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Zando no longer exists. The market at the centre of Kinshasa, a city inside the city, where hundreds of thousands of Kinois poured in daily through a permanent uproar of decibels, bodies and adrenaline, has been demolished and is being rebuilt. The gangs that gave it its mythology, Vampire 4, Arabes Chauds, Gucci Boys, Zaïre 243, Temple Rouge, BB d’Amour, P8, Androïdes, Filles Têtues, have been dismantled by police. What survives of it, in large part, is on a record. […]...
The London Choro Festival returns for its second edition this weekend, from Friday 16th to Sunday 18th October, at Copper Cats, an independent pub on Kingsland Road with bare brick and timber beams. Its three days of concerts, workshops and rodas, the open sessions where anyone with an instrument can join in, are all devoted to choro, Brazil’s oldest urban instrumental tradition. Every day pairs a free roda at 5PM with a concert at 7:30PM, and a ticket for all […]...
It all began with a box nobody wanted. In 2004, digging for jazz and funk at Casablanca’s Derb Ghallef flea market, Aziz Konkrite found a neglected crate of nearly two hundred Moroccan 45s. Their owner saw little value in them. Twenty years later, they have become the foundation of Siba Sawt-System, the project the Franco-Moroccan DJ, digger and producer describes as an instrument he built in order to speak: one that archives on the road, composes in the studio and […]...
What happens if the sun disappears? The question lingered over the stage at Viljandi Folk Festival on the morning of its closing day. Tell Your Birds brought it there, playing songs from a still unreleased record in front of a crowd for the first time. Kristīne Tukre‘s concert kokle carried the melodies, Vija Moore‘s percussion under them, Kärt Tambet‘s bowed hiiu kannel cut across both, and everything the three of them played ran through Simone Spampinato‘s processing. They sang in […]...
Her grandmother had run out of stories for the night. Go to the cow pen, she told six-year-old Kasiva Mutua , and listen to the secret the black bull is telling the white one. Kasiva went, listened, and returned having heard nothing but a bull sniffing the air. Her grandmother sent her back, told her to listen properly, that the secret was being told right now. The second time, she heard it. Crickets layered on top of each other. Cows […]...
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