In Spring 2013 Four Tet put out a track that even before its release was a hit. Therefore the incredibly long title: “The Track I’ve Been Playing That People Keep Asking About And That Joy Used In His RA Mix And Daphni Played On Boiler Room.” With it African music decisively arrived in the heart of club culture. That the sound’s complex rhythms and mesmerizing vocals are a welcome addition to any set wasn’t just made apparent by the whole host of UK bass artists who incorporated the track – the number of imitations and further developments popping up to this day is further proof.
One year earlier Mark Ernestus began his Ndagga releases. The project was created by accident. On a trip to Senegal Mark met local musicians and was inspired by the seriality of the locally popular mbalax sound. The result was a whole series of releases, ending with the 800% Ndagga LP. After his legendary dub discs on Burial Mix, mister pioneer himself now produced African sounds, once again signaling what was to come.
Probably the most notable project dealing with African music is, however, Autonomous Africa. The British label releases yearly EPs with edits, the revenue from which, along with that collected via fundraising events in London and Glasgow, is donated. The connecting link here is Midland. The restless producer grew up in Tanzania, where his parents lead the Mtandika Mission charity organization.
It may seem far-fetched to see this commitment to African music critically; without a doubt it’s done club music good. In contrast is its influence on club culture: it’s equal to nil. So it’s no coincidence that Mark Ernests and Jeri-Jeri played their phenomenal concerts in the now-closed Kreuzberg club Horst before almost exclusively white audiences. Electronic music clubs, especially in central Europe, are still mainly spaces for a distinctly middle class audienceable to afford admission and get past a rigorous door policy. The influences of other cultures are and remain mostly of a musical nature. One can rightfully speak of a hardly reflected exoticism.
To this day a huge opportunity is being missed. Club culture offers itself as a refuge for otherness, love and togetherness. In its enthusiasm for outernational sound it sees itself as open to the world. At the same time it ignores that, to stick with the example, cultures from African countries have long since ceased to be “outside.” African-born musicians and their public live all around us. They’re a part of our society; only in the clubs do they remain outside.
But if there’s already such a huge interest in music from other cultures, why does the club scene act as conservatively as many of the politicians from which it demarcates itself? What was going on six years ago when a wave of Balkan music swept through electronic music, “Trompeta” was the hit of the summer, but the many Balkan immigrants weren’t any more present in the clubs than before? Why is the music that we adapt only heard in takeaway joints and taxis? I don’t understand it.
Instead of just sampling outernational sounds to add dashes of exoticism, wouldn’t it be much more interesting to work together with the musicians from other cultures who live two streets away? This would not only lead to a more authentic encounter with different types of music, but it could also significantly contribute to the softening of the rigid boundaries around club culture. The various cultures would finally encounter one another in the audience and not only just in talk of integration, where assimilation is meant. Only then will club culture achieve the openness that is always spoken of.