My Little Corner Of The World – Volume 61

by Vinh on June 15th, 2010

The World Cup has arrived and this year, along with a celebration of the beautiful game, the event is a celebration of Africa. A renewed sense of hope abounds. A continent rises to its feet, voiced by the chirps of those omnipresent vuvuzelas. Indeed, this continent produces beautiful sounds and Sun On The Sand has chosen this opportunity to highlight some of its finest offerings — from Afrobeat to Malian blues, sonic staples to hidden gems. Naturally, other squads are participating so we’ve also selected choice tunes which would fit the mood regardless of geographical location. Enjoy.

Bonga – Angola 72 (1972)
Bonga may be the ideal figurehead for the worldliest (and sportiest) My Little Corner Of The World installment to date. A professional soccer player early on, he eventually abandoned the game to devote his energy to his true vocation: music. After being forced into exile for supporting Angola’s independence from Portugal, Bonga resided in both Paris and Lisbon, soaking up local culture and infusing dashes of European flavor into his splendid afropop recipe. The result is a rootsy amalgam of kizomba, samba, and afrobeat. For those with little time for genres, consult the following alliteration: foreign, familiar, fantastic. While the percussion here is not as salient as some might expect from an African release, this paucity is offset by Bonga’s positively stunning voice. Simultaneously powerful and evocative, it’s the type of monolith — akin to that of Toots Hibbert — that cannot help but assume the role of main character, becoming all the more spellbinding as it strains to decry injustices as personal as they are political. ‘Balumukeno’ evinces this tonal duality, as mammoth vocals mingle with a rustic samba-tinged arrangement. Bonga’s words are so vigorously delivered that it’d be presumptuous for Westerners to claim we share his school of thought. Nevertheless, this same zeal renders his message irresistible — even if we can’t decipher it, we’re persuaded. We can feel it. With feet firmly planted in both earthy grit and nimble flamenco, Angola 72 stands among the continent’s greatest offerings of the 20th century, a sumptuous union between Latin romanticism and the indomitable drive of African rhythm. – Vinh Cao

England/New Order – World In Motion (1990)
One thing that is sadly lacking from the World Cup this year is an official song released by the England football team. Over the years, the likes of Embrace, Spice Girls, Echo & The Bunnymen, Lightining Seeds, and Ocean Colour Scene have been part of an official song in collaboration with the English Football Association while Black Grape and Fat Les have released unofficial anthems for the people back home to get behind their team. The closest thing I’ve heard of that comes close to this kind of thing in America would be the Chicago Bears’ ‘Superbowl Shuffle’ but that is pantomime compared to the seriousness behind the England World Cup song. The cream of the crop and pinnacle of this curious tradition came back in 1990 when New Order took on the task of creating a timeless football anthem that to this day is still a part of the national conscience whenever a major international football tournament comes around. They were helped out by British actor Keith Allen (father to Lily) who wrote much of the words and proved genius at capturing the nation’s imagination. The key to New Order’s success here was that they didn’t try to write some cliche tune about overcoming adversity where the game itself was a metaphor for life. Essentially, ‘World In Motion’ was a good New Order tune that culminated with a rap by England player John Barnes and a terrace chant of a finale by the team. The rap by Barnes has become a major part of British pop culture. It is referenced often in TV shows (most recently in Gavin & Stacey) and it seems every year there is talk of a remix of this tune where anyone from David Beckham to Wayne Rooney are rumoured to being coaxed into recreating Barnes’ moment. It’s hard to think that just 10 years earlier, the members of New Order were Ian Curtis’ backing band as you could never imagine a band who created such dark sounds to come up with something as anthemic and poppy as ‘World In Motion’. It was a tough act to follow for any following tournaments and in recent years, the quality levels of the songs can only be described as shit with Ant & Dec and The Spice Girls basically ruining a great tradition (probably why there is no tune this year). I still have the cassette tape single of ‘World In Motion’ that I bought when I was 10 years old and it is still a song I play before heading out to watch any big match involving England. Quite handily, it was featured on the Best Of New Order CD that came out a few years back (what the American audience thought of this song, I have no idea) so the old tape is safely stowed in its case. But every World Cup memory that I have begins with ‘World In Motion’ and like the England football team of 1990, it hasn’t been bettered to this day. – Matthew James

Stan Getz & Joao Gilberto – Getz/Gilberto (1964)
Even though the most recognizable name on this album is one of the U.S.’s all-time great saxophonists, Stan Getz, this is almost entirely a Brazilian album. Legendary guitarist Joao Gilberto, with help from the equally iconic composer Antonio Carlos Jobim and his wife and chanteuse Astrud Gilberto, created one of the finest jazz albums ever recorded, spurring a bossa nova movement in the U.S. as well as establishing both his and his wife’s careers across continents. Although the World Cup is undoubtedly centered on competition and international rivalry, it is unbelievable how the musicians on this record blend, each allowing the other to shine in their own moment. Gilberto delivers with such an uncanny smoothness, an unmatchable ease that even when he is switching between Spanish and Portuguese, the seams are invisible. Getz’s lazy, airy playing fits this mood perfectly, but most impressive is his restraint. Through the first half of the album, including mega hit ‘The Girl From Ipanema’, he is almost non-existent, providing solos that are almost afterthoughts to the mastery of Joao’s guitarwork, Astrud’s enchanting melodies, and Jobim’s flawless arrangements. It isn’t until ‘O Grande Amor’ that he takes over, and does so fantastically, but odds are that you are still whistling one of the Gilberto’s verses from ‘Ipanema’. Such a classic proves that while there may be rivalry lines drawn on the pitch, collaboration often yields just as promising victories. – Paul Bulow

Babatunde Olatunji – Drums Of Passion (1959)
The human voice and percussion. They may not always produce palatable sounds, but these are music’s two primordial instruments. Both are situated squarely in the spotlight on Drums Of Passion, a pioneering recording insofar as it arguably comprised the first African success in the United States. Having uprooted his life to the U.S. to study medicine, Nigerian musician Babatunde Olatunji performs here alongside two fellow percussionists as well as a chorus of vocalists. Winsome harmonies are met with a percussive tide of remarkable force and intensity, its thumps and thwacks justifying the notion that drumming is a viable outlet for those who wish to pour out what they’ve bottled up as Olatunji and company offer renditions of 8 traditional Nigerian numbers spanning a broad range of subjects from ancient chants aimed at specific figures to more universal notions such as flirtation, frustration, and celebration. With that being said, Drums Of Passion is not necessarily carried by the titular instrument. Hell, for my money, the album is most intriguing when vocals play as pivotal a part in the journey. On ‘Odun De!’, the gang welcomes the new year in vibrant fashion, with ebullient harmonies and spirited percussion coupling to produce a warm breeze just delicate enough to coax us into winding down and just grounded enough to skirt saccharine trappings — a singular, effortless cut of revelry. Sometimes, getting back to basics proves quite the delight. – Vinh Cao

Ilo Ferreira – Ilo EP (2009)
It’s the sort of story that movies are based on. An unassuming singer-songwriter on the island of Cape Verde off the coast of Africa is playing a set in a local bar. Unbeknownst to him, the minstrel of summer fun, Jimmy Buffett, has arrived with friends. Fast-forward through lunch the next day and exchanged emails. A few months later, Ilo arrives on American soil for the first time and performs in front of 70,000 people at a Jimmy Buffett show in Massachusetts before heading into the studio in the hands of Buffett’s producers. The EP that emerges from these first sessions hints at the timeless potential of Ilo Ferreira. The five songs move through various styles of music almost as if the producers are searching for the right framework for the island soul that shimmers in his voice. Whether it’s straight-ahead rock (‘Let Me Love You’) or Peter-Gabriel-infused pop (‘Lifeline’), Ilo’s voice can melt the hardest frown. On ‘Sunny Day’, a Cajun rhythm segues into an island backbeat and Ilo’s voice breathes a cool breeze across a humid afternoon. When he shifts into his native language — an island style Portuguese — on ‘Fisherman Song’, he sounds at home. As his soothing voice flows above an acoustic guitar, it’s easy to imagine sitting on a rickety boat looking toward the African coast as the sun sets behind you. On a warm summer night, it’s a good place to be. – Jason Lent

Paul Simon – Graceland (1986)
It only seems right that as we discover and celebrate what makes this continent great, we look back upon the album that brought more exposure to the music of Africa than almost any other. Written during the time of apartheid in South Africa, Graceland saw Paul Simon collaborate with several prominent African musicians, most notably Ray Phiri, Okyerema Asante, and of course Ladysmith Black Mambazo. It seemed like the perfect recipe for contrived disaster; a Jewish-American songwriter at the low point of his career recording with relatively unknown mbaqanga musicians. But as we see time and time again, extraordinary music seems to come out of the most unusual of places. Simon takes the spirit, wonder, and heart of the African people, and manages to make its integration into 11 breezy Americana tunes seem effortless. Graceland quickly became an international phenomenon; going 5x platinum, winning two Grammys, and launching Paul Simon back into international stardom. It jump-started the careers of many of his collaborators as well, and brought much deserved respect to the wonderful musicians of the African continent. – Max Logan

Tony Allen and The Afro Messengers – No Discrimination (1980)
Much like Herbie Hancock allowed the funk to take over his jazz in the early 70s, Tony Allen submerged his sole effort with The Afro Messengers in a similarly serpentine groove. As the band leader and drummer for Fela Kuti’s Africa 70, Allen was naturally well versed in afrobeat. However, his spin on the style would truly begin to trace its own course by 1980. Make no mistake, horns still blare and polyrhythms still stick, but No Discrimination strikes as a significant departure into untapped plains — this is funkier, more tuneful, and rather minimalist in comparison. Where Fela could incite a disturbing level of commotion with his fulgurant tropes, Allen appears to lean in the direction of, well, leaning back. The record’s swagger certainly isn’t tame, though to deem it vociferous would also be pushing it — No Discrimination feels geared toward a street strut rather than a street riot. Reinforcing the funkier instrumentation is the metallic synthesizer which was littering jazz fusion albums in the middle of the decade as well as a dubby laid back sense of melody. Every once in a while, Allen lowers his guard and drifts away with the pulsating arrangements, slipping into a clumsy if wholly contagious form of song. Streamlined in density while adventurous in approach, No Discrimination is defiant, dynamic, and above all, dazzling. It isn’t conventional afrobeat, and its break from the handbook is precisely why it constitutes a paragon for the genre. – Vinh Cao

El Guincho – Alegranza! (2008)
Pablo Díaz-Reixa aka El Guincho hails from Barcelona, Spain, and shares plenty of similarities with the national team he supposedly supports. He is a native of the Catalonia region of Spain and speaks the language, as do a fair number of the players on team like notable contributors Xavi and Cesc Fàbregas; the city he calls home is headquarters to the club team of more than a third of the players on the national squad, FC Barcelona, including superstar striker David Villa; and like a Spanish side long thought to be underachievers, he has only come to prominence in the very recent past. But most importantly, his style coincides with many of the themes that the Spanish National Team incorporates. His music is free-flowing and exciting as is La Furia Roja’s, a side known for putting up massive goal totals without so much as breaking a sweat and doing it all with a sense of flair. He also exhibits divergent styles simultaneously, as he often references Latin genres of the 60s and even older while placing them together through modern production and sequencing techniques. Compare that to the old school, blood and guts style of center back Carles Puyol and the on-field time he shares with infinitely innovative offensive weapons like Fernando Torres and Andrés Iniesta. And finally, this is just the perfect album to play while taking in a soccer match on a brisk night in South Africa, specifically when watching this particular squad play. Released just three months before Spain’s triumph in the 2008 European championship, Alegranza! feels like it was designed around Spain’s style of play. The pace moves nearly as fast as the ball does through the Spaniards’ midfield, the beat hits as hard as a slide tackle from the side in red, and when the music reaches it sonic apex like on ‘Fata Morgana’, it does so as joyously as the celebration for a goal from the Spanish Armada. Of course, the similarities between the two go both ways. Did I mention the Spaniards are the favorite to win the World Cup? – Brian Riewer

Boubacar Traore – Mariama (1990)
The buzz surrounding this year’s festivities is electric. Goings-on surely unfold well into the wee hours of the morning, with partisans of all nations convening — as well as cavorting — under the joyous umbrella of the human family. Yet when camera lenses are shut and the sounds emitted sit beyond the aural reach of outsiders, I hear an entirely different scene, an entirely quieter one. I hear Mariama. Come nighttime, Boubacar Traore’s tender folk debut encompasses the emotional breadth of Africa. On ‘Pierette’, Traore’s ode to his late wife, anguish emerges — a universal plight touching our brothers, sisters, fathers, and mothers. The woolly production affords rich acoustic strums the latitude to stray, coating every inch of those dolorous vocals in a numbing cocoon. This has long surpassed mere sorrow. This has lasted an eternity, dallying behind every note and curbing our steps forward to a hushed halt. On ‘Kele’, hurdles dissolve to turn up our much needed reprieve. Fragile hope is projected through a wonderfully world-weary voice and balmy guitar hums so as to not alert the specters of past trials to our looming recovery. Traore’s instrument shimmers in the dusk with dreams of a new day on the horizon, boundless possibility reflecting off those sparkling, incandescent melodies. The Malian troubadour dawdles down dim paths on his very first outing, yet his gaze isn’t restricted to the shadows. He notices the glimmers as well, tempering his grizzly blues with the vernal threads of promise we all cling to in the dark. – Vinh Cao