides “consciousness” in lyricism (or at least seldom attributes praise to artists who do incorporate it).
Hip-hop has a habit of creating archetypes and finding new artists to continually fill these designated spaces. Kendrick Lamar follows in the footsteps of Ice Cube, Danny Brown follows in the footsteps of Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Tyler The Creator follows in the footsteps of the RZA, etc. (and this isn’t unique to hip-hop; who is Springsteen without Dylan, who is Dylan without Guthrie?). But where is the archetype of the international rapper? In fact, there really is no prominent archetype for the international rapper in Western hip-hop. Multi-platinum phenomenon Drake calls Canada his home, but you won’t soon hear him dropping bars over an Yves Lambert piece.
The way that Blitz the Ambassador tackles this lack of precedence is what truly makes him an astonishing artist, a true ground breaker. He forms his own lane by embracing his Western hip-hop and Ghanian duality. By enlisting talents like Nneka, Angelique Kidjo and Seun Kuti, Afrocentrism reigns supreme on Afropolitan Dreams. He laments on the track “Dollar and a Dream” that world music critics would chastise his earlier music for not being African enough – this album should quiet those detractors. He is joined on every track by his seven-piece band, Embassy Ensemble, who not only demonstrate a mastery of Afrobeat that would make Tony Allen proud, but they are also capable of bursting into hip-hop staples. The interlude “Traffic Jam,” for example, sports the infectious bassline from Bob James’ “Nautilus,” which has been sampled innumerate times, most notably in the song “Daytona 500” from Ghostface Killah’s Ironman album. “Internationally Known,” a fast-paced head-nodder of a track, features fun vocal sampling from Rob Base’s hit “It Take’s Two,” and features some of the braggadocio hip-hop is known for. All the while he uses this unique soundscape to spout his views on a variety of subjects, including the growth of Africa as a collective world power, the nature of communicating with family overseas, and the state of his home country of Ghana.
So-called “fusion” artists, especially those that are hip-hop related, often bounce between two styles and seldom find themselves much at ease. Blitz is fully at home in his style, and his music is a perfect bridge between cultures. He straddles the line between world music and hip-hop without letting it fog his mission as an emcee with something to say. He’s an original character in both realms and Afropolitan Dreams shows Blitz the Ambassador reaching a satisfying maturity.
singout.org
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With the release of his third studio album, Afropolitan Dreams, Blitz the Ambassador formally launches brand ‘Afropolitan’ in a symbolic way. Like any great trademark, brand Afropolitan is built to embody identity, untold immigrant narratives, catalogues of global artistic, social and political experiences, ranges of emotions, new paradigms in the way of Africanism. Brand Afropolitan is multinational. Sophisticated. Pluralistic. Urban. Village. Nomadic. Voyage. Challenge. Risk. Sacrifice. Disappointment. Realization. Triumph. The future.
The twelve tracks of Afropolitan Dreams set the stage for a physical journey that is taken through each narrated story on the album. By now, it’s clear that Blitz is following the tradition of the griot, making honorable his responsibility of being a historian, storyteller, singer, poet and musician. He successfully delivers a record that listeners can play from beginning to end, if not on repeat, fully engrossed in the overarching story being told. More than an auditory experience, Blitz makes you grab your passport and come along on a world tour with him from New York City to the other side of the globe. From the first track you’re riding on subway trains and hopping on and off of jets, getting glimpses of heartfelt phone calls to family members inside of departure and arrival airport terminals. You relate to voicemails about bounced rent checks and calls from collection agencies. You get to be a fly on the wall of a whirlwind, multi-city, multi-country romance. He lets you understand the struggle and sacrifice that comes along with following a dream being fulfilled on the grand stage of life, and the satisfaction that comes with having the audacity to go for the success.
You might be jetlagged by the last track, but the hour long journey of listening will have been worth it. Featured co-navigators rounding out this tour of Afropolitan Dreams include award winning artists representing Benin, Nigeria, Germany, Kenya, Mali, Morocco, Brazil, the US and of course, Ghana. But, make no mistake about it, this is really a gold standard hip hop album. In between poignant narratives and cultural soundscapes are party anthems laced with proof of Blitz’s sharpened lyrical capacity. You’re going to lean back and bob your head to classic funk samples and familiar West African drum rhythms because you won’t be able to help it. And by the last track you will embrace the universalness of Afropolitan Dreams and the conviction with which it encourages the telling of Blitz the Ambassador’s story in relation to and along with your own.
pop-mag.com
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What makes the human condition so awesome is the individuality of expression of emotions. In this case, frustration is one that comes to mind. Different things frustrate us but there’s often a common thread that links back to common problems a lot of us face. If we’re lucky, this boils into something productive like personal success or something enjoyable like art. Take Yeezus, an album that brought Kanye West’s frustration to life. What made that album such an emotional marvel is that a lot of what he said was and wasn’t relatable, but he’s masterful in conveying those emotions sonically. It’s the type of emotional urgency you see come out when he talks more than his demanor rapping. Accra-born, New York-based rapper and visual artist Blitz the Ambassador comes off frustrated for the trials an tribulations of being a Ghanian-American artist. What makes Afropolitan Dreams succeed, however, is that it’s less about telling its unique selling proposition and more about showing it.
Whether he’s rubbing elbows with international stars, singing, spitting out machine like flows talking about bringing younger relatives to Africa or his rent check is bouncing Blitz lives with conviction through this music. This is an album that’s just as informed by Expensive Shit as it was by It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back and those influences meet at such a masterful intersection that Blitz postulates something to the effect that this is enough to incense or disinterest hip-hop heads and world music fans alike. But the Afrobeat production, African drumming patterns, scratching and hip-hop drums are all killer here, complementing what the mouthful that Blitz has to say.
Furthermore, he finds a great supporting cast here. International all-stars like Seun Kuti and Angelique Kidjo glisten on this album, making the songs more hard hitting, but also more fun to listen to at times. And with more features piled toward the back of this album, this album feels like Blitz taking steps back from his journey, retracing the sounds of New York all the way back to the music of Africa. However, the entire album feels natural and lived in. Even the bits of funk and soul that are peppered in Afropolitan‘s hip-hop-to-Afrobeat transition. This is a very in touch album and the best album dealing in black political rage since R.A.P. Music and the best album about life as an immigrant since Gogol Bordello stumbled into accidental fame in the mid-aughts. Afropolitan Dreams is of hip-hop classic quality.
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