Downsliding yoruban

Abakua Midi arrangement of Abakua, a rhythm of a secret men's society in Cuba. According to Robert Farris Thompson in "Flash of the Spirit" it was brought to Cuba during the slave trade from the Calabar region where it was the rhythm of the leopard society of the Negbe people. We list this rhythm at several different tempos since it's character changes when the tempo is changed. Versions of Abakua at different tempos: 120 bpm 180 bpm 220 bpm 260 bpm Different subrhythms of Abakua: Bell part Cowbell part High drum part Low drum part Middle drum part Shekere part Aconcon Rhythm from The Rhythm Catalog contributed by Nigel Jacobs. You can find the notation there. Played at 100 bpm. Versions of Aconcon at different tempos: 100 bpm 140 bpm 160 bpm Different subrhythms of Aconcon: Bell part Djun Djun part High drum part Low drum part Acpala An energetic West African dance rhythm. It's really fun to dance to. In 4/4 time. Different subrhythms of Acpala: Bell part High drum parts 1 and 2 Low drum part Middle drum part Bembe Shango A Bembe is an Afro-Cuban rhythm used in Santeria rites to evoke different Orishas of the Yoruban pantheon. Bembe Shango honors Shango, the Yoruban Orisha of Lightning, Thunder, Drums, Dancing and Yams. Musically, this rhythm (like other bembe rhythms) is fascinating, because it can be played at many different tempos and still sound wonderful. Most musical ideas must be played in a narrow range of tempos, usually a 30 or 40 beat range to sound their best. If you play them too slow or too fast, they lose their savor. Bembe Shango sounds great when you play it at 70 beats a minute and equally amazing at 600 bpm, nearly a factor of 10 range of tempos. It changes it's character and sounds like a different rhythm at the different tempos. In usual performance, it seems to be performed at a tempo between 120 and 200 bpm. To learn more of Shango, see ShangoTo learn more about the Bembe ceremony, see Bembe: The Rhythm of the Saints Versions of Bembe Shango at different tempos: 130 bpm 200 bpm 260 bpm 340 bpm 450 bpm 600 bpm Different subrhythms of Bembe Shango: Bell playing three-four-one pattern Cowbell playing Short Bell pattern High drum Low drum Middle drum Bintin A 6/4 rhythm from Ghana's Acon tribe. In each cycle

Black American immersed in the politics of the Black Panther Party and the growing drift towards Afrocentricity, ignited in Fela a new vision that involved integrating black politics with a hybrid style composed of contemporary horn-driven Afro-American popular music, psychedelic rock and the African rhythmic cadences of vocal and instrumental expression. A key part of this musical expression was the drumming of Tony Oladipo Allen whose input first in regard to an increasingly jazzified element to the music of Koola Lobitos and then with the new breed of politicised and funked-up music qualify him as being the co-creator of Afro-Beat. The musical rebirth led to Fela renaming his band the Africa 70. American funk and soul collided with Yoruban rhythms which were accompanied by lyrics layered with Pan-Africanist sentiment. Fela’s new model sound, a symbiosis of Afro-Diasporan elements, sounded fresh but also natural. The Yoruba culture is one which is highly syncretic in nature. The new bent towards protest singing was also consistent with Yoruban modes of expression. In contrast to the praise-singing directed at the wealthy and the important in traditional society was abuse-singing. Fela’s Yabis songs which ridiculed and denigrated the rich and powerful in Nigerian society would form the backdrop to many popular compositions as well as a multitude of iron-fisted reprisals from the authorities. His popularity markedly increased as the 1970s developed and his audience ravenously anticipated his next incendiary epistle on long-playing vinyl.Fela lampooned the high-handedness of police officers and soldiers in “Alagbon Close” and “Zombie”. His disdain for the ‘foreign imported’ religions of Christianity and Islam and his belief that they served as an opiate for the masses was reflected in “Shuffering and Shmiling”. He criticized middle class Nigerian aping of Western mannerisms in “Gentleman” and mocked African females who bleached their skin in “Yellow Fever”. His uncompromising position on eschewing the colonial-derived mentality and promoting black pride formed the backdrop to his dropping ‘Ransome’ from his surname. In its stead, he adopted the name ‘Anikulapo’ which means “he who carries death in his pouch”.He had established his pan-African outlook via his album “Why Black Man Dey Suffer” in 1971 but when criticising the racist regimes of Rhodesia and South Africa in songs like “Sorrow, Tears and Blood” and “Beasts of No Nation”, did not fail to remind his listeners of the hypocrisy and the brutality of Nigeria’s military rulers. He sang against imperialism

Excerpt:One of Tau Lewis’s greatest musical influences is the Jamaican roots-reggae singer Winston Rodney. Rodney’s signature ghostly chants, dubbed-out psychedelic repetition, and sad yet hopeful vocal work make up the heavy roots sound that is encompassed by his stage name, Burning Spear. His polythematic oeuvre deals with Pan-Africanism, doctrinal systems, and Jamaican political discourse. His 1975 album Marcus Garvey weaves these themes together to create a potent message of faith and political radicalism, making him a hero in Jamaica and cementing his legacy within the heavy roots philosophy and movement. Rodney’s music oscillates around the title of Lewis’s exhibition at 52 Walker, Vox Populi, Vox Dei (Latin for “the voice of the people [is] the voice of God”). For Lewis, the phrase becomes a descriptor of our relationship to our own belief systems, calling into question the source of authenticity and truth.At 52 Walker, Lewis’s monumental masks—the latest works in her continuing exploration of anthropomorphic forms informed by those in Yoruban mask dramas—draw inspiration from the work of the Nigerian playwright Wole Soyinka, as well as from classical Greek and Roman mythology and drama. Tiana Reid’s text in this volume illuminates these pathways and examines the link between theater and the eighteenth-century tract that gives the show its title. The gallery’s polygonal shape situated the viewer centrally on stage, surrounded by Lewis’s congregation of forms, which seemed to be engaged in an inaudible conversation across the space. Visitors activated the drama at play by their presence. Figures from the same