Top of the Vox

There are voices, and there are voices. Voices that find you at certain moments in your life when you need a little guidance or a sonic nudge in the right direction. They swoop in, fix your frequency and keep it moving. I have selected ten such voices from my life soundtrack, ten stars in the firmament of Black women who, musically, had a hand, and voice, in raising me. Muhammad Ali once said, about Larry Holmes, “Musically speaking, if he don't C sharp, he'll B flat.” These incredible vocalists have all helped me see sharper, and without their songs my life would definitely feel flat. Here they are, in chronological order.

Whitney Houston

The earliest edge of my memory. Late 80s, Barbados. Bouncing curls, glorious smile, pink dress, funky eyeshadow. Whitney’s shimmering beauty and wanting to dance with somebody. To this day I do not trust people who don’t at least try to hit the high note on ‘I wanna feel the HEAT’ with somebody (I know you just did it, I heard you!). I stood transfixed in front of the TV and haven’t felt quite the same since. What was this magic?

The unparalleled power and calibre of those pipes. What a talent, and what a tragedy. The documentary detailing the sadness, the addiction, and abuse that undid her life so cruelly was painful to watch.

Lessons from Whitney: Bad boys are poison, so are drugs, know your worth

Sade

Mysterious, sultry, sensuous Naija/North London siren Sade is one of the wonders of the world. Saw a live concert of hers just once, in Antwerp November 2011. My friend and I snuck up as close as we could to the stage, occupying empty seats closer to the goddess herself. What elegance, what grace, what sustained dopeness. From Sweetest Taboo or Your Love is King, Ms. Adu is the Queen of subtle and eternal melodies.

Lessons from Sade: take your time, your business is no one’s business but yours, and age really ain’t nothing but a number

Tracy Chapman

There were a handful of cassettes on heavy rotation in my father’s car, and Tracy Chapman was definitely part of that. Driving back home of an evening, happy-tired and skin salt-crusted from a day at the beach. Sunsets and evening drawing in, feeling sanguine with fatigue but energised with the strength of her sound and messages of social justice. Tracy Chapman was the first really socially-conscious artist I remember listening to, and that transformative power has always uplifted me.

Lessons from Tracy: the simplest songs can be the strongest, the quietest murmur can overpower a shout, a song can have several lives

Zap Mama

Brrrlak! I encountered the playful, electric Afropean sound of Zap Mama very young-- maybe 6 or 7, while ransacking my Dad’s tape collection. About a decade later, since this world is small, I found myself doing backing vocals for Marie Daulne, the vocal chords and visionary behind the name. The band was an inventive crew, a mosaic of metissage from Congo, Belgium, Mauritania, South Africa, Haiti, Burundi, Denmark, and so many places in between. It was an experience that put some serious stamps on the passport and threw open the curtains back at a really important time of my life, just crossing the threshold into adulthood, into professional music, into my own ‘Afropean’ footsteps. Zap Mama’s music is a vivid, fearless, rhythmic polyphony that refuses to be categorised.

Lessons from Zap Mama: a cappella is essentially the best thing ever, being half-this-half-that-a-bit-of-this-some-of-that is just as beautiful and complete any other identity, and that somehow life will enable you to meet those you should be meeting

Neneh Cherry

I have a vague memory of my big sister bumping Cherry’s early work, Raw like Sushi and all, providing some of the playlist for our impromptu bedroom dance parties. The first tune that struck me to my core though was 7 Seconds, which she sang in Youssou N’dour. The black and white monochrome, the mournful tones; I couldn’t quite place/locate where the sound came from, but it took me away with it anyway. If I had a dollar for everytime someone has asked me whether anyone had ever told me that I looked just like Neneh Cherry I could probably buy myself a house in Dakar.

I first saw her perform live in Brussels, on an experimental kind of electronic flex. I love when artists don’t shy away from new sounds and collaborations. Years later, one Friday on Golborne Road over in West London, having a Moroccan BBQ fish lunch with my uncle, I almost fell off the bench when I looked up and saw Neneh Cherry standing there. “Uncle B! Oh my God! it’s Neneh Cherry! ‘Oh that’s nice my dear, he nodded and smiled at her. “Who is that?” he stage-whispered back at me. I bumped into her plenty in the years that followed, and it was always a vibe. I love that she is an incredible artist surrounded by a constellation of incredible artists-- her parents, her brother, her children-- are all talented creators, and I just think that’s cool.

Lessons from Neneh: It’s nice to be important/it’s more important to be nice-- it’s so nice to meet someone important who is also so nice! Reinvention is being true to yourself; your family and your community are vital to your own well-being and evolution

Lauryn Hill

I first met Lauryn in Sister Act, and then when The Fugees exploded onto the scene and into everyone’s discman. Every second of The Score, from How many Mics to Fu-Gee-La left an indelible mark. When Lauryn moved into her own independent glory with The Miseducation..., she truly floored anyone who was listening. I was captivated by each track, each visual-- and stunned, years later when I finally noticed the tracings of Amharic on the blackboard in one of album liner images. The raspy, raw acoustic brilliance informed by tears and so many things I wouldn’t understand until I had lived through some of them myself was another demonstration of Hill’s brilliance. She writes songs that really give you oxygen: Ex-Factor, Mr. Intentional? I think she can be forgiven for large lateness, high-speed galloping through her classic tunes in some disjointed live appearances, etcetera. I think the stress of the industry, and a Rohan Marley leaving you with five kids to marry a Brazilian model could make you maybe feel and act a bit off-key sometimes. But I mean…come on, please... it’s Lauryn Hill.

Lessons from Lauryn: Baring your soul can heal you & heal others too, going solo for a while is important, even if you’re good with your friends/band; avoid stressful relationships at all costs and pay yuh taxes.

Erykah Badu

Who is this willow-tree of a human being, wearing a lime green turban with silver jewellery snaking up and down her arms? I thought to myself when I first saw her. Ancient Egypt meets Afro-futurist, Badu spun into my audio space like a far out, spiritual, Texan satellite. I feel like I’ve been hanging out with Ms. Badu since my pre-teen times. I found her music calming, soothing like aloe vera, incense, tea. This fellow Piscean marinated hip hop in jazz like no one had ever done before, her voice was like a jet gliding free over the rooted beats. She brings the humour of a stand up comedian to stages and socials, suggests you not try her and reminds you that you too are 20 feet tall. She shocked me and another Eritrean friend by singing in Tigrinya at Couleur Cafe festival one summer. She served delight to the crowd at Miami Gardens, where I tried Bahamian conch for the first time (the jury is still out). I witnessed a scintillating performance of hers at Flow Festival Helsinki-- she shook up the night with her otherworldly vibes, like she was Sun Ra’s granddaughter. This interplanetary diplomat, this earthy yet extraterrestrial Minister of Culture is forever inspiring.

Lessons from Erykah: Tell all Tyrones what time it is, sing songs in random languages because it just might make someone's day, humour goes a long way

Ella Fitzgerald

Ella Fitzgerald’s voice is a lighthouse. Slinking back home after school on an icy dark winter evening into the warm cocoon of my family home; softly-lit, golden glow, fresh flowers, delicious aromas of dinner cooking and feeling the trouble of the day melt away replaced by the love of my folks and the invigorating voice of Ella Fitzgerald. It didn’t last long, this period of my life, but the music solidifies the memory, frames it, makes it timeless. It doesn’t matter that those years snapped shut with immeasurable loss. Well, it does, but Ella’s voice cushioned the blow.

Ella’s crystal clear inflections combined with the scratchy splendour of Louis Armstrong’s voice, and his trumpet, sounded like best friendship distilled into a duet. Her regal vocal choreographies and joyous scatting are like heating under my heart’s floorboards. Long live Ella Fitzgerald!

Lessons from Ella: Cherish time at home with your family, sing your joy, sing your love, happiness is a super power

Cesaria Evora

I will always recall Cabo Verde’s barefoot diva, shifting beneath her columns of cigarette smoke rising to the shell-like roof of the concert hall. A melodious ocean of morna, she sent waves of saudade shuffling through the air into each and every soul sat there. She cracked jokes with the band, she swayed and simmered through the songs with their pearls of wisdom and profound life experience. What does international recognition mean to someone so connected to the terra of their native land? If you come from somewhere where everyone knows your name, what do admirers in other lands truly add? How much can they really grasp of your story? Saudade is said not to have a proper translation in English, no reflection of the same nostalgia and sadness. The closest definition of saudade is genuinely sensed in Cesaria’s voice. Ave Cesaria, in the words of Stromae.

Lessons from Cesaria: take your time, live your life, sing your pain, sing your homeland

Chaka Khan

“Tell me something good…. Tell me that you love me, ye-ah..”

I love you, Chaka Khan.

My love for Chaka was a slow burner. I knew and respected her from early on, but I feel I only really got to know her music in my twenties. Discovering her records with Rufus blew the roof right off of my head, and I had the sheer privilege of seeing her in concert twice. She has a colossal voice that can levitate an entire crowd, a transfusion of energy and passion. At one festival I saw storm clouds gathering overhead held rapt, on their best behaviour, delaying the downpour so they could listen better to the gig. Chaka peppered her delivery with stories, giggles, big-ups and entertaining insight-- “Yeah, wrote this when I was married… and feeling it.” followed by side-eye with a flourish.

Once, waiting in line in the Pound Shop on Portobello Road, a cute young man in the shortest shorts made a beeline for me, with perplexing purpose. I looked behind me, hoping to see whoever he was heading towards, because I often have strangers strike up awkward and unusual conversations with me in public which I then struggle to wriggle out of. Anyways, my guy came straight up to me and said ‘Honey, I love your hair! What do you use? Tell me, tell me, tell me!’ Next thing I know he is talking about his aunty- CHAKA KHAN-- (yes, by now the whole line was paying attention), who lived up the road in Kilburn, with her husband. My new friend’s phone was now out and he was showing photos with his aunty… and by then the whole Poundshop was listening. I was hoping he’d invite me to hangout with his aunty one day but he sped off as suddenly as he appeared!

I believe Chaka’s most hardcore fans are Manila taxi drivers/radio deejays-- I would hear ‘Through the Fire’ at least once a day when I lived there, it seemed, and I never got tired of it. I love Chaka in all her forms: bodacious body Chaka, drummer Chaka, Black Panther Chaka, funk Chaka, soul Chaka. Who could inspire thousands of strangers to sing together so nicely: “Oh oh ooh woah sweet thing… oh oh ooh woah, you’re my everything…..”

Lessons from Chaka: give back to your community, give art your all, do your thing and someone might give you an honorary doctorate

I give thanks to all the phenomenal Black women I know, love and listen to, and special thanks to these ten stars whose songs have lit up my life’s sky.