Program

The Afro-Caribbean Ensemble

Sidra Lawrence, director

Had a beautiful dream that I woke up
And all of the bombs in the world had been blown up
An unusual twist of our fate because
None of them had any order, demoted
It was almost the end of the world
As we know it, the moment had never been closer
When we crawled out of hiding, we cried and decided it’s time to start loving each other

Let’s be stronger than our fathers
Free ourselves and please our mothers
Can’t you see we can’t be governed
If we choose love
            -- Angélique Kidjo, “Choose Love”

Kilimanjaro; Australia; Afro-Beat | The Shaolin Afronauts 2011/arr. Nick Kiekenapp

Music is the Magic; New York; Jazz | Abbey Lincoln 1992/arr. Joel Hazard

Rain, Rain, Beautiful Rain; South Africa; Isicathamiya | Ladysmith Black Mambazo 1987

Abusey Junction; London; jazz | Kokoroko 2022/arr. Tiyinoluwa Olushola Alao

Blues for District Six/District Six; South Africa; Cape jazz | Abdullah Ibrahim 1970/1992

Addis Abèba Bété; Ethiopia/Paris; Ethio-jazz | Alemayehu Eshete/Akalé Wubé, 1972/2014/arr. Nick Kiekenapp

The Call; South Africa; Cape jazz | Abdullah Ibrahim 1997/arr. Nick Kiekenapp

Jabula; South Africa; Cape jazz | Abdullah Ibrahim 2019

Choose Love; Benin; Afro-pop | Angélique Kidjo 2021
Special thanks to Giovanni Castiglione for his original transcription of this piece.

Krumandey; Ghana; Afro-Beat | Ebo Taylor 2012 /arr. Nick Kiekenapp

Like Ah Boss; Trinidad and Tobago; Soca | Machel Montano 2015/ arr. Nick Kiekenapp

Personnel
Giovanni Castiglione
Galen Coffman
Skylar Diehl
Jess Driggs
Will Edwards
Karly Folger
C. Theodore Forde-Stiegler
Brooke Guyton
Nicholas Kiekenapp
Tiyinoluwa Olushola Alao
Clayton Rosati
Starr Washington
Maxton Welch

In tonight’s program notes, I want to highlight “Blues for District Six” and “District Six” by Abdullah Ibrahim. I have long wanted to program these works, and have finally been given the opportunity due to the immense talent of the musicians in this ensemble. “Blues for District Six/District Six” is our original compilation of two separate works by South African jazz pianist Abdullah Ibrahim. Both works are astonishingly fine examples of the use of memory, nostalgia, and longing in the oeuvre of Ibrahim. Despite their importance in the South African jazz canon, they are rarely performed, other than by Ibrahim himself. 

Born in 1934 in Cape Town, South Africa, Ibrahim is known internationally for his important status as one of the high-profile cultural voices of the anti-apartheid movement. Along with fellow South African musicians trumpeter Hugh Masekela and singer Miriam Makeba, Ibrahim was forced into exile during the height of the apartheid regime for his political voice.Ibrahim is perhaps most well-known for his 1974 composition, “Mannenberg,” which became an anthem of anti-apartheid struggle in the 1980s, a symbol of the resistance of indigenous South Africans against the oppressive apartheid regime that suppressed Black lives, movement, and creative expression. As historian John Mason wrote, “[it gave] voice to the dreams of the dispossessed, it was the sound of freedom.” According to journalist Nigel Williamson, “when the record [of Mannenberg] was smuggled by a lawyer to Mandela on Robben Island, he reportedly remarked on hearing it that “liberation is near” (2024).

Along with “District Six,” we include two other South African jazz pieces tonight: “Jabula,” and “The Call,” also by Ibrahim. In apartheid South Africa, jazz was very much considered music of dissent. The white supremacy at the heart of apartheid was antithetical to everything that jazz represented: freedom, globality, and racial mixing. Jazz represented global influence, cosmopolitan and urban ideologies and sensibilities, and African heritage. Beginning in the early 1960s, the Afrikaner Nationalist government increased restrictions on jazz performance and racially-integrated performance spaces. Integrated nightclubs, Black musicians performing for white audiences, and racially-integrated bands were banned. Musicians like Ibrahim were exiled to Europe and the United States. 

​From exile, Ibrahim turned his compositional prowess to evocations of home. Numerous scholars have written about Ibrahim’s music within the context of memory, as music that connected identity with place, with longing for home (Muller 2001; Lucia 2002; Mason 2007; Williams 2021). This emerged foremost in the use of genre references; Ibrahim drew from marabi, swing, gospel, spirituals, blues, and carnival traditions. He references Sufi traditions, which as a converted Muslim, evoked a sense of belonging on a different level. Harmonically, he utilizes chord progressions that recall South African church hymnody, referencing a collective memory based on community and family history; the “politics in Ibrahim’s performance of these chord progressions is located in how he supplanted the original significations in the English, Dutch, or German hymn chords and infused his own cultural meanings” (Williams 2021). Ibrahim’s musical language became simultaneously a love letter to the past, recalling musical memories, and a space of hope for a re-imagined future. He provided his listeners with the permission to dream of freedom. 

​Jazz—that quintessentially American music—for South African musicians, was inherently African. Ibrahim once said that jazz was “Africa-based.” He continued, “For us [in Cape Town], Ellington was never an American. He was just the grand old man in the Village” (Friedwald 1997). The political aspects of these claims become clarified further in remarks made by Ibrahim’s wife, singer Sathima Bea Benjamin: 

All I can say is that jazz came out of a very painful experience. It started with black people being ripped away, and then innately trying to go back [. . .] They were denied so many things, and were repressed. So the music came out of that. And that we [South Africans] were drawn to it, it just seems natural to me . . .. Okay, we weren’t ripped away from our continent, but our continent was ripped away from us. And that’s why I say it is similar, but not the same (Muller 2001).

In the music of Abdullah Ibrahim, we hear the confluence of the all these thematic materials; we hear the pain of exile, the sweet memory of home, and the weight of apartheid. We hear “an extraordinary depth in stillness;” Ibrahim turns “the solitary act of introspection into a communal experience that's both transporting and immersive” (Chinen 2017). 

“Blues for District Six/District Six” is a quintessential representation of the depth of pain, longing, memory, and hope in Ibrahim’s work. The District Six neighborhood of Cape Town was, by all accounts, “a community representative of diversity on a number of levels – language, religion, economic class, geographical area of origin – and became a living example of how diversity could a be a strengthening characteristic of a community and need not be feared.” It was considered the “spiritual heart of [Black] South Africa, a symbol of resilience and creativity in the face of racial oppression” (Mason 2007). It was here that Abdullah Ibrahim was born, and grew up in the musical melting pot that exposed him to hymns, gospel songs, spirituals, marabi dance music, indigenous folk music, and jazz. 

On 11 February 1966 District Six was declared a “white area” by the apartheid government, and became “a symbol of the apartheid state's grotesque social engineering” in which indigenous South Africans were forcibly removed from their homes and relocated along racial lines (ibid.). The vibrant and diverse life of this community was over; homes were demolished, citizens forced to move to barren outlying areas. 

In “Blues for District Six,” and “District Six,” we are able to hear, in Ibrahim’s profound stillness and genius sense of time that stretches and pushes, a haunting longing. These two pieces are a love letter to District Six, to a past that was stolen, and to memories. Those that were exiled, those that were relocated, whose homes were destroyed, this is his song to them. When we listen we can hear this song call out for home, as it can only do when home is a memory to which you might never return. 

where loneliness’ still waters meet nostalgia
and morning breaks the city sun and smoke
and towering grey the buildings’ murmur
grim subway rumbling in their roots
I scan the vacant faces and sad smiles 
and long for home

~~pause~~
 

Music of Iran, the Caucasus, & Central Asia (MICCA) Ensemble

Megan Rancier, director

Kara Angnyng (Black-furred Livestock) | Tuvan kozhamyk folk song

Kara angnyg, silgir angnyg
Kyzyl-Özke chuttaksaar men
Kadarchynyng, ivizhining
Kazanaanga kiriksehr men.

Ada ögbem churtu bolgan
Arzhaan suglug taigalarym
Arbyn malyn maldap chor-ur
Azhyl ishchi ivizhiler.

Sy-yn, myigak turlaa bolgan
Synnar ehdeh törehn Ii-im
Syrynnaldyr mangnap choruur
Sy-yn bashtyg charylarym

Yndynnalgan, syrynnalgan
Uyan urug di-vess siler
Yrzhym taiga churttug bolgash
Yrlap ösken urug-la men

Rich with black-furred livestock,
I want to live in Kyzyl-Özke
I want to enter
the hut of the reindeer herder.

The taiga places with healing springs
That became the birthplace of my ancestors.
Hardworking reindeer herders grazing numerous livestock.

At the foot of mountain ridges, my native land
Is a pasture of Siberian deer
My deer, with heads like a Siberian deer,
Run like a light wind

Don’t say “she yearns, she grieves,
she is a sad girl.”
Because the quiet taiga is my native land,
I have been singing since childhood.

Kozemnin Karasi (The Pupil of My Eye) | Kazakh song composed by Abai Kunanbaev

Kozimnin karasi
Kon’limnin sanasi
Bitpeidi ishtegi
Gashiktik zharasi
Bitpeidi ishtegi
Gashitik zharasi

Kazaktin danasi
Jas y-ulken agasi
Bar’ demes sendei bir
Adamnin balasi
Bar’ demes sendei bir
Adamnin balasi

Zhilayin, zhirlayin
Agihzip koz mayin
Aytuga kelgende
Kalkama söz dayin
Aytuga kelgende
Kalkama söz dayin.

Jurekten kozgayin
Adepten ohzbayin
Özi de bilmeime
Köp soilep sozbayin
Özi de bilmeime
Köp soilep sozbayin

You are the pupil of my eye
You overwhelm my consciousness
And the wound of love
Keeps tearing me from inside
And the wound of love
Keeps tearing me from inside

And out of all the Kazakh elite
All the wise elders
None can say that “there is”
Another person like you
None can say that “there is”
Another person like you

I can cry, I can sing
Pouring rivers from my eyes
But when it’s time to speak
The words are ready for my precious
But when it’s time to speak
The words are ready for my precious

Let me move from my heart
And not waste the time
You know what I mean
It’s so unnecessary to explain
You know what I mean
It’s so unnecessary to explain

Navâie (Solace) | Khorasani folk song; arr. Majid Javdani

Navâie, navâie, navâie, navâie

Ghamash dar nehân khâ ne ye delne shinad
Benâzi ke ley lie be mah mel ne shinad

Navâie, navâie….

âkh ha me bâ ve fâ yand to gol bie va fâ ie
ze dom bâ le mah melze
dom bâ le mah mel se bok tar ghe dam
zan
ma bâ dâ ke gar di be mah mel ne shi nad
ma bâ dâ ke gar di be mah mel ne shi nad

Navâie, navâie….

âkh ha me bâ ve fâ yand to gol bie va fâ ie

Solace, solace, solace, solace …

Her sorrow in secret, my heart gently fills,
As graceful as Layli on caravan thrills.

Solace, solace …

All faithful, dear flower, you’re faithless
alone.
Step lightly behind, not a dust should be
blown,
Lest dust from your footsteps should darken
her throne.

Solace, solace…

All faithful, dear flower, you’re faithless
alone.

Khazan (Autumn) | Persian classical piece composed Parviz Meshkatian

Sari Gelin (Golden Bride) | Azeri/Persian folk song; arr. Hossein Alizadeh/Majid Javdani

Azeri lyrics:
Saçın ucun hörməzlər
Gülü sulu dərməzlər
Sarı gəlin.

Bu sevda nə sevdadır
Səni mənə verməzlər
Neynim aman, aman
Neynim aman, aman
Sarı gəlin.

Persian lyrics:
Dâ man keshân, sâghi ye mey khârân
Az ke nâ re yârân, mas togi sou afshân
Mi go ri zad

Dar jâ me mey, az sha ran ge douri
vaz gha me mah jouri chon sha râ bi joushân
mey be ri zad

Dâ ram ghal bi, lar zân ze ra hash
di de shod ne ga rân, sâghi ye mey khâ rân
az ke nâ re yâ rân
mas to gi sou af shân
mi go ri zad
(2X)

The end of your hair shouldn't be braided
The dewy flower shouldn't be picked,
Golden bride.

What a love this is!
They will not give you to me!
What should I do, aman, aman
What should I do, aman, aman
Golden bride.

With flowing robes, the wine-bearer flees,
Drunken, locks loose, away from friends
She flees.

Into wine cups, bitter pains of distance pour,
Bubbling sorrow, longing parted hearts
endure.

My trembling heart, anxious on her path,
My restless eyes trace her aftermath.
The wine-bearer, drifting, loose-haired and free,
From the side of companions, she flees
from me.

Okro Mchedelo (Oh, Goldsmith) | Georgian (Meskheti region) folk song
A humorous song about the impossibility of taking out more than you’ve put in.

Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo, (2x)
Chit’is nali mip’ovnia,
Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo
Erti bari gamik’ete
Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo

Hoda ho, o hai ralo,
Hari, haralo, haralo

Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo, (2x)
Rats rom imas gadarcheba,
Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo
Erti tokhi gamik’ete.
Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo

Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo, (2x)
Rats rom imas gadarcheba,
Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo
Erti tsuli gamik’ete.
Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo

Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo, (2x)
Rats rom imas gadarcheba,
Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo
Erti dana gamik’ete.
Okro mch’edelo mch’edelo

Oh goldsmith, goldsmith, (2x)
I’ve found a bird’s iron shoe.
Oh goldsmith, goldsmith,
Make a spade for me.
Oh goldsmith, goldsmith.

Oh goldsmith, goldsmith, (2x)
And with what’s left,
Oh goldsmith, goldsmith,
Make a hoe for me.
Oh goldsmith, goldsmith.

Oh goldsmith, goldsmith, (2x)
And with what’s left,
Oh goldsmith, goldsmith,
Make an axe for me.
Oh goldsmith, goldsmith.

Oh goldsmith, goldsmith, (2x)
And with what’s left,
Oh goldsmith, goldsmith,
Make a knife for me.
Oh goldsmith, goldsmith.

Uzun İnce Bir Yoldayım (I Walk On A Long And Narrow Road) | Turkish song composed by Âşık Veysel

Uzun, ince bir yoldayım
Gediyorum gündüz gece
Bilmiyorum ne hâldeyim

Gediyorum gündüz gece
Gündüz gece (3x)

Dünyaya geldiğim anda
Yörüdüm aynı zemanda
İki gapılı bir handa

Uykuda dahi yürüyom
Kalkmaya sebep arıyom
Gidenleri hep görüyom

Şaşar Veysel işbu hâle
Gâh ağlaya gâhi güle
Yetişmek için menzile

I’m on a long, narrow road
I’m going day and night
I don’t know what state I’m in

I’m walking day and night
Day and night

The moment I came into this world
I began to walk
In a two-doored inn

Even in my sleep I walk
I’m searching for a reason to stay
I’m always seeing people leave

Veysel is perplexed by this state of affairs
Sometimes crying, sometimes laughing
In anticipation of reaching the destination

Üsküdar'a Gider İken (On My Way to Üsküdar) | Turkish folk song

Üsküdar’a gider İken aldı da bir yağmur, (2x)
Kâtibimin setresi uzun eteği çamur. (2x)
Kâtip uykudan uyanmış gözleri mahmur. (2x)
Kâtip benim ben kâtibin el ne karışır,

Kâtibime kolalı da gömlek ne güzel yaraşır.

Üsküdar’a gider İken bir mendil buldum, (2x)
Mendilimin İçine lokum doldurdum. (2x)
Kâtibimi arar İken yanımda buldum. (2x)

Kâtip benim ben kâtibin el ne karışır,

Kâtibime kolalı da gömlek ne güzel yaraşır.

While going to Üsküdar, it started to rain.
My scribe’s coat is long, his hem is muddy.
The scribe has woken up, his eyes are cloudy.
The scribe is mine, I am his – and strangers can’t interfere.

A starched shirt would suit my scribe very well.

On the way to Üsküdar, I found a handkerchief.
I put Turkish delight into my handkerchief.
While searching for my scribe, I found him at my side.

The scribe is mine, I am his – and strangers can’t interfere.

A starched shirt would suit my scribe very well.

Personnel
Jane Carver – voice, concertina
Karly Folger – voice, saxophone, qyl-qobyz, ocarina
Arvic Godfrey – voice, dombyra
Meredith Gulla – voice, percussion, jaw harp
Hannah Huddle – voice, saxophone
Majid Javdani – voice, kamanche
Mason Marquette – voice, percussion, jaw harp
Nazanin Mousavi – voice, kamanche
Mina Neizari – voice, santur
Megan Rancier – director; voice, violin, qyl-qobyz
Jessica Sahutoglu – voice, ukulele, banjo
Austin Young – voice, nay

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