Of all the Cyrils born in the city of Calvin at the dawn of the 80s, these two were bound to find each other. Two Cyrils like two dizygotic souls whose contingencies have brought their meeting forward. Cyril Cyril. A liberated hydra, born in this city of diplomats where Borges duplicated his rejuvenated ego in “The Other”. On the ruins of their worn out bands, they put together an innately cosmopolitan empire. Because these Cyrils have devoured miles, away from their Genovese haven. A muezzin without borders, Cyril Yeterian came to the disheveled world through Mama Rosin, a three-piece that stirred the ghosts of the rogue bayou, the clammy Mardi Gras of some electric Louisiana. Soon, the world fell in love with their flair. The BBC celebrated them, Jon Spencer produced them, records proliferated. And then in 2017, the honeymoon period passed. Cyril was alone. Well, not quite: music kept popping up around him. Inside his Bongo Joe record store, on the label of the same name, in the underground DJ sets he stirred up, Yeterian explored like crazy, in a binge of exiled grooves. Within the same space-time, Cyril Bondi hit the road. Diatribes, La Tène, Insub Meta Orchestra, the most adventurous projects of the Geneva scene all had a bone to pick with this percussionist in search of unheard beats.

He, as well, traveled, experienced the ascent, the euphoria of the peaks and then the fall. Plaistow, his mediumistic, hypnotic jazz band, heckled the saturated world of piano-bass-drums trios and won hearts through Europe and the East. Until the breaking point. So Bondi started looking for premises to drop his equipment. He found better: an accomplice for musical prospecting, another Cyril in tune with his rebellious instinct. Enough with leaning upon solid piers like a Colossus of Rhodes. This adventure required new baggage, a new language. Cyril and Cyril were in the same boat, and both took the plunge. A guitarist and an accordionist, Cyril Y. took on the banjo, adding effect pedals to it to turn it into a puny bouzouki, an epic ba?lama or a krar. Cyril B. cobbled some cannibal drum kit together, with massive jingle bells and tropical nut shells embedded in his marching bass drum. You should have seen these two, on a populous festival night, bringing a narrow club to fever pitch by summoning utopian Neguses. Playing new Berbers, provoking unlikely seismic soukous in a trance that has as much to do with the hippie giddiness as with Fraggle Rock. Indeed, for Cyril Cyril, music is a way of the world, a joyful decentration offering new keys to comprehend chaos. The point here has nothing to do with some globalized country excursion nor some gluten-free exoticism. Beneath the beach lie the paving stones. Politics always end up showing on the surface of these exhilarating chants, of these skeletal grooves. Apart from tracing back the family pathway of some belatedly-adopted Lebanese dialect, Cyril Yeterian chants rhapsodies in French, the merciless terms of which say it all about coming insurrections. Thus, “La ville”, a Doorsian declamation in which the epic eloquence of a Goncourt Prizewinner – Texaco by Patrick Chamoiseau – meets the Invisible Commitee’s poetic prophecies. Thus, “Ultra moderne solitude 2”, that has more to do with Alain Péters than Alain Souchon, with this question "Where are the souls / to take up arms with”. Nothing yet likely to make Certaines Ruines a wordy lampoon of hoaxers, of neo-post-everything killjoys. Since, let’s face it, “the leviathan is intimidating” (“Sous la mer c’est calme”), Cyril Cyril knows the superior power of suggestion, of temperance, of happy sobriety. A single word, a single cry can say a lot, as long as it is soulful. The sound of a duo reduced to its simplest expression – rhythm, a riff, a voice – can bear within itself an infinitely luxuriant musical organism – the double helix of DNA. Cyril Cyril, so real, so rich.

The West Indies – a sweet coastline subject to many clichés from another time. That postcard with coconut trees, a glass of rum to sip on, those so exotic madras dresses... Almost as many as in Compagnie Créole’s "doudouist" songs, that say a lot about the misunderstandings from both sides of the ocean. West Indians are still as stuck with this distorted outlook as in the good old days of the colonies. Because, underneath the veneer of moldy images, a completely different reality is woven. ‘They beat drums but were never number one’ – to misquote the chorus by a Martinique-born French singer. This is the subject of this collection – musicians drumming on percussion as a way of asserting their creolized identity. Songs that tell, in veiled terms, a different reality from what mainlanders were fed with. Special cases, with cries of joy and laments accompanied by cadences, as an invitation to trance, all immersed in the Caribbean melting pot of rhythm. “’Antilles’ Méchant Bateau”, a low-tempo number with a bolero feel, indeed a pure case of the blues, and a terrific saxophone solo. What else would you expect to set the tone for this selection, in which beguine regains its original colors, in the darkness of the gwo ka drums. This 45 by André Mahy, released under the Aux Ondes sublabel, was recorded in the 1960s at Célini’s, one of Guadeloupe’s two main houses.

Through its drum rolls and harrowing chant, it recalled how, long before the mid-1960s, the Antilles’ history was written in an ocean of teardrops – namely the Black Atlantic, as so rightly put by Martinician philosopher and poet Edouard Glissant in L’Archipel des Grands Chaos. These “cursed boats” – slavers – carried millions of Africans to the American continent for centuries. All this sinister story had begun with the landing of a fleet of caravels steered by Christopher Columbus in 1492. It was the first step towards a colonization that was about to decimate the indigenous peoples of this terra incognita and deport the vital spark from the cradle continent of humankind. A year later, on November 4th, 1493, the same Colombus christened Guadeloupe after the Royal Monastery of Santa María de Guadalupe in Extremadura. The cross – a booming symbol – was there to justify the ordeal of peoples to whom even humanness was denied. Soon, once the Caribbean tribes were eradicated, the French would massively import workforce from Ghana, Togo, Dahomey, Ivory Coast, Nigeria, Cameroon, Gabon, Congo or Angola, as recalled by the Marches dedicated to the various ethnicities of slaves in 2012, which faced the Memorial of the ka drum on the Grande-Terre island in Guadeloupe. Hundreds of thousands of them would have to survive the nightmare of plantations, comparable to the plantation system in the American South: chains, leg irons, shackles, fetters, garottes, iron collars and branks, dungeons or lynchings set the tempo of everyday life. The sugar aristocracy (the brown gold of the time) set a reign of terror on plantations. The masters had full powers, including life and death, over the slaves who worked from four in the morning to sunset… until April 27th, 1848 – date of the second and definitive abolition of slavery thanks to the struggle of Victor Schœlcher, an MP who was close to Lamartine (the first one had been pronounced in the wake of the French Revolution, but soon repressed in blood by Bonaparte...). However, the path would still be long to see the newly-born Republic’s motto applied: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity ... The "post-slavery" society would perpetuate real economic segregation – a distinction that would be reproduced from generation to generation... And even if, a century later, the law of 19th March 1946 granted the four old colonies the status of Overseas Departments, nothing changed in the course of history. This gap would then widen, differently but surely, as the Republic implemented an assimilation policy that would deny identities and make a clean break with the past. In this fool’s game, the ka became, in the 1960s, the voice of identity for Guadeloupeans who couldn’t resolve being purely and solely disintegrated. Made from salting or wine barrels from the colonial era – boats keep coming back in this ebb and flow movement – the "quarter", or "ka" once creolized, was a powerful symbol of resistance since the colonial era. Even if its practice was quickly proscribed by masters, considering it contained the seeds of revolt, this great drum (long known as a ‘bamboula’, which means ‘pagan festival’ in Haiti, and became a popular expression in De Gaulle's France) inexorably wormed its way into the local culture, until becoming the essential melting pot for the movement of ‘root music’ against mainland France’s deaf hear. Or its beating heart, following the seven specific rhythms of gwo ka. More than just a matter of rhythms, this drum carried a speech full of history and stories, a message of memories and hopes. The gwo ka bore the stigmata of a slave society, from which all its associated chants were inherited. A medium of the voiceless, this drum would act like an ointment on mistreated bodies, but also as a stimulant for rebellious souls. Under the drummer’s fingers, the ka drummed up the ancestors’ spirits. Just like words convey the memory of a people that was long demoted to the status of a simple item of personal property – according to article 44 of the 1685 Code Noir draught by Colbert to regulate the status of slaves – before being governed by a system of identification booklets allowing to monitor the movements and work of the workforce in a Guadeloupe admittedly liberated from slavery, but still looking like a "banana" regime. This trauma appears through a repertoire that reflects the pain of cane cutters and the euphoria of pay day, the oppression of racism and the recourse to the myth of a promised land. Songs burst with all the bestiary that populates the countryside and the many fish that feed stews, acid satires on the daily reality and apposite witticisms on international events, chronicles anchored in the local soil as well as biting plays on words. One may sing to keep vigil over a dead person, or launch into long, saucy tirades at a bibulous party. At the turn of the 1960s, while some bars were still for whites only, while speaking Creole was forbidden in schoolyards, while drum music was considered a "mizik vié neg" (“old negro music”), while the church saw a symbol of degeneration in it, the Maroon spirit – from the name of the slaves who fled plantations to live free in the woods – rose from its depths, in another form. In this decade and the one that followed, this movement, that gave its place back to percussion, accompanied more precise claims as English-speaking islands gained independence. By playing the ka (which was banned from official studios), one actually chose their side. From 1963, the freshly-instituted Bumidom (Office for Overseas Migration) organized a strong West-Indian emigration towards low-skilled jobs and a dull suburban life. In response, the Gong (group for Guadeloupe’s National Organization) called for Guadeloupe’s independence, and two years later, the Guadeloupean Front for Autonomy appeared. Those years were punctuated by strikes and repressions, culminating in May 1967 with a real massacre in the public square in Pointe-à-Pitre, the toll of which would not be disclosed until 2012. Many would denounce the bloodbath operated by the Bumidom among Guadeloupe’s lifeblood. Slogans flourished on walls, including the iconic: Jeune, ne quitte pas ton pays ("Young people, do not leave your country”). Part of the youth got the message, choosing to take the drum back in hand as a symbol of the emasculated identity of this "entirely apart" people, to quote Aimé Césaire, the father of Negritude. The ka became the soundtrack of this generation, who sped up the tempo with the 70s and definitely transplanted it to town, while the plantation economy – the original soil of the ka drum – was in crisis. From then on, the old tambouyés (drummers) finally went celebrated as they should be: Anzala, Carnot, Serge Dolor, Ti Seles, Robert Loyson, Arthème Boisban, Esnard Boisdur ... and especially Velo – born Marcel Lollia – who nevertheless died in misery, in the street, in 1984. “Champs de canne, champs de coton !” ("Cane fields, cotton fields!) Guy Konket roared, one of the great champions of the Guadeloupean cause, whose path followed on from this legacy, moving it onto the asphalt of Carénages, Pointe-à-Pitre’s hot district. The poet sure had a good turn of phrase, that hit the spot just like his mouth drum. No doubt, blues and ka fought the same battle – centuries of oppression, of negation, before finding the path to possible redemption. Between them, the same language – the language of the Creole spirits, flooded in the great ocean. This is what this selection is about, and its good, inborn sense of humor shouldn't hide the implicit commentaries. There, jazz instills an emancipating energy from established formats, giving these songs a musicality that rhymes with spirituality. From infernal cadences borrowing from the "latin" rhythms of neighboring islands, to beguines with percussion-spiced tempos, to more laid-back – nonetheless dark – ballads, this compilation takes us back to the early hours of a movement of rebirth synonymous with recognition. A rejuvenation in which all the musics from the Black Atlantic diaspora naturally intertwine. Like a wave of sounds, of sense and blood, reminding us that an original culture emerged from the holds of these ‘wicked boats’, the trace of which remains starkly persistent in 2018.

This is the third album by Osamu Kitajima, one of Japan's most prolific artists from the ethno rock, world music and progressive department. You can certainly not divide all the mentioned stylistic aspects from each other for they were all incorporated in a homogenious sound and complex arrangements. It is the same with his other albums like „Benzaiten“ and or his fourth „Masterless Samurai“; traditional Japanese music meets Western jazzrock and progressive sounds to form a new style unheard by most people in Western countries at the time. Osamu Kitajima easily plays with elements of reggae and funk, fusion jazz and colorful pop while staying true to his Japanese roots with bits and pieces of traditional melodies and the use of old Asiatic instruments. The Japanese influence makes this music uniqe and still it gets as close to Western rock and pop sounds as it could. An adventurous journey through the world from East Asia to West Africa and to the steaming metropolises of the UK and USA is your reward when you put this perfectly produced album onto your turntable. The former PINK FLOYD comparison coming with „Benzaiten“ is not totally out of place with this selftitled 1977 album here but there is much more latitude in the allover style. Osamu Kitajima gathers a few well talented musicians around him on this record despite playing and arranging most of the instrumental passages himself.

He, the multi instrumentalist who discovered progressive rock music in the early 70s during a stay in London where he released a first album under the monicker „Justin Heathcliff“ before moving to California around the mid 70s. And this group of musicians creates something special that sticks out of the mass of similar art pop and fusion bands in the late 70s. Osamu Kitajima is something like the Japanese answer to Mike Oldfield, and others equal in vision and output!

First time reissued on CD! This is in fact more than just a rare record and definitely more than just a vinyl share for insatiable collectors who only judge a record by it's monetary value. This is a prime example of overflowing talent coupled with a simmering passion for music and the hunger for life right at the moment. The story begins on Jue 7th 1957 in a small Ghanaian village where Kofi Kwarko Gyan, nicknamed Kiki, was born into a middle class family. Soon his talent as a musician began to show when he started taking piano lessions by the age of 5 and went professional by the age of 12. He dropped out of school shortly after and began living a life on the road with regional Ghanaian bands. One trip abroad took him to London in the early 70s where his career received a giant push at the age of 15. He joined afro rock legends OSIBISA in 1972 as their new keyboardist after his predecessor had left the band. By the mid 70s Kiki Gyan had played with OSIBISA to giant audiences allover the world and met personalities from the international music scene such as Elton John and Mick Jagger. He was not only a steady keyboardist for OSIBISA but also a very popular session man for fellow African bands and musicians, among them OFEGE from Nigeria. He released a couple of solo albums and we take a closer look now at his second effort from 1979, “Feeling so good”.

The music keeps what the title promises as this is a delightful example of joy manifesting in music. Everything is bright here, the grooves are complex and powerful, yet always accessible. The harmonies enchant you with their friendly approach. The African sun shines from each note played on this record. Gyan mixes Western disco sounds, funk, African traditional chants and reggae sounds into an ever flowing groove music that has lot's of melody and mesmerizes by the swirling percussion patterns. “Feeling so good” is an equally physical and spiritual affair and contains six lengthy tunes. Tunes that live from the tight interplay of all instruments, the crisp, clear and powerful production and a wild and steaming atmosphere. Kiki Gyan was on the step of entering the 'Hall of Legends' like Stevie Wonder did, to whom he often got compared to. His legacy remains huge, not only for African music but for all black music that ruled the early disco scene in the 70s and whose popularity is still at full blossom. Next to Fela Kuti and Geraldo Pino, Kiki Gyan can be called a true force in African pop music of the 70s!

He was born in Sierra Leone in the 1930s. Fact is that Gerald Pine was son to a lawyer working in Nigeria, lost his mother and sister at a very young age and found relief in music. He played social clubs by the early 60s with his newly founded band THE HEARTBEATS delivering cover-versions of American hits and Congolese rumba tunes that were then utterly popular in the West Africa area. Due to the influence of Congolese popular musicians Franco and Dr. Nico he adopted the more exotic sounding stage name of Geraldo Pino and he moved on from there. THE HEARTBEATS literally played until their fingers bled in popular night clubs in Sierra Leone, became one of the highest earning bands of Western Africa and were even able to put up their own television show after television had been introduced in Sierra Leone in 1962. All those developments put Geraldo Pino and his band in the position as leading figures in the African popular music that even a legend such as Nigerian cult musician Fela Kuti, who is often credited with originally creating the so called “Afro Beat” style stated Geraldo Pino and THE HEARTBEATS as major influence which even made him setting sail to the USA to introduce his musical vision over there for he could not match with Geraldo Pino concerning popularity in Africa.

This of course is a whole different story. Geraldo Pino lived and played in his area, Sierra Leone, Ghana, Nigeria and created some of the hottest funky sounds with sophisticated sound gear, outstanding clothing and songs that made your blood boil. After a few 7” releases throughout the 1960s the first real album of GERALDO PINO & THE HEARTBEATS hit the scene in 1972. “Afro soco soul live” is as the title suggests an album that has been recorded at a concert and Geraldo Pino often communicates with the utterly enthusiastic audience, gives longer announcements between the songs or introduces his lead guitarist before he starts a simmering solo. All songs here have an average length of six minutes and despite their composed parts they show this free jammy flow. The basic style is funk with soulful vocals which gets mixed up with traditional African percussion grooves. This album swallows you with its mesmerizing rhythms. It's afro funk at best with a frantic atmosphere whirling up from the ever flashing percussive arrangements. The funky Hammond B – 3 organ is omnipresent on all the tracks and duels with the wild and completely unleashed lead guitar from time to time. Repetative chord progressions and harmonies decorate the solid rhythmmical base and deprive you of your senses while you get deeper and deeper into a trance like state moving and floating along on the dancefloor. Due to the crisp and clear sound this record gives you the feeling of being right at the scene, everything sounds and feels so vivid, even after more than four decades. So it is no wonder that this record is a popular gem in Western Africa but how is the reception from the European and American fans of furious funk music? Well, Geraldo Pino has become a legend in his home area but just a short time before his death in 2008 people from the Western World really discovered him and his amazing band. Original copies of this album go for several hundred USD if they ever turn up. So a reissue of this sacred gem of African funk music from the early 70s has been long overdue. A record that is made to let dancefloors smoke and tremble and the musicianship is sheer amazing!