Some time ago, way back when, I had a roommate who was studying African drumming, and was really into Senegalese music. I already had some familiarity with certain African genres. The San Francisco Bay Area is a diverse and open region, I’d been exposed my entire life to rhythms from all over, including Sierra Leone, Nigeria, South Africa, and many others. At that particular time, in the late 1990’s, I had already lived in Brazil for a couple of years and was deeply immersed in its music and culture, having released Intercambio in 1996. More recently, I had just travelled extensively to Cuba and recorded an album in Havana, releasing Cubacambio in 1999. My room- mate laid an album on me of Senegalese Mbalax, which I listened to quite a bit. It was a compilation of recordings from Lemzo Diamono, a group quite popular at the time. For the most part, I didn’t understand the music; I thought it was too busy. But there was one track that caught my attention: “Masla Bi.” The female singer had an unre ned voice, innocent but expressive, like a Senegalese Astrud Gilberto. The song was very rhythmic with a rock and roll edge, and I liked it because it just sounded so...foreign. I’ve always loved adventures and delving into the unknown. Then came the turn of the century. I had abandoned my pursuit of mastering jazz, which seemed (and still does) an ambiguous goal. I was disappointed with the results of trying to brand myself as a World Music artist; it appeared no matter how hard I applied myself, I couldn’t get any traction, so I tried my hand at playing whatever I wanted to. Of course, doing whatever I wanted to was probably why I wasn’t able to focus and have a steady career in the rst place, but live and learn. Being a harmonica player, I decided that if I could take a creative spin on the Blues, I might be able to book clubs and tour like some of my peers. That was followed by years of rejection, and the heartbreak of trying to be a bandleader, a thankless job anywhere in the world today. The blues fans called my music jazz, the jazz fans called my music something else, and for the most part, no one really cared one way or the other. It was the mid 2000’s and I was burnt out and ready to give up music. But it was during this period of self discovery and composition that I began to look for different sounds. It became clear to me that I was probably not going to nd commercial success playing my own music, but in that revelation I discovered that I was free to do whatever I wanted to, and follow my interests unfettered by other’s expectations, or outside pressures. At that moment, I looked for ways to re-engage with what I loved the most: Playing music of other cultures with great musicians, in as authentic a fashion as possible. In order to do this, one must travel to where the music is happening. Perseverance brought me back full circle to African music. About 10 years ago, beginning with Congolese music, the beautiful Lingala language, and an itch to travel again, I researched the possibility of Kinshasa as a destination. I learned that much of the music I loved no longer existed, or what elements remained were to be found in Europe, in particular, France. Some of the musicians had migrated to America, living not far from me. After realizing Kinshasa was not my best destina- tion, I continued to delve into the rhythms of sub-Saharan Africa, compulsively seeking the greatest to the weirdest from each country. I wanted to study every region, to nd the best music, to know what language it was performed in...a vast endeavor, which could take lifetimes. It has engaged me ever since. Another thing I observed: popular music in most African countries was in serious decline. Economic and educational challenges left people scrambling to use whatever they could, in most cases computers and microphones. War and civil strife in many regions made learning a musical instrument impossible or impractical. Power outages, lack of supplies and poverty created envi- ronments where most experienced musicians escaped overseas at any chance possible. What I liked about Mali was, it still had an intact pop music industry that not only employed real musicians, but also incorporated ancient indigenous rhythms and instruments into the music. I found a local teacher, Yacine Kouyate, and began studying Malian culture and Bamankan language with him. I then decided it would be interesting to form a group... nd one or two African musicians, and try to play some of this amazing music. I had a good network of talented options but couldn’t nd any Malian musicians. It became a challenge to nd and engage any African musicians for different reasons. I wanted to play complex African music, not just “groove” or “jam”; I wanted authenticity. Discovering that mixing musicians from different countries, or even different regions, was not going to work in general, I made an earnest attempt to network with and connect with African musicians from the entire Northern California region. Success! I found a local Senegalese sabar player, Idrissa Gueye, who had played with the Ballet National du Senegal for 17 years, toured the world, and nally settled in the Bay Area. I couldn’t nd any Malian culture to speak of, but after meeting Idrissa a whole community of Senegalese was discovered. Musicians, tailors, restaurant workers, a high level Wolof teacher... My focus shifted to Senegal. I formed a rehearsal group, dubbed it “Collectif Etoile” and we began working every week. It was a great period. The musicians were engaged, transcribing and bringing their own compositions from different African artists. Idrissa was not an articulate teacher, but his direction and sabar playing, even his presence, contributed immensely. The sessions progressed, and I concentrated more towards Senegalese music. I had already been studying the music for years, had mined through the layers and started to nd the gems. After trying to transcribe the music, I discovered inconsistencies, inexplicable things even Idrissa could not clarify. We all debated what it meant: “Why does everything make sense when we count it this way, except for this odd pattern here?” It was like a puzzle, and nothing excites a serious musician like a puzzle. Senegalese Mbalax appeared to have more to it than my ignorant ears had ever heard. In 2008 I made travel plans for my rst trip to Senegal and the African continent. Networking through different musicians and scholars, I procured some good leads for places to stay in Dakar, and musicians to play with. After arriving to Dakar, I studied with Ibou Mbaye, an Mbalax keyboard player. Upon our rst meeting, I showed him some transcriptions of a couple of Youssou Ndour and Lemzo Diamono songs. We discussed them, I played the recordings and asked him to explain what was happening. As it turned out, Mbalax had evolved from Salsa music, and I was counting the music in the wrong place. He showed me the downbeat, and I didn’t believe him, I thought there was some problem in communication. At rst what he was teaching me made no sense.. then it all made sense. All of a sudden, the music was almost entirely syncopated. It was an incredible shift of perception, the kind that reminds me of how little I really understand, and that I long for but rarely experience. I returned to my music collection that night, listening to dozens of favorite songs with new ears, and was up until dawn, delighted at the newness and creativity. All of a sudden, this culture of millions of struggling people living in this bustling town of Dakar became the most interesting on earth! If they kept this secret for so long, what else were they hiding? I was also very lucky to start working professionally in Dakar right away. I was never top call on saxophone back home, but my skills were immediately appreciated by the likes of Alioune Mbaye Nder, Assane Mboup and Sidy Samb, some of the bigger names at that time in Dakar. Experiencing Mbalax live, on stage, took the course to a whole other dimension. Now I could actually feel what Ibou had shown me, in my body, while watching everyday people climb the stage and do amazing improvisational dances to the ancient rhythms woven into the composition. It all started to fall into place. Upon returning to the states, my whole purpose became: How to Return to Africa. There was so much I still didn’t understand. Through a turn of events, I was able to visit South Africa in 2009 and set up two recording sessions, one in Capetown, another in Durban. Unbeknownst to me, the music of the Zulus had been calling me for years, ever since my teens with the release of the Indestructible Beat of Soweto series, and the Maskanda music that I didn’t even bother to identify as a youngster. In Durban, after a fortuitous introduction to many new friends, I met Bernard Mdaweni, who brought me to his home in Kwamashu. Without his generosity, and the generosity of the Kwamashu Cultural Center, this album would not exist. The collaborative spirit of the young musicians was unparalleled to anywhere else I traveled in Africa. While in Durban I met and discovered Busi Mhlongo, a wonderful singer. After learning of her passing in 2010, just a year later, I dedicated “Maskanda 4 Busi” to her. “Ngiyabonga Kwamashu” was dedicated to the artists and people in that township that had made the project possible. “Ndodemnyama” was inspired by the classic “Ndodemnyama (Beware, Verwoerd!),” which later became a rallying song for the NCA. I was amazed no one in Kwamashu with whom I was was working knew “Ndodemnyama,” which translated means “Beware, black man.” I decided to try a slow, introspective version in a relative minor key, then switching to an upbeat version in a happier major key, to re ect the progress that has been made over the years.“Usbali,” penned by the bassist Siyabonga, is a song about a jealous brother in law. The nal song from the session was named after a game I played with Bernard’s baby son in the back seat of his car, who kept asking me: “Ubu Baba?” in Zulu, which means “Where’s Daddy?” I sang him an a cappella rhythm in a falsetto voice, and he locked in perfectly with me, asking “Ubu Baba?” on every syncopated beat. The session in Cape Town held much promise but yielded few results. A recording of Hugh Masakela’s “Sekunjalo” was completely rehabilitated by the talented Mr. Andrew Higgins, who replaced almost every instrument by himself, with the help of Brian Rice on percussion. A splendid job indeed! Immediately after my return from South Africa, I was called to produce a group in Abidjan, Ivory Coast: Foliba Trio with lead singers Moussa Coulibaly, aka “Tanzo,” Bakary Dagnogo and Mariam Djibo. It was a distinct pleasure, because the group had already been playing together for some time, had developed their songs to a certain point, but needed a producer to rearrange the songs and repertoire. Two tracks on this album, “Bara” (a song about how everyone must work) and “Jigui” are results from that session, later released as an album titled Matopié Wa. The songs have been generously licensed by Mack Coulibaly, remixed and now have several American musicians contributing. After returning from Abidjan I made my way back to Senegal. I opened Studio Maslaa, named after the Lemzo Diamono song that inspired me in the beginning. “Maslaa” in Wolof can mean either “the Solution,” “resolution,” “the effort to overcome a problem,” or “work something out.” For a year, moving to two different locations, my cohorts and I recorded dozens of groups and demos, two of which are present here: “Arbi” and “Sama Jigueen.” It took years to record and years to nish, but I’m delighted to share this snapshot with you. I hope you will listen to Africambio! and enjoy some of my adventure. Damien Masterson http://www.damienmasterson.com http://www.myspace.com/damienmastersonmusic http://cdbaby.com/all/damienzm Cell: 415 305 7138 dzm@damienmasterson.com Damien Endorses Hohner Harmonicas and Audix Microphones African sessions produced, arranged and engineered by Damien Masterson unless otherwise noted. U.S.A. sessions produced, arranged and engineered by Andrew Higgins. Durban Session Recorded at the Kwamashu Cultural Center, KwaMashu, Durban, South Africa All songs in Durban session were composed by Damien Masterson and the group: Siyabonga “Stax” Lukhelo—bass on “Ngiyabonga Kwamashu”, Vocals on “Usbali” Malungi Mbongeni— Maskanda Guitar Lucky Mancinza Thango—drum 1 Thabiso David Mnanyana—drum 2 Nhlanhla Zulu— piano Bernard Mndaweni—bass, production, arranging Damien Masterson—saxophones and chromatic harmonica Skhulu N.T. Miya—engineer “Usbali” (cheating brother in law) lyrics by Siyabonga “Stax” Lukhelo “Wabaleka Usbali, wabaleka usbali” “Wabaleka Usbali, wabaleka usbali” Chorus - “Weshelu intombi sethu usbali” Overdubs in the U.S.A. “Usbali” Andrew Higgins —percussion, electric guitar “Ubu Baba?” (Where’s Papa?) Andrew Higgins—percussion, electric guitar, mandolin, acoustic guitar “Ngiyabonga Kwamashu” David Phillips—pedal steel Brian Rice—Udu Rebecca Kleinmann— ute Andrew Higgins—percussion, electric guitar “Ndodemnyama (Slow)” (Vuyisile Mini) Andrew Higgins—percussion, keyboards, guitar “Ndodemnyama (Fast)” (Vuyisile Mini) Andrew Higgins—percussion, keyboards Rebecca Kleinmann— ute “Maskanda 4 Busi” Brian Rice—Udu David Phillips—pedal steel Andrew Higgins—percussion, electric guitar Cape Town Session “Sekunjalo” (Hugh Masakela) Andrew Higgins—electric guitar, bass, keyboards, percussion Brian Rice—percussion, solo Damien Masterson—harmonicas (Senegal) Wilfried Ambrois—trombone (Senegal) Jeano Mendy—rhythm guitar, solo (Senegal) Ivory Coast Session “Bara” Moussa “Tanzo” Coulibaly—vocals Mariam Djibo—backing vocals Adama Koné —solo guitar Gnaman Oumarou Koita—rhythm guitar Lagoune—bass Willy—drums Madou Traoré—djembé Damien Masterson—saxes, harmonica, karigná, shakers David Phillips—pedal steel Andrew Higgins—keyboards “Jigui” Bakary Dagnogo—vocals Mariam Djibo -—backing vocals Adama Koné—solo guitar Gnaman Oumarou Koita—rhythm guitar Madou Traoré—djembé Lagoune—bass Willy—drums Damien Masterson—harmonica, karigná, shakers Brian Rice—percussion solo David Phillips—pedal steel Andrew Higgins—percussion, electric guitar, keyboards Senegal Session “Arbi” Fallou Galass—vocals Groupe Maslaa—rhythm section Andrew Higgins:—electric guitar, keyboards, percussion “Sama Jigueen” Gora Awa Niang—vocals Groupe Maslaa—rhythm section Andrew Higgins—percussion, bass, all electric guitars, keyboards, acoustic guitar