Music

Yeenangiy noos ?

Have you heard of Akon, the Senegalese/American R&B singer currently on the charts and running with the likes of Eminem? I find the prospect of someone reigning from this small West African country commanding his fifteen minutes in the ‘cultural’ juggernaut known as the American media intriguingly random. But it seems that is what’s happening. I find this more appealing than the American commercial garbagio that the average kid here likes. It blows my mind how many 50 Cent t-shirts there are here. When the subject of American music comes up, I try to pitch the likes of Mos Def and Rakim, only to be answered with questions like “Where does Shakira live?”

Luckily it is far from all watered down American nonsense. The true school of Senegalese music is mbalax. Mbalax is driven by the tama drum, the pitch of which can be changed by the player. There are usually multiple rhythms going on at once, and often at a feverish pace. This combination sounded less like music and more like chaos at first, but the more I listen to it, the more it makes sense and the better it sounds. My lack of innate rhythm and the beats of hand-clap simplicity I learned on left me confused when presented with this more complex rhythm pattern. But as with many other things in this country, after a while things start to make sense, and you feel the rhythm.

Youssou Ndour is the biggest name to come out of this country (Akon included), and can wail to back it up. Mbaye Gueye Faye sings the hit- Bolokas- that gets my brothers and sisters egging me on to bust out the song’s namesake dance. I oblige by hopping up, circling fist over fist, crouching lower and lower to the delighted praise or unabated mockery (I seldom know the difference these days) of the onlookers.

Even more than the music, Senegalese can dance. The average mbalax video puts Thriller in its place. Michael Jackson could have learned a thing or two from the splayed arms and whirling legs that constantly blur across our television screen. You all know that I can’t dance. But here I cannot even attempt the rubber-legged whirling dervish act that the average guy can bust out at will. I stick to the Bolokas.

Babacar! Babacar! Babacar!