Africa Paname
Last Friday night Abby and I went to an amazing concert. We were joined by John, a friend of Abby’s from WashU, Marie, a fellow Fondation resident, and Duc, a francophile friend of mine from Berkeley. Last weekend I saw a flier for a band who my dad had introduced me to via NPR in the late 90s, Zap Mama. Zap Mama is a group of African women who mix hip-hop, r&b and traditional music to create a funky sound accompanied by socially conscious lyrics. Abby knew of them as well, and despite the 15 euro entrance fee, we roped John and Marie into going. Duc is a photographer, so he got in free as press. He ran out of room on his memory card for his digital camera (he used both digital and film) so he borrowed mine and hopefully I’ll be able to put some pictures up soon. Anyways, back to the story . . . .
We didn’t have any expectations going into the concert because we had no idea what we were getting into. It was held at the Maison de la Mutualité, a large, 1930s style conference center. Earlier in the day there had been a conference on the status of African nations and immigrants to France. The concert turned out to be a benefit for the event. Getting there a bit late, we missed the first performers, a traditional African drumming group. We caught their last song and then milled around in the auditorium. It had a large stage in the front, a wooden floor, which probably decades ago was a dance floor, and several rows of balcony seating ringing the room. You could’ve imagined yourself in some 1960s WW2 movie at a USO dance. The audience was a mix of primarily young people: hippies, emo-artsy types and plain students. It was more or less diverse; the proportions of black, Arabic and traditional European were just about the same as you would see in on the streets of the 5th, where the la Mutualité was located.
The stage was quickly set and the next group came out. John described them as a North African Dave Mathews Band. Consisting of a central African saxophonist, European French fiddler and guitarist, Arabic-French drummer and bassist, and lead by a North African acoustic guitarist, they played a contemporary folk rock style with very strong Algerian influences. The lead was skinny and energetic, dancing all over the stage as he sang in Arabic and French. Most of the women and a fair fraction of the men in the crowd were dancing as wwll. They played for forty-five minutes and left the stage to enthusiastic applause.
For a change of pace the organizers decided to follow with some slam poetry, in French, of course. Out on to the stage walked a skinny, really white French guy who looked like a cross between Eminem and Niles from the TV show Frasier. He spoke very passionately about the plight of immigrants to France from former French colonies, the government, the denial of the existence of racism, and a multitude of other social problems in well annunciated French, so I could actually understand him. He was funny, self-effacing and somewhat shy although he clearly enjoyed having his hands on the mic. At one point Abby commented that it was strange to hear these poems/rap coming from a skinny white guy, but I think it shows how racial dialogue and relations in the US and France differ. Maybe its because France didn’t have much slavery on the ‘continental’ soil, or because some former colonies now exist as ‘departements’ or provinces of france, but race is treated differently here. I see many more inter-racial couples than I do in the US and there seems to be, at least along black/white lines, more mixing in social groups and functions. I do not mean to say that France doesn’t have severe racial tensions. The Parisian suburbs show poverty and ethnic divisions similar to those in inter city America. There is a large muslim population that is by and large treated badly and anti-semitism is still a very relevant issue. It’s an issue that the government finds easy to ignore however, because they can say that France is founded on “liberté, egalité, et fraternité”, so what more could you need. Still, I think I’d rather be black in France than in the US. Sorry for the digression . . . back to the music!
The next band, Ba Cissoko, is my favorite music ‘find’ in a long time. After the poet left the stage the lights dimmed and on stage walked two men carrying nearly identical, large stringed instruments, which I later learned are called koras. They consist of a large covered oblique half-sphere with a long neck across which are suspended 10 or 20 strings. On either side of the neck, at the point where it connects with the body, there are two protrusions which serve as handles. The player grasps the instrument by these handles with his pinky through middle fingers and plucks the strings with amazing rapidity with his thumbs and index finger. The sound is reminiscent of a lute, with a wide octave range. They began, what I assume was a traditional, and were joined by a man playing a larger, three stringed cousin of the kora which served as a bass, and another man playing a drum which looked like a massive overturned shell. The song was trance-like and the audience stood captivated by the strange sounds and rhythms until it ended the broke into appreciative applause. Then the bassist traded his kora for an electric base, the kora players stood up, and the songs that followed were upbeat, contemporary and thoroughly dance-able. Ba Cissoko jammed for almost an hour, with a sound that I would guess is the guinean equivalent to a mix of Zeplin, Hendrix and Phish. One of the kora players hooked up a distortion pedal to his instrument and went into long solos of crazy scales and notes distorted all over the place. The audience was in love. At the end, everyone screamed, “please don’t go, please don’t go” in English, which was a bit strange. I have no idea where they had got the phrase ‘please don’t go’ because, ironically, we use ‘encore’.
After a bit more slam poetry it was time for Zap Mama. The stage was dark, then backlit as four women walked out, singing a capella. They were dressed in fantastically painted overcoats, each with an individual design. They were commanded by the tallest one, who had the brightest colored jacket. This was Marie Daulne , the force behind Zap Mama. After the first a capella number they broke into the mix of styles I described above, but the music was almost secondary to presence on the stage. She commanded everyone, her singers, the band, the audience. Tall, beautiful and incredibly talented, that woman can dance! She can also rap. In one piece she had a mixer which she used to lay down track after track of difference beat box sounds and then eventually she sang over it. Everyone, including the musicians were dancing and having a great time. All I can say is that if you have a chance to see her, take it. Unfortunately, the concert ended promptly at midnight, so we didn’t get any encores. As the slam poetry guy said, “Hey, this is Paris, not Africa, show’s over at midnight.” We left, ears ringing, running to catch the last metro.
We didn’t have any expectations going into the concert because we had no idea what we were getting into. It was held at the Maison de la Mutualité, a large, 1930s style conference center. Earlier in the day there had been a conference on the status of African nations and immigrants to France. The concert turned out to be a benefit for the event. Getting there a bit late, we missed the first performers, a traditional African drumming group. We caught their last song and then milled around in the auditorium. It had a large stage in the front, a wooden floor, which probably decades ago was a dance floor, and several rows of balcony seating ringing the room. You could’ve imagined yourself in some 1960s WW2 movie at a USO dance. The audience was a mix of primarily young people: hippies, emo-artsy types and plain students. It was more or less diverse; the proportions of black, Arabic and traditional European were just about the same as you would see in on the streets of the 5th, where the la Mutualité was located.
The stage was quickly set and the next group came out. John described them as a North African Dave Mathews Band. Consisting of a central African saxophonist, European French fiddler and guitarist, Arabic-French drummer and bassist, and lead by a North African acoustic guitarist, they played a contemporary folk rock style with very strong Algerian influences. The lead was skinny and energetic, dancing all over the stage as he sang in Arabic and French. Most of the women and a fair fraction of the men in the crowd were dancing as wwll. They played for forty-five minutes and left the stage to enthusiastic applause.
For a change of pace the organizers decided to follow with some slam poetry, in French, of course. Out on to the stage walked a skinny, really white French guy who looked like a cross between Eminem and Niles from the TV show Frasier. He spoke very passionately about the plight of immigrants to France from former French colonies, the government, the denial of the existence of racism, and a multitude of other social problems in well annunciated French, so I could actually understand him. He was funny, self-effacing and somewhat shy although he clearly enjoyed having his hands on the mic. At one point Abby commented that it was strange to hear these poems/rap coming from a skinny white guy, but I think it shows how racial dialogue and relations in the US and France differ. Maybe its because France didn’t have much slavery on the ‘continental’ soil, or because some former colonies now exist as ‘departements’ or provinces of france, but race is treated differently here. I see many more inter-racial couples than I do in the US and there seems to be, at least along black/white lines, more mixing in social groups and functions. I do not mean to say that France doesn’t have severe racial tensions. The Parisian suburbs show poverty and ethnic divisions similar to those in inter city America. There is a large muslim population that is by and large treated badly and anti-semitism is still a very relevant issue. It’s an issue that the government finds easy to ignore however, because they can say that France is founded on “liberté, egalité, et fraternité”, so what more could you need. Still, I think I’d rather be black in France than in the US. Sorry for the digression . . . back to the music!
The next band, Ba Cissoko, is my favorite music ‘find’ in a long time. After the poet left the stage the lights dimmed and on stage walked two men carrying nearly identical, large stringed instruments, which I later learned are called koras. They consist of a large covered oblique half-sphere with a long neck across which are suspended 10 or 20 strings. On either side of the neck, at the point where it connects with the body, there are two protrusions which serve as handles. The player grasps the instrument by these handles with his pinky through middle fingers and plucks the strings with amazing rapidity with his thumbs and index finger. The sound is reminiscent of a lute, with a wide octave range. They began, what I assume was a traditional, and were joined by a man playing a larger, three stringed cousin of the kora which served as a bass, and another man playing a drum which looked like a massive overturned shell. The song was trance-like and the audience stood captivated by the strange sounds and rhythms until it ended the broke into appreciative applause. Then the bassist traded his kora for an electric base, the kora players stood up, and the songs that followed were upbeat, contemporary and thoroughly dance-able. Ba Cissoko jammed for almost an hour, with a sound that I would guess is the guinean equivalent to a mix of Zeplin, Hendrix and Phish. One of the kora players hooked up a distortion pedal to his instrument and went into long solos of crazy scales and notes distorted all over the place. The audience was in love. At the end, everyone screamed, “please don’t go, please don’t go” in English, which was a bit strange. I have no idea where they had got the phrase ‘please don’t go’ because, ironically, we use ‘encore’.
After a bit more slam poetry it was time for Zap Mama. The stage was dark, then backlit as four women walked out, singing a capella. They were dressed in fantastically painted overcoats, each with an individual design. They were commanded by the tallest one, who had the brightest colored jacket. This was Marie Daulne , the force behind Zap Mama. After the first a capella number they broke into the mix of styles I described above, but the music was almost secondary to presence on the stage. She commanded everyone, her singers, the band, the audience. Tall, beautiful and incredibly talented, that woman can dance! She can also rap. In one piece she had a mixer which she used to lay down track after track of difference beat box sounds and then eventually she sang over it. Everyone, including the musicians were dancing and having a great time. All I can say is that if you have a chance to see her, take it. Unfortunately, the concert ended promptly at midnight, so we didn’t get any encores. As the slam poetry guy said, “Hey, this is Paris, not Africa, show’s over at midnight.” We left, ears ringing, running to catch the last metro.
<< Home