A Day of Contrasts

Life is full of contrasts but when extreme disparities are presented with a human face, life can prove too much to bear. This is even truer when confronted with both ends of the emotional spectrum in the space of one day, from optimism to despair in just a few short hours.

The afternoon began and ended on a high. Joy that my country Ghana was being celebrated for its smooth transfer of power from one democratically-elected leader to another for the third time in twelve years. At a forum organised by the Commonwealth Business Club, business leaders from the UK met with a high-profile delegation from Ghana, made up of the president and 3 of his ministers, to discuss the opportunities for investment in this fertile West African nation.

I was deeply emboldened by the fact that the president of 4 months, John Atta-Mills, chose not to belittle the strides made by the previous government, now in opposition Eschewing politics and pot shots, he said, “We cannot reinvent the wheel and we will build on the achievements of the previous government”.

Such talk was music to my ears as it confirms the maturity which Ghana has reached in its political and democratic development. I left the reception with hope and happiness about the future of Ghana.

A few hours later, however, on a beautiful evening in the picturesque surroundings of London’s South Bank, the culmination of a week of events to highlight the continuing unacceptable situation in the Congo took place. A panel of speakers including journalist Tim Butcher, Congolese activist Marie-Clare Faray, MP Eric Joyce, chair of the APPG, and photojournalist Susan Schulmann each presented their view on the crisis based on personal experience.

It took every ounce of fortitude not to dissolve in to a torrent of tears as Marie Clare-Faray gave an impassioned response to a question on what can be done to bring stability to her country. In her answer she inadvertently revealed that she, like thousands of other women in the Congo, had been a victim of rape, which is systematically used as a tool of war, as well as other forms of sexual exploitation. She then asked brokenly through her tears, “Do we have to die so you can use a mobile phone?” The room fell silent.

I realised in the stunned silence that followed Marie-Clare’s words that, for a moment, I completely forgot myself. For that moment all my trivial and not-so-trivial worries - of which there are many - paled in to insignificance when confronted with this woman’s story. It may only have been fleeting but in that instant I was totally consumed by an overwhelming compassion for someone other than myself, someone who has lived through, and daily relives, unimaginable heartache of which there is no end in sight. We could all do with losing ourselves sometimes…

Today’s events brought home to me more than ever that, although there is one continent, there are two different Africas, just as those who carved up the continent had intended it to be. That isn’t to lay the blame entirely at the developed world’s door. As panel chair Oona King said, the actions of individuals are just as much to blame as the action (and inaction) of corporations and governments. And as individuals we can all play a part in helping to bring an end to the suffering of millions who, though they may not be known to us personally, are related to us as fellow human beings in this world of contrasts.

Indian literary talent takes centre stage

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of being in the company of three distinguished Indian writers (and one Brit!) who had come to London as ambassadors for Indian literature as part of The London Book Fair.

In a discussion titled "Cities in Literature", part of the British Council sponsored India 09: Through Fresh Eye programme, writers including Sukhetu Metha (pictured above), author of the acclaimed Maximum City: Bombay Lost and Found discussed what is it about cities that inspire so much writing. Each author spoke about their own experiences of city life and how it influenced their writing (novellist Shankar, who's penned 80 books in Bengali, has set all his books in Calcutta) and then read a passage from their chosen work. Austin Williams, the aforementioned lone Brit on the panel, spoke about London while Namdeo Dhasal's publisher, who attended in place of his awol client, read about the dark side of 70s Mumbai from Dhasal's radical collection of powerful poetry.

But it was Sukhetu Metha's shimmering account of contemporary Bombay life, a city of 21million people, that really caught my attention. Part reportage, part memoir, Metha's gift for capturing the spirit of the city was compelling to listen to and, I was told, even more fascinating to read. "The Londoners of the future are being born in Bombay today", he said, speaking of the relationship between global cities in the 21st century.

After hearing the panellists speak so eloquently and passionately about their cities and their work, I immediately went out and bought Metha's Maximum City (five years after everyone else it seems!) and read up on Namdeo Dhasal and Shankar. When I'm done with Maximum City, which is living up to the hype as an absolute page turner, I'll definitely go in search of other Indian writers and their words. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Review - Plague Over England

1950s London was a difficult place to be gay. A quick wink or a lingering look was enough to be charged for ‘importuning male persons for an immoral purpose’. Homosexuality had been denounced politically, and for the less liberally minded there was a gay plague over England.

So in 1953, when recently knighted John Gielgud entered a public lavatory off the Fulham Road and emerged in handcuffs with an undercover policeman, his reputation and career were on the brink of collapse.

Read more

Horniman’s curiosity shop

Founded by Victorian tea trader Frederick Horniman in 1901, the Horniman Museum is full of curiosities from all over the world. The highlights include the aquarium that focuses on British pond and seaside creatures – an incredible display of natural life on our own doorstep; the natural history gallery showing all manner of birds, reptiles, mammals (stuffed and skeletons) still around and extinct; and African Worlds – a celebration of African history and diversity through cultural artefacts from the continent.

It’s a curious place, reminiscent to an old flea market or a Victorian quack’s surgery at times – there is none of the modern ‘white cube’ approach to the displays. And that makes it even more intriguing and exciting. The museum has been highly praised by critics and has won several prestigious awards, including Visit London’s Visitor Attraction of the Year, 2007. Just 15 minutes from London Bridge the Horniman is well worth a visit.

The Horniman Museum is open daily 10.30-5.30pm. Entrance to the museum and gardens is free.

Truly Hypnotic Brass

Hypnotic Brass Ensemble is a 9-piece, Chicago-based jazz group featuring 8 sons of Phil Cohran on horns. Originally from Chicago, the brothers started as a street ensemble before recording in 2004. They have performed with Mos Def, Aquilla Sadalla and Phil Cohran. In late 2007 they recorded with Erykah Badu and Maxwell and played at the North Sea Jazz Festival.

A Twisted Affair

Twisted Christmas, Barbican Hall, 11 December
Jarvis Cocker was the headliner at the Barbican’s alternative yuletide celebration but unfortunately for the audience the former Pulp frontman wasn’t the highlight. After two and a half hours of a bewildering mix of music, comedy and shadow puppetry – some of which worked, some of which didn’t - Jarvis sloped on stage to perform two brief and forgettable songs. Luckily, there were other revelations to enjoy.

Illinois-based singer-songwriter Daniel Knox was one of them. His deep melancholic vocals called to mind cold winter nights in front of the fire and were perfect for his heart-warming rendition of the classic, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Blues-folk duo The Smoke Fairies were ubiquitous on stage, and proved to be even better on their own than when performing back up for others. Patrick Wolf, a piano playing ex-chorister turned art-rocker, was sensational while unbilled songstress Camille O’Sullivan was reminiscent of a pre-tabloid era Amy Winehouse.

As well as the eclectic there was also the eccentric. Canadian singer Mary Margaret O’Hara and American Sandy Dillon provided much needed light relief, though it wasn’t entirely clear whether this was intentional.

What was intentional, however, was the wry comedy of Radio 4 presenter Jeremy Hardy, who ably steered proceedings from one fragmented act to another. But the night belonged to the shadow puppetry and accompanist Matthew Robbins who together earned plaudits in an otherwise borderline show.

Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 live at Cargo

I'd been looking forward to seeing Seun Kuti live with such anticipation that the show was in danger of being a massive anticlimax. Luckily for me, Seun and his father's original Egypt 80 had tuned in to my expectancy and delivered a storming performance that left all in awe.

Playing at Cargo in Shoreditch, the former warehouse was the perfect venue for Seun's highly politicised Afrobeat, a blend of high-life, jazz and traditional African rhythms. Reminiscent of his father Fela, Seun emerged from the shadows of his legacy to put his stamp mark on the scene despite performing much of Fela's most famous back catalogue. In fact, the highlight of the night was the title track from Kuti's new album Many Things, a bold, original anthem that puts the world to rights.

Having played at the Barbican earlier in the year to a sell out crowd, Cargo was an intimate setting for the ten man band - the hot, sweaty atmosphere was thick with the sound of the solid brass section with rythmically pulsating bodies jamming shoulder to shoulder to the beat. It was standing room only and those who couldn't dance were forced along by the push of the crowd.

After a somewhat brief hour and a half set we were left eagerly wanting more but the pre and post show DJ set was the perfect antidote. All in all, a near perfect night that will go down as one of the shows of the year.

Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 performed at Cargo in East London on Monday, 15th December.

Robert Glasper: Live at Cargo

Doo-rags, hoodies and baseball caps aren’t the usual attire of jazz aficionados but Robert Glasper’s crowd is as notable for its youth as its urban fashion sense. He, himself, is dressed like one of his tribe – oversized T-shirt, baggy jeans and obligatory glass of liquor in hand. “Don’t let this jazz thing fool you,” he jokes mid-gig as he threatens to break in to a rap after seizing the mic from guest MC, Kashmere. And it wouldn’t have been out of place if he had. For Glasper, it seems hip hop is as intrinsic to his being as his first love, jazz. The fact that his show is taking place in a smoke-filled nightclub rather than a venerable jazz venue is testament to his street cred. His warm-up act isn’t some young pretender polishing his bebop chops but a DJ whose vinyl cases are crammed with Soul and Old Skool Hip-Hop. It could so easily be a cliché if Glasper wasn’t the real deal.

Website: www.myspace.com/therealrobertglasper

Still Black, Still Proud: An African Tribute to James Brown

The Barbican was the setting for a thrilling night of funk and frolics as legendary saxophonist Pee Wee Ellis led an all-star tribute to his long time collaborator, James Brown, at Still Black, Still Proud: An African Tribute to James Brown.

Proving that good music never dies, celebrated musicians including Senegalese guitarist Cheikh Lo, Afrobeat pioneer Tony Allen and Vieux Farka Toure joined trombonist Fred Wesley and others to salute the Godfather of Soul. And what a night it was!

Interspersing traditional African music with Brown’s extensive back catalogue, the band - accompanied by singer Fred Ross, vocalist and dancer Wunmi and UK rapper Ty - put in a pulsating performance that had the audience dancing in the aisles, bringing the house down with interpretations of classics like I Got You (I Feel Good) and Say It Loud: I’m Black and Proud. But it was Cheikh Lo’s (above) hauntingly beautiful rendition of It’s A Man’s World that was the highlight, combining awesome musicianship with Brown’s signature showmanship. South African songstress Simphiwe Dana’s bluesy homage was also a revelation.

With each band member a star in their own right, Still Black, Still Proud was an awe-inspiring evening that’s testament not only to Brown’s indisputable legacy but also to the rich vein of African musical talent. It may be nearly two years since he passed away but the spirit of James Brown truly lived on in this wonderfully captivating show.

___

Still Black, Still Proud took place on Saturday, 14th June as part of the Barbican's Groove Nations Season.

Fire in the dark: Mos Def live

Dante Smith, the brilliant rapper that is Mos Def was in town last week to showcase some tracks from his forthcoming album The Ecstatic and run through a selection of his greatest hits. Playing two sold-out shows at London's Shepherd's Bush Empire and Islington Academy, Mos worked his knowledgeable crowd in to a frenzy with classic cuts like Umi Says, Ms Fat Booty and Sex, Love and Money. Despite coming on stage at approx. 10.30pm on a Sunday night, Mos gave a solid performance in front of an audience that was clearly in awe of the talented Brooklynite. After the poorly-received The New Danger and True Magic Mos appears to have returned to form as one of the finest and most credible MCs in the game. Support was ably provided by London's own Pyrelli and Swedish-American hip-hop group OneSelf.

On another note, today I had the pleasure of interviewing an unusual rising star in the shape of British saxophonist YolanDa Brown. Brown is different because not only is she a black female instrumentalist in a male-dominated genre but she's also highly-educated. The 25 year old musician is studying for a PhD as well as regularly performing on the tour circuit and working on her debut album. Check out http://www.sylviaarthur.co.uk/ for more info on this woman to watch.

Until next week...

Lessons in transcendence: Rahsaan takes it to another level

Picture the scene: It's 9.30pm on a mild October Wednesday. A hardcore contingent of soul music aficionados are gearing up for a short but satisfying gig from one of the genre's most gifted artists. By 11 o'clock it'll all be over and we'll go our separate ways, content until we meet again. Job done. Now for what really happened. Enter the world of Rahsaan Patterson:

In Rahsaan's world there are no worries about getting up for work in the morning or how to make the long journey home when the underground shuts down. No. In Rahsaan's world, where he is the Pied Piper and we are his followers, time stands still as he guides us through his outstanding collection of finely-crafted material, from his eponymous 1997 debut through to Wines and Spirits, his latest offering. Locked in transcendence for two-and-a-half hours of pure musical ecstasy, Patterson's rapt audience are consumed by the sheer force of his talent. If heaven were a sonic construct this would be it.

Patterson's voice is the central tool in a superior six-piece band that features two fine backing singers and a keyboardist who's notable, not as the lone white guy in the ensemble, but as a brilliant multi-instrumentalist. With undertones of Prince that speak of admiration not imitation, Patterson is an exceptional vocalist who epitomises soul. He simultaneously provides a lesson in artistry for wannabes while raising the bar for his peers.

At a time when it's the norm for artists to race through a set with little regard for their audience, Patterson is an utterly unselfish performer who clearly sees his role as paying his dues to his loyal fan base. And we were certainly repaid in full. Extended renditions of Sure Boy, Don't Run So Fast and the Van Hunt After Hours collaboration The Best were particular peaks in an evening full of highs. This is a man at the top of his game. There's Rahsaan Patterson, then there's everyone else.

At the end of the night I was disappointed to be leaving the Jazz Café. Forced back out in to the real world, the problem of getting home and being at work in just a few hours brought me back down to earth with a thud.

But I, like the rest of the crowd knew that for a time we were in the presence of greatness, treated to a very special show from a consummate artist who's truly out of this world. I can't wait for Rahsaan to return. "Earth to Planet Patterson... Beam me up Scotty!"

Wines and Spirits is out now on Dome Records.

Review: Joe Guy is the man!

OK, I admit it. I was apprehensive about seeing Joe Guy, the new Roy Williams play currently in residence at the Soho Theatre. "Yet another production exploring the historically difficult relationship between Africans and Caribbeans, yet another vehicle for exposing our ignorance in public," I thought. Blah de blah, blah! And it’s themed around football to boot. Not my idea of a great night out. How wrong could I be.

This is not a play about football. Nor is it a clichéd or gratuitous attempt to cash in on the neuroses of black Britons. Rather, Joe Guy is an intensely engaging story of a young man wanting desperately to fit in to a society at odds with, and occasionally hostile to his culture and skin colour.

Joe Boateng is a successful Premiership footballer who arrives in the UK as a twelve-year-old from Ghana. Displaying a talent for hard work and the beautiful game doesn’t insulate him from schoolyard taunts about the thickness of his accent or the darkness of his skin. So taking solace from the adage that success is the best revenge he sets his mind to making it big as a way of getting back at the bullies.

The epicentre of the play is crystallised in a stirring and impassioned monologue which sees Joe transform himself from a harassed, awkward-speaking teenager in to a streetwise, slang-talking man. This marks a turning point in Joe’s evolution to wild egocentric, which ultimately sees him charged with rape.

The beauty of Joe Guy is in the detail. The dialogue is sharp and witty, delivered by a group of wholly identifiable characters that could have been drawn from any school or street in London. A stellar ensemble performance from an energetic cast makes it almost churlish to single out individuals. However, Abdul Salis in the lead role of Joe Boateng is a revelation and Mo Sesay, whose turns as a dim-witted bodyguard, an aging footballer and Joe’s curmudgeonly father are all equally utterly convincing. This combined with the fast-paced direction and simple but effective set makes Joe Guy an action-packed hour and a half of intelligent and compelling self-examination.

My one criticism of an otherwise excellent production is that some scenes were overly long, with a tendency to labour an already emphasised point. But this is just being finicky.

Williams’ unique powers of observation are evident through the crisp clear way in which he translates an otherwise overplayed subject in to a captivating cultural narrative of our times. All in all, Williams manages to encapsulate the complexity of a vexed and taboo topic without either trivialising or romanticising the

2007 has been a relatively good year for black British theatre but this is by far the best production I’ve seen all year. You have until 24th November to judge for yourselves. You have been warned. 4½ / 5.

Joe Guy is on at the Soho Theatre until 24th November. Book online or for more info, visit http://www.tiatafahodzi.com/.

Africa Plays On... And why you should be listening

Africa Plays On… was originally released to commemorate Africa’s participation in the 2006 World Cup but the songs on this disc will far outlive the Summer of ‘06. The album’s standout cuts are the opener Please Don’t Stop, a sublime collaboration between US R&B singer John Legend and Cameroonian bassist Richard Bona and the brilliantly epic 2000 Blacks Got To Be Free by Roy Ayers and Fela Kuti. Wahala Project’s Wahala, a groovy slice of Afro-funk also rates an honourable mention. The ubiquitous Akon makes an understated appearance on Amadou and Mariam’s Coulibaly while reggae fans can choose between Alpha Blondy’s rootsy Cocody Rock or Waldemar Bastos’ dancehall-tinged Pitanga Madurinha II. Man of the Moment K’naan shines on Ba Sissoko’s Silani and Osibisa show they haven’t lost any of their old sparkle on Watusi.

Africa Plays On… is an excellent introduction to the eclectic sounds and talents of a diverse continent. For neophytes it serves as a delectable taster of what Africa has to offer and perfectly enunciates how African music could compete in the international mainstream. Don’t worry if you don’t understand any of the many languages on this disc. The beauty of this compilation is that the truly universal rhythms transcend linguistic boundaries, taking the listener on a compelling journey through a musical soundscape.
A true aural delight! SA.

Shoot The Messenger: The Morning after the Night Before

I felt compelled against my better judgement to stay up last night and watch Shoot The Messenger (BBC2, 9pm, Wed, 30/08/06), having been told by many friends that this was definitely watercooler TV. It’s not good to go to bed with an angry mind and I knew that like Channel 4’s The Great British Black Invasion this had the potential to rile me. And indeed it did.

Shoot The Messenger was train crash TV, an awkward juxtaposition of every stereotype that currently exists about black boys and men. Every character was a conflicted tragedy and every tragic character was black. In the first thirty minutes it became clear that the sole objective of the film was simply to see how many stereotypes can be easily crammed in to 90 minutes. And there were enough of them to go round:

The uneducated black boy
The undisciplined black boy
Black self-loathing
Black-on-black crime
The black man in prison
The black man in a mental health institution
The homeless black man
The tormented black man

The storyline was inconsistent and weak and based on a series of unconnected and flimsy premises. The relationships betweens the main characters were undeveloped and unbelievable. Why would someone like Heather or indeed any sane intelligent black woman go out with someone like Joe, who openly declares that he hates black people? Why wasn’t she shocked when she heard his declaration? Why would Joe himself want to go out with a black woman? What well-to- do black parent would see their child out on the streets, especially parents like Joe’s?

From beginning to end Shoot The Messenger careered from one inexplicable extreme to the next and was littered with gaping holes that left many unanswered questions:

Why did Germal, the teenage tearaway, go mad? While Joe’s descent into mental illness was understandable, if not questionable, Germal’s stay in a mental health institution was simply a gratuitous twist in an already hackneyed plot that saw another black male character end up in prison for black-on-black murder. Are we forced to assume that insanity or incarceration or both are an inevitable consequence of being black?

Where were Germal’s parents? Though his mother was twice alluded to again the viewer is left to assume that he is yet another fatherless product of a single mother and a victim of fate.

Why did the only ‘normal’ character, Joe’s girlfriend Heather have to have issues? And a weave? This isn’t the ‘60’s. Not every black hairstyle is a political statement. But of course there had to be a deep-rooted reason why she preferred human hair out of a bag to the natural hair on her head. And then the came the sob story … “When I was younger I was lined up with my sisters and put to the back of the line because I was dark and ugly.”

Just when you thought Shoot The Messenger was about to redeem itself, when the lead character Joe implored his girlfriend Heather to, “Sort out the mess on your head and I’ll sort out the mess in mine” you were left disappointed when the film once again descended in to a hyper-critical introspective muddle. While the film’s opening line has been much maligned - “Everything bad that has ever happened to me has involved a black person” – by far the most shocking and damaging dialogue came when Joe concluded that perhaps the reason why black people are obsessed with slavery is because “we were actually good at it. We were productive then.” In an interview in this week’s New Nation newspaper the film’s writer Sharon Foster says black people can’t be afraid to tell the truth. What possible truth can be derived from that statement?

If there was anything good to be taken from this film it was that the directing was slick and the acting was brilliant but that was never in question.

In the end I realised that there was really nothing in this film to get angry about. Shoot The Messenger was supposed to be clever and ironic. Instead it was tacky and submissive. Last night I went to bed content in the knowledge that thankfully I personally don’t know any of the characters portrayed in the film (and no, I don’t live in some backwater in the country). While some may question the truth of this statement I’d prefer instead to question the kind of society that has us believing that every black woman under 30 is an unemployed single mother with four children by four different fathers who will either end up in prison or in the mental health system. And it was then that I realised that I must take this film for what it was – an exaggerated work of fiction. SA.