Term Paper, Vol. 1 (a.k.a What Has Been Learned)

Part two found here

Culture is cyclical.

Popular preferences - as is the case in any stakes, derby, or city specific "-500" - reluctantly return to the start; it is as if no race occurred. Flags of the checkered variety must be a myth. No marks exist for which racers can get set. Starting and finishing lines alike are one in the same: drawings in the sand, brick, or grass.

And not since the author was birthed, some nearly twenty-five years ago, has repetition of recent history been more presently pervious than on this year of our lord, two-thousand fourteen. Examples are scattered throughout the globe. In an homage to Father Time, Mother Russia once has once again found her groove; throwbacks are not limited to Thursdays any longer. Military incursions come one by sea and two by sky, three if by annexation but that might as well wait until a later time.

The Western hemisphere, too, has suffered the scourge of saturated ideas. Suddenly, and without prior warning, Cuba is relevant again. Break out the whiskey and bitters. Old fashion nostalgia must be celebrated in the United States as well. A certain award winning play will receive some fresh production for the 2015/2016 season. In an tribute to the brief, but brutal boxing match that was American politics during the 1990s, audiences around the nation will witness an updated - albeit a prohibitively expensive - version of 'Bush v. Clinton.'

Hampering change is futile because revisitation is inevitable. Read these words: no...new...brashness

Music is no exception. Audio art, a proverbial history lesson, relies on the guise of a linear time narrative. When time and style are brought together, audio works may be placed within an era. New ideas seemingly appear as old ideas fade. Be that as it may, though, sounds remain the same.

Notes may be shapeless - wave representations notwithstanding - yet the structures they form are subject to adjustment. Picture the walls of a canyon: steady and imposing in size, these rocks leave an impression on anyone willing to appreciate them. But whether then, now, and or eventually, spectators take in the same figures. With the passage of time elements are added and discarded; the stones are belligerently berated by wind. The appearance of these rocks may change, but no witness claims to have seen anything innately different than visitors past. Most importantly, though, no ideal state exists. Forever in motion, the mere the canyon's mere existence is the true marvel. As such, and in spite of being forever altered, music never ceases being indebted to the past.

Lisbon is a testament to this sentiment.

[Disclaimer: The author is compelled to share the following: what follows is not meant to be read as a lesson.  Decided lack of relevant credentials are glaringly absent. Heretofore, information is simply repeated. The first degree of fact-finding has sought outsourced. No formal investigation ensued. Concepts are shared with the audience as best they have best been understood. Sources are provided below, alas the author does not intend for these words to be passed off an accurate (or readable) assessment of any sort.]

A batida, by definition, is a mixture. When applied to music made by Portuguese youth, however, batida is interchangeable with "beat." Soon, parallels to other genres are prone rise. Not unlike nascent hip-hop working with James Brown's "Funky Drummer"  and The Winstons' "Amen Brother," these producers based in Lisbon have an arsenal of percussive inspiration as well. Rather than draw from old records, though, the beat makers in question rely on the easy-access entryway of digital music workstations (i.e. FL Studio), forming each beat in a style specific to each auteur.

The scene primarily works with four different types of rhythms: semba, zouk, batuco/batucada, and funaná. But to simply stating that  elements are combined into a novel, and modern, creation is disingenuous. The story is deeper. History always proves to be far from linear.

Lusophone producers certainly transpose typical sounds and dancing into their their batidas and percussion, like in any decent jazz and reggae, is tantamount to a good track. First, a theme is established, then the groove is found. The next step is for a beatmaker to proceed in finding the cut; and when this occurs, then the magic happens. Usually rhythm, but occasionally melody, is exacerbated and elation is found. This may occur, perhaps, in the span of twenty seconds but that brief moment of ecstasy is worth the entire track. In an instant, this culmination leads to brash head, shoulder and hip-movements all in symptomatic synchronicity.

While electronic, an innovation of worldwide EDM this movement is not. Available technology is simply put to use, as is often the case, in the best community soundtracks: dialectically and with innovation.

Batidas are best framed as an expansion. In doing so, a run-of-the-mill batida becomes an appendix; an auxiliary source of pleasure, like footnotes to text, or a dub to a reggae cut. At the same time, though, batidas do not quite make independent contributions to any genre other than their own. The legacies of each of the above rhythms is not directly affected by an individual song or collection. Which is why, in essence, batidas expand the base. Techniques innovated outside of the box are taken and repurposed into an applicable manner inside of it. Each sound has specific purpose, and if enjoyed by the public it is further adapted by the establishment. As a result, the scene also revisits past standards; more on that in a minute

While the latter two beats - batuco/batucada, and funaná - are specific Cabo Verde, the previous two are not. Kizomba, tarraxo/tarraxinha, kuduro are all the by products of Angola related to semba in one form or another. The magnanimous tent of massemba, however, is the catch all. Equal parts dance and music, massemba has range and is distinct from Brazilian samba. The origins of massemba are in company of a community. Brought together by chanting, the form was referred to by anthropologists - although, it should be noted, of European origin - as having a sensual nature; a prosthesis for the act itself. At any rate, a comparison can once again be made to Jamaican music by ways of the relationship between mento and ska.

Modern incarnations of semba differ. Beginning long after the Portuguese's arrival in Luanda during the 16th century, modern semba came to form last century. The period between the mid 1960s and the start of the 1980s serves as a veritable revival. Even prior to Angolan independence did semba begin to change. Arrangements began to mimic American bands; all the while borrowing sounds from Cuba . The byproduct is a decidedly fascinating mixture, a strictly Angolan creation of mambo, jazz, rhythm & blues, and of course semba.

A need for pride existed. Popular music up until this point had been mainly Portuguese. Thus, musicians, inexorably tied to nationalist pride, satisfied the public's yearning. Primarily through labels such as N'Gola and Rebita were records released. Groups such as Jovens do Prenda and Os Kiezos - as well as individuals like Artur Nunes and David Zé, among others, helped the sound grow.

Politics, however, are eternally restless. Once self-rule was achieved civil war ensued for decades. Rival factions within the ruling Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA) existed. At one point, even South Africa's military intervened to support a camp called Unitas. But rather than delve deep into these battles - such a subject best being left to those with relevant expertise - another glossing shall follow. Seminal members of the semba scene perished - some violently and before their time - as the conflict raged and on music came to a stop. By the 1980s, when the opportunity once again arose, the old style was no longer in demand. As such musicians searched for influence.

Ears perked up at rhythms from the lesser antilles, as they once had for the sounds from the greater antilles. Former French colonies had a sound cooking called zouk. During the 1980s, the global ambassadors of this sound were the French band Kassav'. With the production talents of a Frenchman by the name of Freddie Marshal, this team created a seminal zouk sound in Europe by further combining the sounds of Guadaloupe and Martinique on songs such as "Kalkile" and "Lagué moin".

All the while, instrumentation remained electric, although the tempo generally shifted downwards amidst cymbal heavy beats. Vocals were sung in a group or be females - Monsieur Donat proving to be an exception, the song "Vania" just one example. With the advent of synthesizers, though, the aesthetics changed again. Few rock influences are heard on recordings released by Bambou, Celluloid, or Hibiscus. Instead, the sound resembles an overlap between new-wave and whatever surviving remnants; a decidedly faster number called "Dangé Vidé" by Zaza proves this point.

Thus, zouk is the ligament connecting the muscle of the past with technology of the present, and kizomba is the immediate result result in Angola. With lyrics in portuguese rather than french, kizomba is popular dance music and a catch-all term for modern Angolan music . But kizomba also denotes a specific concept. Zouk melodies, when combined with semba rhythms, produced an new concept not unlike cha-cha-cha and massemba once had. The combined efforts of Portuguese and Angolan talents such as Paulo Flores, Eduardo Paim and Ruca Van Dunem (whose very good S.K Ainda album is available to stream on Spotify) veritably innovated the Discosette catalog, among other labels.

Music, however, is not exempt from economic realities. Trade technicalities made acquiring instruments more difficult. Thus music became more electronic. DJs, MCs, and sound systems/TV flourished with the likes of Tony Amada and Sebém enabling crowds to sped up kizomba rhythms. Now with aggressive melodies added, and lauding a new dance, kuduro (slang for stiff posterior) came to be. To once again continue the Jamaican analogy, the style stands up to ragga, jungle, and dancehall of the 1990s. Figures such as Dj Du Marcel, Dj Znobia, and Dj Jeffafrozilla are only a taste, not to mention the indispensable DJ Marfox. Tarraxo, another splinter style of kizomba, does just the opposite. While dramatically slowing down the beat, a more intimate sense is created. The air becomes heavy and emotive in a room that is playing tarraxo.

So to recap - which this image does very well - massemba begets semba...semba and zouk beget kizomba...kizomba begets kuduro and tarraxo. Thus batidas, if nothing else, are the newest iteration; a mainly instrumental lab where beats are subject to experimentation, creating in the process all sorts of marvelous creations.

So where does everything stand at the present? Just two years ago, Benjamin LeBrave of Akwaaba Records fame, wrote that kuduro was on the verge of extinction; although the exact word choice was "dead." An apparent lack of interest, combined with a thin talent pool, results in a falling out of grace for hard-asses. In the event of a power vacuum, however, a successor is prepared to take control. Distinct from South African house, Angolan afro-house brings together kizomba and kuduro. The bass may be four to the floor, but the likes of Renato Xtrova assure tracks far from dull. Even Casa Da Mãe paid homage to the man  earlier this year with a track titled, "Renato Xtrova"

Contrary to kuduro, however, zouk is not dead.

More than just proto-kizomba, zouk is active; though perhaps in a niche role. In addition to providing a blueprint for kizomba, the genre has proven to be malleable. In lieu of sub-genres, variants are the popular way of developing zouk. While sub-genres come to develop an identity of its own, zouk variants are fundamentally zouk save for an added eccentricity. Each hyphenated iteration is either genre collision or a result of evolving tastes. Whether Zouk-lambada, Cola-souk, or Zouk-soul, the underlying idea behind each concepts is to give zouk a face-lift by injecting foreign elements into the original concept.

Following the advent of Kassav', the 1990s saw an interest in zouk-love. Reminiscent of R&B, the closest comparison is the redundant phrase 'an off-shoot of kizomba.' Zouk-love bears mentioning, though, because it has been cited by the taste-making likes of Buraka Som Sistema/Enchufada Records. In bringing a similar slowed-down, instrumental element which tarraxo adds to kizomba, Enchufada finds itself at the forefront of zouk-bass. Slower tempo and no lyrics sure the appeal to the growing audience of global bass.

The primary interest of the author, however, rests elsewhere. Together, the audience and author now turn the corner...

Zouk audiences come from both French and Portuguese speaking stock. As such, the potential for interchanging culture is ripe. Sometime in the early 2000s zouk began to reflect such a scenario. The name of the compilation says it all: Ghetto Zouk. With beats on behalf of DJ Power D, and female artists such as Sabrina B on "Es Zot Paré," kizomba bass and melody meets zouk rhythm. Aside from vaguely hip hop drums and R&B singing, beat-makers are granted the opportunity to become more familiar with melodic intricacies by developing these slower numbers.

Traditional elements, such as Zouk All-Stars and the track "Silence," still appear on the many Ghetto Zouk compilations. The bass is more pronounced. Consider, perhaps, Sarra on "Ce Qu'il Reste" where  the groove bears a heavier burden on dancers while synths add a somewhat new element. In contrast to zouk bass, though, vocalists such as Cvreen on "Sitiation," make ghetto zouk makes it ironically less suitable for a global bass in spite of nearly identical BPM.

 So it bears mentioning just once more: culture is cyclical.

Earlier in the year, a track appeared from the folks at Geomagic Entertainment. The producer featured was T-Box and the title of the track called, "The Art of Gangsta Zouk." While not literally ghetto zouk, the resemblance was undeniable. Only a vocalist is missing though this too has been made a moot point by the group Badcompany. The arrangement is lush, drums are tight, and the bass is heavy; Maschine Killah had released a song polar opposite to the fast and bellicose batidas and kuduros featured on these pages until that point. Curiosity has ensued. It appears that the zouk sound is still present. A producer like Landim brings traces of trap while Senex BeatzZ will retain the string arrangements typical to disco before while adding his own a G-funk synth.

In order to break any rule, cognizance thereof is required.

The beatmakers covered on these pages are no slouches; this much has become evident to the author over a brief period of time. By product of circumstance, semba, in its many forms, is the producers' music; they know it, live it, and with their individual styles work with it. Multifaceted and multitalented, each producer makes a core rhythm. Sounds of the past and present are combined. Abeat is created at will. Ghetto zouk is just one example...which will be covered further, for the sake of convenience, in a succeeding post

- John Noggle

Sources:

- Semba; http://www.afrobailar.com/semba.html
- What is Semba? | KIZOMBA; http://www.kizombanation.com/ing/semba
- "A Brief History of Kizomba as Musical Genre;" http://kizombatoronto.ca/uncategorized/a-brief-history-of-kizomba-as-musical-genre/
- "Angola becomes independent of Portuguese colonial rule;" http://www.sahistory.org.za/dated-event/angola-becomes-independent-portuguese-colonial-rule
- "Marissa Moorman interview" | AfroPop Worldwide (Hip Deep); http://www.afropop.org/wp/5165/marissa-moorman-the-master-interview/

- "We Call It Zouk Bass;" http://www.enchufada.com/2013/03/18/we-call-it-zouk-bass/
- "The Bassification of Angolan Zouk; http://www.mtviggy.com/articles/the-bass-ification-of-angolan-zouk/
- "Lungu Lungu: Kuduro is Dead"; http://www.thefader.com/2011/12/15/lungu-lungu-kuduro-is-dead
- "Angola Profile" | Timeline; http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-13037271