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Since their summer 2019 EP, the self-titled double LP being reviewed here, and a since-then-issued single, this bass-heavy, Congo-to-Paris quartet has given whatever Afro-Rock is an update the form likely never saw coming. Indeed, this is a long way from mid-seventies Zamrock or any of the heavier sounds Nigeria had on offer at the time. Snare drum-driven funk, synth-squelched jagged riffing, and deep harmony vocals all compete for space in what often sounds like a sonic battle zone where instruments and voices poke at each other for space. Meanwhile, the rhythm section, on songs such as “Suabala” for example, push forward, stomping past easy genre pigeonholes while vocals come wrapped in a gauze of distortion. Neither funk nor rock, rap nor rhumba, this record belies the members’ pasts (stints in Konono No. 1, Staff Benda Bilili) as well as allegiance to any geography-specific genre. Drummer Cubain Kabeye’s association with Congolese deep, stoner, trip-funk band Mbongwana Star is likely to be the closest comparison to what’s on offer here, but their occasional nods to rhumba and soukous, no matter how warped, are nowhere to be found on this record.
Instead, this album takes styles informed by the West and runs them through a filter that allows the band’s talents to subvert the familiar. “Boloko,” for instance, could be considered a blues, or at least a dirge, but it has more in common with The Stooges’ “Dirt,” than anything from Mississippi or Chicago’s South Side. Guitars sound like forever emerging swamp creatures, the bass seemingly dragging the entire process through muck.
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“Syria” sprinkles electronic jitters over a rhythm that shifts, stops suddenly, and then picks itself back up as the vocals continue on as if none of this is occurring. It’s a similar approach Miles Davis applied to the dark, future-funk of his great mid-70s work. This is controlled chaos at its best, a cauldron of competing motifs hammered to perfection by bass and drum teamwork on par with anything ever produced in the studios of Joe Gibbs or King Tubby. Lyrically, these songs offer naked frustrations with poverty, oil wars, and terrorism, or celebrations of departed friends, all dropped over grooves that mangle elements of grime, dub, street-funk, and whatever else. It’s as dependable as it is unsettling. A perfect pill for 2020. - Bruce Miller
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