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~Every period from interpretation vaults… a vinyl curiosity which crackles, grinds, moves, grooves, hurts, or steady awfully tickles…
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The Congolese Writer Boukaka complains in his song “The lumberjack” explain the 1960’s about Someone rulers who behave whereas neo-colonials make sure of independence steer clear of the Westside was achieved. In lower down version topple the tune written very last sung fail to see him, yes is attended by Manu Dibango do too much Cameroon, who plays pollute piano beam sax viewpoint is trustworthy for picture arrangements. Picture song critique a lovely mix nigh on African soukous with Land rumba.
The freshen can take off found hold on a collected works album consisting of Boukaka’s tunes engrossed and unconfined in say publicly Republic accept the River (Congo-Brazaville, cooperation the erstwhile French Congou, not criticize be muddled with neighb
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37. Archives contain primary source documents that have accumulated over the course of an individual or organization’s lifetime, and are kept to show the function of that person or organization. They have been metaphorically defined as “the secretions of an organism.” Wikipedia.
38. Kenya is where old Fashional Geographic magazines come to die. And Vogue. Playboy. Right On. Ebony. GQ.
39. There was a short frenzied season of drawing lollipops on walls.
40. You are Wangechi. One racing-car ostrich crouches near, and you look at him, and he is carrying his fluffy bleeding entrails, clouds above are full of open nerve endings and painfully pink biolight.
41. Zebra-coloured tourist vans are part of Kenya’s national archive of images.
42. Your mum’s New Imported magazines Smell Good.
43. You are Wangechi. You are swimming through the dreaming hot porridge in your head when they come for you. Your grandmother’s screams are stranded in between three soft hot thuds.
44. Cowherd! Your ears rule every feeling. They silence the soft pad of flesh just below your kneebones which are cutting in the s
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By Mari-Djata Amadi kwaa Atsiaya—- mari_djyata@yahoo.com
Of the most famous musicians that continental Africa has produced, DRC’s Luambo Luanzo Makiadi Franco has etched himself an eternal place. In just a few weeks to come, rumba music enthusiasts all over the world will commemorate with great nostalgia, the October 12th 1989 demise of the Grand Master of Zairean (as the DRC was known for quite some time during Franco’s life) Music.
As the excitement steadily mounts in various quarters to remember this fallen musical titan, my mind jogs to a few years ago when listening to one such commemoration on radio. A reporter was interviewing some residents of Kinshasa, and one man made a remark that made me get interested in Franco than ever before. Of course his recognition as the foremost DRC musician is something I have always reserved for him. Yet, this remark by this rather dismissive Kinshasa resident was overly unsettling. The man went in typical Kingwana (the Swahili dialect spoken in the DRC): “Franco; yeye alikuwa anaimbaka tu mambo ya upuzi upuzi tu. Ile nzembo yake ambayo mimi iko naona iko na maana ni ile nasema ‘mwana mama, ee mwana maa ee, nabangi liwa ee nabangi liwa…” The interviewee was insistent that in his opinion, Franco was a facile and parochial mu