Edited by Azizi Powell
This pancocojams post presents a journal excerpt entitled "Congolese Rumba and Other Cosmopolitanisms" written by Bob. W. White.
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Thanks to Bob. W. White for writing this journal article. Thanks also to those who were responsible for making this journal article available online.
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The journal article that was available online was in French. This is the website's online translation from French to English. This article is quoted "as is".
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ARTICLE EXCERPT
From https://journals.openedition.org/etudesafricaines/161 "Congolese Rumba and Other Cosmopolitanisms"
La rumba congolaise et autres cosmopolitismes
Bob W. White
p. 663-686
https://doi.org/10.4000/etudesafricaines.161
168 | 2002 : Musiques du monde
https://journals.openedition.org/etudesafricaines/161
"In this paper I will look briefly at how Afro-Cuban music
came to be imported and distributed in the Belgian Congo and I will discuss
some of the stylistic borrowing that has given Congolese music a strongly
Afro-Cuban flavor. But I am also interested in the way that Congolese rumba has
gradually undergone a process of indigenization which has made it the “musica
franca” of much of sub-Saharan Africa and an important marker of Congolese
national identity. My central argument is that Cuban music became popular in
the Congo not only because it retained elements of “traditional” African
musical and performative aesthetics, but also because it stood for a form of
urban cosmopolitanism which was something other than European. By comparing the
appropriation of Afro-Cuban music in the Congo during two distinct historical
periods (during the peak of colonialism and several years after the death of
Mobutu), I hope to show not only how changes in larger political economies
correspond with changing notions of cosmopolitanism in a local setting, but
also how popular music mediates at various levels between the local and the
foreign.
[…]
Most first-time listeners of Congolese popular dance music
comment on the fact that this typically African musical style actually sounds
like it comes from somewhere else: “Is that merengue?” or “It sounds kind of
Cuban”. Given that since the beginning of Congolese modern music in the 1930s,
Afro-Cuban music has been one of its primary sources of inspiration, this is
obviously not a coincidence. In historical terms, it is probably more accurate
to say that Cuba and other Caribbean nations have been inspired by the musical
traditions of Africa, though this is not the focus of my article. While research
on the question of transatlantic cultural flows can provide valuable
information about the roots and resilience of culture, I am more interested in
what these flows mean to people in particular times and places and ultimately
what people are able to do with them, both socially and politically. In this
article I will look briefly at how Afro-Cuban music came to be imported to the
Congo (in the form of a series of records referred to as the G.V. series). I
will reflect on what this musical style might have sounded like to Congolese
living under colonial rule, but also what kind of social significance it held
for them. My central argument is that Afro- Cuban music became popular in the
Congo not only because it retained formal elements of “traditional” African
musical performance, but also because it stood for a form of urban
cosmopolitanism that was more accessible—and ultimately more pleasurable—than
the various models of European cosmopolitanism which circulated in the Belgian
colonies in Africa.
1. Research for this article was conducted during my residency as a post-doctoral fellow at the Smith (...)
2. An exciting new literature has emerged on the topic of
cosmopolitanism and precisely because of its insistence on history, it is now
possible to speak of “cosmopolitanisms” in the plural and of cosmopolitan
practices that take place in the periphery, topics that I will discuss in the
final section of this article. But this is not how I came on the question of
cosmopolitanism. When I began field research on Congolese popular dance music
in the summer of 1995, the Democratic Republic of Congo was still Zaire. The
Mobutu regime was in its final epileptic throes, and authenticité (Mobutu’s
back to the roots political platform of the 1970s and 1980s) was more often a
source of humor than of pride. I was immediately struck by local ways of
speaking about popular music, which was known in Kinshasa as “la musique
zaïroise moderne” and which many Congolese view as a colonizing force within
Africa that attests to the unfulfilled potential of this huge resource-rich
nation located at the center of the African continent. The “modernity” of
Congolese popular dance music was marked not only by its accoutrements
(electric instruments, expensive European cars, cellular phones and
international high fashion), but also by the degree of its commercialization
and by the way that it represents (or according to some compromises) Congolese
national identity. If there is some sense in which Congolese view their nation
or culture as “modern”, this has to do not only with their music, but also with
the legacy of Belgian colonial rule, itself a particular type of “modern”
institution. As a complement to my work on popular music during the Mobutu
years, I recently began research on questions of popular culture and cultural
policy in the cities of the Belgian Congo. This article is the first in a
series of publications that will appear on this subject1.
2 Scholarly research on the topic of Congolese modern music is still very limited, but there are sev (...)
3 A cautionary
footnote on my use of the term “rumba” may be in order. Specialists of Cuban
music in (...)
3. Congolese popular music has a long history, and its success
in other parts of Africa can only be understood through a close reading of its
evolution over time2. A central element in this history is the story of
Kinshasa, formerly Leopoldville, the city that came to be known elsewhere in
Africa in large part because of its music. As Manda Tchebwa has observed,
Kinshasa’s urban identity is tied up in the music and in many ways the two come
of age together: “[…] La chanson de Kinshasa porte en elle tous les germes de
l’urbanité et de la citadinité” (Tchebwa 1996: 252). After bolingo (“love”) and
motema (“feeling” or “heart”), the most frequently occurring word in Congolese
popular song lyrics is most likely “Kinshasa”, whose multiple identities
reflect the combinatory playfulness of the city’s predominantly
Lingala-speaking population: “Kiniville”, “Kin Plaisir” (Kinshasa the Pleasurable),
“Kin la Joie” (Kinshasa the Joyful), “Kin la Belle” (Kinshasa the Beautiful)
and following the economic and political crisis of the early 1990s “Kin la
Poubelle” (Kinshasa the Garbage Can). It is almost unheard of for musicians to
achieve success without first having earned celebrity status in the nation’s
capital and very few groups are able to sustain careers elsewhere in the Congo.
For people from Kinshasa (les Kinois), this city is the cradle of modern
Congolese rumba3.
4 When Congolese talk about the history of Congolese popular music, a history that invariably evokes a great sense of pride, they usually refer to three primary sources of musical inspiration: Western music (this includes church music as well as European romantic ballads and ballroom traditions), “traditional” music (different types of African folklore and ritual-inspired performance), and Afro-Cuban music. So why have I decided to focus on the Afro-Cuban element of this equation? First, I have been struck by the historical literature, both by Cubans and non-Cubans, which looks at the impact of Afro-Cuban popular music abroad. If ever there were such a thing as a “proto-world music”, rumba would certainly be one of the most well documented early examples (Moore 1997; Diaz Ayala 1993). Second, this literature takes very seriously the idea that rumba, even in a Cuban context, means many things to many people, and it seems to yearn for further research on how the various musical styles coming out of Cuba have been localized, indigenized, and re-invented elsewhere in the world.
5. But I think there are also musical grounds for focusing on the Afro- Cuban antecedents of Congolese popular dance music. Much has been made of the influence of Afro-Cuban music on early forms of urban popular music in various parts of Africa, but more than any other national or regional style of African popular music, Congolese music has remained close to its early Afro-Cuban influences. There are at least three formal aspects of Congolese music that in my opinion reflect this proximity. First is the prominence of the guitar. Whereas today we do not generally associate stringed instruments with Cuban popular music, the classic son compositions that most influenced early Congolese music gave a central place to a cousin of the guitar called the tres. Today the complex, multi-layered guitar stylings of contemporary Congolese music (while very different from the tres) are a defining feature of the style, so much so that in many parts of English speaking Africa Congolese rumba is referred to as “Congolese guitar music”. Second is the importance of the clave rhythm, which in Congolese music has migrated from the percussion instrument known as the clave (two hardwood sticks struck together) to the snare drum of the post-1970 youth groups who made it a prominent part of the dance section of each song (for more information about the rhythm and the instrument, visit: http://www.drumrhythms.com/english/congaengl/articlessons/claveeng/clavebasiceng.htm ). Third is the emergence of a two-part song structure, one that in many ways resembles the Afro-Cuban son-montuno progression from a slow lyrical introduction to an improvised solo section which in Kinshasa is called seben or chauffé. Other forms of popular music in Kinshasa (especially urban traditional music and contemporary Christian music) have evolved under the weight of Congolese rumba and because of this they often bear many of the same musical and structural characteristics.
Discourses of Sources
6 Part of the story of Congolese rumba that needs to be told
is the mindbending genealogical tale of successive musical waves back and forth
across the Atlantic Ocean. This story usually begins with the Atlantic slave
trade, which resulted in the displacement of millions of Africans and varying
degrees of social and cultural integration in the plantation economies of the
New World. Different regimes of production and colonial ideologies facilitated
to differing degrees the maintenance of African patterns of ritual,
performative aesthetics and local ways of knowing. As was the case in New
Orleans, Charleston, Port au Prince, and Sao Paulo, so Cuban expressive culture
reflected the legacy of what Fernando Ortiz first called “afronegrismos”, the
uniquely African cultural traits that manifested themselves as much in musical
aesthetics as they did in language, ritual practice and various forms of social
organization (for a discussion of Ortiz’ work, see Moore 1997). This narrative
of cultural resilience constantly re-surfaces around the African-derived
musical genres that have set the tempo for generations of Western popular
music: blues, jazz, reggae, and of course most recently hip hop.
Discourses of Sources
6. Part of the story of Congolese rumba that needs to be told
is the mindbending genealogical tale of successive musical waves back and forth
across the Atlantic Ocean. This story usually begins with the Atlantic slave
trade, which resulted in the displacement of millions of Africans and varying
degrees of social and cultural integration in the plantation economies of the
New World. Different regimes of production and colonial ideologies facilitated
to differing degrees the maintenance of African patterns of ritual,
performative aesthetics and local ways of knowing. As was the case in New
Orleans, Charleston, Port au Prince, and Sao Paulo, so Cuban expressive culture
reflected the legacy of what Fernando Ortiz first called “afronegrismos”, the
uniquely African cultural traits that manifested themselves as much in musical
aesthetics as they did in language, ritual practice and various forms of social
organization (for a discussion of Ortiz’ work, see Moore 1997). This narrative
of cultural resilience constantly re-surfaces around the African-derived
musical genres that have set the tempo for generations of Western popular
music: blues, jazz, reggae, and of course most recently hip hop.
7. As the work of Paul Gilroy has shown, the discourse of
originary sources that permeates much of our writing and thinking about the
history of Black music and culture should not be accepted uncritically4. There
is increasing attention being given to the way that African-American musical
styles (already implicated in the longue durée of African cultural production)
have themselves influenced the production and performance of popular music in
many parts of Africa. Examples range from early African-American choral groups
(Gilroy 1993) to the King of Soul James Brown, whose visit to Kinshasa as part
of Don King’s boxing roadshow in 1974 is still a common topic of conversation
among music fans in that city5. But there are other reasons to be skeptical
about a model of transatlantic exchange based on “cultural retention”. If we
are able to prove, for example, that African- American blues shares tonal patterns
with certain musics of West Africa, what politics does this serve? If, for
example, traces of African languages such as Kikongo and Yoruba appear in
pan-Caribbean forms of contemporary ritual practice, then what do we know that
we didn’t know before, apart from the fact that people of African descent come
from Africa? While I acknowledge the existence of certain kinds of cultural
“retention”, I am not sure what to do with such observations, apart from make
the triumphant—and perhaps reassuring—claim that African culture is stronger
and more resilient than the legacy of its troubled history would suggest. Here
I think we have to ask ourselves two questions: first, who stands to benefit
from such representations of Africa and Africans, and second, why can Africa
never seem to get past its status as something of the past, something
authentic, something originary, something before or outside of history?
One way of avoiding the uncritical discourse of sources that plagues much of the writing on the African diaspora is to look at the evolution of musical styles in terms of their status as commodities, an approach that finds its most sophisticated expression in Paul Gilroy’s discussion of music and authenticity in the Black Atlantic (1993). Indeed, as Timothy Taylor and others have argued, the concept of authenticity may be one of the best ways to understand cultural products such as world music more generally (Taylor 1997). In order to do this exercise for Afro-Cuban music, it is important to look at what was going on in turn of the century Cuba and how the larger political economic context affected the movement of musicians and musical ideas. On this topic I have benefited from the recent work of Robin Moore, who has written a fascinating monograph about the history of race and popular music in Havana, and Timothy Brennan, whose recent book on cosmopolitanism contains a chapter about Alejandro Carpentier, a turn of the century Cuban intellectual whose writing and public appearances helped to put “Black identity at the center of Cuban nationalist politics” (Brennan 1997: 277). Because of his leftist leanings, Carpentier was forced into exile in 1928 and ended up in Paris, where the Cuban rumba would become “a sensation, a rage, an epidemic” (Carpentier 1931: 18). Together with Moises Simon (composer of the world famous Afro-Cuban hit El manicero) Carpentier began organizing rumba soirées for cosmopolitan-minded Parisians that included Cuban dancing lessons. During this time he likely came into contact with the countless number of Cuban musician-composers that had begun touring North America and Europe at about the same time, artists like Eliseo Grenet, Ernesto Lecuona, Fernando Collazo, just to name a few. In many ways the true cosmopolitans of Paris in the 1920s and 1930s, these artists and intellectuals had important ties to the avant-garde and modernist art circles that used a certain brand of primitivism as their trademark (Clifford 1991), but they probably had more in common with New World colleagues such Josephine Baker and Al Brown, who were also darlings of the Paris arts scene at that time.
9. So what were the conditions that led Fernando Ortiz to write that the presence of Afro-Cuban music abroad stood for the “cosmopolitan triumph of the Cuban drum”? (Cited in Brennan 1997: 259). At home in Cuba it was becoming increasingly clear that the Machado presidency was unraveling. Dropping prices for sugar on the world market in the 1920s, the Great Depression of 1929, and Machado’s strong-arm politics amidst widespread accusations of corruption, all contributed to a political culture of fear and terror. Furthermore, the history of U.S. intervention in Cuban affairs and the expanding U.S. culture industries led Cuban nationalists and radicals alike to see Afro-Cuban music as an antidote to American cultural imperialism (Moore 1997: 105). It seems clear that the excitement which surrounded the performance of Afro-Cuban authenticity—not only in Paris, but also Barcelona, New York and Buenos Aires—was fuelled to a great extent by nationalist projects and desires. What is interesting is that at the same time as an intellectual notion of African identity (afrocubanismo, negrismo, africanismo) became central to the symbolic work of Cuban nationalism, people in the Congo were appropriating the very same musical symbols, but using them instead as evidence of their participation in a world of cosmopolitanism that was trying to break free of the confines of racial identity. The success of Afro-Cuban music was due in part to this structural ambiguity, which made it possible to function as a torch of authenticity for some and as a marker of cosmopolitan modernity for others, a topic to which I will return later in this article."...
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