1992

Angelique Kidjo
Old Lion

Reviewed by Murray Bramwell

Slipstreaming behind Womadelaide comes another world music star. More middle-of-the-road than Remmy Ongala or Youssou N’Dour, Angelique Kidjo, late of the West African state of Benin is now an exponent of Paris pop. Her music is selling well here, Logozo the current album has gone top forty, one of the first world music releases to do so.

The appeal is clear enough. Kidjo’s sound is a stylish mix of percussion, smoky vocal, bright keyboard and guitar funk. It’s  classy dance music with a smidgeon of social comment and plenty of flash production. The album has guest solos from the likes of Sting’s Blue Turtle people -notably saxophonist Branford Marsalis. Collaborating with her husband, bassist Jean Hebrail, Kidjo blends western pop with traditional swahili ballads and chants. The result is beguiling – echoes of Simply Red, even middle period Thompson Twins but always driven by intricate, cross rhythmic percussion.

On stage at the Old Lion Angelique Kidjo and her band were a formidable sight. In her trademark zebra skin tights Kidjo was in perpetual motion, coolly shadowed by percussionist and fellow mover, Jean-Paul Waboty of Zaire. Behind them Hebrail maintained a sternum-rattling bass along with drummer Jean-Philippe Fanfant and percussionist Pierre Chenisse while keyboard player Alain Bonin worked all his reed and brass programs and guitarist Joao Mota kept a steady foot on the wah wah. The combination of rippling rhythm and electric funk hasn’t sounded so good since Weather Report’s Sweetnighter days or maybe Miles Davis in the Tu Tu sessions.

Working through the Logozo material Kidjo built a wall of energy with Eledjire, grinning to the crowd- are you hot ? The bopping slowed with the ballad, The Day Will Come, a call for a united black South Africa. Kidjo is less proselytising than other West African performers and since moving to her Paris base is openly critical of the marxist regime in Benin. She rarely translates her lyrics even with songs like Kaleta, which despite an almost discrepantly  sprightly tune is a plaintive reminder of the plight of suffering children.

The momentum resumed with Batonga, loud and mesmeric with Kidjo’s effortlessly pitched vocal threading above the beat, and then, at the bridge, she and Waboty went into an extended dance duet weaving, dipping and  spinning in and out of the relentlessly unfolding rhythm. Malaika, a traditional Tanzanian chant broke the pace. Slow and richly sung, Kidjo’s performance  celebrated influences from the legendary Myriam Makeba. With Tche-Tche and We-We, Kidjo and the band played unstoppable dance music the singer’s playful vocals intermingling with Bonin’s splashes of synthesiser and Mota’s insinuating funk . The riff from We-We remained almost maddeningly memorable days later. Logozo, the song of the tortoise, has a samba-like rhythm, with nimble percussion underscored by rich spreads of synthesiser. Like so much of Kidjo’s music it makes for irresistibly smooth pop.

The band closed their set with an extended version of Ewa Ka Djo – an endless propulsion of drumming with a vibrant vocal which Kidjo turned into  dialogue with the crowd who ventured replies in approximately phonetic swahili. Hauling dancers on to the stage the singer remained a miracle of energy and verve throughout.

Returning for an encore, Kidjo quietened the mood with Senie, a love song sung in the Ewe dialect. The band and the crowd sang the bass line while Kidjo found yet another chamber in her lungs to launch her exceptional voice. Understandably the crowd noisily hung about for more- and more is what we got as the Angelique Kidjo band rocked out with Ekoleya,  an anti-war song -although you’d hardly know it from the perky beat. More like  Mick Hucknell really, with a bit of Kylie. Only better, much better. Angelique Kidjo may be giving a mixed message with her politics but her dance music is out of this monde.

The Adelaide Review, No.102, May, 1992, p.40