Shaka Zulu, by Ladysmith Black Mambazo (1987)

Face to face with a sublime wall of sound

People my age and older may remember a brief period in the early 1990s when acapella styles of music were in fashion. At least, they will probably remember the Philadelphia group, Boyz II Men, who scored several lengthy trips up the Billboard Hot 100 and inspired a generation of boy bands in the early 2000s.

Boyz II Men were not alone, though. Bobby McFerrin broke the charts with “Don’t Worry Be Happy” in 1989 and Take 6 won Grammies in the gospel and jazz categories for their self-titled 1988 album. And Boyz II Men took their name from a song by New Edition, who were in turn part of a long history of male acapella groups stretching back to the days of doo-wop.

Film director Spike Lee even got in on the action with a documentary called “Do It a Capella” a mix of then-current groups like Rockapella and Take 6, and a classic line-up of The Persuasions, who were active through the 1960s. The film and an accompanying album were released in May 1990.

And (he said, finally getting to the point) there are three tracks on that soundtrack featuring the 10-man group from South Africa, Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

Not long ago, I talked about how Paul Simon’s Graceland album opened a door for me, leading to a bigger world of African music. Ladysmith Black Mambazo, headed by the late Joseph Shabalala, was my first stepping stone. Here they are performing with Simon at the 1987 concert that sparked so much controversy:

It was hard to find a video on YouTube that captured their energy and sound quality as well as this one did. But it’s clear to see their appeal, and a year after Graceland’s worldwide success, Simon produced their first album for Western labels, Shaka Zulu.

When they appeared in Spike Lee’s documentary, I was already a fan of LBM and Take 6. It was a rare, strange feeling to be ahead of everybody else in “discovering” something just before it became more widely known. But soon, all of the cool senior kids were harmonizing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” around the locker bays, and a few of us from the show choir got tickets to go see Ladysmith Black Mambazo in Phoenix.

I also got an unexpected taste of open racism thanks to my enthusiasm. Before rehearsal one morning, our choir director put Shaka Zulu on the sound system, and I recognized the gorgeous harmonies of “Unomathemba” and started singing along. The kid next to me, a Mormon kid two classes behind mine, started laughing at me.

“How do you know this?” he sputtered. “It’s…” and I apologize, but this is what he said “… jigaboo music!” And he kept laughing and repeating himself, looking increasingly uncomfortable as the kids around us started to notice what he kept saying. Our director calmed him down with a few stern words, but I came away from the experience with a fresh perspective on just how little difference there was between my upbringing and his - and how just the little bit of exposure I had to a different culture had turned me into something odd and other to him.

That wasn’t the first time I saw racism, but it was the first experience I had that let me begin to understand what Black people deal with, even from “nice” people.

Seeing Ladysmith Black Mambazo perform live was amazing. I have to confess, I haven’t got a lot of experience seeing concerts, and I only realized later how unusual that experience was, as my friends chatted about it on the way home. I was a naive kid who had no idea what was happening around me until after the fact.

First of all, growing up in Arizona suburbs as a sheltered white Evangelical kid, I hadn’t realized just how diverse Phoenix was, or how many people with African heritage and identities would come out for a show like this. Plus, when you go to see a group that became famous when an American icon broke international sanctions to record them, that can draw an odd mix of protesters outside the venue.

As it turned out, we were very lucky, as there were rumors that a number of neo-Nazi skinheads planned to disrupt the show. However, there were also Black anti-apartheid activists and two-tone ska punks in the crowd who were alert for any trouble. But once the music began, hints of trouble just seemed to melt away.

I only mention these unpleasant stories because I think it’s important to recognize how these small, jarring barriers sometimes keep people from discovering art or artists that they would otherwise enjoy. High school, especially, is a time when people begin to decide what kind of person they will be by trying new things and seeing how their friends react. I was lucky because I learned early to hold on tight to the beautiful and the unusual - no matter what someone else had to say about it.