Conch Records
Moving forward and beyond as ever, Hyperdub introduces a brand new artist to the label, South London house producer Cooly G. A producer, singer and DJ, her productions caught the ear of Kode 9 for their mix of tough complex tribal drums, dubbed out feel and Cooly’s occasional gentle vocals which combine to make something undeniably fresh. The two sides of this EP represent two different aspects of her productions. ‘Narst’ is cold and martial, the urgent strings, serious driving soca beat, and chest tearing subass all reference classic Grime. In contrast the two versions of ‘Love Dub’ on the flip are dubbed out, offbeat, warm and sexy with loose percussion, swelling bass and Cooly’s gentle vocals. A great Hyperdub debut and yet another expect-the-unexpected twist on the label’s sound, championed by Mary Anne Hobbs and already highly rated in The Guardian, Independent, RWD, ATM, and Fact, with more features due in The Wire, Wah. IDJ and Mixmag. Cooly G - Narst Cooly G - Love Dub
Uncle Barnie Wanders Further...
Here is the continuation of Uncle Barnie's travel blog, the first post can be viewed here.
Dad's one was made in the final production run of this cult little car, and it goes like a bloody dream. I was nominated driver, which was fine by me, and once in Morocco we stopped in Rabat, Casablanca and Marakech before arriving in Essaouira.
Things of note on the drive down were giant storks building giant nests up top of telephone poles, and a dog eating a goat. Not much heard in the way of tunes on the way down, except the ever present call of the Azan, the Islamic prayer, blasted out of tinny speakers housed in the towers of local mosques. I made my first recording of this call in Rabat, at about 6am one morning. Swallows were nesting up top the window frame I had stuck my recorder out of, and were beginning to wake up and have a chat. A club somewhere close was still bombarding some poor bastards ear drums, and the muffled gabba like bass drum could just be made out, as well as the odd moped and bus chugging dudes off to work. Typed up like this it all sounds a bit like a kalashnikov vomiting into a pot of gravy, but it actually turned out to be a sweet 2-minute recording.
Essaouira is I guess the Raglan of Morocco. There are surfers here, and a beautiful long beach with mini sand dunes at the far end and camels... and lots of dudes. It seems Islam is still having its initial flirtations with the bikini. Its slow going, but looks promising. In the old town or medina Dad and I fluked a room in the house of a French couple who are soon to be opening up a shop here. They are swell relaxed people, and I've ended up designing their logo somehow...
Musically I have had my first brain/soul/heart explosion, a moment that occurred five days ago now. Through the ever-brilliant 'friends of friends' network I found myself in the house of a local Ma'alem or maestro of Gnaoua music. We walked up the thin and well-worn stairs to his workshop, where he makes Gimbri and then on through into his humble music room or salon.
Gimbri
The walls of this room are covered in posters of festivals from all over Europe that Ma'alem Sadik has played at - he seems to be in great demand from electro-fusion type outfits. We shared a beer, which is a bit hush-hush in Morocco, but this particular Ma'alem is kind of rock & roll. He met Jimi Hendrix back in the day. Hendrix, along with a few other gangsters like Jimmy Page, Robert Plant and Mick Jagger spent time here when it was briefly home to a small hippy community. The locals soon got tired of the 'not wear clothes at the beach' technique though and the hippies got the boot. But it seems some of their influence has remained, a smudge of relaxed non-conformism perhaps. That mixed with the gentle power of true Islamic spirituality makes Ma'alems like Sadik a joy to hang out with. Muslims traditionally place good manners and kindness as next to godliness, and the Ma'alems hospitality towards a wide-eyed New Zealander with a threadbare grasp of French and Arabic was mind-blowing.
I interviewed him using my Father as an interpreter, and then made some recordings of him playing his instrument. The Gimbri is kind of like a percussive African bass guitar, and is traditionally accompanied by men playing karkaba - a type of metal castanet. Once a groove is settled into, and the 'introductory passage' is completed, the singing begins – this beautiful plaintiff wailing. The song structure is quite complex, as is the arrangement of the songs in an evening’s performance.
Karkaba
Well i got to sit in on a few kiff infused sessions, and eventually the ma'alem invited me to jam with him on a battered old 5 string guitar. It took a while to find the rhythm, as the Gimbri has really long phrases that at first seem to pay little attention to the beat of the karkaba. I wanted to just play blues riffs as I had read about the similarities with blues and Gnaoua music, and after a minute or so - bam, it all slid into place and was beautiful. Truly an amazing musical moment in my life. I was with my Dad, and he actually zoned into a trance beside me, which made the ma'alem stop and check he was ok. He explained he had gone into a jedba or trance which is sort of the idea with Gnaoua jams or lilas. They usually last all night, but after a couple of hours Dad and I floated home all sorts of high.
So that was it, my first musical brain/soul/heart explosion on this trip... Allhumdullah!!
Uncle Barnie Wanders Further...
Well my Father and I left Ibiza. He decided to join me on a drive down to Morocco, from Denia in Spain where the Ibiza ferry deposited us, then down through southern Spain to Albaceras, then a wee ferry ride across the Straight of Gibraltar to Africa. We then took a few days cruising 80km along the coast of North Western Africa to Essaouira, the place where this Gnaoua Music Festival is to be held. We took off in a Renault 4, which looks like this:
Dad's one was made in the final production run of this cult little car, and it goes like a bloody dream. I was nominated driver, which was fine by me, and once in Morocco we stopped in Rabat, Casablanca and Marakech before arriving in Essaouira.
Things of note on the drive down were giant storks building giant nests up top of telephone poles, and a dog eating a goat. Not much heard in the way of tunes on the way down, except the ever present call of the Azan, the Islamic prayer, blasted out of tinny speakers housed in the towers of local mosques. I made my first recording of this call in Rabat, at about 6am one morning. Swallows were nesting up top the window frame I had stuck my recorder out of, and were beginning to wake up and have a chat. A club somewhere close was still bombarding some poor bastards ear drums, and the muffled gabba like bass drum could just be made out, as well as the odd moped and bus chugging dudes off to work. Typed up like this it all sounds a bit like a kalashnikov vomiting into a pot of gravy, but it actually turned out to be a sweet 2-minute recording.
Essaouira is I guess the Raglan of Morocco. There are surfers here, and a beautiful long beach with mini sand dunes at the far end and camels... and lots of dudes. It seems Islam is still having its initial flirtations with the bikini. Its slow going, but looks promising. In the old town or medina Dad and I fluked a room in the house of a French couple who are soon to be opening up a shop here. They are swell relaxed people, and I've ended up designing their logo somehow...
Musically I have had my first brain/soul/heart explosion, a moment that occurred five days ago now. Through the ever-brilliant 'friends of friends' network I found myself in the house of a local Ma'alem or maestro of Gnaoua music. We walked up the thin and well-worn stairs to his workshop, where he makes Gimbri and then on through into his humble music room or salon.
Gimbri
The walls of this room are covered in posters of festivals from all over Europe that Ma'alem Sadik has played at - he seems to be in great demand from electro-fusion type outfits. We shared a beer, which is a bit hush-hush in Morocco, but this particular Ma'alem is kind of rock & roll. He met Jimi Hendrix back in the day. Hendrix, along with a few other gangsters like Jimmy Page, Robert Plant and Mick Jagger spent time here when it was briefly home to a small hippy community. The locals soon got tired of the 'not wear clothes at the beach' technique though and the hippies got the boot. But it seems some of their influence has remained, a smudge of relaxed non-conformism perhaps. That mixed with the gentle power of true Islamic spirituality makes Ma'alems like Sadik a joy to hang out with. Muslims traditionally place good manners and kindness as next to godliness, and the Ma'alems hospitality towards a wide-eyed New Zealander with a threadbare grasp of French and Arabic was mind-blowing.
I interviewed him using my Father as an interpreter, and then made some recordings of him playing his instrument. The Gimbri is kind of like a percussive African bass guitar, and is traditionally accompanied by men playing karkaba - a type of metal castanet. Once a groove is settled into, and the 'introductory passage' is completed, the singing begins – this beautiful plaintiff wailing. The song structure is quite complex, as is the arrangement of the songs in an evening’s performance.
Karkaba
Well i got to sit in on a few kiff infused sessions, and eventually the ma'alem invited me to jam with him on a battered old 5 string guitar. It took a while to find the rhythm, as the Gimbri has really long phrases that at first seem to pay little attention to the beat of the karkaba. I wanted to just play blues riffs as I had read about the similarities with blues and Gnaoua music, and after a minute or so - bam, it all slid into place and was beautiful. Truly an amazing musical moment in my life. I was with my Dad, and he actually zoned into a trance beside me, which made the ma'alem stop and check he was ok. He explained he had gone into a jedba or trance which is sort of the idea with Gnaoua jams or lilas. They usually last all night, but after a couple of hours Dad and I floated home all sorts of high.
So that was it, my first musical brain/soul/heart explosion on this trip... Allhumdullah!!
Interesting reference pages related to this post:
About Gnawa or GnaouaNext Post:
Uncle Barnie @ Gnaoua & World Music Festival
Kode9 (UK) @ Zen Sat July 4th
Kode9, dubstep's original bass provocateur, straight dubstep royalty!
Head honcho of Hyperdub, his critically imperative record label that has unleashed Brit Award nominee Burial, along with 12s from Zomby, The Bug, Darkstar, Ikonika, Joker, LD. As a DJ, Kode's sets are legendary. Beginning at the home of dubstep FWD as their first ever resident DJ to playing to 8000 people at Sonar, his ability to infuse dub, jungle and techno into future bass riddims is without peer.
As a producer he's released his own full-length album on Hyperdub along with groundbreaking 12s on Tempa, Soul Jazz, Ninja Tune and a shitload more.
Gig details here
Various - The World Is Shaking: Cubanismo From The Congo, 1954-55 2LP (Honest Jons)
Tracklisting: (Check the links below for music clips)
Boniface Koufoundila - Bino Boton, Bosele
Laurent Lomande - Maboka Marie
A.H. Depala - Matete Paris
A.H. Depala - Akei Cimetiere
Andre Denis - Cherie N’aluli Yo
Vincent Kuli - Yaka Ko tala
Jene Mpia - Klim
Boniface Koufoundila - Ntango N’Abali
Robert Yuakarie - Musinichkie
Albert Bongu - Koseke Moniga Te
Rene Mbu - Boma Limbala
A.H. Depala - C. C. T. Ebongisi Mokiri
Fabien Libasi - Bengela Ngai Bosele
Laurent Lomande - Elisa
A.H. Depala - Moni, Moni Non Dey
Norbert Yakari - Kioo Cha Nyumba
J.P. Ndagu - Mokolo Bafuti Sanza
Boniface Koufoundila - Tokowela Angelique
L. Lomande - Embonga
Jene Mpia - Tika Koseka
A.H. Depala - Yoka Ngal
From The Honest Jon's Website:
Our fifth presentation of vintage recordings from the EMI Archive in Hayes, this album uncovers the dizzy beginnings of the golden age of African music — zinging with the social and political ferment of the independence movement and anti-colonianalism, after the Second World War — and the daredevil origins of Congolese rumba, the entire continent's most popular music in the sixties and seventies.
The new music grew in concert with a burgeoning night life — especially in the twin capitals of Leopoldville (today's Kinshasa) on the Belgian side, and Brazzaville on the French, where humming factories lured increasing numbers of rural Congolese with the offer of a steady, relatively well-paying job. Brazzaville had its celebrated nightclub, Chez Faignond, but most of the action took place across the river in much larger Leopoldville. There, Avenue Prince Baudouin, a ribbon of pavement connecting the white ville and black cite sections of the segregated capital, afforded easy access to a giddying number of bars. Labourers and clerks, fresh from work, jostled with thieves and dandies and a few adventuresome whites in the thicket of the Avenue's cross streets. Music wafting from hangouts like the Kongo Bar and Congo-Moderne, the pungent scent of cooking fires, hawkers' cries — Chewing gum! Cigarettes! Roast meat! — bombarded the senses and enfeebled self-control. Inside, beer flowed, and dancers glided in European-style embrace. (Adikwa Depala's song here about the C.C.T., the Congolese Tobacco Company, is encoded with verbal play about cannabis.) The 'coastmen' or popo, West African immigrants who came to Congo for work, headed for the Siluvangi. Henri Bowane's Quist occasionally hosted Brazzaville's Negro Jazz. Nearby, the Air France usually strained to capacity, and beyond it the O.K. Bar would offer its stage and its name to the great band of Franco and Vicky. More numerous open-air bars crowded back yards and side lots, arrayed in lights and fenced to discourage freeloaders. Children hung like bats from neighbouring trees, hoping to glimpse their favourite stars and check out the grownups at play.
The astonishing inventions of Europe and America also played an important role in the music's development. Echoes of music exported in the slave trade came home on radios and records. Congolese musicians who strayed from the traditional realm with its plethora of lutes and likembes (thumb pianos) — all the various indigenous instruments — began to master imported guitars and horns by mimicking what they heard. The jazz of Louis Armstrong and the ballads of European torch singers like Tino Rossi captured the imagination of the rapidly expanding working class — and then the familiar-sounding music of Latin America, in the form of the shiny shellac of HMV's GV series of 78s (G for the English Gramophone Company; V for Victor in the US). Local musicians swapped the Spanish of the originals for Congolese languages like Lingala or Kikongo. In his version of Peanut Vendor, included here, on top of his musical changes Depala replaces the seller's cry of 'mani', or peanut, with a lovelorn lament for a woman named Moni — a neat encapsulation of one step in the evolution of Congolese music.
The guitarist Depala went on to land a spot in the house-band of the prestigious Loningisa studio. Others failed to gain equivalent recognition, but their music was no less impressive. Listen to likembe player Boniface Koufidilia as he makes the transition from traditional to modern in the first few seconds of Bino, which then hits you with a vamping violin whilst he muses about death (including that of the popular Brazzaville musician Paul Kamba). Andre Denis and Albert Bongu both echo the the sounds of palm-wine brought to the Belgian Congo by the coastmen. The sweet vocal harmonies of Vincent Kuli's track were learned perhaps in a mission church. Rene Mbu's nimble, likembe-like guitar plucking shines on Boma Limbala. Is Laurent Lomande using a banjo as a backdrop to Elisa? Aren't those kazoos, buzzing along on Jean Mpia's Tika?
It's as if the musicians, fired up by the times in their zeal for experimental self-expression, tossed into a bottle some new elements and some old, some from near and some far, and then shook it hard, to see what would happen.
With notes by Gary Stewart, author of Rumba On The River; translations and rare photographs; sound restoration at Abbey Road.
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