MUSIC
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From the late 1960s until the early 1990s, a vibrant music scene in Somalia’s capital Mogadishu was teeming with pop and folk musicians exploring the boundaries of regional sensibilities. With influences spanning several genres of Somali traditional music, often meshed with Western pop, jazz and Middle-Eastern elements, a swirling diversity of sounds were being created, consumed, supported and encouraged.
Dur-Dur Band emerged during a time when Somalia’s distinctive contribution to the creative culture in the Horn of Africa was visible and abundant. Thousands of recordings made at the Somali National Theatre, Radio Mogadishu and other studios, were complemented by the nightclubs at Hotel Juba, Jazeera Hotel and Hotel al-Curuuba, creating a flourishing music scene.
Bands like Dur-Dur, Iftin, Shareero, on one hand, were inspired by everyone from Michael Jackson and Phil Collins to Bob Marley and Santana, as well as James Brown and American soul music. Equally active were groups performing regional folk musics and promoting the traditional side of Somali music. These groups helped develop a continuity with historical musical practices and oral literature that persist in popularity to this day. Seminal outfits like Waaberi and Horseed, in addition to a litany of celebrated qaraami musicians, generated a legacy of masterworks. These seasoned musicians’ efforts rippled through the music scene and spread to countries beyond as many artists began to emigrate when the country destabilized.
This recording, which was remastered from a cassette copy source, is a document of Dur-Dur Band after establishing itself as one of the most popular bands in Mogadishu. The challenge of locating a complete long-player from this era is evidenced by the fidelity of this recording. However, the complex, soulful music penetrates the hiss.
By 1987 Dur-Dur Band's line-up featured singers Sahra Abukar Dawo, Abdinur Adan Daljir, Mohamed Ahmed Qomal and Abdukadir Mayow Buunis, backed by Abukar Dahir Qasim (guitar), Yusuf Abdi Haji Aleevi (guitar), Ali Dhere (trumpet), Muse Mohamed Araci (saxophone), Abdul Dhegey (saxophone), Eise Dahir Qasim (keyboard), Mohamed Ali Mohamed (bass), Adan Mohamed Ali Handal (drums), Ooyaaye Eise and Ali Bisha (congas) and Mohamed Karma, Dahir Yaree and Murjaan Ramandan (backing vocals). Dur-Dur Band managed to release almost a dozen recordings before emigrating to Ethiopia, Djibouti and America.
Dur-Dur Band was considered a “private band,” not beholden to government pressure to sing about political topics. They practiced a love- and culture-oriented lyricism. Government-sponsored bands like those of the military and the police forces, as well as many of the well-known folk musicians, made songs that were chiefly political or patriotic in nature.
In a country that has been disrupted by civil war, heated clan divisions and security concerns, music and the arts has suffered from stagnation in recent years. Many of the best-known musicians left the country. Music became nearly outlawed in Mogadishu in 2010. Incidentally, more than ten years after Volume 5 (1987) was recorded at Radio Mogadishu, the state-run broadcaster was the only station in Somalia to resist the ban on music briefly enacted by Al-Shabab.
Dur-Dur Band is a powerful and illustrative lens through which to appreciate a facet of the incredible sounds in Somalia before the country's stability took a turn. But Somali music of all kinds continues to thrive thanks in part to the diaspora living in cities worldwide. An extensive network of news, music and video websites, along with dozens of voluminous YouTube channels, makes clear an exciting relentlessness among artists. Reports of musicians returning to Mogadishu from years abroad bodes well for the immediate future of music and expression in Somalia.
Among the various pygmy tribes, Aka Pygmy has a particularly high musicality, and the social and religious life of the group is closely linked to music, and there is no day without music. This recording also includes songs for rituals before hunting, songs for finding honey in the forest, songs sung at feasts after hunting, and oral traditions of history and knowledge. It is an anthology of Aka Pygmy, as the title suggests, including songs that sing myths and stories while telling stories, songs of mourning for the dead, and so on. In addition, the recording period is 1972-1977, which is the golden age of field recording of traditional music, and extremely dense and deep performances centered on voice and rhythm are recorded with full sound quality. The complex and beautiful polyphony, in which the rhythm and voice of Aka Pygmy are united, is full of irreplaceable charm. With Japanese commentary
Disc 1
Soboko (ritual prior to the departure of hunting) [Kingo Yamo E / Wango / Cocora Efese / Bora Bosombo] Mongonbi (Call of hunting)
Zombie (song of return from hunting)
Monzori (dance after killing an elephant)
Mobandi (ritual prior to honey gathering) [Epanda / Angonga-Ekdu Moseke / Evete Kele-Mona Sumbu-Ma Nama Dizamba / Ngangele (song of mockery) / Eponga mo Beva na Mokupina / Longokodi / Ekpandaro-Monbinhi / Mo Boma / Ndoshi]
Three children's play with songs [Nze Nze Nze / Kuru Kuru / Congo Belle] Music for the dance "Mubenzele" [Divot / Anduwa]
Disc 2
Mokondi
Music for the dance "Ngbol" Music for the dance "Aeonbe" [Nduda / Bobangi]
Two song stories [Nyodi (bird) / Nanga Ningi (with a thin body)] Boywa (song of mourning for the corpse) Bond (fortune-telling music) [Dikobo / Die / Apollo] Coco Ya Ndongo
Yaya
Mubora (version 1)
Mubora (version 2)
The distant echoes of the musical refinement of the ancient Khmer court, where every morning orchestras with crystalline gongs, female choir and female dancers rehearsed music for a coming ceremony.
The 1960's... The Royal Palace, the seat of the Khmer monarchy since the end of the preceding century, then sheltered many musicians and dancers who were the base for the prestige of which these venerable walls were so proud. Every morning as one walked down the boulevard in front of the entrance façade, one could hear fireworks of limpid sonorities: for four hours the pinpeat orchestra with its crystalline gongs joined in the training of the royal dancers or by itself rehearsed music for a coming ceremony.
At that time, there was hardly a month when court rituals did not require the presence –or rather the participation– of palace musicians and almost as often ballerinas whose fame was world-wide in spite of their rare public appearances. Of these bayaderes, as they were then called, the sculptor Rodin, who was able to admire them in France in 1906, said: “It is impossible to see human nature carried to such perfection (...) There are so many who claim to have beauty, but who don't give it. But the king of Cambodia gives it to us. Even the children are great artists. This is absolutely unimaginable!” At that time, they were present at all occasions of pomp and splendour in the palace.
The positions of the musicians were often passed on from father to son. They also maintained the tradition by demanding rigor towards the musical heritage of their ancestors and held in memory, as the tradition was generally oral, a repertoire of more than three hundred compositions. Each one of them was assigned to precise moments of a ritual or definite moments of a choreographed piece.
Blue vinyl. One word that could be used to aptly describe Japan’s society and culture during the 1980s would be ‘bubble economy (バブル 経済)’, which is to say that it was characterized by abnormally inflated asset prices. Japan, which had emerged as a global economic powerhouse through the rapid growth of the 70s, saw an era of unprecedented economic prosperity as it entered the 80s. At this time, the very notion of city life, with its promise of prosperity amid economic stability, had a sense of allure to it. A growing number of people sought to partake in a culture that was more sophisticated and refined. Likewise, a growing consumer base was purchasing automobiles and car audios. It was amid this atmosphere that new forms of music drawing on western soft rock, AOR, and adult contemporary, and incorporating elements of smooth jazz, contemporary R&B, and funk, rose to prominence. The urban-tinged music created by artists such as Haruomi Hosono (細野晴臣, formerly of Japanese rock pioneers ‘Happy End’) and Tatsuro Yamashita (山下達郎) came to be known as city pop. The city pop boom, which was buoyed on by the optimism pervading Japanese society during the 80s, faded away along with the collapse of the economic bubble. City pop still went on to influence the ‘Shibuya-kei’ style, which developed during the 90s around Tokyo’s Shibuya district, drawing from French pop, baroque pop, bossa nova, lounge, and house music. The recent resurgence in the popularity of city pop, to the point where it appears to have carved out a central position in digger / listener culture, is a rather intriguing phenomenon. To begin with, the term ‘city pop’ itself was more of a marketing slogan, pointing to ‘music with urban sensibilities’ targeted toward consumers aspiring to urban life, rather than a descriptor of some particular music style or genre. Neither was the term widely used during the 80s, the historical peak of the style’s popularity. On the contrary, it appears to have been rediscovered and redefined amid the ‘new-tro’ vogue of the late 2000s, driven by the nostalgia of those who grew up during the 80s. The important elements of ‘city pop’ have more to do with the sensational and affective descriptors associated with the term itself – such as sophistication, relaxedness, comfort, freshness, dynamism, elegance, radiance, sweetness, as well as the splendor and romanticism associated with the city. The underlying appeal of retro stems from the desire to experience and enjoy things from before one’s own time. This is not unconnected to the popularity of ‘cool kitschy’ subcultural trends like vaporwave or future funk. So, there’s nothing surprising about today’s youths digging through well or lesser-known Korean gayo records from the early / mid 90s featuring AOR, jazz fusion, or funky styles. Likewise, the artists that are mentioned under the keywords of ‘Korean City Pop’ – names like the Yoon Soo-il Band or the City Kids, Lee Jae-min, Bom Yeoreum Gaeul Kyeoul, Kim Hyun-chul, Yoon Sang, Jang Pil-soon, Bitgwa Sogeum, Yang Soo-kyung, Nami, and Lee Eun-ha – are not unfamiliar. Though their popularity might have been short-lived at the time, their music featured soft saxophone parts, lively rhythms, delicately-crafted harmonies, and beautiful melodies. These make for a fusion sound that is particularly well-suited for the tastes of today. It is worth appreciating that the 90s, by which time the waves of American AOR and Japan’s city pop had faded away, was a golden age for Korean gayo. So, it’s quite rewarding and enjoyable to rediscover and listen to tracks that are well worth another spin after all those years. Amid this process of rediscovery, one of the recurring names is ‘Dong-A Records’ – an artist-driven label that has left a distinctive mark on Korean pop music. It rose to become the ‘Mecca of Korea’s underground music’ thanks to its unique beginnings, sense of orientation, and production / promotion methods that set it apart from the usual record labels and entertainment agencies. Consider some of the mainstays of the label’s roster – there’s a long list of illustrious artists including Deulgukhwa, Shi-in-gwa Chonjang (Poet and Chief), Cho Dong-jin, the Shinchon Blues, Han Young-ae, Kim Hyun-shik, Pureun Haneul, Kim Hyun-chul, Bom Yeoreum Gaeul Kyeoul, Bitgwa Sogeum, Jang Pil-soon, Park Hak-gi, and Lee Sora. Although Bom Yeoreum Gaeul Kyeoul did score a latter-day hit in 2002 with ‘Bravo, My Life!’, the true heyday of Dong-A Records was a short-lived period that lasted from the mid-80s to the early-90s. Regardless of whether some of the works achieved commercial and/or popular success, all albums were produced to high musical standards. Building on the individuality and talent of the artists on the roster, each of the works produced at Dong-A employed capable session musicians and were recorded meticulously. And among this body of work, there have been a number of tunes that did not fade away with the passing of the years, but have remained like sparkling gems strewn across the sandy beaches of time. Such are the tunes that have been carefully collected into this compilation album. The 10 tracks were selected by the multi- talented Tiger Disco, who has made his name amid the retro resurgence as a DJ specializing in funk / disco gayo from the 80s. The title of this compilation, ‘Our Town’, and the by-title, ‘Jazz Fusion, Funky Pop & Bossa Gayo Tracks from Dong-A Records’ plainly set down the character of the album. Perhaps a more ‘current’ description of the album would be to call it a ‘Dong-A Records City Pop Collection’. The tracks cover the historical heyday years of the label – from 1989 to 1993 – an era by which Korea’s gayo scene had matured to the point of making significant strides forward in terms of both quality and quantity. Amid a previously pop-dominated music market, gayo music had carved out a newfound and varied sense of status, putting out records that were enthusiastically purchased by young listeners. Upcoming Korean musicians who had absorbed the vibrant and plentiful influences and sensibilities of 80s pop, rock, and jazz had started reaching new levels of sophistication in their music, thus setting them apart from the gayo acts that had come before them without thinking to confine or limit themselves to notions of ‘Korean-ness’. In any case, their music was uncommon in Korea at the time. The sensibilities of these songs, which in many aspects were ahead of their time, sometimes served as a refreshing inspiration for listeners while escaping popular notice at other times. And now, after nearly a generation has passed, the tunes of this compilation have not lost their appeal. Throwbacks to some, and the object of engrossing discovery to others, the tunes selected here remain cool and hip.
10 brilliant tracks from 1960’s Sierra Leone by the wildly popular S.E. Rogie!
S.E. Rogie went from running a tailor shop in Sierra Leone to being one of West Africa's most popular artists. He toured around the country, singing his palm wine music in multiple local languages, created his own record label, and was known as the most handsome man in Sierra Leone. He formed the highlife band The Morningstars in 1965. In 1973, he came to the Bay Area to live and expand his base, performing everywhere from local high schools and convalescent homes to festivals and large stages. In his later life he hit the road again and toured the world, eventually passing away while on stage in Russia in 1994.
He shared the following songwriting wisdom with his son, Rogee Rogers: “When you write a song, you can be complicated if you want, but your chorus should be that anybody can sing it.”
These tracks were originally released on his own Rogie label in the 1960s and include solo, ensemble, and Morningstars songs, most of which have never been reissued until now.
“When the mbira is played, it brings the two worlds together, the world of our ancestors and the world of today.” Ephat Mujuru (1950-2001)
Ephat Mujuru exemplifies a unique generation of traditional musicians in Zimbabwe. Born under an oppressive colonial regime in Southern Rhodesia, his generation witnessed the brutality of the 1970s liberation struggle, and then the dawn of independent Zimbabwe, a time in which African music culture—long stigmatized by Rhodesian educators and religious authorities—experienced a thrilling renaissance.
Ephat was raised in traditional Shona culture in a small rural village in Manicaland, near the Mozambique border. His grandfather and primary caretaker, Muchatera Mujuru, was a respected spirit medium, and master of the mbira dzavadzimu, a hand-held lamellophone used in Shona religion to make contact and receive council from deceased ancestors. There are many lamellophones in Africa, but none with the musical complexity and spiritual significance of the mbira dzavadzimu. Ephat’s first memories were of elaborate ceremonies, called biras that featured all-night music and dancing, millet beer, the sacrifice of oxen and a profound experience of connecting with ancestors. Under the tutelage of his grandfather, Ephat showed an early talent for the rigors of mbira training, playing his first possession ceremony when he was just ten years old.
But from the moment he entered school, Ephat experienced Rhodesian racism and cultural oppression. Nuns at his Catholic school told him that to play the mbira was “a sin against God.” Enraged by this, Ephat’s grandfather sent him to school in an African township near the capital of Salisbury (present-day Harare). By then, guerilla war was engulfing the country and Muchatera tragically became a victim of the violence, a devastating blow to the young musician. Lonely and alienated in the city, Ephat reached out to other mbira masters—Mubayiwa Bandambira, Simon Mashoko and an “uncle” Mude Hakurotwi.
In 1972 Ephat formed his first group, naming it for one of the most beloved Shona ancestors, Chaminuka. In the midst of the liberation struggle, mbira music became political. Singer and bandleader Thomas Mapfumo began interpreting mbira songs with an electric dance band, creating chimurenga (loosely “struggle”) music, named for the independence fighters.
Ephat and Chaminuka had their first success with the single “Guruswa.” Ephat once recalled, “We were talking about our struggle to free ourselves,” explained Ephat. “In ancient Africa, in the time of our ancestors, they had none of the problems we have today.” The problems he spoke of—subjugation, cultural oppression and mass poverty—were purely the results of colonization. “We wanted the place to be like it was, before colonization.”
The Rhodesians were defeated, but rather than return to the past, the nation of Zimbabwe was born and a new future unfolded. Ephat threw himself into the spirit of independence, helping to found the National Dance Company of Zimbabwe and becoming the first African music instructor at the formerly all-Western Zimbabwe College of Music. Ephat renamed his band Spirit of the People and recorded his first album in 1981, using only mbira, hand drums, hosho and singers. He sang of brotherhood, healing, and unity: crucial themes during a time when the nation’s two dominant ethnic groups, the Shona and the Ndebele, were struggling to reconcile differences.
Ephat’s band would eventually follow the popular trend and add electric instruments. But before that, he and Spirit of the People released two all-acoustic albums, and they may well be the most exciting and beautiful recordings he made in his career. Mbavaira, the second of these albums, was released in 1983. The title itself is not easy to translate. A Shona speaker with deep cultural knowledge observed that he could not find an exact English counterpart, but that it was “something like ‘chaos.’”
Mbavaira came out on Gramma Records, the country’s only label at the time. Gramma was still finding its way in a vastly changed music market. Guitar bands were ascendant and lots of new talent was emerging. As the independence years moved on, there would be fewer and fewer commercial mbira releases. But for the moment, Ephat had the required stature and reputation. Also, with the energy and drive we hear in these recordings, the album could easily rival the pop music of its day.
Ephat had long since mastered a large repertoire of traditional mbira songs and developed his own approach to arranging them. He had also become a gifted composer, although, with mbira music, it is often hard to draw a clear line between arranging and composing. Certain mbira pieces are like the 12-bar blues form or the “I Got Rhythm” changes in jazz: one can always create a new song from the existing template. But when you listen to Ephat’s feisty refrain on the song “Kwenda Mbire” (“Going to Mbire”), you just know it came from him. Ephat was a small, almost elfin, man, but he had the most exuberant personality and it comes through with particular clarity on that track.
An mbira ensemble typically uses at least two mbiras, playing separate interlocking parts so that it can be difficult to tell who is playing what. The sound becomes one. The only required percussion is the gourd rattle called hosho. It plays a very specific triplet rhythm and it has to be strong and solid to ensure that the mbira parts line up perfectly. Otherwise, the spirit will not come! The call-and-response vocals are also distinctive, a mix of hums and cries and melodic refrains, often punctuated by joyous ululations.
The tonality of a song like “Mudande” is moody, even a little dark. But the melodies that emerge have a remarkable way of turning wistfulness into merriment. The song title means “in Dande,” Dande being a remote northern region in Zimbabwe known for its inhospitable climate and deeply entrenched traditional culture.
Mbira is a healing music. Ephat once recalled, “When I was with Bandambira and Simon Mashoko, I was very surprised at what really made them happy. My grandfather was a very happy person. They had respect.” Ephant contrasted this happiness with the sour demeanor of the whites who condescended to him in Salisbury in his youth. “Somebody who wants to suppress another person is very unhappy.”
Within a few years after the release of Mbavaira, it and albums like it became harder to find in Zimbabwean record stores. Ephat adapted to the times and formed an electric band. “People were surprised,” he recalled. “They said, ‘Are you not going to play your mbira the way you did before?’ I said, I haven't changed anything. It's like me learning Shona and English, or French or Japanese. It's adding to the knowledge. The old one doesn't go away. When you buy a new jacket, you don't throw the old one away.” And indeed, when he began frequenting the UK and the United States, he would record more, mostly acoustic, albums.
But none of them have the particularly delicious energy of Spirit of the People in the first years of Zimbabwe’s independence. The final track on Mbavaira is a popular Shona hunting song, “Nyama Musango,” literally “Meat in the forest.” As elsewhere, Ephat does not sing the lead, leaving that role to his razor-voiced uncle, Mude Hakurotwi, with his mastery of timbres and rich repertoire of traditional vocables.
It was a tragedy to lose Ephat in 2001. He died from a heart attack shortly after landing at Heathrow Airport, en route to teach and perform in the U.S.. No doubt, he had much more to offer, for as he liked to say, “Mbira is like a sea. It's not a small river. You are getting into the big sea. So I try to show them the Indian Ocean, the Pacific, the Atlantic. What I'm trying to bring now to this music, through all the experiences I've had, is unity.” True unity has been difficult to achieve in Zimbabwe, given its combative history, but if anything could do the trick, this music might be the thing.
Banning Eyre
Senior Producer for Afropop Worldwide
By 1978, Addis Ababa’s nightlife was facing challenges. The ruling Derg regime imposed curfews, banning citizens from the streets after midnight until 6am. But that didn’t stop some people from dancing and partying thorough the night. Bands would play from evening until daybreak and people would stay at the clubs until curfew was lifted in the morning.
One key denizen of Addis’ musical golden age, Hailu Mergia, was preparing a follow up to his seminal Tche Belew LP with the famed Walias Band. It was the band’s only full-length record and it had been a success. But his Hilton house band colleagues were a bit tied up recording cassettes with different vocalists. Still Mergia, amidst recording and gigs with the Walias, was also eager to make another recording of his instrumental-focused arrangements. So he went to the nearby Ghion Hotel, another upmarket outpost with a popular nightclub. Dahlak Band was the house band at Ghion at the time. Together they made this tape Wede Harer Guzo right there in the club during the band’s afternoon rehearsal meetings, with sessions lasting three days.
“My instrumental music was very in-demand and I could have waited,” Mergia recalls. “But I wanted to have a different kind of sound. I had done several recordings with Walias so this time I needed a different sound.”
Dahlak Band catered to a slightly more youthful, local audiences, while Mergia’s main gig with the Walias at Addis swankiest hotel had a mixed audience that included foreign diplomats and older folks from abroad. Therefore their sets varied included lighter fare during dinnertime and a less rollicking selection of jazz and r&b. Meanwhile Dahlak was known more for the mainly soul and Amharic jams they served up for hours two nights a week to a younger crowd.
When Mergia entered the Ghion hotel nightclub to record this tape he was teaming up with a seasoned band who were particularly suited to his instrumental sound. Ethiopian popular music at the time combined elements of music from abroad and Dahlak balanced Mergia’s traditional song selection with the modern approach of a seasoned soul band.
Crucial to the resulting collaboration were Mergia’s arrangements which replaced distinctively use vocals for melodies normally played by instruments. His arrangements conjured memorable new flavors out of existing songs already popular with listeners.
Before Walias Band’s successful gig as house band at the Hilton, Mergia was a young musician hustling from one place to another around Addis. After finishing gigs at the Hilton or on nights off, he would go to good bar where azmari—roving musicians who play traditional songs for tips—and he’d pick up ideas and inspiration. Late night azmari performances revealed for Mergia which songs were moving people in the city. He regularly attended clubs, bars and special private after-hours venues called zigubgn where azmari perform. For Mergia, it was crucial to feature songs he knew people would recognize.
Amharic music has a large repertoire of standard songs everyone knows, the original composers and lyricists of which are often unknown or forgotten. Many of the songs Dahlak, Walias and other bands of that era (including Ibex and Shebele) were playing came from the treasury of shared music, which helped ensure a good vibe in the air.
Mergia released Wede Harer Guzo (“Travel to Harer,”with Sheba Music Shop, which was located in the Piazza district but has long since shut down. Recalling the audience’s positive reaction to Wede Harer Guzo’s novel arrangements, he says it sold well and found many fans. However, as no trace of the tape can be found online, there’s no indication as to why the cassette appears largely forgotten until now.