Ketukuba

After a year of musical soul-searching Africando have returned with arguably their best recording so far. It is hard to know if it is because the multi-cultural band was galvanised by the premature losses of Alfredo Rodriguez (who arranged three of the album’s songs) and Beninois crooner Gnonas Pedro. Or is it the result of the maturity they have accumulated in the last 15 years, allied to the injection of new blood, in the form of Senegalese singers Basse Sarr and Pascal Dieng, and American salsero Joe King?

Be that as it may, this is a wonderful descarga (jam session), full of improvisation and bite. It once again brings North American salsa back to its African roots, via the studios of Miami, Paris, Abidjan, Bamako and Dakar. This is appropriately summed up in the album title, since “Ketukuba” means “from the origins to Cuba” (in one of Benin’s numerous languages).

One of these origins is the West African percussion patterns that went on to become the “clave” in Cuba. This 3-2 rhythm is at the heart of Cuban “son”, a beat that evolved in the music cauldrons of New York’s Spanish Harlem and Puerto Rico. Africando have reaped the cumulative riches of these successive migrations. They distil them in eleven tracks that maintain a breakneck yet refreshing tempo. They are perhaps the only band in the world capable of allying Mandingo melodies with salsa and present them in the Lingala, Mandingo or Wolof languages.

“Viens Danser sur le Son Africando” epitomises this graceful osmosis. This Mandingo salsa is the most African of the songs and is illuminated by the clarion-like voice of Sekouba Bambino. But there is also the scintillating “Mario”, a song from Kinshasa that the legendary Franco made into a transcontinental hit. The salsa transformation of a classic rumba is likely to hit dance floors on three continents - though few will understand that it is about the misadventures of a Latino gigolo abandoned by all the women he attempts to seduce.

The lyrics vary from tales of a beautiful Fulani woman (“Coumba Peul”) to hardnosed warnings to leave the singer alone (“Bogne Sirala”). Yet it is the warm pleas for friendship, humanity and tolerance that stand out. There is the moving “Fatalikou”, an “African lament” about a sterile woman that is my personal favourite; the Wolof tune “Dieguema” calls for support in moments of solitude; the salsa-driven “Kër” is an ode of gratitude to a father from his son (“you are my tree, my shadow”); while the guaguanco song “Sagoo” is a rallying call for peace and solidarity between humans. Unfortunately, the slightly cheesy arrangements here betray the lofty message.

But this album’s merry mixture of guajira, guaganco, rumba and salsa is a rich enough message in itself, and it glosses over such quibblings. Latino swing married to African voices … what more can the aficionados and the non-initiates ask for as the European winter gloom invades our horizon? Well, the genteel Gnonas I met in December 2003 would have been pleased with his warm farewell gift.

November 2006

Daniel Brown