Ibibio Sound Machine - Uyai

The Guardian 80

(Merge)

Fronted by British-Nigerian vocalist Eno Williams, the eight-piece band deliver a bold, exhilarating follow-up to their self-titled debut album. Lyrics are sung in part-English, part-Nigerian language Ibibio over a high-spirited mix of afrobeat, electro, rock, funk and disco. Overall the blend of styles is refreshing and well balanced, although on Joy the mishmash of synths and guitar solos sounds crowded. The vibrant Williams holds her own in busy arrangements, but her voice is at its most sonorous when accompanied by few instruments on the stripped-back Quiet. An exciting listen, but the group’s uplifting energy and brilliant instrumentalists (including renowned Ghanaian guitarist Alfred Bannerman) are probably best experienced live.

Drowned In Sound 80

Their music, now as then, retains all the ebullient joy of their West African heritage (the Ibibio people and language are native to South Eastern Nigeria) and all the subversion of the London underground circles where their time is predominantly spent. Skipping, highlife guitars routinely rub shoulders with nocturnal synths and Eno Williams’ vocals slip from Ibibio into English and back, often imperceptibly.

Make no mistake, the band remain addicted to a good time, with several of the 11 tracks here espousing the riches of liberation, especially as a woman: on ‘The Chant (Iquo Isang)’, Williams sings, “Her heart beating so fast, instead of confusion, she felt free at last.” It dictates the mood, setting the table for the danceathon ahead.

Opener ‘Give Me a Reason’ is a banger, flooding your synapses with electricity that easily bypasses any insecurities you may have about your dancing skills. Jiving guitars and blasts of brass may kickstart the mayhem, but by the climax they are in unison with percussion both organic and synthetic, whilst someone blows a whistle manically. The glowsticks are implied. This isn’t rave music, but Ibibio Sound Machine are clearly acquainted with it, as they appear to be with every other form of dance music.

The energy bursts out of Uyai in countless directions: on ‘Power of 3’, it is most closely reminiscent of the debut album standouts ‘The Talking Fish’ and ‘Let’s Dance’, with the Nigerian funk taking clear control, replete with dramatic pauses and a core of live instrumentals. Previous track ‘Joy (Idaresit)’, however, is awash with synths that are distant relatives of Nineties jungle, albeit tethered to the ground by stabs of trumpet. ‘One That Lights Up (Andi Domo Ikang Uwem Mmi)’ pulses to a staccato guitar heavily indebted to Nile Rodgers, whilst ‘The Pot Is on Fire’ contorts to cowbell cracks and a Mr. Oizo-style flat beat.

There is one key distinction this time around to mark the group’s progression, however, as they become increasingly fascinated by the function that their music can have in non-hedonistic environments. The listener is given fair warning – the tracks where the pace is slowed and the mood darkened are studiously titled ‘Quiet’ and ‘Lullaby’. On the former, the guitars ripple rather than jangle, the synths mutate into eerie, ghostly forms and the vocals become breathier and reflective. Similarly, ‘Lullaby’ drops the BPM, opting for a slow build whilst harmony vocals drop to a literal whisper. It is alluringly virgin ground for them, and whilst they may tread carefully, the results are satisfying.

Whichever way they decide to pursue such diversions on future releases, one hopes that they remain as fixated on fusing together the dance traditions of their two homes. On that territory, Ibibio Sound Machine remain world leaders.

Pitchfork 70

If you crossed ’70s Nigerian highlife with LCD Soundsystem, you might get something like the opening track of Uyai. On “Give Me a Reason,” highlife trumpets and talking drums punch through buzzy synth lines and metallic drum machine effects. Like most dance music, it seeks liberation. Unlike most, it also laments: “As the story goes, they got sent to a house of wisdom/To learn all that the world can offer/But on setting out, they got lost,” Eno Williams sings in Ibibio, a language of southeast Nigeria. The song speaks about the 276 Chibok girls who were abducted three years ago, the vast majority of whom are still missing.

Led by London-born, Lagos-raised singer Williams, Ibibio Sound Machine are an eight-piece band whose music draws on Nigerian highlife as much as new wave, South African jazz as much as techno, Cameroonian makossa as much as disco. Besides being a nod to the Ibibio language and region that Williams’ family comes from, the band’s name is also a wink at Miami Sound Machine, whose ’80s pop exuberance and cultural mash-up are approaches that Ibibio shares. The band’s new release, Uyai, meaning “Beauty,” is their first since their self-titled debut in 2014. Accompanying a switch from the more vintage-oriented Soundway Records to indie rock label Merge, their sound has expanded to include more electronic and rock influences but has also grown more introspective. They still incorporate the kind of Ibibio storytelling that was at the center of Ibibio Sound Machine, but their focus this time has turned to themes of liberation, power, and beauty—specifically that of women.

Throughout the album, Eno draws on the presence of the women in her life, highlighting the experiences and histories that link them. Her sister and friends join her on several tracks as backing vocalists. On “The Chant (Iquo Isang),” her mom even makes a cameo chanting an improvised prayer, whispering and growling over shakers and a four-on-the-floor thump. Williams too recounts a chant from her schoolgirl days—the chorus from “Zangalewa” (originally by Cameroonian makossa group Golden Sounds; a couple decades later lifted by Shakira for the 2010 World Cup anthem). In writing “Joy (Idaresit),” an experimental techno-rock track, Williams was inspired by an older woman she saw dancing who reminded her of her own mother. By contrast, “Lullaby” shows the singer as the mother figure. It’s one of the gentler tracks, colored by atmospheric reverb, tinkly EKG blips, and bubbling talking drum.

As grounded as Williams is in her own roots, her and Ibibio’s vision also taps into music across the African Diaspora. On “The Pot Is on Fire” and “Guide You (Edu Kpeme),” Ghanaian keyboardist Emmanuel Rentzos, of Osibisa fame, contributes playful synth-work. On tracks peppered with swiveling robot sounds and cowbells, percussionist Anselmo Netto plays Afro-Brazilian percussion, like the squeaky cuíca (as on “Guide You”) or the conga-like atabaque and boomy surdo (as on “Power of 3”). Meanwhile, “One That Lights Up (Andi Domo Ikang Uwem Mi)” is a love song that sounds like watercolors, where the horns reference South African jazz, and distorted mbiras recall Kinshasa’s Konono Nº1.

With all these musical influences and elements at play, Uyai could easily be a chaotic mess. For the most part, it's not, but every element doesn’t always feel necessary. On “Power of 3,” there’s a solid 30-second passage of laser gun sounds. The album as a whole has a lot of laser gun sounds. It also has frequent sudden shifts between high energy songs and mellower songs, so that even though the record has a unified sound, it sometimes feels disjointed. During the last two songs, however, that contrast works. On the tenderest moment of the album, “Cry (Eyed),” Eno intones the word “cry” over and over again over a muted balafon-esque pattern, as if by way of slow repetition we could find some release. On album closer “Trance Dance”—in a whirl of syncopated rhythms, chiptune blips, and guitar fuzz—we finally do.