Leo Africanus / Africa is a Country

The Playlist rolls on. Same rules: It could be what you listen to in the car, at work, your favorite tracks of all time, genre-based top 10 lists. It doesn’t matter. The rule is only ten tracks. Be irreverent.

Rethabile Masilo is our tenth guest. He lives in France with his wife and children (22 years now). He teaches languages (mainly English) and, most importantly, is behind Poefrica, ‘a weblog of creative, Africa-inspired writing.’ It’s worth a visit.

As for his Playlist, here’s what is behind his choices:

When I sit down to write and wish to be in a receptive mood, or not to be disturbed, I either listen to music, or to nothing but the sounds in my head. If I do listen to music, it can’t be any music, but songs that leave my mind free to wander. That means I have to love the songs enough to have listened to them at least once a day (on average) for the past few years, I must know the lyrics more than by heart, so that I can hum or sing along without any effort on my part.  The songs can be of any style or origin: criterion number one is that I have to like them, a lot, that’s all. I’ve tried to add new songs to the 25 or so on my list, but each time the newcomer starts playing, my mind snaps back and I start listening to the song, which takes my mind off the task at hand: writing, or revising. Doesn’t work too well with reading. And even with writing, at some point I’ll just have to reach over and cut the music because I absolutely have to hear something off my tongue. Some line that I think is trying to fall into place. So here’s ten songs that I can sing or hum backwards and forwards blindfolded, while trying to write or revise a poem. If I had to make a list of ten favourites, full-stop, it’d be quite different.

Here’s the list:

(1) “Tadieu Bone“, by Ismaël Lô. Mr Lô is one of the African musicians I discovered after having left home. Dry guitar and the harmonica. A great voice, and generally an ambience setter: the cool kind. I discovered a lot of other great African singers and performers while I was in Europe, missing home.

(2) “Amandrai“, by Ali Farka Touré.  Mr Touré (RIP) liked to say that there are no black Americans, but that there are instead Blacks in America, and those Blacks did not lose their music over the centuries. Martin Scorsese has said that Mr Touré’s music is the DNA of the blues, and if you listen to him you’ll immediately understand why.

(3) “Souareba“, by Salif Keita. The voice, and the fearlessness in it. When I was a kid I went to political rallies with my parents. Heck, we all went. Everything is of course all song in Lesotho, so before the speeches and the discussions of manifestos began, and also long after they had ended, we sang and danced. It was always the “prompt & response” style in which a leader chants something (prompts) and the rest follow (respond), Ladysmith Black Mambazo style, if you will. Our leader was affected by albinism, like Mr Keita. Rest assured, that’s not why I listen to Salif Keita day in and day out. I listen to him because he can write songs and he can sure as hell sing them.

(4) “Bisso Baba“, by Richard Bona. I discovered Richard a year and a half ago, and haven’t stopped liking him. Bassist with multiple talents, he can sing, too. There’s a video of him improvising alongside Bobby McFerrin (or vice versa); it is worth a listen. Another song of Richard I swear by is “Suninga“.

(5) “You Haven’t Done Nothing“, by Stevie Wonder.  I actually can do this (work peacefully) with almost any Stevie tune, except maybe two. I don’t have anything to say about him: he’s the man who can do anything he wants to with a piano, a harmonica and the drums. Oh, and his voice. I saw him in concert about 11 years ago, and I didn’t sit down for as long as he continued to sing.

(6) “What’s Goin’ On?“, by Marvin Gaye.  The song that hooked me to Marvin Gaye was “Let’s Get It On” which he sang from the turntables of the world in the mid-seventies, during the bump jive craze. Johnny Nash was there, too, with his “The Look In Your Eyes.” What’s Goin’ On” is everything that a song can be: it’s the lyrics, the appropriate voice, the instrumental, the embodiment of several genres within self (soul, R&B, jazz). Oh, what the hell, Marvin Gaye is gone and I’m sorry he is.

(7) “Cler Achel“, by Tinariwen. A group of Tuaregs who play the electrical guitar. When I first heard this music, it sounded at once African and Carlos Santanian. Apparently Tinariwen have recorded many albums, but in the cassette form, and only the three last ones in the CD form. Their music transports me and I sing along, even if I don’t understand the Tamasheq language they often sing in. The album I own is called “Aman Iman “. I’ll soon get the rest, Insh’allah.

(8) “Mannenberg“, by Abdullah Ibrahim. Grew up listening to it, am listening to it, will listen to it. I’m a big consumer of Abdullah’s music while I work, relax or drive. I don’t know how he does that trick of playing jazz the African way, but he does. “Ishmael ” (from the Banyana album) is another favourite. I had a Palestinian friend in my dorm room once, at university, when I placed “Ishmael” on the turntable. He listened for a bit, perplexed, then he made for my machine and wanted to kick it. I kicked him out of my room. The fact that Mr Ibrahim’s dad was a Mosotho has no bearing whatsoever on my love for his music. Honest.

(9) “Bouge de la,” by MC Solaar. Or “Hasta la Vista” or a few other MC Solaar tunes. This song set off Claude M’Barali (who had just become MC Solaar) and made him a star. One of his strengths is the sound and the meaning in his lyrics, so much that many in France consider him more a poet than a rapper. His “Paradisiaque” samples Diana Ross’s Love Hangover well.

(10) “Tell me a Bedtime Story“, by Pieces of a Dream. I was introduced to the band in the early 1980s by Adrian, a friend from Atlanta (whom I can’t locate, even with the help of Facebook). We played soccer together and both enjoyed the music of Grover Washington, Jr; and Adrian said Pieces of a Dream were “discovered” by Grover and I’d like them. I’m still liking them. They make me want a low sunset and a tumbler of whisky. Maybe an ocean, or a simple balcony. And they certainly blend into my writing environment like light, or that potted tree in the corner, or the sound of life coming from everywhere around (except my kids having a Nintendo-related argument).