Access to the French original text
Interview of Djely Madi Kouyaté
by Jean-Charles François and Nicolas Sidoroff
with the presence of Olivier François
October 29, 2022 at the Petit Bistrot, Paris.
December 20, 2023 at la Bidule, Paris
Editing 2023-25:
Jean-Charles François and Nicolas Sidoroff.
English translation from French:
Jean-Charles François
“Born in 1985 in Boké (Guinea), Djély Madi Kouyaté was initiated by his father at the age of 5. In 1986, he moved to Europe with the Ensemble Kotéba from Ivory Coast, which he left two years later to pursue a solo career…
This author, composer, flutist, kora and balafon player, collaborated with diverse artists, such as Mary Kanté (kora), Kanté Manflia (guitar), Mamady Keïta (djembe), Prince Dabaté (kora), Mamadi Diabaté (guitar), Ballet Kakandé, Sékou & Ramata, Louis César Ewandé, Djéour Cissokho (kora), the groups Bugarabu and Nimba, Compagnie Antipode, Mandinfoli, Ballet Kodya, Manu Hermia (flute, sax), the Maurice Béjart Ballets…
Djélimady Kouyaté teaches balafon at the Cité de la Musique de la Villette in Paris (France)… and he is currently touring with his group, including his sons Sékou Kouyaté (guitar accompaniement) and Karamba (bass).” (afrison.com)
The text of this interview is based on the compilation of two encounters that took place in Paris, on October 29, 2022 at the Petit Bistrot, and on December 20 2023, at the Bidule café. Djembe player Olivier François was invited to the interviews to play the role of mediation between African musical culture and the PaalabRes members (Jean-Charles François and Nicolas Sidoroff), who are neophytes in this field. He was also the one who established the contact between PaaLabRes and Djely Madi Kouyaté.
We (PaaLabRes) made videos and recordings within cafés context, in which our encounters took place. The aim was to better transmit ideas inscribed in practices, but these were far from optimal conditions for doing so. Ideal conditions are never met, but it’s necessary to record for sharing with the public (publishing, communicating). We use recording and transcribing as common tools in our investigations. In the world of music, the almost magical phrase “we do it this way”, occurs very often. But without a balafon or “boté” at hand, how is it possible to explain any part of “do it this way”?
During our second encounter with Djely Madi and Olivier, the goal was to get a testimonial from them. The ambiance and background noise of a café are a good example of non-optimal, or even bad, conditions to do that. We had a recording device, a portable telephone camera, but our first intention was upset several times. For example, during part of our exchanges, a conversation next to us was concerned with the working conditions of an employee, and you could hear sufficiently distinctly, so as to prevent us from broadcasting these extracts. We kept only one example of a video made at La Bidule café, that seemed to us sufficiently appropriate to illustrate what was said. Therefore, we asked them to record in better conditions the sound and/or visual events described in the transcript of the interviews.
Summary :
1. Early Life in the Village
2. The Kouyatés, a Family of Griots
3. To Go for Adventure
4. Electricity, Amplification, Technologies
5. Ivory Coast
6. Balafon Playing
7. Life in France and Europe
8. Conclusion
1. Early Life in the Village
Jean-Charles François:
The general idea is to retrace your life story since childhood up to today, and to describe in detail the various practices you developed along the way.
Djely Madi Kouyaté:
OK, then, let’s start?
Nicolas Sidoroff:
If you want, or we will get some coffee…
DMK:
No, let’s begin. To start with, I can say that in our Kouyaté family everybody is musician, the women, the men are musicians, they play balafon, n’goni, or other African instruments.
JCF:
The n’goni, what is it?
DMK:
The n’goni is the African guitar, but very small, small…[1] we play it like that [he demonstrates], It’s the n’goni.
Photo Nicolas Sidoroff.
DMK :
In our family everyone plays some instrument. I started to play at age five with my father. He sits beside me, he plays, I listen to him, and I start to tap and see if it corresponds to the timing.
NS:
When was this happening?
DMK:
I was born in 1958, in Guinea, at the time of independence! In Kamponi, in the Boké region, at about 300km from Conakry, but today 250km taking the most direct road.
[The café tender comes to take our orders]
Ah! It cuts as someone is asking something…[laugh].
May I continue?
JCF:
Yes.
DMK:
Then, I begin to understand how it works, to know the timing, when to start.
JCF:
You tap on a djembe?
DMK:
No, not a djembe, on a chair, as I was very small beside my father. My father is sitting on a folding armchair like a deckchair, and I’m sitting on its rim, he’s playing, and I listen, then I tap on this rim, it makes a little noise that my father can hear, but he doesn’t say anything.
Olivier François:
You don’t pay too much attention to children, you watch them but from far away. They listen to a rehearsal, or a feast and they get together, take cans and bang on them, whenever they please, and they learn that way.
DMK:
And I get to tap on the chair, like that [he demonstrates]. Banco. Later, when I begin to play balafon, I have to fetch my sister to get her to put the balafon flat on the floor. The balafon is bigger than me, it’s too heavy, so that I can’t move it myself. When the balafon is not used, my father puts it against the wall. I start to play, but I say to myself: “Ah! OK! My father played like that, always, there, I am going to try.” I imitate his gestures, how he holds the mallets, in what position he plays, and I try to do the same thing as he does. And they let me do it. I play several times, and my father comes when he hears me play, he stops and listens to me. Then, he leaves, laughing… he is gone.
JCF:
He doesn’t say anything.
DMK:
Exactly. I don’t know what kind of laugh he is making, perhaps he is making fun of me, I did not play well, or maybe it is the contrary [laugh], it might be a bit of both. In this way, I have developed playing the balafon, until the moment when I am going with my father to a ceremony, that is a wedding or a baptism, or else other occasions of a feast, of life. I am going with my father, but always with someone else who carries my balafon because it is too heavy for me. Then, arrived there, I accompany my father who plays the solo. Then, we continue like that. Later, at a certain moment, I became the master, and my father played the accompaniment.
And when I finally manage to do that, I start carrying the balafon by myself. So that’s how you develop your skills up to a certain age, fifteen years old. So, I play, I play, I play, and people start talking about me: “Ah! There is this little one in Kamponi (my village), he plays very well, if there’s a wedding, you go and fetch him.” Because at that time, in the village where I was born, there was no school, there was no telephone, there were no activities like in the big cities. Today, since two or three years ago, there is a school.
And when I finally manage to do that, I start carrying the balafon by myself. So that’s how you develop your skills up to a certain age, fifteen years old. So, I play, I play, I play, and people start talking about me: “Ah! There is this little one in Kamponi (my village), he plays very well, if there’s a wedding, you go and fetch him.” Because at that time, in the village where I was born, there was no school, there was no telephone, there were no activities like in the big cities. Today, since two or three years ago, there is a school.
NS:
Your father comes, he is smiling and then goes away without saying anything. Then we get to the part where you accompany your father. What happened in between, from the moment he doesn’t say anything, to the moment you play with him?
DMK:
When I play with him, if at some point it wasn’t right, he shows me, he doesn’t stop, but he shows me how it’s done, and I catch up with him and then we continue.
NS:
Directly in front of people who are celebrating in a feast?
DMK:
Yes. But he doesn’t stop. Communication happens very quickly, when you start to know the notes in your head. Because when I was a kid, I listened a lot, I listened a lot to my brothers playing, and to my father. Even on the guitar: when I started playing the guitar, I started playing by myself, because I had all our music in my head. So, to tune a guitar, nobody showed me how to tune a guitar. I started by playing the songs I knew in the village, nobody showed me. Because I remember well, one time I told my father to buy me a guitar, he said, « No! » Sometime later I bought a guitar. I come, I say: « Show me how to tune ». He said, « You have to listen ». I went to my room, I sorted it out, I tuned it, I began playing the tunes and that’s how it all started, and that’s it.
NS:
So, there’s a first time, a moment when your father comes and says to you: « We’re going to the wedding of what’s-their-name, etc., and you’re going to come and play with me ».
DMK:
Yes. I remember very well, at that time, I started to carry my balafon, because at first, I couldn’t hold a balafon, because I was too skinny, too small. But not at that moment (then I still couldn’t carry my balafon) [laughs]. I was also with my father’s younger brother, the two of us learning the balafon with him. My older brother was also with us, but his problem was that when you show him something, he cannot retain it, and he doesn’t understand very quickly. Then, once my father hit my older brother, and I cried. This is my problem, at night, when it’s too late and I’m getting too tired to sleep. But he shows me what it is and I’m quick to play. He doesn’t say: « We’re going to do this, we’re going to do that ». He doesn’t say anything, but while we’re playing, he’ll make you play the piece we’ve never heard before. You have to listen to him. When he starts going, you have to catch up. And my brother who was also beside us, he’s not very good at that, you know, he had a lot of trouble with our father.
NS:
Then, for him, it was finished for music?
DMK:
No, he continued to make music, but he didn’t go far. He stayed in the village, he never even went to Conakry, to the capital. Because back home, in the village, when someone starts to be known, he moves to the capital, but if you’re not very good, you can’t stay there.
JCF :
But did you go to the capital?
DMK:
Yes, before I went on to seek for adventure, I went to Conakry once, in 1980, the year my father died. I was 22 years old. I was in Conakry for three months, then I went back to my village. In 1981 I went away to seek adventure.
NS:
Just to be sure, because, in our imaginary way of making music, when we play for a wedding, we need to rehearse beforehand, so it takes up some time, or at least we can phone partners, listing all the pieces we intend to play. And so, in your case it’s not how you do it?
DMK:
This is not the case.
NS:
Is it decided on the spot?
DMK:
That’s it, it’s decided in time…
NS:
… along the way? Or on the spot?
DMK:
On the spot, yes.
OF:
According to the songs of the women.
DMK:
Women’s songs, too. When the women start to sing, at that moment, if you play the djembe, you’ll catch up, or the woman will say: « You must play such and such a piece ». And that’s when you start playing the piece and the woman starts singing.
NS:
The women decide?
DMK:
That’s right. Because they’re the ones who sing. All the boys in our culture play, and the women sing. But now, well, it’s a mix, there are men who sing and there are women who play now.
JCF:
Concerning the relation with dance, how does it work?
DMK:
When we dance, the djembe player marks the steps, and if the woman starts dancing, he follows… If the djembe player gives a call, that’s when the steps change, to do different movements.
NS:
Does it change anything with the balafon?
DMK:
No. Only with the djembe.
NS :
The balafon player can continue?
DMK :
It’s possible to continue. Only, to make the call, for the dancer to change steps, the djembe player gives either a long call or a shorter call, it depends on the situation.
OF:
Here, in dance, the balafon holds a special place, it is always present in dances. This is not the case with the kora for example, which is only played for the kings, that is, for the men who speak.
JCF:
But are we not in a situation in which everybody dances?
DMK:
Yes, most people dance, when there’s a feast most people dance, almost everyone.
JCF:
So, music is more a matter for specialists, and instrumental playing is only for those who are specialized?
DMK:
Yes, it is specialized.
JCF:
And the dance is less specialized, with everyone dancing?
OF:
Some people don’t know how to dance. There are some who dance all the time, you have to calm them down. And then there are others who don’t dance, it’s like anywhere else. But all the same, you learn by seeing them dance and by dancing. Well, it’s part of the marriage system. The women come with their daughters, they dance with a view to a possible wedding.
DMK:
We also play pieces for cultivators, i.e. for ploughing a field, and the musicians come to play, and the people work. And there are tunes for that, called Konkoba. With the instrument Boté, we play like that.
OF:
Yes, among the Soussous, the Boté is a percussion instrument made from oiled cowhide, with a bell played with the hand. It’s the percussion instrument played with the balafon in Konkoba music; there’s no djembe.
Example of Boté (drum and cowbell)
DMK :
I’ve forgotten a lot of things, but if the movement is in my hand, it comes back naturally!
NS:
What type of repertoire is used for work songs, is it the same as for weddings?
DMK:
There are songs we play for weddings that everyone knows, and there are other songs we play in the fields, that everyone knows.
NS:
Everyone knows the songs, that is everyone can sing along?
DMK:
Yes, everyone can sing, that’s it, they can clap like that and the workers, they work. Everyone knows it, apart from the little kids who don’t know it, they know the rhythms we have passed to them. Sometimes the kids are dancing next to the grown-ups.
OF :
This is the way kids learn, without being taught, they have just to be present. They watch, they listen, they try, then they all meet in their own neighborhoods to actually work together. It’s like he said, his father isn’t going to tell him how to play, he watches his father and he’s starting to reproduce it approximately, this is based on trust. But if someone doesn’t understand quickly, you can’t wait for them, explain things to them, teach them.
DMK:
Yes, that’s it, he is unfortunate.
OF:
The smart one, the fast one, will learn. There are no private lessons. At any moment, every day, in family life, you’re in a learning situation.
DMK:
Here, I’ll show you something. [He’s looking for something on his cell phone.] So, it’s my children who are here playing [balafon sounds can be heard] they’re learning, a little…
[Video of children playing on balafons]
[Video of children playing on balafons]
NS:
And here, we have only accompaniments?
DMK:
Yes.
JCF:
Here, this one is playing a solo?
DMK :
Yes, he is… different. These are my children in the village.
It wasn’t me who showed that. The older brother listened when I played and he played too. Here he’s starting to play for his younger brother.
It wasn’t me who showed that. The older brother listened when I played and he played too. Here he’s starting to play for his younger brother.
OF:
He is the one who showed it to his brother?
DMK:
Yes. I think he does that very well.
[End of video]
It’s like that, children, when they’re interested, well, when they’ve grown up, you see something good. It’s going to be played once or twice, he listens, he understands, he can play. And those who listen to him, they come, they play. That’s the way.
[End of video]
It’s like that, children, when they’re interested, well, when they’ve grown up, you see something good. It’s going to be played once or twice, he listens, he understands, he can play. And those who listen to him, they come, they play. That’s the way.
OF:
And then he does it his way, he doesn’t try to reproduce it exactly…
DMK:
Yes, that’s what it’s all about, understanding the basics.
OF:
Here, in conservatories, they want you to play exactly the same. In fact, it’s not at all the same pedagogy.
2. The Kouyatés, a Family of Griots.
OF:
You should know that Djely Madi Kouyaté is a griot. This is very important, because he was born into a griot family.
JCF:
Could you give us an idea of what being a griot means?
DMK:
Yes, I am a griot. Griots play a mediating role between families. If two families don’t get along well, then the griot goes to talk between the two families with a view to reconciling them so that they can agree on the basis of things that are good for them. The griot is also a mediator between kings. If two kings don’t get on well together, between one town and another, the griot goes to speak between the two people, so that they can come to an agreement. That’s the griot’s role.
JCF:
They are also poets, is it the case?
DMK:
Yes, yes, they tell stories, they speak…
OF:
They are the keepers of oral tradition and know the lineage of all souls.
DMK:
When you say Keita family, you know who’s who, who’s who, who’s who, right back to ancient times. When you say « Dakité », same thing, when you say « Koné », same thing, when you say « Sano », same thing, all the names of families. When someone says their family name, you know where they come from. Because we know everything.
NS:
But how do you know everything?
DMK:
Because when we were little, our grandfathers and fathers and grandmothers taught us history bit by bit. It stays, it’s not written down, but when you talk it stays in your head.
NS:
Is it also musical?
DMK:
No, it is not musical.
NS:
And when you speak to the two kings or the two chiefs or the two families, is there any music involved?
DMK:
No, there’s no music. We can have music, but, you see, there’s no music while negotiations take place. It’s afterwards, when they’ve come to a good agreement, that we can play the music for them. That’s when we win too, and we get our share. In the tradition, we griots don’t go to work, we don’t farm, we don’t do anything, but it’s the kings, the people, who provide for our living. We do nothing, except music. And so, when things happen like the two kings have agreed, when everything went well between them and me, we can all celebrate together. That’s the way it is.
OF:
Each griot family is linked to a line of kings, and the Kouyatés are linked to the Keitas. In this context, Djely can go to a Keita’s house and take whatever he wants, without Keita saying anything. For example, he can take away his television.[2]
DMK:
Yes, I say: « Well, there’s a nice TV in your house! Well, that’s for me, I’ll take it [laugh]… »
OF:
… he takes it and goes away…
DMK:
… and I go away, and he doesn’t say anything. Unless I say: « Ah! well! thank you hey! thank you hey! », he’s not going to say anything, he’s not going to say: « No! don’t take it ». If I need money, I come and say: « Today I have nothing, my wife hasn’t eaten, my children haven’t eaten, so give me some money, you’re going to give me ». Once, I was at the market, in Bamako, in the big market, I bought a bazin.[3] Bazins, clothes, they’re expensive over there. They are the most expensive clothes in Africa. We discussed the price, he said the price, I said: « Ah! that’s too expensive ». He said, « Ah, that’s it ». I said, « But you’re arguing too much. But it looks like you’re a Keita ». He said, « Yes, I am a Keita ». I said, « Oh, you’ve lost! » [laugh] I said: « Not only am I not paying for this bazin, but you’re also going to give me another one, that’ll make two bazins and I’ll be off ». He said, « Why?” I said, “But that’s palavers, where there is none needed”. That’s how I put it. I said, “Don’t you know that I’m Kouyaté?” He went like this: “Aaaah!” I said, “Here, give it to me, give it to me, quick”. He said: “Quickly…”. I said, “Okay, I’ll buy one, that’s for me”. I gave him the money for one, the other he gave me [laughs]. He said: “Ah, you Kouyatés are tired!” I said: “But if you’re the real Keita, you tell me, and if you’re not, you tell me, so I’ll give back to you if you’re not the real one”. He said, “I’m the real one”. I said, “Well, that’s that! There’s nothing to say” [laughs]. And that was it. I think we’ve explained that pretty well, right?
NS:
The importance of the griot you mentioned in social and cultural life seems to operate in one particular place. And then at some point you go off to seek adventure and you haven’t stopped this role of griot. How do you continue the griot tradition outside the context of the African village?
DMK:
Well, it’s more difficult. But all the children of African musicians are learning to use the telephone (as well as the balafon), and so we teach the children to tell stories: this is how it is, this is how it is, this is how it is, in fact what our grandfathers did, and this way, it stays in the family. It doesn’t get lost. It can also be told at weddings and other ceremonies. With the portable telephone, you’re going to get people interested in you telling stories.
JCF:
And this has never been done with music?
DMK:
You can accompany with music, but we often tell the story like that, without the music. You can’t always accompany with music. We tell stories.
OF:
The women sing, they sing about their ancestry, they tell everything that’s going on, these are the stories of Soundiata Keïta.[4] This story is that of the whole of West Africa.
DMK:
It’s also accompanied by instruments.
OF:
But why didn’t you go into instrumental ensembles or ballet in Guinea?
DMK:
JI didn’t want to get involved with the instrumental ensemble in Conakry, because there’s a lot going on there. I couldn’t get into that thing, because I was very young compared to that group, which is why I didn’t join. And I didn’t want to join the Ballet Africain either.
OF:
Yes, it’s dangerous.
DMK:
It’s dangerous, there’s a lot of maraboutage against people, against others, you know? And so, if you arrive, you’re young, you have other ideas, it’s easy to get knocked down.
OF:
But there was your older brother, Sory Kandia Kouyaté.
DMK:
Yes.
NS:
The one that could not follow?
DMK:
No, it’s not that one. My older brother was often there. We’d go to rehearsals together, and sometimes I’d play the balafon. My big brother didn’t live long, he died at the age of 45. And I’m 66 now. He was ill, but we don’t know what illness he had, because he was hospitalized at Donka Hospital. They couldn’t figure out what it was. He was in pain everywhere. His whole body was sick. We don’t know.
OF:
He was a great musician.
DMK:
Yes, he played balafon, kora and n’goni.
OF:
He was also a singer, and there’s a video of him there, he had a natural authority, and when he arrives, he places his voice, he shows his voice. And there you are, that’s the griot… Today, things have changed for griots too, there are many who are only interested in money.
DMK:
That’s not what a griot is all about.
OF:
It’s not what it’s all about, it’s someone who tells the truth.
DMK:
Lying is nonsense! You can say anything you want. In any case, that’s not what griots are all about. Griots tell the truth.
OF:
In traditional terms.
DMK:
He’d managed to reconcile the Malian and Burkinabe presidents. He was able to talk to everyone; but now he’s gone…
3. To go for adventure
DMK:
I grew up like that, and at a certain moment, I told myself: “Ah, now! I’m going to go out into the world of adventures, to get to know other things.” One day, I started playing guitar. I played guitar and people appreciated it, they thought that it was really good, so I keep going, I keep going, I keep going. There’s my dad’s little brother – there are three brothers: my father, an older brother, and a younger brother – who said that he wanted to take me out to the world to seek adventure. My father’s younger brother said to me: « Well, here! ah! we’re going to Sierra Leone or maybe Liberia ». I said « Okay ». We went out in search of adventure, we went to Sierra Leone, and then veered off to Liberia. After Liberia, we went to Ivory Coast, to Abidjan.
NS:
Going on an adventure, what is it? What is it like to go on an adventure?
DMK:
It’s about discovering other countries and meeting other people that I don’t know. That was the idea.
NS:
Is it leaving by foot with a bag on your back, or by bus? Is it taking the balafon with you?
DMK:
Yes, we call it the “taxi-brousse”. I go with my guitar, and not with my balafon, because I left it in the village. The reason I went with just the guitar is that you can find balafons in every country in West Africa. When I got settled in Côte d’Ivoire, I bought a good balafon for myself, and that’s what I worked with. Because people would bring balafons from Guinea to Côte d’Ivoire to sell them there. But there were two balafons in the group, the boss had bought them, and they belonged to the group.
NS:
So, you’re leaving by taxi-brousse?
DMK:
That’s it, sometimes it drives through the night, sometimes during the day. You arrive in a village where you sleep. The next morning, you continue your journey.
NS:
You arrive in a place and you’re looking for a shelter?
DMK:
Yes, sometimes I take out the guitar, sit down somewhere, or next to a house and start playing, and then the people who are there, they look: “Ah! it’s the Djéli djéli djéli (griot), you can sleep here in my home.” And that’s how it goes..
NS:
And did you meet other musicians there?
DMK:
Well, if there’s a feast, I’ll go over there, I’ll look around and say: “Ah! people are playing here, I’ll go over there”. I say, “Well, here, can you give me the balafon so I can play?” Or I start playing with my guitar, and they say, “Ah! he plays guitar!” and I say, « Fine! I’ll play.” After, it’s like that, friendship begins. And then there’s another wedding or another feast, they ask me where I live, and I say, “Well, I live in this neighborhood”. “–Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, there’s something going on over there, you can come at such and such a time.” That’s how I met a lot of people, yes. And when I arrive, I ask them to give me the instrument so I can play. When I hear them play, and know what they want, I ask them if I could play with them.
4. Electricity, Amplification, Technologies
NS:
You said that you started to play guitar. Is it the n’goni or is it the guitar?
DMK:
It’s the guitar, the normal guitar, yes.
NS:
A European style six-string guitar?
DMK:
Yes. The two instruments that I mastered are the balafon and the guitar.
NS:
Electric guitar with amp?
DMK:
Electric guitar, yes.
JCF:
So, at first, we have an acoustic situation in the village – in the village you said there was no telephone – …
DMK:
…Back then, yes, there were no phones. We play acoustically. There’s no microphone. We often play at night, outside. Now, the balafon and the djembe don’t need to be amplified. You can hear them even from a distance. If there’s too much music, you can still hear the balafon. Because the balafon is an instrument that can be heard even if it’s not amplified.
JCF:
At what point do you start using electricity, amplification, and electric guitar?
DMK:
When I started playing the electric guitar, I went to see my uncle, he’s a musician, he made a wooden case, he took a loudspeaker, he puts it in the case, there, he found a good radio driver, that’s loud, and communicating with a jack for making sound, with that. There was no amp.
JCF:
But when was that? How old were you?
DMK:
I was twenty years old. I saw my uncle do that. I started to play the guitar and I’d take his amp and go play. But the amp was just a box that the musician builds. That’s it, it’s made by the musician. Then you buy the radio speaker. At the time, there wasn’t any other way, we used this method to switch to the electric guitar. Because, at the time, electric guitars were only available in Conakry’s « national » orchestras. In the village, you couldn’t find one. And that was it.
JCF:
And does it change the music?
DMK:
Yes, a little. It can’t change the music, but it changes the sound. You hear better than when you play without an amp, that’s all.
JCF:
But the balafons remain acoustic?
DMK:
Acoustic. But sometimes, like now, there’s a lot of evolution going on, so there are amps everywhere. Now you can put the microphone on the balafon. We didn’t have an amp then. But even that’s changing now.
NS:
I’m making a hypothesis, just to try to describe how the music might change (maybe it doesn’t): so, with an electric guitar and an amp, it’s possible to make a sound that lasts, therefore, to produce a long sound.
DMK:
How?
NS:
It’s possible to make a long sound that lasts: “tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing”, while with the acoustic guitar or the balafon it’s: “ting”.
DMK:
It stops very quickly.
NS:
But it creates another type of music because long sounds become possible, whereas before there were no such things.
DMK:
Yes.
NS:
But it’s just an idea of how the music might eventually change. So, has the music of balafons and djembes changed with the arrival of the electric guitar or has it not?
DMK:
Here, it changed with the arrival of the guitars. With the balafon, you can hold a sound with repeated notes, you can continue “la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la…” with a single hand.
NS:
Not with two hands?
DMK:
Yes, you can do it with two hands, but it gives another color, with one hand you can continue a long time. The balafon can do that as the guitar, as you said, when it does “taaaaaaaaaan”.
JCF:
With the balafon there are also things that vibrate.
OF:
Spiderwebs?
DMK:
Ah! spiderwebs, yes. We do this when we tune the calabash so that we can hear the sound. You make two holes under the calabash with two strings and then glue the hole with cobwebs found in trees or in the metal sheets of market barracks…
Balafon’s spiderweb
OF:
Today, it’s more like thin plastic bag cloth.
DMK:
Yes. And we use glue from rubber sap, but today it’s more chewing gum. And when you put the slab in, you hear the sound as if it were amplified. And if you remove the calabash, you hit the slab, it’s another sound, but if you put the calabash on, it’s well done, well-tuned, and you hear the sound like this: « boo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo… », that’s it.
JCF:
It prolongs the sound a little?
DMK:
Yes.
OF:
In modern groups, they get rid of these kinds of snares.
DMK:
You don’t want it to vibrate too much so as not to aggress other people. [laughs].
NS:
But what has electricity brought to music? Electricity, electric guitar, amplifiers, in concrete terms, what’s changed for the musicians, for the audience?
DMK:
What’s changed? It’s having a new thing that wasn’t there before, that’s it, that’s all!
JCF:
Does this bring with it influences from other popular music styles?
OF:
It depends on the context and the people present. If we’re talking about the sounds of the villages, which is what griots live by for the most part, these practices tend to change, there aren’t kings to be reconciled every day, unfortunately…
DMK:
… unfortunately, there’s no such thing now!
OF:
There are different feasts, there are wedding celebrations that are no longer based on what was done in the village, there are feasts like the Senegalese Sabar they are music and dances just for entertainment.
DMK:
Youth gatherings, yes. Young people playing and young people dancing, that’s it.
OF:
It’s different kinds of music…
DMK:
It’s other kinds of music, it’s putting the amps on full blast, and there the guitars play and with the microphones under the djembes too. It’s ambient music.
NS:
And it’s different?
DMK:
It’s just that, if you’re playing at a village wedding, it’s not the same.
OF:
During the 1970s, the Yankadi[5] was fashionable.
DMK:
Yes, the Yankadi was fashionable then, now it is the Sabar.
5. Ivory Coast
DMK:
We stayed in Abidjan. We formed a group with a brother, a friend, whose name is Sékou Tanaka, the « Cobra of Mandingo ».[6] When we formed the group, he asked me: « Do you want to play the balafon? » I said yes. That’s how we started to play, we got well known in Ivory Coast. Afterwards, we heard about the group of Souleymane Koly, then, the group « Kotéba ».[7] We said: « Are we going to go there to audition? » I said: « Ah! in my head that was not my project ». Sékou Tanaka said: « We have to go there ». We went, we auditioned, and we were selected, me and my friend Sékou. And in addition, his girlfriend and my wife who were dancers in the group. We were four to be retained in the group: two women, two boys. But this group, there, before our arrival, did not function very well. It was when we entered the group that it started to work. Then the director said that he was going to pay us on a monthly basis, and that the group had to become professional. We toured Africa, the coast of Africa, Ivory Coast, Mali, Niger, Nigeria, Ghana, Mauritania, Senegal, all the way to Guinea. We returned to Guinea. Afterwards, we came back to Ivory Coast. Then each time, we also go to Europe: France, Italy, Spain, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg. And also, to South Africa. So, four times a year, we made a big tour. That’s how I was able to develop my balafon playing with the Kotéba ensemble.
At the beginning, playing the balafon in the group, the balafon was not well tuned. There were two other balafon players in the group, I was the third. I listened and I said: « Ah! the balafon, the tuning is not good, I feel it by ear ». Then they said « No, no, no it’s like that ». So, I said « OK ». But at one time, the director told me that the two balafons should be tuned. I said yes. He said: “Well, here there are two balafons, you will tune them, and you bring it back in a week.” I said “OK”. I took home the two balafons and started to tune the balafon. At the time, I had a tuning fork so that I could hear how it should sound. I tuned the balafon in C major, the balafon has seven notes. Well, I found it had to be like that. I tuned the other balafon the same way, well-tuned. I brought it back to the rehearsal. We started to play, Souleyman Koly, the director was far away, he came, and he looked, he looked. When the rehearsal was over, he called me and said, “is that you who tuned the balafon?”. I said “yes”. He said: “Is it true?” I said “yes”. He said “Okay”. Afterwards, he called me and told me: “So, you came back into the group, you should not move away”. Sometimes I would come to the rehearsal and sometimes I would not, because my intention was not to stay with the group. I didn’t want to do that. But he forced me to stay in the group. He said: “Listen, you have to come to the rehearsals all the time”. I said “OK”. Then he kept the two balafonists in the group, and he took me as the leader of the group. And that’s how we stayed. We toured, toured, toured. At the end, I thought that I needed to evolve in order to always discover other things. I left the group and moved to Paris around 1988-89.
JCF:
When you tuned the balafon, you mentioned the use of a diapason, and you said “C major”, does it correspond to the European system?
DMK :
It was a metal tuning fork that you tap and bring near your ear. Only a single note was needed, the “A”. I know that the “A” follows C, D, E, F, G, the “A” is at the middle, above the G, the “A” is in the middle of the balafon, corresponding to the manner of my playing, since I am left-handed on the balafon. But the balafons are not exactly tuned to these notes.
OF:
It’s the tuning of the village.
DMK:
Yes, the tuning of the village, it’s by ear. There is no diapason, but we tune according to listening to other balafons. We say: “Ah! there!” And sometimes, when we play a certain piece, when you feel that it is not well tuned, a slab that is not well tuned, in Africa, you say: « Ah, that, in my opinion, it is not well tuned, try to re-tune it well ». And after re-tuning, when you play now, you say: « Ah! it is well tuned ». Before being here, in Paris, I didn’t know any solfeggio, I learned that with friends.
JCF:
In the big group in the Ivory Coast, how many people were there?
DMK:
Twenty-five people. There were dancers, there were musicians. Among the musicians, you had those like us who play the melody, and you had also a rhythm section with djembe players. When on tour, there are sometimes twenty to twenty-two people who come along. But I’ve been lucky, since I joined the group, I’ve always been included in the tours.
JCF :
Is it a national organization?
DMK:
It’s not a national organization, it’s a private organization created by Souleymane Koly. But the group was based in Ivory Coast, so people thought that it was an Ivory Coast national group, because many well-known names were in it. But all the elements of the group were foreign people who came to Ivory Coast: Guineans, Malians, Senegalese, Burkinis, and even Leonese and Nigerians.
OF:
The theater of Souleymane Koly was always linked to current events. The ballet-theatre “Kotéba” was the traditional theater of Mali, its music was traditional, but everything was arranged and actualized based on what happened in the neighborhoods. It was telling the actual life in the neighborhoods, as an environmental theatre that goes out into the villages and talks about the problems. It was different from the Ballets Africains, which was invented by the Malian poet Fodéba Keïta,[8] and that were based on his poems. He was the Minister of the Interior under Sékou Touré in Guinea, and later he became a victim of the regime.
NS:
It’s very interesting. Is there something like some sort of forum where participants can intervene?
OF:
No, not at all. The “Kotéba” is a generic term for traditional theater, of which there are many different kinds. Souleymane Koly has taken the name, modernizing it in his own way, to result in the Abidjan Kotéba Ballet or Souleymane Koly Ballet. It’s musical comedy with the means at hand, with traditional dances, but adapted. This is the case for the choreography of “Adama Champion”, the story of a soccer player, Adama Champion, who had just been recruited by a European club. There’s a rhythm called Kala. They took this rhythm and dance and did steps that mirrored the footballers’ kicks.
DMK:
Ah! dancing like that [he demonstrates, with foot movements as with a soccer dribble] Like that [laughs]
OF:
He juggles and passes the ball to someone: “pan!” [he strikes the table, laughs]
DMK:
And in the manner of a goalkeeper holding the ball, he does this: “paf!” [he mimics a dive, laughs] There was all this.
OF:
In fact, Souleymane Koly continued the work of the traditional ballet, staging contemporary urban stories.
NS:
Then, it’s a spectacular form, it’s not for a wedding, it’s not for a baptism, it’s not for someone’s feast?
DMK:
No.
OF:
No, it was really theatre, which came touring many times here…
JCF:
Then, at first it was weddings, feasts, but the situation changed. How do you go from this idea of animation of feasts and weddings to something that is a stage performance in front of a public? What is changed in the music? What is the difference between playing in a village wedding and producing something on an international basis?
DMK:
Well, in the village we play in a way of over there. But when we play on stage, we play for the people who are listening, we can play in the way of the village, but it’s not at all the same.
OF:
It’s a real work, a real trade.
DMK:
It’s a real work for the musician himself.
JCF:
But isn’t it also a collective work of a group?
OF:
There is a director, there are leaders in the group.
DMK:
There are leaders in the group, but the director says to you: “This is what I want, I want that.” And it starts to go that way. And if it is good, he sees it: “Ah! ah! this is good, this is good.” That’s how we set up all the music we’ve done, we say: « Here, we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this », and that’s it.
OF:
The musician provides the information that comes from his home, and then it is selected and put into shape.
NS :
Continuing with the idea of repertoire, when you were in the group Kotéba in Ivory Coast, did you create a repertoire? What does it mean to be a musical director? What kind of activity does it correspond to, what does it mean?
DMK:
Souleymane Koly was the director of the group, so he’s the one who says: « Okay, I want this, this and this ». In other words, when he needs to, he explains the scene, tells us what’s going to happen, and says: « Okay, you musicians, you’ve got to look for a piece that matches these dances, or to these texts that we’re going to do. It’s a mixture of comedy and dance.
JCF:
And he writes the texts?
DMK:
Yes, he writes the text, but we determine the music that fits with it. For example, if I’m the one explaining the idea, I can say: « Here, I’ve got this idea, could we play like this, or like that? » Here, I show the others, and we start playing, without talking. Then we decide that this could be it, this could be good. We show it to the director, and he’ll say: « Oh, good! I’ve got this piece here, we’ll put it in this part here ». And that’s how it takes shape.
NS:
And these are inventions, or we say: “Ah, but there’s that session we played, there’s that work session, there, that we’re going to adapt”?
DMK:
Yes, we can do it that way too. You can say, « Okay, we can adapt it », change it a bit, and insert that piece in there, that’s how it works.
NS:
Because, as you said, the people in the band came from different countries, so there were lots of different songs, each known only by a few.
DMK:
Yes, not everyone knows them, but we learn them, and everyone starts listening to them, getting to know them, singing them. But even if comedies happen on stage, even if we’re not actors, we know everything, we learn everything. Sometimes we’re asked, “Can you explain what the character said?” You can always answer this. You’re not confined to your role on stage, but you already know the entire thing. And if someone makes a mistake, you know it, you can help them.
NS:
So, in this case, there are rehearsals?
DMK:
There are rehearsals every day. Every day we rehearse. If there are performances, we only do the performance, we don’t rehearse. After the performance, we start rehearsing again. In other words, we work every day, it doesn’t stop. It’s like the real world of work [laughs]. We rehearse every day.
OF:
This is what’s different about the village feast…
DMK:
AWith the village feast, there’s no rehearsal. Yes, we just play. But on the other hand, there are rehearsals in the group, we can’t do just anything. Ah! that, that’s something you can’t do on stage.
NS:
And is there a difference between the village feasts and the performances on a theatre stage? For example, how many outings are there to accompany farmers, for weddings, for baptisms, opportunities to perform in a village, and conversely how many opportunities are there to perform on stage with theater plays and all that? In terms of number of opportunities to perform in front of people?
DMK:
Oh, that depends… at weddings, we can play with several groups, with several people.
NS:
People take turns? How long does it last?
DMK:
Yes. It lasts a long time. It changes all the time. If there are others who have come to play on this occasion, we decide what time they should play, we can help each other.
OF:
Once, there were several weddings on the same day, at the same feast, so he had to take a younger brother with him.
DMK:
And that’s how you get paid here, and sometimes you get paid a little there. And then you leave here, and you go and do a bit on the other side, like that. And everyone’s delighted to see you [laughs]. It’s like that too.
OF:
It’s both funny and hard to understand. The master comes to play, everybody appreciates him. And if he’s not there, they’ll ask anyone to play, even if he doesn’t know how, because it’s a feast and someone has to play.
NS:
I’m trying to clarify the hypotheses behind my questions: how was it possible to learn by playing without rehearsing? In fact, there is an informal organization of time and many opportunities to play.
DMK:
There are lots of opportunities to play. That’s why we’re able to play together without rehearsing. It happens all the time, every moment, so it’s non-stop. People are used to listening, even if they are not musicians. And especially the musicians, they’re always listening, they want to know everything. And when there’s a feast like that and everyone comes, everyone plays. You play to learn, you learn by playing
NS:
So, if everyone plays, it means that you are going to a wedding with your father, and there are other people who come to play because of the necessity to have several balafons?
DMK:
No, maybe there were other brothers, because sometimes you have three, four, even five in a marriage. So, if there are two or three old men, maybe they will leave their balafon and say: « Children, you go and play ». He goes off, behind us, and in the end, he comes along, collects the money while we play [laughs]. We don’t get the money, we don’t have a say. So, we don’t ask for it and they don’t give it to us, we just play. And when we’re older, we do the same thing with the kids who play, and we collect the money. And then we tell the kids: « Come on, you’ve got to go, you can’t stay here » [laughs].
OF:
That’s the right of descent.
DMK:
That’s how it works. It’s a principle: you don’t pay for the apprenticeship, but you don’t earn any money, you get lodging and board.
OF:
It depends, you still pay a minimum if you’re not part of the family. As soon as you start earning money, now in town, you’re independent.
6. Balafon Playing
JCF:
The playing of the two balafons, how does it go?
DMK:
When we play two balafons, the one plays the solo, the other one does the accompaniment, the support…
OF:
Yes, that’s right, it’s in relation to the notes, they don’t play on the same wooden slabs.
DMK:
The soloist can go anywhere, reaches everywhere, goes everywhere. The accompaniment stays in the same place. It can change at a moment’s notice, but it’s not the same melody in the treble. The one who does the bass accompaniment keeps it and obeys, but the one who does the solo reaches everywhere, and like that, it makes the difference. We play together, we do the same piece, but we don’t play the same way. Because if we both do the same thing, it would be a bit, I mean, monotonous. But the other one does other things, an accompaniment, and when you listen to them together, it sounds very good.
And there can be changes, and when you start to change, it’s not just that you’re going to look at each other, but you have to understand what will change. And it’s easy to catch up without making mistakes, without making mistakes in the notes, and that’s it. You start to understand, when you start, or you wink like this, you do, and the other knows you’re going to change. And even on stage, we often do it like that, with our eyes we look at each other. You don’t have to talk, but with your eyes like that you talk to each other.
And there can be changes, and when you start to change, it’s not just that you’re going to look at each other, but you have to understand what will change. And it’s easy to catch up without making mistakes, without making mistakes in the notes, and that’s it. You start to understand, when you start, or you wink like this, you do, and the other knows you’re going to change. And even on stage, we often do it like that, with our eyes we look at each other. You don’t have to talk, but with your eyes like that you talk to each other.
JCF:
In some parts of Africa, as I understand it, there are balafon playing with two musicians alternating very quickly [he taps the table with both hands alternately].
DMK:
Yes.
JCF :
Did you do this?
OF:
Is it a question of polyrhythms?
JCF :
It might be polyrhythms, but more precisely it is a very rapid alternance between two players.
OF:
There are no common notes between them?
JCF:
Not at all the same notes, and not played at the same time, but in alternance.
DMK:
Not at the same time, that’s it, yes. And not the same notes.
JCF:
And this very, very quickly. But how do you manage to do that?
DMK:
Well, you can learn it. You learn [laughs].
JCF:
Then, how do you learn it?
OF:
It just happens.
DMK:
It just happens. I’ve done this a lot.
JCF :
But how do you learn?
DMK:
I’ll tell you, it just happens, but you can’t teach someone to do it. That’s that.
JCF:
Yes. But you still need to put yourself in some kind of situation. It’s very difficult to do, isn’t it?
DMK:
It’s difficult to do, but everyone has their own way of playing rhythmic figures on the balafon. You can’t teach someone to do that.
OF:
What makes it work? For example, how can you be on one rhythm and not at all with the other, but you’re together?
DMK:
We’re in this together.
OF:
How do you do it?
DMK:
How does it work? How can it work? So, the other person who is accompanying you will play on continuously, and you’ll act as if you were together, that’s how it works. But you have to listen to the whole. You listen to the person who’s starting and also to yourself, to what you’re doing. And like that, it can work, but if you don’t listen to the other, if you only listen to yourself, it can’t work.
JCF:
But for me (I am slow), listening works when it doesn’t go too fast, but what about when it does go fast? [laughs]
DMK:
But you pay attention, while you’re playing, you think that the other one is there too. [laughs].
OF:
As you often said, speed is just a matter of experience. Yet we see children doing very fast things, in a common tempo between them.
JCF:
For us European musicians, there’s this notion of a strong beat which is organized by the written measure, and so we think: “one, two, three, four, one”…
DMK:
… two, three, four, …
JCF:
And this is how you think?
DMK:
Yes, we have that too, but while the other player is doing that: “one, two, three, four…”, you can think during the one, two, three, and you can do other things before the “one”.
JCF:
But is it the same thing as what we call syncopations here?
DMK:
That’s it.
OF:
Then, I’m not so sure, African beat is different, it starts before, it’s the “and” of “one”.
NS:
Do you count on… ?
DMK:
We don’t have the habit of counting loud and clear. We count in our heads, but we don’t count like that.
OF:
The clave is the reference: “célécé, célécé, célécé …” [rhythmic language], somehow that’s how he hears it.
DMK:
It’s like the djembe when it goes “ting ting ting ting ting ting ting ting ting ting…”, you know when it’s time to enter. There’s no need to count.
OF:
When Famoudou Konaté[9] gave his first workshops in Germany, people asked him how to do things, where should they place the first beat?
DMK:
He said there’s no first beat, he said, “kélé, fila, saba, nani”. That means: “one, two, three, four”, and then you start… he counted four.
OF:
There’s still a first beat. There’s a call that leads to the first beat: “ti titi titi titi PAN”.
DMK:
“ONE”, that’s it, it’s when you will start.
OF:
It’s also the cue. Nobody beats the tempo beforehand, it’s all in this call.
DMK:
[Taps the rhythm of the call on the table]. That’s the cue[continues to tap the rhythm on the table] It allows you to start playing.
OF:
When it’s going fast, off-beat rhythms are like this:
Voice: ti titi ti titi
Hands: x x x x
So, it’s the “ti titi ti titi” that sets the tempo.
DMK:
You hear that and know when to enter. If one goes: “ti titi ti titita tita”, the other goes: “ti titi ti titita tita ta tita”, and so on [simultaneously tapping on the table] It’s like that. It’s crazy, it’s so fast. Also, if you’re not used to it, you wonder where you can get in, how you’re going to do it? I’ve observed this in workshops at conservatories. For example, once we had two Africans leading the workshop who couldn’t read music: I couldn’t read, Adama Dramé couldn’t read. But they asked each of us to contribute a piece to the concert with the musicians from the conservatory: there was a keyboard player, a xylophone player, two vibraphones, there were other instruments, a steel drum player, two balafons, mine, and the Burkina balafon.
OF:
It’s a pentatonic balafon.
DMK:
Each person contributed pieces, so I provided a piece, and we rehearsed it with everyone. There’s one musician who, when we play, if he doesn’t start, he doesn’t know where to enter. He has to start, then the others come in. If it’s not him, it’s over, and if he stops, everything stops. And he’s on the xylophone, I’m on the balafon. So, sometimes, when he makes a mistake, I play his part on my balafon, and he says: « Ah! I don’t know when I’m supposed to go in » I tell him: « Well, do it like this… »
Sometimes I play things I’ve never heard before, but while I’m listening, I have to keep playing. Even in the studio, when people call me to come and play, I just ask for the scale, that’s what interests me. When I arrive, I listen and play straight away, without wasting any time. The balafon has a somewhat limited number of notes compared with the guitar or saxophone. The balafon has only seven notes, not twelve. So, I try to find out which notes are going to be played, and that way I know whether it’s minor or major, so I know how I can adapt to play. And if there are chromatic semitones, when I get to the studio I just say: “Well, play the music in loops” and I play after I’ve listened to it, to give myself enough time to adapt to what the others are playing.
Sometimes I play things I’ve never heard before, but while I’m listening, I have to keep playing. Even in the studio, when people call me to come and play, I just ask for the scale, that’s what interests me. When I arrive, I listen and play straight away, without wasting any time. The balafon has a somewhat limited number of notes compared with the guitar or saxophone. The balafon has only seven notes, not twelve. So, I try to find out which notes are going to be played, and that way I know whether it’s minor or major, so I know how I can adapt to play. And if there are chromatic semitones, when I get to the studio I just say: “Well, play the music in loops” and I play after I’ve listened to it, to give myself enough time to adapt to what the others are playing.
NS:
In an article I read, someone explained the way in which djembe and balafon players can color the way they strike, giving a particular personality to their playing on the instrument. You can precisely identify the sounds produced by a particular family, clan, village or person. You hear a balafon sound, but what you recognize is that balafon played by that person, a type of timbre, a sound, a little color?
DMK:
No, there’s no such thing. But you can recognize a person’s way of playing. Even if you can’t see it, you can hear someone playing the balafon, you can recognize the way they play the balafon. But when it comes to sound, there’s no such thing. It depends on the person who loves his instrument, who makes it work well, so that it’s better. It all depends on the person.
NS:
But how can you tell?
DMK:
You can identify his hand by the way he plays. His hand.
NS:
What details?
DMK:
For example, when I heard the song « Kémé Bourama » played by my brother Kémo and Sékou Bembéya. Even if I can’t see them, I know it’s Sékou Bembéya playing like that. And here, I know it’s Kémo playing. By listening to their different ways of playing.
NS:
What makes it different?
DMK:
That’s different [laughs]. You can hear it when they play the same piece.
JCF:
It’s a question of ways of striking, and perhaps also of phrasing?
OF:
Yes, but things have changed a lot, with recordings and all that. Before, when I started, it’s true, every master had his own secret. For example, the teacher says: “Oh yes, but the other family, they play that rhythm too on the djembe”, he plays it, you listen, you try to reproduce it and he says: “Oh yes, but that’s not at all right!” [laughs]
DMK :
He’ll tell you that it’s not the same rhythm.
OF:
In the same way, my mom used to tell me that one pianist played very well and another, “No, he can’t play, he plays like a machine”. When I listened, I couldn’t tell the difference [leughs]. ]. It’s the aesthetic that’s transmitted. With the balafon, it’s harder to identify who’s playing. But with the djembe, it’s mainly the drummer’s hand, his stroke, that’s easier to recognize.
DMK:
But even with the balafon, we’re able to recognize when our old Djély Sorri plays or when Khali plays, it’s not the same, but we’re able to recognize right away that it’s such and such who plays like this, and such and such who plays like that.
7. Life in France and Europe
DMK:
That’s how I stayed in Paris, playing with two groups: first with the Ballets Katandé, then the Ballets Nimba, we got small gigs in the regions of France. After that, Mory Kanté[10] heard me and said: “Oh, I’ve been looking for a balafonist for a long time and you can come and play with my group.” He accepted me, I joined the group, and for ten days we rehearsed a lot of pieces. After that, we started to go on tours, for three months, four months, continually, then. At the time it worked very well, in the days of the French francs, it worked very, very, very well. After the group of Mory Kanté, we formed a small group here, in Paris, Mandingue Foly, a mixture of Malians, Senegalese, and Guineans. This group is very successful, every year we perform in the Africolor festival at the Théâtre Gérard Philipe.
I remember well that I had to play also with a fair number of different groups known in Africa, like the Youssou Ndour group. I played with him and Kanda Kouyaté, Oumou Kouyaté and Diaba Kouyaté. And I played for a long time with Manfila Kanté in Holland and Belgium. There is also Mamady Keita [See in the following video, Djely Madi Kouyaté playing balafon].
I remember well that I had to play also with a fair number of different groups known in Africa, like the Youssou Ndour group. I played with him and Kanda Kouyaté, Oumou Kouyaté and Diaba Kouyaté. And I played for a long time with Manfila Kanté in Holland and Belgium. There is also Mamady Keita [See in the following video, Djely Madi Kouyaté playing balafon].
JCF:
There’s the village, there’s the group in Ivory Coast, and then there are groups in Europe. What’s new in your life in France and Europe?
DMK:
Groups in Europe? It’s very important, because I’ve played with lots of groups in Europe, here, with Ivoirians, Malians, Senegalese, Guineans, just about everywhere, even with the French. I’ve played in a lot of different groups, so that gives me a lot of ideas that I didn’t have before. So, the difference is this: when I came here, I thought it was important to discover other things. Here, I’ve learned a lot musically from the Europeans, to adapt to their way of doing things. It’s like when we joined Afrika ! Afrika ! in Germany. In that group, there were a lot of musicians who came and couldn’t adapt with the others, and they were dismissed because they were only capable of playing the music of their own country. For example, there was a Malian who couldn’t adapt with us because he only knew the music played in Mali. After two or three days of rehearsals, you know whether you can do it or not.
JCF:
And in this group, there were also German musicians?
DMK:
There were only African musicians, but the director was German. The artistic director is George Momboye[11], from Ivory Coast. So, there are musicians from almost every country in Africa. There are Gabonese, Ivorians, Senegalese, Guineans, Malians, Congolese, Ethiopians, and then from Madagascar, a little from everywhere, Tanzanians, Moroccans. In all, there are 150 artists on stage, with acrobats and all, and there are 2,000 people in the audience every time we play. We play Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Monday is off. Saturday, Sunday, we play four times in a row. Over the course of time, we’ve learned all the music of Africa. For each country, we adapted a particular piece. For Guinea, it was the Mamie Wata piece, that’s my home, and I did the solo for that part. When I arrived in Europe, I adapted to the other groups I’d never met. For me, that was a great opportunity.
OF:
How did it change your playing style? What have you learned in Europe, for example?
DMK:
No, I didn’t learn. But I did a lot of listening to learn. I wasn’t “caught” by anyone in order to do things in a precise way, but I listen, and I’ve learned a lot. I listened a lot to the way keyboards are played, it gave me a lot of ideas. It was the same with Philippe Monange,[12] with whom I played, and I learned a lot from him. I also listened a lot to Jean-Philippe Rykiel,[13] his way of playing, all that, I played with him, and we did a lot of studio recordings together.
OF:
He is the son of fashion designer Sonia Rykiel.
NS:
He played piano?
OF:
He plays the Moog, he plays the piano. I met him with Brigitte Fontaine and Areski. The first concert I did was with him, with his mini-Moog. And he’s blind. He continued his career as an improviser. Then he started accompanying the Senegalese group Xalam, and became interested in African music, practicing modern African music. He went to Senegal, learned to play the kora on his keyboard, and plays traditional African pieces, but in his own special way. He’s a musician who can’t be ignored. He’s got a studio at home, and when you walk in all the lights are off, you can’t see anything, so you say, “Oh, sorry, I’ll put the lights on” [laughs].
DMK:
He travels by taxicab. If you call him, he arrives at your house, or at a meeting place, he arrives with all his equipment. I don’t know how he gets it all into the cab. He arrives, he’s the one who carries it all, when he gets to the studio, he’s the one who sets it up, nobody’s allowed to touch his equipment. He can’t see, but he knows where to go, he knows everything: “Ah, here, I’ll put this here, that’s what’s going with this.”
OF:
When I was in Guinea, I attended one of his concerts. After the concert, we went to Kémo’s…
DMK:
… Ah! Kémo, it’s my older brother…
OF:
… who played in Miriam Makeba’s orchestra, when she was in Guinea, with her Guinean orchestra. At Kémo’s, there was no electricity, but Jean-Philippe had a keyboard with something like a pipe, a melodica.
8. Conclusion
JCF:
Then today, as a griot, you only said the truth [laughs] !
DMK:
Sincerely, I’ve told the truth, because we haven’t changed yet, and maybe the kids who come after us can just say whatever they want. But what we think, what we’ve seen, what we know, that’s what we have to say. What you don’t know, you mustn’t say. You can always find proof that they didn’t do that. That’s very important.
OF:
I was fortunate enough to come into the family of Djély Madi in Conakry, who are known for their honesty, but really, they are great musicians.
DMK:
Very good. Thank you, are you very happy?
JCF:
Ah ! yes.
DMK :
Me too, I am very happy.
NS:
It’s true that we asked many questions.
JCF:
Thank you all of you.
2. Wikipedia : griot. « Historically, Griots form an endogamous professionally specialised group or caste, meaning that most of them only marry fellow griots, and pass on the storytelling tradition down the family line. In the past, a family of griots would accompany a family of kings or emperors, who were superior in status to the griots. All kings had griots, and all griots had kings, and most villages also had their own griot. A village griot would relate stories of topics including births, deaths, marriages, battles, hunts, affairs, and other life events. wikipedia
3. Bazin is also known in English as “brocade”. See african-avenue.com: « Bazin riche is a type of fabric that is very popular in Africa, particularly for original African outfits and traditional garments in West Africa, especially Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger. It is a luxurious and unique fabric, available in a variety of colors and patterns (…).” african-avenue.com
4.“Sunjatan is an epic poem of the Malinke people that tells the story of the hero, Sundiata Keita (died 1255), the founder of the Mali Empire. The epic is an instance of oral tradition, going back to the 13th century and narrated by generations of griot poets or djeli.” wikipedia
5. “Yankadi is one of the best-known traditional Soussou dances, often used by artists to touch the sensibilities of lovers. Like all the other traditional rhythms of Guinea, yankadi dance obeys specific song and dance techniques.” guineepeople.com
6. Sékou Camara Tanaka, or Sékou Camara Cobra is a Griot in the Malinké tradition. He sings, plays the guitar. He is also an acrobat, a choreographer and composer. See iro.umontreal.ca.
7. Since its formation in 1969, the drama troupe Kotéba National du Mali has performed classic pieces of by Malian, African, and even European authors. In 1979 in search of a form of theatrical expression true to its traditional Bambaran heritage, the group took the form of the koteba consisting of chants, dance, burlesque comedy and comic satires. Souleymane Koly (1944-2014), founder of the Kotéba troupe is a Guinean producer, film director, stage director, playwright, choreographer, musician and pedagogue. See wikipedia and Souleymane Koly, wikepedia.
8. Fodéba Keïta (1921-1969) was a Guinean dancer, musician, writer, playwright, composer and politician. Founder of the first professional African theatrical troupe, Theatre Africain wikipedia.
9.« “Famoudou Konaté is a Malinké master drummer from Guinea. He is a virtuoso of the djembe drum and its orchestra”. wikipedia.
10. Mory Kanté popularized the Kora with the worldwide hit Yéké Yéké, in 1986.
11. George Momboye, Ivorian dancer. wikipedia.
12. Philippe Monange: trained in classical piano, then jazz, while studying philosophy, he is now passionate about African music, and currently performs with the Bal de l’Afrique enchantée, Debademba, Vincent Jourde quartet, and creator of the Akrofo system. linkedin.com.
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