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Their Greatest Hits gathers the most iconic recordings by Orchestra Super Mazembe, one of the defining groups of East African music. Originally released in the mid-1980s, this collection captures the band at the height of their popularity, blending Congolese rumba influences with Swahili lyricism and irresistibly infectious grooves.
Tracks such as Kasongo, Shauri Yako, and Salima showcase Super Mazembe’s signature sound—dance-driven, melodic, and deeply rooted in regional traditions while remaining universally accessible. Reissued by Survival Research, this LP stands as both a celebration of the band’s legacy and an ideal entry point for new listeners discovering African classics.
"Indépendance Cha Cha” was an historic song, not only because it immortalized Congo’s independence in its lyrics, but also because it was the first single published by a Congolese-owned record label. Joseph Kabasele’s label Surboum African Jazz indeed paved the way for several Congolese musicians to become record publishers. It resulted in the 1960s in a plethora of newly found Kinshasa-based record labels, run by the biggest musicians of the time.
With this new series “Les éditeurs congolais”, Planet Ilunga aims to honour and highlight the phonographic and entrepreneurial work of those first Congolese record label bosses. We kick off with a compilation of one of the most significant labels, Les Editions Populaires. This label, founded by Franco Luambo Makiadi in 1968 after he first co-founded with Vicky Longomba the labels Epanza Makita (+/- 117 singles) and Boma Bango (+/- 50 singles) and after starting his first short-lived label Likembe (+/- 5 singles), ran until 1982 and was mostly dedicated to the output of OK Jazz (later TPOK Jazz).
This compilation brings together an original selection of 16 tracks from the first three years of Les Editions Populaires. They are a showcase of the sound Franco had envisioned for his band. The focus was less on cha-cha-cha and Spanish lyrics, but on lingering rumba and bolero ballads in Lingala, tradition-rooted songs in Kikongo, Kimongo and even Yoruba, collaborations with Ngoma artists Camille Feruzi and Manuel d’Oliveira and not to forget solid pastiches of American funk, which were showing that the OK Jazz musicians had an open-minded view on music and were capable of excelling in many genres. Mama Na Ngai indeed!
The evolution of Congolese popular music in the 1960s and 70s is generally classified into two major schools: African Jazz & OK Jazz. The main representatives of those schools are Joseph Kabasele alias Grand Kallé, founder of African Jazz, and Franco Luambo, co-founder of O.K. Jazz. Two temperaments and ambiances, one commonly referred to as ‘fiesta’, the other as ‘odemba’, both seeking their own sublimity or ideal.
For the very first time, a compilation brings together explicitly the main protagonists of the two bands on the same album, with a collection of their songs recorded in the early sixties for the Surboum African Jazz label, in addition to three tracks made by Kallé’s bands in the late sixties.
The heirs of Joseph Kabasele and Franco Luambo kindly gave permission in Kinshasa to release this original selection on Planet Ilunga about these virtuosi of Congolese Rumba on Planet Ilunga.
Planet Ilunga continues its mission to uncover and highlight the overlooked yet epic achievements in the world of Congolese rumba. This time to tell the most spectacular story of all. This is the story of the creation of Surboum African Jazz, the first Congolese music label founded by a Congolese.
Surboum African Jazz was owned and managed by the best singer of all time, Joseph Kabasele, alias Grand Kallé. The label's catalog during the period 1960–63 is largely dominated by Grand Kallé’s band African Jazz in its various formations. The band, which could rely in 1961 and 1962 on a real dream team of musicians (Docteur Nico, Dechaud, Rochereau, Manu Dibango, Roger Izeidi and Mujos among others), released in this period at least 212 songs. The second largest source of music for the label is Franco’s band O.K. Jazz with at least 136 released songs. Next, with at least 34 released songs comes Manu Dibango with his different formations. These were the first ever published songs of the late Manu Dibango. For this compilation we chose an original selection of songs recorded by African Jazz in 1961 and 1962. We also included a few songs of Dibango’s bands in the final selection, in order to showcase the diversity and universal philosophy of Grand Kallé’s label.
This adventurous music which was recorded in Brussels (Belgium) in the months and years after Congo’s independence is nothing less than post-colonial glory wrapped around popular music. It’s a collection of proud name-dropping songs, political and patriotic lyrics, euphoric declarations of love and explorations towards new and universal impulses and styles. The releases on Surboum African Jazz are for many Congolese the icing on the cake in the iconic history of Congolese rumba. They are a time capsule of the longing of Congolese society to be absorbed in the momentum of the nations. At the same time they are a testimonial of the musical excellence of the African Jazz musicians.
The vinyl edition of this first ever double LP anthology of Surboum African Jazz comes with a large, thoroughly researched and well-illustrated 32-page booklet telling the whole story of this label. Included in the book, among other content, is a text by Alan Brain (director of The Rumba Kings) with never before published information and photos about the epic Table Ronde tour of African Jazz in Belgium, France and The Netherlands in the winter and spring of 1960. This text is the fruit of a research Alan initiated, and then further developed in collaboration with the Congolese author and scholar Manda Tchebwa. Furthermore, you can find in the book a detailed documentation of the recording tours in Brussels in 1961 and 1962, besides a discography of the Surboum African Jazz label and many testimonials of the Congolese community about the first Congolese music label founded by a Congolese.
Tsapiky music from Southwest Madagascar features wild ecstatic vocals, distorted electric guitars, rocket bass, and the amphetamine beat! Unlike anything else, this is THE high life music you've always wanted - ceremonial music played with abandon and extreme intent, honoring the living and dead alike. In Toliara and its surrounding region, funerals, weddings, circumcisions and other rites of passage have been celebrated for decades in ceremonies called mandriampototse. During these celebrations – which last between three and seven days – cigarettes, beer and toaky gasy (artisanal rum) are passed around while electric orchestras play on the same dirt floor as the dancing crowds and zebus. The music, tsapiky, defies any classification. This compilation showcases the diversity of contemporary tsapiky music. Locally and even nationally renowned bands played their own songs on makeshift instruments, blaring through patched-up amps and horn speakers hung in tamarind trees, projecting the music kilometers away. Lead guitarists and female lead singers are the central figures of tsapiky. Driven as much by their creative impulses as by the need to stand out in a competitive market, the artists distinguish themselves stylistically through their lyrics, rhythms or guitar riffs. They must also master a wide repertoire of current tsapiky hits, which the families that attend inevitably request before parading in front of the orchestra with their offerings. This work, a constant push and pull between distinction and imitation, is nourished by fertile exchanges between various groups: acoustic and electric, rural and urban, coastal or inland. What results during these ceremonies is a music of astonishing intensity and creativity, played by artists carving out their own path, indifferent to the standards of any other music industry: Malagasy, African or global.
Tsapiky music from Southwest Madagascar features wild ecstatic vocals, distorted electric guitars, rocket bass, and the amphetamine beat! Unlike anything else, this is THE high life music you've always wanted - ceremonial music played with abandon and extreme intent, honoring the living and dead alike. In Toliara and its surrounding region, funerals, weddings, circumcisions and other rites of passage have been celebrated for decades in ceremonies called mandriampototse. During these celebrations – which last between three and seven days – cigarettes, beer and toaky gasy (artisanal rum) are passed around while electric orchestras play on the same dirt floor as the dancing crowds and zebus. The music, tsapiky, defies any classification. This compilation showcases the diversity of contemporary tsapiky music. Locally and even nationally renowned bands played their own songs on makeshift instruments, blaring through patched-up amps and horn speakers hung in tamarind trees, projecting the music kilometers away. Lead guitarists and female lead singers are the central figures of tsapiky. Driven as much by their creative impulses as by the need to stand out in a competitive market, the artists distinguish themselves stylistically through their lyrics, rhythms or guitar riffs. They must also master a wide repertoire of current tsapiky hits, which the families that attend inevitably request before parading in front of the orchestra with their offerings. This work, a constant push and pull between distinction and imitation, is nourished by fertile exchanges between various groups: acoustic and electric, rural and urban, coastal or inland. What results during these ceremonies is a music of astonishing intensity and creativity, played by artists carving out their own path, indifferent to the standards of any other music industry: Malagasy, African or global.
Éthiopiques is back! Armenian-born composer, arranger and instructor Nerses Nalbandian was the key pioneer of modern Ethiopian music. He laid the foundations for « Swinging Addis » and for ethio-jazz. This volume revives Nalbandian’s forgotten legacy, recorded live by the Either/Orchestra & Ethiopian Guests. “Ethiopian jazzmen are the best musicians that we have seen so far in Africa. They really are promising handlers of jazz instruments.” Wilbur De Paris (1959, after a concert in Addis Ababa) አዲስ፡ዘመን። Addis zèmèn A new era. The time is the mid-1950s and early 1960s, just before "Swinging Addis" bloomed – or rather boomed – onto the scene. Brass instruments are still dominant, but the advent of the electric guitar, and the very first electronic organs, are just around the corner. Rock’n'Roll, R’n’B, Soul and the Twist have not yet barged their way in. Addis Ababa is steeped in the big band atmosphere of the post-war era, with Glenn Miller's In the Mood as its world-wide theme song, neck and neck with the Latin craze that was in vogue at the same period. Life has become enjoyable once again, with the return of peace after the terrible Italian Fascist invasion of Ethiopia (1935-1941). The redeployment of modern music is part and parcel of the postwar reconstruction. Addis zèmèn – a new era – is the watchword of the postwar period, just as it was all across war-torn Europe. The generation who were the young parents of baby boomers were the first to enjoy this musical renaissance, before the baby boomers themselves took over and forever super-charged the soundtrack of the final days of imperial reign. Music is Ethiopia's most popular art form, and very often serves as the best barometer for the upsurge of energy that is critical for reconstruction. Whether it be jazz in Saint-Germain-des-Prés or the zazous who revolutionised both jazz and French chanson after the Libération, be it Madrid's post-Franco Movida, or Dada, the Surrealists and les années folles that followed World War I, the periods just after mourning and hardship always give rise to brighter and more tuneful tomorrows. Addis Ababa, as the country's capital, and the epicentre of change, was no exception to this vital rule. Two generations of Nalbandian musicians Nersès Nalbandian belonged to a family of Armenian exiles, who had moved to Ethiopia in the mid-1920s. The uncle Kevork arrived along with the fabled "Arba Lidjotch", the "40 Kids", young Armenian orphans and musicians that the Ras Tafari had recruited when he visited Jerusalem in 1924, intending to turn their brass band into the official imperial band. If Kevork Nalbandian was the one who first opened the way of modernism, pushing innovation so far as to invent musical theatre, it was his nephew Nersès who would go on to become, from the 1940s and until his death in 1977, a pivotal figure of modern Ethiopian music and of the heights it. Going all the way back to the 1950s. Nothing less. And it is Nersès who is largely to thank for the brassy colours that so greatly contributed to the international renown of Ethiopian groove. While the younger generations today venture timidly into the genealogy of their country's modern music, often losing their way amidst a distinctly xenophobic historiographical complacency, many survivors of the imperial period are still around to bear witness and pay tribute to the essential role that "Moussié Nersès" played in the rise of Abyssinia's musical modernity. Given the year of his birth (15 March 1915), no one knows for sure if Nersès Nalbandian was born in Aintab, today Gaziantep (Turkiye/former Ottoman Empire) or on the other side of the border in Alep, Syria... What is certain is that his family, like the entire Armenian community, was amongst the victims of the genocide perpetrated by the Turks. Alep, the place of safety – today in ruins. Before Nersès then, there was uncle Kevork (1887-1963). For a quarter of a century, he was a whirlwind of activity in music teaching and theatrical innovation. Guèbrè Mariam le Gondaré (የጎንደሬ ገብረ ማርያም አጥቶ ማግኘት, 1926 EC=1934) is his most famous creation. This play included "ten Ethiopian songs" — a totally innovative approach. According to his autobiographical notes, preserved by the Nalbandian family, Kevork indicates that he composed some 50 such pieces over the course of his career. This shows just how much he understood, very early on, the critical importance of song as Ethiopia's crowning artistic form. Indeed, for Ethiopian listeners, the most important thing is the lyrics, with all their multifarious mischief, far more than a strong melody, sophisticated arrangements or even an exceptional voice. (This is also why Ethiopians by and large, and beginning with the artists and producers themselves, believed for a long time — and wrongly — that their music could not possibly be exported, and could never win over audiences abroad, who did not speak the country's languages). Last but not least, one of Kevork's major contributions remains composing Ethiopia's first national anthem – with lyrics by Yoftahé Negussié. Nersès Nalbandian moved to Ethiopia at the end of the 1930s, at the behest of his ground-breaking uncle. Proficient in many instruments (pretty much everything but the drums), conductor, choir director, composer, arranger, adapter, creator, piano tuner, purveyor of rented pianos,... he was above all an energetic and influential teacher. From 1946 onwards, thanks to Kevork's connexion, Nersès was appointed musical director of the Addis Ababa Municipality Band. In just a few years, Nersès transformed it into the first truly modern ensemble, thanks to the quality of his teaching, his choice of repertoire, and the sophistication of his arrangements. It was this group that would go on to become the orchestra of the Haile Selassie Theatre shortly after its inauguration in 1955, which was a major celebration of the Emperor's jubilee, marking the 25th anniversary of his on-again-off-again reign. At some point or other in his long career, Nersès Nalbandian had a hand in the creation of just about every institutional band (Municipality Band, Police Orchestra, Imperial Bodyguard Band, Army Band, Yared Music School…), but it was with the Haile Selassie Theatre – today the National Theatre – that his abilities were most on display, up until his death in 1977. To this must be added the development of choral singing in Ethiopia, hitherto unknown, and a sort of secret garden dedicated to the memory of Armenian sacred music, and brought together in two thick, unpublished volumes. Shortly before his death (November 13, 1977), he was appointed to lead the impressive Ethiopian delegation at Festac in Lagos, Nigeria (January-February 1977). His status as a stateless foreigner regularly excluded him from the most senior positions, in spite of the respect he commanded (and commands to this day) from the musicians of his era. Naturally gifted and largely self-taught, Nerses was tirelessly curious about new musical developments, drawing inspiration from the very first imported records, and especially from listening intensely to the musical programmes broadcast over short-wave radio – BBC First. A prolific composer and arranger, he was constantly mindful of formalising and integrating Ethiopian parameters (specific “musical modes”, pentatonic scale, and the dominance of ternary rhythms) into his “modernisation” of the musical culture, rather than trying to over-westernise it. It even seems very probable that Moussié Nerses made a decisive contribution to the development of tighter music-teaching methods, in order to revitalise musical education during this period of prodigious cultural ferment. Flying in the face of all the historiographical and musicological evidence, it is taken as sacrosanct dogma that the four musical modes or chords officially recognised today, the qǝñǝt or qiñit (ቅኝት), are every bit as millennial as Ethiopia itself. It would appear however that some streamlining of these chords actually took place in around 1960. It was only from this time onward that music teaching was structured around these four fundamental musical modes and chords: Ambassel, Bati, Tezeta and Antchi Hoyé. A historical and musical “details” that is, apparently, difficult to swallow, especially if that should honour a foreigner. Modern Ethiopian music has Nersès to thank for many of its standards and, to this day, it is not unusual for the National Radio to broadcast thunderous oldies that bear unmistakable traces of his outrageously groovy touch. Honor and disgrace (A tale of three anthems) The life of an immigrant, not to mention a stateless person, in Ethiopia, is anything but a bed of roses. Beyond the remarkable successes, the immigrant – the fèrendj — has to contend with many humiliations, given how insular, and even passionately xenophobic, Ethiopia's national mindset is. Two-faced finesse, complication elevated to a fine art, the ambiguity of double-entendres, all sorts of petty compromises, bank-shots worthy of karambola billiards, the tyranny of appearances, elegant evasiveness, jovial jesuitry, forced modesty..., Ethiopian Byzantinism can certainly give rise to some strange tragicomedies. The Nalbandians, the uncle and the nephew, are associated with three anthems: two national and one continental – Africa Africa, the official anthem of the Organisation of African Unity. The first Ethiopian national anthem was composed by Kevork Nalbandian, at the request of the Ras Tafari as early as 1925. After the young regent had had the quality of the composition affirmed by the Royal College of Music in London, this anthem “was played for the first time at the coronation of H.M. the King Taffari, at the Sellassié Church (Church of the Trinity), on October 7, 1928”. From then on it accompanied the country's official ceremonies for half a century, until the revolution that overthrew Haile Selassie in 1974. When the revolution came, the new "Red Negus" soon ordered up a new anthem, to mark the change of era and of regime. According to the historic saxophonist and clarinettist Mèrawi Setot, sixty-some proposals were submitted as sealed bids. Fatalitas fatalitatis! It was Nersès Nalbandian, in partnership with Tsegaye Guèbrè-Medhen for the lyrics, who was selected by the jury. This met a flat refusal by the dictator Menguistu Haylè-Maryam, who was resolutely hostile to the idea of patriotic lyricism depending once again upon a foreigner and who, to make matters worse, was yet another Nalbandian… The runner-up that was finally selected proved to be literally unplayable, and its composer, who was also the director of the national school of music (the Yaréd School), had the cheek to ask Nerses Nalbandian to kindly straighten out his utterly unplayable score. Although generally not a stickler about being credited, Nerses required that this request be put in writing before he carried it out. Still more shameful, if possible, was the tragicomedy that was played out in the wings during the opening ceremony of the OAU, the Organisation of African Unity. A continental anthem had been commissioned from Nerses Nalbandian. Africa Africa. Lyrics by Ayaléw Desta. For the inaugural ceremony (May 25, 1963), the Ethiopian authorities did not feel that they could decently put a white conductor up on stage, displaying him in front of an audience of newly decolonised African dignitaries. Nerses was relegated to the wings, conducting the orchestra in profile within sight only of the visible conductor, who was surely hard put to reflect the charisma of the rightful conductor. A missed opportunity for the new Africa. How many other humiliations?... The account of Nerses's son Vartkes Nalbandian is required reading to fully measure the pain of exile in a beloved and lovingly adopted country. Highway robbery The hyperactive Nerses Nalbandian only recorded three songs on vinyl: Tebèb nèw tèqami, Adèrètch Arada and Qèlèméwa (Philips Ethiopia PH 088181 [1967] and PH 108 [1971]). This is surely a question of generation — and of temperament. The musician was already well into his fifties when the brief heyday of Ethiopian vinyl (1969-1977) got underway, entirely managed by a cohort of upstart 25-year-old boomers. The only way to listen to Nalbandian today is to rely on a few nostalgic radio programmes, or to get hold of forgotten reel-to-reel tapes and to patiently restore them. There is not even a trade in bootleg cassettes amongst Ethiopian musical history fanatics, nor are there any sound archives at the National Theatre. Unlike all the other great Ethiopian artists (who kept no documentary records of their careers), Nerses Nalbandian did leave behind extraordinary family archives, which allow us to decipher not only the whole of his personal journey, but also the triumphant march of Swinging Addis towards its peak, as immortalized in the definitive vinyls. A gold mine of first-hand information on the history of Ethiopian music. Scores, concert programmes, official and private correspondence, detailed proposals, plans and budgets, etc., along with reasoned objections, or even firm refusals... An entire book should be devoted to the life's work of this veritable founding father who championed the causes of music in Ethiopia. It must be underscored that, from 1955 until his death, Nerses Nalbandian was truly the key figure of modern Ethiopian music. Nothing less. We must see beyond the shortcuts and the glossing-over borne of a lazy journalism that insists on seeing in the Ethio-Jazz of Mulatu Astatke [Astatqé] the alpha and the omega of “Swinging Addis”. With the willing assent of its creator, this fine innovation has been turned into a hagiographic and hegemonic category intended to gather under its wing not only the disputed masterpieces of its self-proclaimed godfather, but all manner of Ethiopian pop music, from Tlahoun Gèssèssè to Mahmoud Ahmed by way of Alèmayèhu Eshèté or Gétatchèw Mèkurya... Let us remember that Mulatu only returned to Ethiopia at the very end of the 1960s, after more than ten years of studious exile, whereas the so-called "Swinging Addis" had actually begun in around 1960 – or even in 1955. Mulatu was 17 years old in 1960! – a student in the United Kingdom and then in the USA between 1958 and 1969… This is not to deny his role, but simply to assign him a place that is more consistent with historical reality, amidst of genuine innovation, alleged plagiarism, and oversized influence, which still casts a long shadow today. The media's appetite for forgotten old talents, saved by the bell, tends too often to discount the most stubborn of facts. Dear music lovers, let's make one last try to take a fair view of the history of modern Ethiopian music, and of the ways it has been unfairly mislabelled! Even today, it still seems just as unthinkable, in this extravagantly chauvinistic country, to simply recognise in Nerses Nalbandian the essential father figure of modern Ethiopian music. Of course there was no shortage of illustrious arrangers for the institutional bands of the 1960s (such as Haylou Wolde-Mariam, Girma Hadgu, Sahle Degago or Lemma Demissew…). But none of them, much youngers, possessed Nerses's velvet-gloved charisma, his demanding and impeccable standards, his integrity as an Ethiopianised fèrendj, his ferocious appetite for hard work, or his strictly musical authority, free from the treacherous hierarchies of the institutional bands (Imperial Bodyguard, Police, Army). For this chronic workaholic, music teaching, content programming, rigorous studies, and the creation of a modern Conservatory, were all links in the same chain of duties that were essential to the development of music in Ethiopia. It must be strongly underscored that the great historical pioneer of this music is an Armenien emigrant, deeply Ethiopianised, Nerses Nalbandian, Nalbandian the Ethiopian. Russ Gershon and Either/Orchestra And then came Russ Gershon. With his Either/Orchestra. A musician like Russ Gershon (born in 1959), saxophonist, composer, arranger, band leader, producer in charge of the Accurate Records label, who has played with Cab Calloway, the Four Tops, Morphine, John Medeski, Matt Wilson, Josh Roseman, Miguel Zenon, Bobby Ward and Willie “Loco” Alexander (to name only a few) can't help but make a strong impression. Especially when one learns that he wrote a Harvard University thesis on Manet's Le déjeuner sur l’herbe, produced free-flowing radiophonic orgies (52 hours of Ornette Coleman, Charlie Mingus, etc.), and counts Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Sun Ra and Gil Evans among his favorite musicians. The first fèrendj maestro (after Charles Sutton of Orchestra Ethiopia) to fall under the spell of Abyssinian chords, Russ Gershon has been conducting his own big band since 1985. Captivated in 1994 by the nascent Ethiopian groove that was emerging in the West, he has been engaged ever since in exploring and deepening this discovery, which paired so naturally with his encyclopedic jazzicism, thus opening the way for a surprising number of groups with undeniably Ethio-friendly inclinations, on every continent. Two concert tours in Ethiopia (2004 and 2011) and a few albums later, these Nalbandian recordings are at long last being released. éthiopiques 20 (Either/Orchestra & Guests - Live in Addis, 2005) already spoke volumes about E/O. What better now than to turn straight to Russ Gershon's own impressions and analysis (p. xx + pdf complet sur le CD). No one has acquired a deeper musical and historical grasp of Nerses Nalbandian's innumerable musical scores, nor developed an ongoing relationship with the Nalbandian family, which possesses a veritable treasure of information. The Bostonian's curiosity, precision and scrupulous commentary constitute an indispensable exploration of the musical genesis of "Swinging Addis". This recording represents the vital modernist link that was heretofore missing in these éthiopiques. Francis Falceto English translation by Karen Lou Albrecht
For years, Takuro Okada has carried a quiet question: how can a Japanese musician honor the music of African Americans without simply borrowing it? That search shapes his new album Konoma, a work guided by the idea of “Afro Mingei.” The Tokyo guitarist, producer, and bandleader has lived inside this tension since childhood, drawn to blues, jazz, and funk records that nourished him, yet hesitant in the face of the histories they hold. The concept of Afro Mingei, which Okada first encountered in an exhibition by artist Theaster Gates, gave him a way forward. Gates connected Black aesthetics with Japanese folk craft, both rooted in resistance — “Black is Beautiful” defying racism, the Mingei movement preserving everyday beauty against industrial erasure. That kinship became the compass for Konoma, a record attuned to echoes across cultures and time.
Konoma holds six originals and two covers, all shaped by this dialogue. The elegantly unhurried “Portrait of Yanagi” drifts like a standard half-remembered from another era, while the brief but potent “Galaxy” gestures toward Sun Ra’s late 1970s electric organ experiments, the fractured propulsion of Flying Lotus’s early beat tapes, and the shadowy atmospheres of trip-hop. Okada’s choice of covers sharpens the conversation: Jan Garbarek’s “Nefertite” shimmers with the cool austerity of 1970s ECM, reframing Europe’s own search for identity inside jazz, while Hiromasa Suzuki’s “Love” channels the electric vibrancy of 1970s Japanese fusion, when musicians fused psychedelia, funk, and folk into a distinctly local dialect. Together, they anchor Konoma in a lineage of artists who bent borrowed forms toward something new.
Okada’s life has been shaped by such crossings. He grew up in Fussa, where the Yokota U.S. Air Force base loomed large, learning guitar in rowdy clubs for American servicemen while teaching himself recording at home. That hybrid education led to collaborations with Haruomi Hosono, Nels Cline, Sam Gendel, James Blackshaw, and Carlos Niño, and to a body of work spanning film soundtracks, collaborative projects, and exploratory solo albums. Earlier this year, Temporal Drift released The Near End, The Dark Night, The County Line, which features selections from Okada’s expansive archive of recorded material, cementing his reputation as one of Japan’s most adventurous contemporary musicians. With Konoma, co-released by ISC Hi-Fi Selects and Temporal Drift, Okada delivers his most personal and expansive statement yet: a meditation on connection, influence, and the beauty that survives across cultures.
- Words by Randall Roberts
Recorded in 1966, Os Afro-Sambas is a groundbreaking album that fuses traditional samba with Afro-Brazilian spiritual rhythms from candomblé and umbanda. The collaboration between virtuoso guitarist Baden Powell and poet Vinícius de Moraes creates a deeply evocative soundscape, blending haunting melodies, rich harmonies, and intricate arrangements. Featuring the vocal harmonies of Quarteto em Cy, the album honors Bahia’s cultural roots while expanding the expressive possibilities of Brazilian music.
A crucial introduction to the 'King of Kikuyu Benga' and the first career-spanning retrospective of the incredible catalogue of the late, great Joseph Kamaru.
17 tracks that run the gamut from vibrant dancefloor chants with high life-esque guitars, to afro funk, drum machine and keyboard driven disco grooves, and folk style laments. The music is raw, immediate, danceable, and packed full of memorable hooks. The incisive lyrics range from protest songs to relationship advice. Joseph Kamaru was an incredibly popular figure in his native Kenya, connecting with everyone from high-powered politicians to the rural and urban working class, and his music deserves a much wider international audience.
SML is the quintet of bassist Anna Butterss, synthesist Jeremiah Chiu, saxophonist Josh Johnson, percussionist Booker Stardrum, and guitarist Gregory Uhlmann. Their second album, How You Been, finds the supergroup of prolific composer/producers pushing ever further into the hyperrealist, collectivist approach to music creation nascently explored on their debut Small Medium Large, which was lauded as “awe-inspiring” by Glide, “exuberant” by the Los Angeles Times, and “an exciting milestone” by Pitchfork.
How You Been represents a breakthrough in the musical language of the group. This new work was crafted via extensive post-production of recordings from a handful of shows in a similar fashion to their debut, but whereas Small Medium Large was constructed from analog tapes of the band’s very first (and very modest) shows at bygone Highland Park LA venue ETA, How You Been was built with a higher level of self-awareness and a far deeper pool of source material.
Behind the thrust of the first album’s success, the band approached every performance in late 2024 and early 2025 as a generative opportunity to hone their sound and document their expansion across a new landscape of audiences, venues, and cities. Despite the premeditation driving their commitment to record every moment, the band started every show without musical direction, improvising intuitively, completely. Within every performance is an impressive display of the band’s total trust in one another and confidence in their own instincts.
As SML has evolved and spread out in space-time, their fluencies, both as an improvising unit in performance and as a production team in the studio, have sharpened. At inception the band inspired disparate but distinctive artist comparisons like Essential Logic, Oval, Herbie Hancock’s Sextant, and electric Miles Davis, as well as assorted genre touchpoints like Afrobeat, kosmiche, proto-techno and new-jazz. With How You Been their work manages to both collapse and explode such derivatives, displaying a new, high resolution version of SML, fully-flowered into a new strain of sound, bound to incite its own copycats in due time.
“SML might signal a new iteration of jazz, or it might not be jazz at all, or it might not matter.” - Pitchfork
It’s important to note that SML’s sound wasn’t created in a vacuum. The band is part of an extensive community of creative musicians who collaborate in a multitude of ways, and that community has proven to be essential to a growing family tree of innovative, genre-expanding music. Los Angeles in the 2020s is a musical Petri dish in the same way that Cologne & Dusseldorf were for the birth of Krautrock; Canterbury for progressive rock in the late 60s; NYC for No Wave & the Downtown sound in the late 70s and 80s; Chicago for genreless, Tortoise-adjacent sounds in the 90s. The musicians of SML represent the core of a new school within the Los Angeles jazz and improvised music scene that seems to breed infinitely overlapping combinations, including Jeff Parker’s ETA IVtet and Expansion Trio, the Uhlmann Johnson Wilkes trio, Anna Butterss’s own band (as heard on 2024’s Mighty Vertebrate), and various other solo and ensemble projects encompassing every single member of the SML, respectively.
On How You Been the curatorial challenge of the capture-cut production employed by SML is met by the delightful happenstance of each member being a seasoned producer on their own merit. Accordingly, SML’s perspective on what is a moment to expand upon with the post-producer’s knife and glue is five-strong. Each member’s proclivities, penchants, and predelections get their chance to filter the always-evolving elements of the group concept.
“Chicago Four” uses a live recording from treasured Chicago haunt The Empty Bottle as its foundation. It begins with interlocking synth and percussion loops before the entry of Uhlmann’s wobble-effected electric guitar melody and Butterss’s picked bass counterpoint. Stardrum’s swinging traps slide in, catching up to a couple of added percussion layers, before Johnson adds distorted chordal hits that sound like hard horn samples from a golden era Bomb Squad or Rakim beat. It all intertwines perfectly and makes an otherworldly vehicle for Johnson and Chiu’s cascading keyed melody, which soars above and between, complimenting either side of a hypnotically shifting, infectiously repeating modulation.
“Brood Board SHROOM” is a temporary touchdown on an alien planet where rhythm moves in timeless, breath-like undulations, with repetitions cut from a very different cloth than the lock-step polyrhythmic grooves of “Chicago Four.” The track’s opening lines evoke the soft throbs of the beloved ambient works of Aphex Twin (or perhaps a Robitussen-drenched take on Steve Reich’s Different Trains), before frothy curtains of textured sound drape into the mix, overlaying like distant, minimalist symphonies in a gentle, synthetic recreation of free time — slackening and accelerating as each layer of tonal pulses hovers to front-and-center or retreats into the distance. It’s a gut feeling rather than an academic exercise, and it’s all in the service of forward motion. “Plankton” occupies a similar space albeit in bite-sized form, centering Buterss’s low end melodicism and high-string visitations surrounded by skittering tonal chatter from their bandmates.
Of course, SML’s experiments with this kind of pulsating freedom are heavily balanced by muscular turns and body mechanics fit for the dancefloor. “Taking Out the Trash” is a perfect pace-setter for How You Been, a punchy nugget encapsulating the essence of SML. Chiu’s percussion synth establishes the groove before Stardrum and Butterss drop in on a heavy breakbeat. Uhlmann comes in with a searing, plucked staccato funk line on his guitar that would give Glenn Branca and Larry Coryell something to high five about. Things eventually trip into a total breakdown, with only the perc synth still looping. When the band explodes back in, the key has changed, and Johnson is letting loose on a wailing, distorted saxophone solo.
“Is there a way to dim the lights a little more?” Chiu asks at the start of the album’s closer “Mouth Words.” Moments later SML takes us out with a mid-tempo 4/4 groover dressed in swelling glissandos and punctuated by insistent, rapid-fire phrases from Johnson’s alto. As the final tune dissolves into a layer of arpeggiated chirps and sampled crowd sounds, Chiu’s voice is back again to say what we’re all thinking: “Very good. Thank you.”
SML is the quintet of bassist Anna Butterss, synthesist Jeremiah Chiu, saxophonist Josh Johnson, percussionist Booker Stardrum, and guitarist Gregory Uhlmann. Their second album, How You Been, finds the supergroup of prolific composer/producers pushing ever further into the hyperrealist, collectivist approach to music creation nascently explored on their debut Small Medium Large, which was lauded as “awe-inspiring” by Glide, “exuberant” by the Los Angeles Times, and “an exciting milestone” by Pitchfork.
How You Been represents a breakthrough in the musical language of the group. This new work was crafted via extensive post-production of recordings from a handful of shows in a similar fashion to their debut, but whereas Small Medium Large was constructed from analog tapes of the band’s very first (and very modest) shows at bygone Highland Park LA venue ETA, How You Been was built with a higher level of self-awareness and a far deeper pool of source material.
Behind the thrust of the first album’s success, the band approached every performance in late 2024 and early 2025 as a generative opportunity to hone their sound and document their expansion across a new landscape of audiences, venues, and cities. Despite the premeditation driving their commitment to record every moment, the band started every show without musical direction, improvising intuitively, completely. Within every performance is an impressive display of the band’s total trust in one another and confidence in their own instincts.
As SML has evolved and spread out in space-time, their fluencies, both as an improvising unit in performance and as a production team in the studio, have sharpened. At inception the band inspired disparate but distinctive artist comparisons like Essential Logic, Oval, Herbie Hancock’s Sextant, and electric Miles Davis, as well as assorted genre touchpoints like Afrobeat, kosmiche, proto-techno and new-jazz. With How You Been their work manages to both collapse and explode such derivatives, displaying a new, high resolution version of SML, fully-flowered into a new strain of sound, bound to incite its own copycats in due time.
“SML might signal a new iteration of jazz, or it might not be jazz at all, or it might not matter.” - Pitchfork
It’s important to note that SML’s sound wasn’t created in a vacuum. The band is part of an extensive community of creative musicians who collaborate in a multitude of ways, and that community has proven to be essential to a growing family tree of innovative, genre-expanding music. Los Angeles in the 2020s is a musical Petri dish in the same way that Cologne & Dusseldorf were for the birth of Krautrock; Canterbury for progressive rock in the late 60s; NYC for No Wave & the Downtown sound in the late 70s and 80s; Chicago for genreless, Tortoise-adjacent sounds in the 90s. The musicians of SML represent the core of a new school within the Los Angeles jazz and improvised music scene that seems to breed infinitely overlapping combinations, including Jeff Parker’s ETA IVtet and Expansion Trio, the Uhlmann Johnson Wilkes trio, Anna Butterss’s own band (as heard on 2024’s Mighty Vertebrate), and various other solo and ensemble projects encompassing every single member of the SML, respectively.
On How You Been the curatorial challenge of the capture-cut production employed by SML is met by the delightful happenstance of each member being a seasoned producer on their own merit. Accordingly, SML’s perspective on what is a moment to expand upon with the post-producer’s knife and glue is five-strong. Each member’s proclivities, penchants, and predelections get their chance to filter the always-evolving elements of the group concept.
“Chicago Four” uses a live recording from treasured Chicago haunt The Empty Bottle as its foundation. It begins with interlocking synth and percussion loops before the entry of Uhlmann’s wobble-effected electric guitar melody and Butterss’s picked bass counterpoint. Stardrum’s swinging traps slide in, catching up to a couple of added percussion layers, before Johnson adds distorted chordal hits that sound like hard horn samples from a golden era Bomb Squad or Rakim beat. It all intertwines perfectly and makes an otherworldly vehicle for Johnson and Chiu’s cascading keyed melody, which soars above and between, complimenting either side of a hypnotically shifting, infectiously repeating modulation.
“Brood Board SHROOM” is a temporary touchdown on an alien planet where rhythm moves in timeless, breath-like undulations, with repetitions cut from a very different cloth than the lock-step polyrhythmic grooves of “Chicago Four.” The track’s opening lines evoke the soft throbs of the beloved ambient works of Aphex Twin (or perhaps a Robitussen-drenched take on Steve Reich’s Different Trains), before frothy curtains of textured sound drape into the mix, overlaying like distant, minimalist symphonies in a gentle, synthetic recreation of free time — slackening and accelerating as each layer of tonal pulses hovers to front-and-center or retreats into the distance. It’s a gut feeling rather than an academic exercise, and it’s all in the service of forward motion. “Plankton” occupies a similar space albeit in bite-sized form, centering Buterss’s low end melodicism and high-string visitations surrounded by skittering tonal chatter from their bandmates.
Of course, SML’s experiments with this kind of pulsating freedom are heavily balanced by muscular turns and body mechanics fit for the dancefloor. “Taking Out the Trash” is a perfect pace-setter for How You Been, a punchy nugget encapsulating the essence of SML. Chiu’s percussion synth establishes the groove before Stardrum and Butterss drop in on a heavy breakbeat. Uhlmann comes in with a searing, plucked staccato funk line on his guitar that would give Glenn Branca and Larry Coryell something to high five about. Things eventually trip into a total breakdown, with only the perc synth still looping. When the band explodes back in, the key has changed, and Johnson is letting loose on a wailing, distorted saxophone solo.
“Is there a way to dim the lights a little more?” Chiu asks at the start of the album’s closer “Mouth Words.” Moments later SML takes us out with a mid-tempo 4/4 groover dressed in swelling glissandos and punctuated by insistent, rapid-fire phrases from Johnson’s alto. As the final tune dissolves into a layer of arpeggiated chirps and sampled crowd sounds, Chiu’s voice is back again to say what we’re all thinking: “Very good. Thank you.”
Root Echoes is described by Pedro Elías Corro, better known as DJ Babatr, as “a celebration of resilience, joy and solidarity on the dancefloor.” The album offers a raw, powerful snapshot of the raptor house sound in one of its most formative and expressive periods. Carefully selected from Babatr’s personal archive, it connects ground-shaking tracks produced in Caracas between 2003 and 2007 with more recent material that keeps the genre’s pulse alive today. Recognized as a foundational figure in the creation of raptor house, Babatr shaped a style defined by its fusion of Afro-Venezuelan percussion, tribal techno, acid, Eurodance, and the street-level intensity of Caracas working-class neighborhoods. His tracks spread organically through minitecas, bootleg CDs, and street parties, becoming part of the shared sonic vocabulary of a generation.
These tracks were born within the vibrant miniteca scene of early-2000s Venezuela. Known locally as changa, this was the catch-all term for the electronic dance music, house, techno, Eurodance, that powered matinées and street parties. From that ecosystem, raptor house emerged as its own distinct identity, marked by galloping rhythms, serrated synths, and hypnotic structures designed to energize and empower. Opening with 2024’s “1 2 3 4 Ladies on the Floor”, the album delivers a relentless floor-filler that fuses technoid drive with Venezuelan percussive textures, a contemporary statement of Babatr’s ability to refract global sounds through his own lens. It then moves back to 2003 with “The Tech Sounds”, where trance-like synths spiral around tough, wooden drum patterns in a track as raw and defiant as the dance floors it was built for.
These are not just tracks. They are sound documents of space, community, and survival, a genre built for collective release and celebration, echoing from the barrios of Caracas to sound systems worldwide. More recent cuts like “Let’s Do It” layer classic TR-909 kicks and echoing vocal stabs with synth work that nods to foundational techno. “You I Wanna Bass” (2005) reimagines 90s Euro club leads with a Caracas edge. “Call Space” channels the mysticism of pre-Hispanic flutes into shrill, trance-infused riffs, pulling the listener into its own sonic ritual.
Root Echoes is an intimate and deliberate selection from over 700 tracks Babatr has recorded across two decades. It captures the heartbeat of a movement that never stopped, music that traveled hand to hand, through bootleg CDs, online sharing, and word of mouth—ultimately finding its way into the sets, remixes, and samples of DJs around the world, resonating across global club networks.
In English, the Xhosa word “useza” means to arouse or elicit a feeling, and it perfectly illuminates Sekuru Chaka Chawasarira’s lifelong practice. The eminent Zimbabwean artist and educator is among the last remaining masters of the matepe, a large mbira-style instrument that’s played with both thumbs and index fingers to expand its rhythmelodic complexity. And on ‘Useza’, he fully demonstrates the matepe’s illusory potential, overdubbing hypnotic sequences to provoke shifting harmonic progressions that ethnomusicologist Andrew Tracey labeled “kaleidophony” back in 1970. An ancient art within North-Eastern Zimbabwe’s Shona culture, the matepe is traditionally used in local rituals, where its ambiguous psychoacoustic mirages evoke trance states to aid communication with ancestral spirits. Only half a century ago, ceremonies amongst the Sena Tonga and Kore-Kore peoples would involve up to six musicians, each playing interlocking polyrhythmic sequences. In 2025, the music is threatened with extinction; following decades of vilification from Zimbabwe’s evangelical and pentecostal churches, who associate the rituals with witchcraft, there are fewer than ten master musicians left.
Called the “Mozart of mbira” by composer Keith Goddard, 83-year-old Chawasarira has been developing his relationship with the instrument since he was just a young man. He grew up in a Catholic mission and was dedicated to the church, founding his own choir, but he maintained his connection to Zimbabwean culture by studying the region’s traditional rhythms. Chawasarira’s father had been a prominent drummer, and when Chawasarira was older, working as a teacher at the mission school, he ventured out to observe local mbira ensembles, eventually participating regularly in spirit ceremonies. And although there were tensions between Chawasarira’s work with the church and his interest in controversial folk music, he managed to strike a precarious balance, introducing drums to his Catholic services in the 1960s and even composing a mass for karimba. Chawasarira’s reputation grew steadily; he was invited to Lousville University in the 1990s to represent Zimbabwe at a contemporary composition festival, and his youth ensembles helped popularize Shona mbira traditions not just at home, but around the world.
Today’s evangelical Christians are less tolerant than the Catholic church however, with fundamentalist preachers blaming mbira music for all manner of tragedy. Chawasarira remains undeterred; living in Chitungwiza, he builds matepes and karimbas and tutors children, and ‘Useza’ is a celebration of his years of experience, a way for the maestro to preserve his repertoire for future generations. Recorded at the dead of night while the rest of the township is sound asleep, the album reproduces the mesmerizing sound of a Shona ritual by overlaying discrete fractal sequences filled with haunting overtones and buzzing rhythms. Chitungwiza works alone, harmonizing with himself and chanting over the weightless polyrhythms to create musical illusions that sound different depending on where the listener might be positioned. It’s a technique that’s been approached by various minimalist composers and avant-garde explorers in the 20th century and beyond, and Chitungwiza goes straight to the source, skillfully substantiating kaleidophony and safeguarding Zimbabwe’s heritage.
Heavy, heavy, heavyyyyy rhythmic madness from Shackleton, Scotch Rolex and Omutaba, invoking new rhythmic traditions on an enchanted debut album for Nyege Nyege Tapes, twisting galvanic rhythms from HHY & The Kampala Unit's Omutaba into sozzled, psychedelic peregrinations. Dubby, kinetic and viciously mind-bending, it's peak gear if you're into anything from African Head Charge to Mark Ernestus' Ndagga Rhythm Force.
Leading on from Shackleton and Scotch Rolex’s maiden merger, ‘Death by Tickling’ in 2023, the duo pull in the dextrous limbs of Omutaba - known from his work with STILL, Metal Preyers and HHY & The Kampala Unit - for a dervishing session of dubbed-out and tumbling polyrhythms and psychoactive vibes as Three Hands of Doom. Shackleton’s hand on the tiller is patently apparent but, as with his recent works with Heather Leigh and Wacław Zimpel, he proves a mutable collaborator and porous to the shared spirits of fellow electronic music journeymen Scotch Rolex and Uganda’s Omutaba in four swingeing sections defined by their joint ability to diffract the flow between rolling and irregular grooves.
‘Ring Dirt’ opens the session with a limber display of monotone strings and suspenseful synth work that calls to mind Can sent economy class to the equator for ritual teachings. Enlightened, they proceed thru the lush, whorling metric calculations of ‘Insect Vibration’, layering shivering incantations and worm-charming subs with a frisson of field recordings. At this point fully attuned to each other, Omutaba’s Ugandan drumming is felt most powerfully meshed into the 10 minute matrix of rug-pulling and thunderous detonations to ‘Burnt Earth’, before they all buckle into the outright dread of a standout eponymous title tune that appears to follow rhythms from the Congo thru West Africa, to Haiti, via Japan and Berlin, and back to Uganda.
Both Shackleton and Ishihara have been on blistering form in the last couple of years, and 'Three Hands of Doom' feels like both a continuation and an extension of last year's 'Death By Tickling', weaponizing Omutaba's exhilarating playing into something that feels much, much more than the sum of its parts.
Khadim is a stunning reconfiguration of the Ndagga Rhythm Force sound. The instrumentation is radically pared down. The guitar is gone; the concatenation of sabars; the drum-kit. Each of the four tracks hones in on just one or two drummers; otherwise the sole recorded element is the singing; everything else is programmed. Synths are dialogically locked into the drumming. Tellingly, Ernestus has reached for his beloved Prophet-5, a signature go-to since Basic Channel days, thirty years ago. Texturally, the sound is more dubwise; prickling with effects. There is a new spaciousness, announced at the start by the ambient sounds of Dakar street-life. At the microphone, Mbene Diatta Seck revels in this new openness: mbalax diva, she feelingly turns each of the four songs into a discrete dramatic episode, using different sets of rhetorical techniques. The music throughout is taut, grooving, complex, like before; but more volatile, intuitive and reaching, with turbulent emotional and spiritual expressivity.
Not that Khadim represents any kind of break. Its transformativeness is rooted in the hundreds upon hundreds of hours the Rhythm Force has played together. Nearly a decade has passed since Yermande, the unit’s previous album. Every year throughout that period — barring lockdowns — the group has toured extensively, in Europe, the US, and Japan. With improvisation at the core of its music-making, each performance has been evolutionary, as it turns out heading towards Khadim. “I didn’t want to simply continue with the same formula, says Ernestus. “I preferred to wait for a new approach. Playing live so many times, I wanted to capture some of the energy and freedom of those performances.” Though several members of the touring ensemble sit out this recording — sabar drummers, kit-drummer, synth-player — their presence abides in the structure and swing of the music here.
Lamp Fall is a homage to Cheikh Ibra Fall, founder of the Baye Fall spiritual community. The mosque in the city of Touba is known as Lamp Fall, because the main tower resembles a lantern. Soy duggu Touba, moom guey séen / When you enter Touba, he is the one who greets you. After a swift, incantatory start Mbene sings with reflective seriousness. Her voice swirls with reverb, over a tight, funky, propulsive interplay between synth and drums, threaded with one- two jabs of bass. Cheikh Ibra Fall mi may way, mo diayndiou ré, la mu jëndé ko taalibe… Cheikh Ibra Fall amo morome, aboridial / Cheikh Ibra Fall shows the way forward, he gives us strength, he gathers his disciples… Overflowing with grace, Cheikh Ibra Fall has no equal.
Interwoven with Wolof proverbs, Dieuw Bakhul is a recriminatory song about treachery, lies, and back-biting. Over moody, roiling synths and ominous, lean bass, Mbene throws out fluttering scraps of vocal, as if re-running old conversations in her head. The music shadows her despair to the verge of breakdown, at one moment seemingly so lost in thought and memories, that it threatens to disintegrate. Bayilene di wor seen xarit ak seen an da ndo… Dieuw bakhul, dieuw ñaw na / Stop judging your friends and companions… A lie is no good, a lie is ugly.
Khadim is a show-stopper; currently the centrepiece of Ndagga Rhythm Force live performances. The song is dedicated to Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba, aka Khadim, founder of the Mouride Sufi order. Serigne Bamba mi may wayeu / Serigne Bamba is the one who makes me sing. The verses name-check revered members of his family and brotherhood, like Sokhna Diarra, Mame Thierno, and Serigne Bara. Though Islam has been practised in Senegal for a millennium, it wasn’t until the start of the twentieth century that it began to thoroughly permeate ordinary Senegalese society, hand-in-hand with anti-colonialism. The verses here recall Bamba’s banishment by the French to Gabon, and later to Mauritania, in those foundational times. During exile, his captors once introduced a lion to his cell: gaïnde gua waf, dieba lu ci Cheikhoul Khadim / the lion doesn’t budge, it gives itself over to Cheikh Khadim. Deep, surging bass, steady kick-drum, and simple, reverbed chords on the off-beat lend the feel and impetus of steppers reggae. A reed plays snatches of a traditional Baye Fall melody; the dazzling polyrhythmic drumming is by Serigne Mamoune Seck. Mbene compellingly blends percussive vocalese, narrative suspense, exultant praise, introspection, and grievance.
Nimzat is a devotional tribute to Cheikh Sadbou, a contemporary of Bamba, buried in a mausoleum in Nizmat, in southern Mauritania. Way nala, kagne nala… souma danana fata dale / I call upon you and wonder about you… If I am overwhelmed, come to my aid. The town holds special significance for Khadr Sufism. An annual pilgrimage there is conducted to this day. The rhythm is buoyantly funky; the mood is sombre, reined-in, foreboding. Punctuated by peals of thunder, Mbene sings with restrained, intense reverence; huskily confidential, steadfast. Nanu dem ba Nimzat, dé ba sali khina / Let us go to Nimzat, to seal our devotion.
Khadim is a stunning reconfiguration of the Ndagga Rhythm Force sound. The instrumentation is radically pared down. The guitar is gone; the concatenation of sabars; the drum-kit. Each of the four tracks hones in on just one or two drummers; otherwise the sole recorded element is the singing; everything else is programmed. Synths are dialogically locked into the drumming. Tellingly, Ernestus has reached for his beloved Prophet-5, a signature go-to since Basic Channel days, thirty years ago. Texturally, the sound is more dubwise; prickling with effects. There is a new spaciousness, announced at the start by the ambient sounds of Dakar street-life. At the microphone, Mbene Diatta Seck revels in this new openness: mbalax diva, she feelingly turns each of the four songs into a discrete dramatic episode, using different sets of rhetorical techniques. The music throughout is taut, grooving, complex, like before; but more volatile, intuitive and reaching, with turbulent emotional and spiritual expressivity.
Not that Khadim represents any kind of break. Its transformativeness is rooted in the hundreds upon hundreds of hours the Rhythm Force has played together. Nearly a decade has passed since Yermande, the unit’s previous album. Every year throughout that period — barring lockdowns — the group has toured extensively, in Europe, the US, and Japan. With improvisation at the core of its music-making, each performance has been evolutionary, as it turns out heading towards Khadim. “I didn’t want to simply continue with the same formula, says Ernestus. “I preferred to wait for a new approach. Playing live so many times, I wanted to capture some of the energy and freedom of those performances.” Though several members of the touring ensemble sit out this recording — sabar drummers, kit-drummer, synth-player — their presence abides in the structure and swing of the music here.
Lamp Fall is a homage to Cheikh Ibra Fall, founder of the Baye Fall spiritual community. The mosque in the city of Touba is known as Lamp Fall, because the main tower resembles a lantern. Soy duggu Touba, moom guey séen / When you enter Touba, he is the one who greets you. After a swift, incantatory start Mbene sings with reflective seriousness. Her voice swirls with reverb, over a tight, funky, propulsive interplay between synth and drums, threaded with one- two jabs of bass. Cheikh Ibra Fall mi may way, mo diayndiou ré, la mu jëndé ko taalibe… Cheikh Ibra Fall amo morome, aboridial / Cheikh Ibra Fall shows the way forward, he gives us strength, he gathers his disciples… Overflowing with grace, Cheikh Ibra Fall has no equal.
Interwoven with Wolof proverbs, Dieuw Bakhul is a recriminatory song about treachery, lies, and back-biting. Over moody, roiling synths and ominous, lean bass, Mbene throws out fluttering scraps of vocal, as if re-running old conversations in her head. The music shadows her despair to the verge of breakdown, at one moment seemingly so lost in thought and memories, that it threatens to disintegrate. Bayilene di wor seen xarit ak seen an da ndo… Dieuw bakhul, dieuw ñaw na / Stop judging your friends and companions… A lie is no good, a lie is ugly.
Khadim is a show-stopper; currently the centrepiece of Ndagga Rhythm Force live performances. The song is dedicated to Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba, aka Khadim, founder of the Mouride Sufi order. Serigne Bamba mi may wayeu / Serigne Bamba is the one who makes me sing. The verses name-check revered members of his family and brotherhood, like Sokhna Diarra, Mame Thierno, and Serigne Bara. Though Islam has been practised in Senegal for a millennium, it wasn’t until the start of the twentieth century that it began to thoroughly permeate ordinary Senegalese society, hand-in-hand with anti-colonialism. The verses here recall Bamba’s banishment by the French to Gabon, and later to Mauritania, in those foundational times. During exile, his captors once introduced a lion to his cell: gaïnde gua waf, dieba lu ci Cheikhoul Khadim / the lion doesn’t budge, it gives itself over to Cheikh Khadim. Deep, surging bass, steady kick-drum, and simple, reverbed chords on the off-beat lend the feel and impetus of steppers reggae. A reed plays snatches of a traditional Baye Fall melody; the dazzling polyrhythmic drumming is by Serigne Mamoune Seck. Mbene compellingly blends percussive vocalese, narrative suspense, exultant praise, introspection, and grievance.
Nimzat is a devotional tribute to Cheikh Sadbou, a contemporary of Bamba, buried in a mausoleum in Nizmat, in southern Mauritania. Way nala, kagne nala… souma danana fata dale / I call upon you and wonder about you… If I am overwhelmed, come to my aid. The town holds special significance for Khadr Sufism. An annual pilgrimage there is conducted to this day. The rhythm is buoyantly funky; the mood is sombre, reined-in, foreboding. Punctuated by peals of thunder, Mbene sings with restrained, intense reverence; huskily confidential, steadfast. Nanu dem ba Nimzat, dé ba sali khina / Let us go to Nimzat, to seal our devotion.
Martin Khanja (aka Lord Spike Heart) and Sam Karugu emerge from Nairobi's flourishing underground metal scene as former members of the bands Lust of a Dying Breed and Seeds of Datura. Together in 2019 they formed Duma (Darkness in Kikuyu) with Sam abandoning bass for production and guitars and Lord Spike Heart providing extreme vocals to the project.
Recorded at Nyege Nyege Studios in Kampala over three months in mid 2019 their self-titled debut album fuses the frenetic euphoria, unrelenting physicality and rebellious attitude of hardcore punk and trash metal with bone-crunching breakcore and raw, nihilist industrial noise through a claustrophobic vortex of visceral screams.
The savant mix of brutally adrenalized drums, caustic industrial trap, shredding grindcore inspired guitars and abrupt speed changes create a darkly atmospheric menace and is lethal on tracks like the opener "Angels and Abysses" , "Omni" or "Uganda with Sam".
The gruelling slow techno dirges and monolithic vocals on "Pembe 666" or "Sin Nature" add a pinch of dramatic inevitability bringing a new sense of theatricality and terrifying fate awaiting into the record's progression.
A sinister sonic aggression of feral intensity with disregard for styles, Duma promises to impact the burgeoning African metal scene moving it into totally new, boundary-challenging experimental territories.