Zap Mama and its sounds from all over
When African-born, European-raised Marie Daulne - the Mama of Zap Mama - created her world music ensemble in 1990, it was an all-female a capella outfit whose principle goals were to awaken Western audiences to everything from pygmy onomatopoeic vocal techniques to call-and-response chatter.
When African-born, European-raised Marie Daulne - the Mama of Zap Mama - created her world music ensemble in 1990, it was an all-female a capella outfit whose principle goals were to awaken Western audiences to everything from pygmy onomatopoeic vocal techniques to call-and-response chatter.
Wordless chants, scats and percussive clicks, lyrics of empowerment and sensuality sung in a mix of French and Afro-Caribe language - these made Zap Mama a vexing, valuable commodity no less charming or adventurous when Daulne - the sole remaining Mama - added instrumentation and male voices to her mix. It is that Zap Mama that packed World Café Live on Saturday with its sauntering, multinational-tinged melodies, spacious arrangements, percussive jabbering, and a haunting, athletic brand of vocalese from Daulne, her female backing trio (Lene Christensen, Judith Okon, Maria Fernandez), a boy beatboxer/cymbal player (Sjenka Danhieux), and instrumentalist/singer Bert Gielen.
The men were always an exceptional aspect of Saturday's sound. "Let me have a conversation with the beatbox," Daulne said before launching into "African Sunset" and "M'Toto" with their mix of tongue-and-teeth-clattering vocal percussion knocking against a harmonious womanly wave of melody. Gielen's synth was silken, his piano tones spare and Satie-like, and his vocal accompaniment low. The boom-bap break of "Rafiki" (recorded in 1999 with the Roots in Philly, a session Daulne mentions happily) was a cool clash of the sexes with a football-ish chant finale borrowed from Queen's "We Will Rock You."
Still, there's no denying that it was the ladies who did yeoman work within Zap Mama and that the ensemble's overall energies were breathily and richly feminine, whether singing in French, African English, or a tempestuous blend. The quartet of lasses never stopped dancing, swerving and gyrating. On songs such as "Bandy Bandy" and "Gissie," Daulne sang in an elongated baritone tone sexily reminiscent of a melodious Grace Jones, with her trio of co-vocalists acting like Macbeth's witches around the cauldron. While Daulne looped her own voice as a percussive tool, the trio of vocalists hummed, hooted, cooed and soared above the lead vocalist's graceful groove for the gospel reverie of "Singing Sisters," the warmly humorous neo-soul of "Big Boy" and "Text," and the nearly wordless "To La Mama."