Fire, Movement, and Much-needed Joy

Oyaya! (2004), by Angélique Kidjo

The sharp-eyed reader probably noticed that I recently purchased this album, among others, and posted a screenshot of my order in:

Confessions of a Bargain Shopper

Marshall Bowden

put it best in his comment: “…that Angelique Kidjo album is fire, also!”

It is, sir. Indeed, it is.

Fire

When I returned to school in 2017 to complete my music degree, I had a few goals. One was to learn more about African and Caribbean musical traditions. Unfortunately, my school only offered the class I wanted in alternating years. Between 2017 and 2020, I had a scheduling conflict during the one semester it was offered, so my learning in this area is all self-directed.

In spite of that, I have fumbled around and learned a bit about how African oral musical traditions influenced the existing traditions of the people who lived throughout the Caribbean and the lands that are generally referred to as Latin America.

But learning a thing is different from experiencing it—and this album brought this thing I knew to life.

Movement

For me, dancing is not an activity I practice voluntarily. If you think you see me dancing, it is far more likely that I am on fire, so you might need to put me out. But before you do, look for my earbuds and make sure I’m not just listening to Oyaya!

I went into the experience without doing any of my usual homework, at first, but it was instantly apparent that Kidjo was exploring Caribbean sounds. And sure enough, a little digging confirmed this:

Her new album, Oyaya!, is the third part in a trilogy that previously explored African roots in music from the United States (Oremi, my personal favorite), and Brazil (Black Ivory Soul). This time around, Kidjo explores the musical links between her native Africa and the musical traditions of the Caribbean Diaspora.

(E. "Doc" Smith on Beyond Chron, May 10, 2004)

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that the blending of African sounds and ideas with the piano and horns of Latin jazz works so well. The band is joined by Abou Sylla on Balafon and Mamadou Diabaté on the Kora, seamlessly creating a dialog that dances between continents. Steve Berlin (of Los Lobos) and Alberto Salas produced the album and played baritone saxophone and pianos/keyboards, respectively, in the band.

The lyrics are a little out of reach for the average English speaker, but I don’t think that will matter much. Kidjo is known for being multilingual, and she and Jean Hebrail wrote all of the music and lyrics for this record.

Kidjo is fluent in five languages: Fon, French, Yorùbá, Gen (Mina) and English.^[13] She sings in all of them, and she also has her own personal language, which includes words that serve as song titles such as "Batonga". "Malaika" is a song sung in the Swahili language. Kidjo often uses Benin's traditional Zilin vocal technique and vocalese.

(from Kidjo’s Wikipedia article)

I could not find translations, except for Le Monde Comme Un Bebe, which is in French. But the words of the songs are simple enough, and the liner notes provide the spirit of each one. As a linguist and vocalist, I’ve grown accustomed to not always knowing what I am singing or hearing. For me, part of the fun of listening to artists performing in other languages lies in hearing the metaphorical music of their phonology. Sometimes, when I eventually learn what the words mean, it adds a layer to a familiar favorite. I expect that might happen here.

But this collection transcends the literal words and gave me something I needed much more than words.

Joy In Hard Times

Though this album is now old enough to drink in most States, it still sparkles with vitality and warmth. Kidjo’s voice is a fabulous instrument, and she weaves it through the brilliant performances of her bandmates.

The tracks lean toward faster dance numbers, in general, with sumptuous down-tempo sambas and bossa novas bringing a cool and refreshing break before returning to the dance floor.

What strikes me about my response to these songs is how the simple joy of being happy for a few moments cuts against the anxiety and uncertainty my country is going through right now. It feels obvious to say that, but it is even more obvious that anxiety can make us forget that joy is not just possible—it is our right, and we need to claim it.

Throughout, Kidjo leads the dance. I may not know the words, but I can feel what she is telling me through her songs. “Come and feel joy! Never give up! Children come first!”

The last track, Bissimilai, brings the set to a close with an almost prayer, featuring what sounds like a children’s chorus. As it fades out, you can almost see the children waving goodbye in the sunset.

It was tough to choose a favorite, but I’ll leave you with this one. May it bring you joy, too!