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Album Review
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Timelessness comes in a variety of guises. For Addis Acoustic Project (AAP) bandleader Girum Mezmur, it comes by following a path many other intelligent and ambitious musicians have followed recently: synthesis of old and new. Mezmur also arranged these visionary rediscoveries. He says in the liner notes to the Tewesta album: “The essence of this project is about presenting the music of that era [the ’50s and ’60s] in an authentic manner, yet with a new twist.” “Tewesta” means “remembrance” in Amharic, and what Mezmur has done on AAP’s debut, after two years of sharpening their sound through live performance, is remarkable.
This music is a seamless re-imagining of a nation’s musical history, teasing out different vectors of sound possibility through the updated sound, allowing other musical idioms to seep through. While Mezmur was also devoted to “preserving the sound and instrumentation of those days,” his vibrant arrangements allow for different aspects of the world of music to meld with traditional Ethiopian music, this exploration allowed by the downplayed importance of vocals and the focus on instrumental music. Consider “Fikir Ayarejim,” which translates to “Love is Eternal.” Popularized by Sudanese singer Menelik Wossenachew, the original song is led by a sultry synthetic orchestra and casual, shuffling drums, standard fare for Ethiopian oldies pop.
The AAP remake, however, opens with Latin-tinged drums, moving into a muscular accordion and oud led groove (master Ahmed Almek on oud). The rhythm of the song maintains the upbeat quality of the original, but Mezmur allows the melody to expand significantly, though without any egoistic solos — it’s a bold move, essentially a statement of the semiotic weight of melody. Anyone intimately familiar with these songs will immediately recognize the melodies, regardless of the missing vocals. The best part about this album is that even if you don’t know the originals, you don’t need to. It’s hard not to enjoy this, conceptual ambition aside. It’s those melodies — they grab you by the collar, like an excited child in the castle of her dreams, leading you eagerly down the twisting hallways.
The Latin jazz influence is even more pronounced on “Yetintu Tiz Alegn,” which I believe translates to “Remembrance of Olden Days.” Old master Tilahun Gessesse also has a version of this track. While the first half of the track only evokes Latin rhythms, led by Ayele Mamo’s mandolin, a breakdown leads the listener straight into a minor-key, chromatic-drenched Latin guitar solo by Mezmur. Indeed, the music of AAP is about finding common ground between Ethiopian music and other genres of music, particularly jazz, Latin music, and folk. The lack of emphasis on vocals — though they are present — combined with the innovative arrangements moves AAP’s debut from purely Ethiopian music to a more universal idiom. I don’t want to call it world music, but I suppose that’s the only label available.
While maintaining an unmistakable cultural identity, Mezmur and other musicians like him are interested in creating a dialog with other genres, other nations, other time periods, and this is a trend I strongly support. AAP’s resplendent music is about communication, and aside from crossing historical and cultural bridges, they also cross the bridge to the listener’s ear. The amount of variety here is outstanding, as well as the musicianship. One eye-opening moment is, in fact, the closer — and by the way, even though the album is over an hour in length, it keeps you enthralled the whole way through — “Yigermal,” which warps 3/4 to its own whims through subtle subdivision, featuring claps on the chorus and led by mandolin and clarinet. Mezmur is a master of timbre and combines instruments perfectly for his evocative needs. Indeed, sometimes he attempts to traditionalize more than modernize: compare the eerie "Anchim Ende Lela" with a much jazzier version by Girma Degefu.
Mezmur’s take on Girma Negash’s hopeful love song "Enigenagnalen" (We Shall Meet Again), opens with a lusty, rueful guitar solo which is offset by Dawit Ferew’s mourning clarinet, painting a picture of both the beauty and futility of hope in the face of life’s circumstances. Whether the lovers meet again is not the point, only that the hope exists, that it can flower. The mambo-like rhythm drives the song forward. Nathaniel Tesemma and Mesale Legesse, who handle the percussion, are to be commended for their tight, powerful grooves, which never lack subtlety. As well, Dawit Ferew is ablaze throughout, displaying his mastery of the clarinet in the Ethiopian style. Mezmur painstakingly assembled his band —he himself handles guitar and accordion —and it pays off.
While you don’t need to know anything about the source music behind this wonderful album, I found that research into the originals gave me a greater appreciation for the brilliance of Mezmur’s arrangements and his band’s playing, as well as a deeper understanding of the context of the musical conversation AAP is trying to have. As well, I can pretty much guarantee that any musical discoveries this album leads to will be golden — Ethiopian music, old and new, is a veritable rabbit hole and gold mine which I recommend you delve into. For starters, there’s the Ethiopiques series. But I’ll leave that to you. For now, let me just repeat that this is an excellent album, and whether or not you’re interested in the context of Mezmur’s ideas for finding common musical ground, you won’t be disappointed. 08/08/11
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