Written by: Pascale Joachim
African music has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. My dad used to make his own CDs when I was a kid and he’d play his prized mixtapes over and over during our long commutes to school and work. I remember on one specific disc, tracks 6 and 7 were “Shake” by Flavour N’abania and “Ngalula” by Pompom Kuleta. Even then, I noticed how these tracks were rhythmically different from the other Haitian songs in the queue, and I remember waiting (often impatiently) for them to play. Sometimes when I felt bold, I’d ask him to skip over to them.
There was something about the complex beats and layered melodies that resonated deep within me. My eyes would flutter shut and I’d let my body respond to what it heard. My shoulders shook along with the steady beat of the drums, my head swayed from side to side, and my feet would tap with the bass. I’d often open my eyes and find my brother snickering or my dad sneaking peeks at me in the backseat through the rearview mirror. From behind, his rounded cheekbones served as proof of a smile. I probably looked insane, but I couldn’t help it. The music spoke to me.
Years later, I found myself yearning for my dad’s mixtapes as a freshman in high school. I told my friends about how I wished I could make my own playlists with songs like tracks 6 and 7. YouTube simply wasn’t cutting it.
“You’ve heard of Spotify?” one of my friends asked.
“No?”
“Look it up. The songs you’re looking for are probably there.”
I made an account, and spent the rest of third period making playlists. I searched for what I remembered and found an entire album of songs like “Ngalula”; Spotify informed me that the genre was called soukouss. I plugged my headphones into my laptop, pressed ‘Play’, and the feeling that washed over me the instant those first notes filled my ears was almost overwhelming. The familiar, layered rhythms transported me back to those mornings in the backseat of my dad’s car, and I had to fight every urge to stand from my seat and dance in the middle of my French class.
To my delight, Spotify recommended other albums, artists, and playlists, and before I knew it, I was neck-deep in what I later learned to be afrobeats music. I fell in love with the rapid, deep pulses of amapiano, the sultry cadences of fuji, and the addictive melodies of coupé-decalé. My Spotify Wrapped has been filled with African artists and music since 2019, and I don’t see that stopping anytime soon.
Soukouss, the Congolese music my dad passed onto me, will always hold a special place in my heart. The music feels inherently uplifting and I find the stacked instruments and voices and the way they harmonize almost motivational – like I can take on the world to the rhythms of my foreparents.
I don’t speak any African language, so most of the lyrics go over my head, but I don’t think this matters. Something deep inside me understands what my ears can’t.