Makossa

My Top 10 albums memory series continues with an acknowledgement of today's passing of Cameroonian musician, performer, and legend, Manu Dibango and an all-too-short tribute to his music.

There's a rather odd video for this song--"Soul Makossa" by Manu Dibango--on YouTube that features lots of African children dancing, along with some traditional dancers. And that's great. But there's a quite strange scene, too, of an old man trying to, let's say, "dance" with a, let's say, "woman," that may be too much for sensitive viewers.

I don't consider myself that sensitive of a viewer; I want to know what the hell is going on between those two! But, instead, let's just go with the music on this one, which is all you really need.

Believe it or not, this song was a Top 40 hit in the US back in 1973. I remember hearing it on the radio, sometimes the 45 version, sometimes a portion used as a break between programs, even in rural Eastern North Carolina, where I grew up. I don't know how I ever matched the song and the performer given my lack of information back in the day, but somehow I did, and this remains one of my favorite songs of all time.

The instrumentation, the beat, the spoken word, the chorus, the famous mama say mama sah mama kossa--which has been used in other songs, most notably Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" and Rihanna's "Don't Stop the Music"--for me, they are sublime.

Some consider this song to be the first disco single. Which is great and nothing to be ashamed of because it's joyous, highly danceable, and a party all on its own. I've read from one source that "makossa" means "I will dance" in one of Cameroon's traditional languages. But it's definitely more than a dance song. If you listen to some of the R&B hits of that era and some of the Afropop music of that era, it's as my good friend FouChat once suggested, it's as if they were listening to each other. They were talking to each other, singing to each other, playing for one another, through records and music, across an ocean and through a forced, brutal diaspora. As if to say, we're still here, we're still together, we see you.

A case in point: Various songs by Isaac Hayes and Barry White are also considered the first disco song. Again, maybe they were all listening to each other's records. Who can say?

So this song for represents a love for dance music but also a love for African music, a love for soul music, a love for Africa and travel and curiosity and adventure and exploration. It reminds me of listening to my shortwave radio in my bedroom at night trying to pull in the faintest "tropical band" radio stations from Cameroon, Gabon, Togo, Guinea, Ghana, Nigeria, and more. It reminds me that I want to see that part of the world at some point in my life.

I was hoping this would be the year. (I had a trip to Senegal all mapped out and was making plans to take yellow fever and malarial medication. But now I might have to take a raincheck (or a plaguecheck as it were). Nonetheless, I feel it will happen. This year, next year, soon.

Ma-ma-ko, ma-ma-sa, ma-ko-makossa!

"Soul Makossa" by Cameroonian saxophone superstar Manu Dibango is probably one of my favorite songs of all time. It's perhaps somewhat of an obscure song to claim as a favorite--an Afrobeat tune from the very early 1970s that somehow managed to make the charts in the U.S. and to become noted as one of the first disco tunes. Even though I was just a wee nipper, I do recall hearing the song on the radio circa 1972 or 1973. And I remember being captivated by it. In some ways, it was a song about as alien to me and my culture as was possible at the time.

Growing up, our house was always full of music. My Dad's Maybelle Carter and the Carter Family records, Jim Reeves, and the Grand Ol' Opry on TV. My sister's Beatles records, from which there was no escape. My one brother's sensitive singer-songwriter types (Emmett Rhodes anyone?), and my other brother's Southern rock ("Jim Dandy" by Black Oak Arkansas and Ruby Starr, among many others), which we all enjoyed, the late great era of Muscle Shoals boogie bands.

And then there was me, the gay one, with his yen for soul, disco, and Europop. On long road trips in the '70s, I must have been the only white kid south of the Mason-Dixon line bopping to Barry White, the Ohio Players, and the Miracles.

So, in other ways, "Soul Makossa" wasn't that alien to me. I'd already learned to appreciate the groove, the exquisite joy of rhythm, dance, and funk. Lyrics were important to the era as well--might I suggest listening to John Legend and the Roots' Wake Up, an homage to '70s black consciousness pop?--but a tune like "Soul Makossa" doesn't need to be understood word for word. The sound of Manu Dibango's voice, the musicality of the African language in which he sings and chants, and that smooth, laidback chorus of back-up singers intoning "Hey Makossa," all combine wonderfully to make a stellar pop record which, to me, transcends time, language, genre, and culture.

In short, if you fail to be moved--literally or figuratively--by "Soul Makossa," I do begin to wonder whether you are indeed a sentient being.

I don't think the original is what disco became known for, what it evolved into, all 4-on-the-floor beat, swooning strings, and frothy vocals. Instead, "Soul Makossa" is where disco started and might have gone, if it had stayed more underground, more alternative, and less cokespoons-and-cheap glamour. The song, with its transcendental pleasure, its worldview, and its unmistakeable sensuality was what disco was all about anyway, but got hopelessly lost along the way.



So flash forward to 2011 and Mr. Dibango has rerecorded "Soul Makossa," this time with up-and-coming UK pop artist Wayne Beckford.

Now I'm highly wary of remakes. Whether in film or music or what have you, most of the copies are light and faded in comparison to their originals.

However, with "Soul Makossa 2.0," I think Dibango and Beckford get it right. They don't try a note-for-note remake of an unremake-able song. Instead, it's more of an homage to the original with updates for the present day. And yet those updates--in rhythm, in lyrics, in singing style--complement the original, rather than overwhelm it or alter it beyond all recognition.

Is it as good as the original? Well, I guess I would say it is what it is, a version 2.0, so it's not a remake of the original, but rather a reinterpretation. I think musically it's still a very exciting, intriguing song. Lyrically, well, it's now intelligible to me in English and while the lyrics aren't embarrassing or insipid, let's just say that maybe something is lost in translation--that something being the more mystical, transcendental quality offered by *not* understanding the original language.

Still, worth a listen and worth owning.

With some skill, you can find this new version on iTunes U.S. Look for the album Festival International - Nuits d'Afrique Compilation 2011 (25ième édition).

Oddly, I could swear that a month or so ago, I saw the Manu Dibango album, Past - Present - Futur, from which this song is culled, slated for release on iTunes. But zut alors, now it's gone.

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And speaking of things you can't find on iTunes, here's one by Wayne Beckford that I particularly enjoy, musically and visually.



My goodness, how can you not love a funny but rather cringe-inducing line like "This girl is making a big explosion/like the Taliban." I now want a trio or quartet of Beckfordettes (the Montaguettes? the OnFireMajorettes?) to follow me wherever I go, serving as a R&B chorus to my Greek lifestyle (i.e., too much debt, not enough austerity).

Ha. Seventies soul for a Naughties + Ten reality.