A Closer Listen
Congolese producer Chrisman spoils his listeners with 35 tracks and 94 minutes of music. Even the press release admits “there’s almost too much to absorb in one sitting,” but that’s okay, because the album deserves multiple plays.
Amazingly, all of the tracks are radio-length; it must have been difficult to settle on an opening single. “Late Siren” was the winner, a smart choice as it is one of 28 instrumental pieces, resisting the temptation to choose one of the seven that feature vocalists. The video is a fine introduction to the heady, club worthy nature of Chrisman’s work. While many global styles appear on the album (Afro-Portugese tarraxo, gqom, amapiano, drill), the dominant texture is industrial. This has as much to do with the factory setting as it does with the metallic clanks, reminiscent of Depeche Mode’s “People Are People.” The dancing styles beg imitation, especially the transition from fast to slow; although few are this flexible.
The album proper does start with a vocal track, boasting dancehall invitations from Ratigan Era and MC Yallah. The track is a declaration as well as a summons. As the leader of the Nyege Nyege and Hakuna Kulala imprints, Chrisman has seen distinctions dissolve as musical styles collide and coalesce. In the early going, vocal pieces are precisely spaced five apart, eventually disappearing on the back end of the album as the dancers are well warm.
If one is dancing at home or in a club, one may simply let the album play. There are no lo-energy moments, and the live percussion, including kettles, cowbells and log drums, is the biggest selling point. While listening, one wonders why so many dance artists rely on steady, programmed beats. In contrast, this music is constantly in flux, in conversation with global trends while setting some of its own. Occasionally one wishes a track had continued past the three-minute mark; “Gbada,” for example, seems to be just getting started as the Middle Eastern timbres enter. This is a small quibble, and far better than the opposite.
Highlights include “Kongo Army,” whose chants honor the title, cementing tribal identity over synsonic drums; “Lost in the Darkness,” made mysterious by the whoops and breaths behind the spitfire delivery of Aunty Rayzor & Ratigan (an instrumental take is also included); “Mukumbi,” which doubles its pace midway before breaking down and repeating; the experimental “Shaaa,” rife with sirens and menace; “Giza,” a massive gabba stormer that somehow finds time to take coffee breaks; and “Pomba Gqom,” which closes the set with hoos and a motorbike momentum.
While a more concise album might have cut the length in half, the difficulty would be in deciding what to excise. In this case, a double album for the price of one is a bonus. (Richard Allen)
Sun Oct 29 00:01:42 GMT 2023