“It’s cultural imperialism,” a middle-aged gentleman felt compelled to say to me, presumably because I was the bloke with the notebook. “Then all pop music is cultural imperialism,” is what I should have fired back at him, had I not been so immersed in the transcendental racket of tussling brass and distorted guitars that had almost made him inaudible. But instead I took the scenic route of pointing out that this legend of 1970s Ethiopian jazz would hardly have spent the last seven years playing with these white Dutch musicians if he had felt he was being exploited.
As I finished the case for the defence, Mekuria was producing a rush of notes so quintessentially Ethiopian he reduced us both to a silence which only echoed the silence of the 10-piece band so respectfully letting the master have his moment, as they did several times during last night’s gripping set. My point had been made better than I had made it. Mekuria was unquestionably the star of this show.
It’s now more than a decade since Getatchew Mekuria and other luminaries of the 1970s Ethiopian jazz and funk scene were first brought to the attention of us all, thanks to the indispensable Éthiopiques CD compilations. As this strange yet oddly familiar music worked its way into the hearts and bones of everyone from Brian Eno to Elvis Costello, I felt it was only a matter of time before its influence was felt in contemporary music. Then along came, among others, Dub Colossus, The Heliocentrics (with guest Éthiopiques star Mulato Astatke) and The Imperial Tiger Orchestra.
The sound of 1970s Ethiopia doesn't give an inch, and yet these Dutch guys don't tip-toe around their esteemed guest either
But still there was no band that came near to sounding like the fantasy contemporary band I had in my mind on first hearing Mulatu Astatqe, Mahmoud Ahmed and, of course, the sax star of the scene, Mekuria himself. Such a band would need to combine the post-punk, angular funk of, say, Gang of Four and Talking Heads with the sinuous unpredictable grooves and otherworldly melodies of Ethiopian funk.
Then – several years after its release – I heard the 2006 album Moa Anbessa, on which the Ex miraculously managed to persuade Mekuria to travel all the way from Ethiopia to be star and guiding light. This was it. This was my fantasy made into a noisy, thrilling reality. On this rambunctious celebration of two very different cultures finding some common ground, the sound of 1970s Ethiopia doesn't give an inch, and yet these Dutch guys don't tip-toe around their esteemed guest either.
Fortunately, last night this seminal album was writ large and loud before a diverse, enthusiastic crowd, and Mekuria was as strong and confident as ever in his playing, making me ashamed of ageist suppositions that, at 76, he might have run out of puff or passion. So, no, it was cultural symbiosis rather than cultural imperialism at work, as these punchy Dutch musicians respectfully expanded upon Mekuria’s own compositions which were, in turn, extrapolations upon traditional melodies and songs in the first place. And on, and on.
At one point a female voice entered the fray singling lead vocals, and a few hundred necks craned to see what exotic guest artist had suddenly taken to the stage. But in fact it was drummer Katherina doing an extraordinary job of keeping up some fairly complex polyrhythms while simultaneously singing like an angel. Finally, a further word about the great man himself. In the middle of it all, in expensive shades and a shirt with a glamorous reptilian sheen, Mekuria more than held his own, coaxing from his instrument mournful police-siren cries, stuttered purrs, and scrambled outpourings so lucid in their meaning that their meaning became irrelevant: apart from the fact that these fractured, haunting melodies spoke of nothing less than the immortality and modernity of the very Ethiopian soul itself. This was one of the gigs of the year.
Listen to "Ethiopia Hagere" by Getatchew Mekuria and the Ex
