Africa Oye Preview 2014

Musical Safari in Sefton Park, Liverpool
Sat 21st and Sun 22nd June 2014
Free Admission

Preview by Chumki Banerjee

Channel like a lion - modest man who roared

Kenny Murray is a nodding, bobbing head acquaintance. Very occasionally, for no particular reason, if runes are right, ley lines aligned on Bold Street, we pass a few moments of time beyond “hello” and a “how are you?” trailing unanswered in air behind, to exchange a few words about how Africa Oye is going. Either in preparation, or briefly basking in afterglow before eternal exertions resume, this lustrous annual Liverpool event for love of African and Caribbean music, joyous celebration of life, founded and nurtured by Kenny’s hard work and passion, takes pride of place in Liverpool’s musical crown, but the self effacing hero at its helm is largely unsung.

Though Kenny and I know there is a connection between us, both of us have forgotten how we met. I think it must have been at The Philharmonic Hall when, a more disparate event, Africa Oye crammed its summer sunshine into a variety of venues, until fighting for space, it luxuriously spread into Sefton Park, in 2002, where it has taken root, exotic perennial blossom which bountifully blooms despite transplantation from tropical to more intemperate climes. I fear on Kenny’s radar I am probably the crazy lady, who wanders grinning inanely at strangers, liable to run amok should he not respond to my greeting.

Streetwise Kenny is easy to spot. Self erasing, hunched he still towers and, when not shoved into hood or woollen hat, his mat of unruly white hair forms halo of supernatural luminescence. Slinking crablike, one eye to the ground, the other heaven bound, often huddled in duffle, hulking; he seems to want to eliminate himself from view. From a distance he could be mistaken for an eternal wanderer, glowering street roamer, like the cycle man who obsessively rides Liverpool roads, on his plastic bagged mount.

But approaching, it is impossible to ignore sparkle skulking from depths of swaddling, blinding flash, glimmering with dreams, flinty glint that twinkles from aqua eyes. One always scans the sky, which radiates its blueness back; scudded with clouds, I am sure if he took his hat off, they would circle his halo, float above his head. Seemingly immersed in contemplation to exclusion of observation, it is always surprising and delightful to be greeted with sweetest sunshine of smile and softest rumble of Scottish burr. Carapace intact, nothing from Kenny’s appearance or accent suggests wide sunstroke savannah, wild ricocheting rhythms of his inner world, searing land and soundscapes, friable furore which fired his student passions, expanding endlessly in Tardis head, pulsing throb, lilting swing which ensnared his emotions, fired enthusiasm to burning flame, inspired devoted dedication, enlightened his emissary on a mission path, to bring African music to England.

Plans hatching in his head brought to fruition in 1992, the country has Kenny to thank for drumming up those first few beats, linking those first beguiling notes, into largest festival of African music in the United Kingdom, which last year attracted over 30,000. And it is Kenny that Liverpool must thank for his commitment to creating and keeping Africa Oye here. For all of this he commands my ultimate awe and respect, which is why I am tempted to bow in his presence, but then he would be really convinced of my insanity.

Sadly Kenny retired from Africa Oye last year but his worthy, long time sidekick and artistic director, Paul Duhaney, upholds the tradition, shoulders tribulation steadily in his stead.

Rolling dice of weather, show goes on come shine or pour

Held in June, one of the earliest outdoor Summer festivals, Africa Oye is teased by temperamental temperatures and moods of a tetchy season, dithering between spring and summer, uncertain which dress to don, torn by tempestuous to torrid tantrums, with propensity for tears. In my recollection, a sweltering belter is rarer than windswept, and in 2012, ironically their twentieth anniversary, torrential rain nearly cried the whole thing off. However Kenny, with his one eye on the sky, is expert at tangling with blustery elements, taking no truck with its truculence. Despite gales which prevented planting stages and tents in the park, impossible to restrain Kenny’s exuberance, he put his tendrils out, and at eleventh hour replanted his tender flower in The Picket.

Whatever the weather, wherever it is held, Africa Oye imports its own climate, creates its own equitable country without barriers, both musical and material. Apart from one year, it has been and remains free of ticket price, bouncers and fencing, which for a festival of its size is extraordinary. Even more extraordinary, its toilet facilities have been voted some of the best in festival land. Equanimity extends to encircling stalls, heady mix of cultures sharing space, sensations, spices and smells. One year, a bowl of steaming scouse from Maggie May’s cauldron, was followed by smoky African barbecue with hot sauce and charred corn cobs, a delicious conflation of cultures which I could not have indulged in anywhere else.

This year I note, amongst mêlée of multiethnic offerings; with titillating tantalising names such as Mumz Bak-A-Yard Caribbean, Piggy Smalls and Tendercrust Pie Shack; Pizza Pedlars are out and about in their vintage Citroen van, converted to mobile wood fired oven; petrol and superheated solid fuel always seems a risky combination, but they deliver delicious pizzas and, so far, have avoided unintended conflagration.

Apart from the usual pop up bars, Bold Street Coffee and Chai Chapel will also be there for caffeine hit and calming chill; though I am not sure how peaceful karma reconciles with ‘dynamic African Drum workshops throughout the day’ at the latter.

Unlike other festivals, there are no restrictions to entry, no enforcement to eat what is provided; the ground is littered with picnicking parties unpacking food and themselves, unwinding, dancing, chattering, reposing, just enjoying ambience, which though imported feels so invitingly natural and enticing.

Strung through food stalls, bejewelled beading, bazaar of craft, clothing, jewellery, book, music and instrument stalls. From one of these I was once tempted by peacock colours, turquoise and fuchsia, of a sundress fashioned from silk sari material. Too shy to try it on in windswept field, before prying eyes, it wasn’t until later that I realised material meant to be wrapped in layers over a petticoat, is transparent tissue in single layer, feather in merest stray gust. I only wear it on very brave, breathlessly still days when the sun is high in the sky, emboldened by devil may care drink. Looking at the long list of traders this year, maybe I could donate it to Hanuman Kites, for some of their ‘smallest kites...that actually fly’.

All of this, together with tented stages, generators, fancy festival toilets and a cast of musicians from near and very far, ostensibly materialises with morning mists, mirage dissolving into depths of night without trace, like a dream. In reality, such organisation takes most of the months that intervene between one event and next, and dedicated people power to pull it together so seemingly effortlessly and elegantly. So, throw your hats up for them.

Of course, lynchpin, raison d’être of it all, is the music. Here I have to admit a huge failing. In the years I have been, many of the acts have been previously unknown to me. However, that has not mattered, in fact it has opened my ears and eyes to inspirational music which I would never otherwise have encountered, or had easy access to in any form.

Having recently watched Benda Bilili, a heartbreaking yet totally beguiling true life documentary film about disadvantaged and disabled street musicians from Kinshasa, though resourceful resilience of the human spirit radiated, it was resonant redolence of the music which rang through my head, impressed me most; innate, soul soaking musicality which spoke of heat, history, and misery transformed to hope by magic of music. Even those whose legs were atrophied found a way to dance.

The music I have heard, in the past, at Africa Oye has had the same effect; it has been impossible not to move to its beat, be drawn by its call, be moved by its pulse of pure passion.

This year, true to form I recognise only a handful of names, such as:

Misty In Roots

Originally from Southall, a favourite of John Peel, Misty’s British Roots Reggae, infused with smoky Ska, permeated by mellow Marley, serenaded by surreal trumpets, sways with essence of another era, when peace and understanding was paramount; balm of calm still as relevant and sorely needed in this day and age.

youtube.com/watch?v=qoBQzU0VUHQ

Joe Driscoll and Sekou Kouyate

Folk and hip hop inspired native New Yorker meets African kora player bard, to metamorphose magnetically magical new musical matter. Sekou Kouyate’s kora looks like a mythical instrument from land of unicorns. Strung like spiders web with 21 strings, harp combined with gourd like lute, adorned with beads, it sings surreal at tickling touch of Sekou’s virtuosic fingers, while his smoke over water vocal weaves spirits of the past over Joe Driscoll’s patter of modern day rap, deep doleful throb of baleful bass their common ground.

Perfectly illustrating Africa Oye’s premise, common roots, under the skin we are all one. We can sing together if we want.

youtube.com/watch?v=O37H6NODLDM

Abdoulaye Samb and Minnjiaraby

Meaning the love of cultural mixing, the band by name alone captures spirit of Africa Oye, reinforced by the fact that Abdoulaye, originally from Senegal, and his band, are now based in Hackney. Drawing on typically African melodic roots and syncopated riot of polyrhythms moving to the beat between, conflicting and conjoining, unified by rippling, repeating stipple of plucked string motif, and loquaciously liquid bass, percussively precise vocal slotted in between; Minnjiaraby perfectly illustrate link to the blues, foundation for so many other forms of music, linking cultures.

youtube.com/watch?v=DBps1GWyZi4

The rest of the line-up are exciting new discoveries to be made, apart from, of course, the headliner which everyone, even one as depleted as me, knows:

Finley Quaye

I confess my acquaintance with Quaye, is via circuitous route of electronic dance, and that our musical relationship has suffered conflict, contretemps and complications along the way....but, stealing lyrics from his song, Even After All, the enigma of him continues to beguile: ‘these sonic fruits...you know I love you so and so...your soul is beautiful...’

Finley Quaye, riled, reviled, ragged mortal man, maligned as he sometimes is, is an artiste whom I love for his tender musicality, poignant rendition and eloquent lyricism. His fragility elucidates and enlightens our human condition, illuminates frailty and resilience of hope, his personal behaviour exposes failings in us all.

For me, at his best, he faultlessly fuses old and new, roots of reggae electrified, soul synthesized anew, sampled, rinsed with radiance, renewed, revived, regenerated while respecting heart and history.

From this perspective, two of his songs epitomise, for me, pinnacle of perfection without pretention:

Sunday Shining, released in 1997 shone into my sphere on some obscure dance mix, which I forget, and has stayed in my head ever since, with one of my favourite lyrics of all time “... as the morning gathers a rainbow....I’m a rainbow with you...” Swaying with irresistible reggae lilt, scintillating with grimy, sleazy guitar, sliding bobbing bass on nonchalant heat haze high, wasted voice waking to trumpets of new day, embodiment of optimism rising with the sun, rainbow etched in mist, arched across the sky.

Sampling Marley, to be re sampled on dance mixes, musical circle of life, everlastingly recycling, endears me even more: youtube.com/watch?v=1-ORJddr0QY

While Dice, released in 2004 is double whammy, straight triple six for me, due to collaboration with William Orbit and especially Beth Orton, who in my mind is Finley Quaye’s folk equivalent when it comes to seamless assimilation of electronica.

Caress of a song, strumming heart strings, delving, graceful as dolphin, into deep ocean of emotion, Beth Orton’s evocative vocal soaring softly on dove’s wings, carried on warm breeze of Finley’s reverentially hushed caress, woven together in manta of devotion. One of those perfectly painted, poignantly touching songs where a few emotive brushstrokes capture the moment, drawing tears; “I was crying over you...I am smiling, I think of you...misty mornings and water falls...breathe in the air if you care, you compare, don't say farewell...nothing can compare...to when you roll the dice and swear your love's for me...”

youtube.com/watch?v=RcxQxh6J83I&feature=kp

Embodying spirit of Africa Oye in one body-Finley is Scottish, though his ancestors hail from Ghana-the connection back to Kenny is unavoidable and entirely appropriate, especially with Kenny’s retirement from the festival.

In addition to artists featured on their site, the acts are linked by a roster of great Djs, including BBC Radio 1Xtra's Edu and South Africa's Esa William, who will be DJing on the main stage, between acts. This year there is also a Trenchtown area where our very own Beaten Tracks collaborates to bring us some esteemed Liverpool Djs such as NO Fakin DJs and Carnivalesque amongst many others.

Plus, as night draws its velvet cloak over Sefton Park, put your sparkly party shoes on and trip the light fantastic down to The Baltic Triangle for after hours delight, at District (61 Jordan Street) and another secret location. These events require tickets but proceeds go to keeping ‘Africa Oye open to all and free’, and the line ups look fabulous. Tickets from:

Saturday 21st June Tickets: skiddle.com/e/12197454
Sunday 22nd June Tickets: skiddle.com/e/12200028

Physical tickets available at Dr Hermans (Bold Street), Ragga's Lark Lane & Ragga's Smithdown Road.

A few months ago Africa Oye waltzed away with the Inspiration Award, at the annual GIT (Get Into This) ceremony, which celebrates the best music coming out of Merseyside. Movingly, artistic director Paul Duhaney dedicated it to Kenny. A well deserved and very belated honour bestowed on this unsung hero, the beat of whose drum still calls us all to dance.

If nothing I have said has persuaded you to shimmy over to Sefton Park on 21st and 22nd June, then I feel sure Africa Oye’s own, more succinct, heartfelt words will:

Oyé is often asked, "Why do you do this?" Fortunately the answer is simple. 
It is good to make people happy, even for a moment, or a day, 
or at best a lifetime. As ever, we welcome you.

Kenny and Paul

Who could resist that?

africaoye.com

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