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From SeeingBlack.com Music
Dream of a land my soul is from, I hear a hand beat on a drum, Shades of delight, cocoa hue' Rich as the night, Afro blue… These are the first words to the song “Afro Blue.” In Bridgewater’s interpretation of Mango Santamaria and Oscar Brown Jr.’s “Afro Blue,” famously recorded by Abbey Lincoln, respect is paid to the jazz tradition and Africa is acknowledged as an important part of that tradition. The song—about place and a dream of love (“two young lovers are face to face, with undulating grace”)—is celebratory scene-setting. “Go away from my door, I refuse bad news,” are lyrics from “Bad Spirits,” which is written by Kassé Mady Diabaté with Bridgewater. In the acoustic “Bad Spirits”—its music can seem simple or classical (actually both)—there is terrific interplay between voice and strings, with Bridgewater’s vocal pacing and improvisation definitely rooted in the jazz tradition. (A man’s voice is also heard—Kassé Mady Diabaté.) “We must leave the past behind, in order for us to find the goodness in everyone, that’s hidden inside” are words of wisdom that can be read as repudiation of both constantly restated ideological grievances and attitudes of bitterness and resentment. The words can be read in spiritual terms and in political terms. Bridgewater’s singing has a theatrical aspect that is charming but it denies a certain elemental power, an irony with this kind of back-to-roots recording: Bad spirits go away, Don’t come knocking at my door. Bridgewater lends her name to the song “Dee Dee,” a song that makes plain the singer’s musical and spiritual search, culminating in the album’s creation: “I’ve been trying to find my home. Then the music of sweet Mali spoke right to me, and it led me home.” It is difficult not to think that Bridgewater’s journey and return is a triumph that is for us all. For African Americans, it is a model for the recovery of a usable African past and present; for all music lovers, it affirms that music crosses established borders of nation, culture, and language. There are fifty-three countries in Africa and Mali is surrounded by Algeria, Mauritania, Senegal, Guinea, Cote D’Ivoire, Burkina Faso and Niger in western Africa. Mali, flat and dry, is known for its musicians, such as Salif Keita and Ali Farka Touré, musicians of international stature. Bridgewater has assembled some respected Mali musicians for Red Earth. In the duet with Ramata Diakité, “Mama Don’t Every Go Away,” about a mother’s teaching and a daughter’s love, the tones are playful, tender, and smart; this is a joyful music. “Long Time Ago,” is a reflective, lovely piano-driven jazz piece, but with lines such as “Birthplace of nations, where life had its beginning. We were a family—we were of the same skin,” it verges on myth-making, on taking history and turning it into something too simple, a lost paradise (“We’ve lost our way now. Our lives are full of sorrow”). There is a grave, earthy elder’s authority in the voice of Ami Sacko in “Children Go Round,” a song that encourages children toward courage, education and freedom. Bridgewater’s voice in the song is forceful, oratorical. Bassékou Kouyaté on ngoni—a string instrument, looking like a slender small guitar or violin (it has been described as a lute)—does something fast, rhythmic, that sounds nearly rocking (I can hear what sounds like rock, blues, and country music echoes—or roots). “The Griots” is an acknowledgement and a celebration of African storytellers and historians (“praise to the griots who are our guides”) and a flute is heard within it. “Oh My Love,” a duet, is a mellow, soulful piece. Bridgewater also takes on Nina Simone’s “Four Women,” a formidable challenge, a song that features a worker, a tragic mulatto, a temptress and a rebel, and Bridgewater is equal to the song. “No More” is a song about female independence: “No more will you handle our destiny.” This theme adds additional relevance and texture to the recording. “Red Earth” is about a childhood in Tennessee, blues music, a life of searching, of finding, with connections seen between America and Africa: “the red earth has always been so good to me.” (That affirmation reminds me of the book African American Environmental Thought by Kimberly Smith, published by the University Press of Kansas, 2007, a book that argues that the African American response to nature—a philosophical and spiritual ethos regarding how land is lived on and lived with, how land is a vital part of private and public life—is a unique resource for the conservation movement.) That is recognition of the earth’s splendor that sees an individual human life as part of a larger whole. “Meanwhile” is a song about trouble that is known and tolerated, a song about poverty and suffering. Red Earth is a very special recording: it offers joy and thought, African and African-American music, and a woman’s claiming her own power and recognizing the truth—the joy and the suffering—in the world. Daniel Garrett, Louisiana-born and a longtime New York resident, is a graduate of the New School for Social Research and founder of the Cultural Politics Discussion Group at ABC No Rio and Poets House. He is a writer of essays and creative work, including fiction, drama, and poetry. His work has appeared in several publications. Daniel Garrett’s extensive commentary on the film Brokeback Mountain was published abroad last year (2006), in Film International. Author contact: dgarrett31@hotmail.com or d.garrett.writer@gmail.com Read and search more music reviews and articles on SeeingBlack.com's MUSIC channel and archive. Click here to go to our music discussion board. © Copyright by SeeingBlack.com |
