‘In 1978, SA guitar genius Tabane stood at a crossroads. Fresh from three years’ touring in the United States, where he graced the Newport Jazz Festival alongside Miles, Herbie, Pharoah and co, and with a newly signed international distribution deal, he harnessed this momentum to a new, larger band setting, capturing a rare intensity.
‘Sangoma — ‘spiritual healer — bridges contradictions: expansive yet intimate, celebratory yet haunted by exile and return. Tracks like Sangoma, Hi Congo and Keya Bereka are not simply recordings but living testaments, songs that would remain in Tabane’s repertoire for decades. Unlike the moody, immersive character of much of his work, here Tabane is on the move — urgent, restless, uncontainable. ‘Maskanta wa tsamaya’, ‘ass-kicking’.
‘More than four decades on, Sangoma is both an historical document and a timeless invocation. A landmark in SA musical history. From his home in Mamelodi to the world and back again, Tabane’s spiritual healing endures — raw, electric, and unbowed.’

‘Malombo music is an indigenous kind of music,’ says Lucky Ranku. ‘If you listen to it, you can feel that it can heal you, if you’ve got something wrong. It’s healing music.’
Lucky was one of the greatest African guitarists of his generation. The deep and hypnotic Down Lucky’s Way was the Jazz Makers’ third album. Recorded in 1969, it was the first to feature additional instruments, and the first to feature Abbey Cindi on soprano saxophone as well as flute. But more than anything else, Down Lucky’s Way is a transfixing showcase for Lucky Ranku’s sui generis guitar virtuosity.
Quite different from their previous recordings, the album shifted the Jazz Makers’ sound toward mesmerising, extended compositions, layered by organ bass and guitar overdubs. Of all the Malombo Jazz Makers recordings, Down Lucky’s Way is the deepest of mood, and the richest of vision.
The most rare, too: it may not ever have been properly issued. Original copies are outrageously scarce — only a few are known among collectors. Prior to this reissue, Lucky was unaware it had ever been released, and had never seen a copy.

Recorded a year after the debut, continuing the earthy flow of Malombo’s music. The two albums have since been recognised as unique landmarks of South African jazz. Alongside full original artwork, both albums feature a new interview with Julian Bahula.

Another expert compilation, featuring some of his early English recordings — like Run A Way (nice try) and Flower Of Love — alongside smashes like Sari Çizmeli Mehmet Aga and Aynali Kemer, with a sprinkling of instrumental gems from his 70s concept albums.

Scintillating East African dance music, from seventies Nairobi. The band’s name mangles ‘marquez le pas’, meaning ‘mark time’: sure enough, the beat is irresistible.

Sublimely convulsive Shangaan electro-gospel by a pastor from Giyani, Limpopo, recorded in 2008, brimming with aching, plaintive, mournful spirituality. However fractured, multi-faceted and fresh the music comes across — that signature whistle and sampled marimba, a little wonky high-life, rough, skittering drum patterns, no bass — the surging vocal lines and harmonies are unmistakably rooted in traditional South African music.

The business — pure, heavy, deep Afro Cuban funk grooves. 1970s bass-driven percussion delirium. Lazaro Pla aka Manteca alongside Nelson ‘El Flaco’ Pardon on timbales and Carlos Potato Valdes on congas.

Ace Brazilian funk from 1977, with a flagrant dose of the Herbies.

A stunning new production by the Rhythm And Sound ace, drawn from his recording sessions with a griot clan of Sabar drummers from Kaolack, led by Bakane Seck, with guest players and vocalists.

A next-level three-tracker, intense and roiling, featuring a mesmeric six-minute instrumental, with Thierno Sarr grooving out on the top string of his bass, adding an elusive Manding flavour to the deep Mbalax mix.

A traditional Jola rhythm, with tuned, talking and kit drums swarming across scraps of guitar and the Mboups singing; then a more deeply dug-in, spaced-out funk, spun from a Serer rhythm. With full instrumentals.

Rock-steady, slow-burning, hard funk, a kind of fatback Mbalax, in no mood to be messed with, with full vocal and instrumental versions; plus two vivid sketches, talking drums to the fore.

A rolling, resplendent tribute to griot life — ‘gawlo’, Fula for ‘griot’ — spear-headed by none other than Baaba Maal. Expressive interjections by a trio of talking drums are especially lucid on the instrumental.

Consummate Berlin dub science by the maestro.
Beautifully textured, shuffling Lagos funk, on home-made percussion… militant horns… and a walloping, filthy-stinking kick-drum like the bucking, hairy hind-most of the Devil himself.
The Dub is Warrior Charge, 2016.
What a record. Bim squared.

Three killers heralding the latest phase of this dazzling expression of a dream Dakar-Berlin nexus. All instrumental — though the opener has snatches of singing — with the vocal versions held back for the album.
The music just gets deadlier and deadlier — harder-boiled and deeper; more focussed, confident and dubwise.
Evoking the ancient cultural legacy of the griots, ‘Walo Walo’ is also the name of the sabar rhythm underlying the opener, which features Ibou Mbaye’s percussive synth-work, Mangone Ndiaye Dieng’s kit-drumming, and Bada Seck’s rigorous jolts of lower-pitched Thiol drum. The ‘Groove’ version is tough as nails; well and truly gnarly.
A tribute to the Baye Fall leader, Ndiguel Groove is a sparse, mellow interpretation of the most traditional cut on the album, showcasing Assane Ndoye Cisse’s insinuating guitar lines, Laye Lo’s super-elasticated snare-drumming, and Bada Seck playing the khine drums associated with the Baye Fall. (Short and wide; lightweight but low-pitched.)
Pretty awesome.

Five years into the project, Yermande announced a thrilling new phase for this Dakar-Berlin collaboration; a giant step forward.
The group of players was boiled down to twelve for recordings, eight for shows; sessions in Dakar become steeply more focussed. ‘This time around I was better able to specify what I wanted right from the initial recording sessions in Dakar,’ says Ernestus; ‘and further in the production process I took more freedom in reducing and editing audio tracks, changing MIDI data, replacing synth sounds and introducing electronic drum samples.’
Right away you hear music-making which has come startlingly into its own. Rather than submitting to the routine, discrete gradations of recording, producing and mixing, the music is tangibly permeated with deadly intent from the off. Lethally it plays a coiled, clipped, percussive venom and thumping bass against the soaring, open-throated spirituality of Mbene Seck’s singing. Plainly expert, drilled and rooted, the drumming is unpredictable, exclamatory, zinging with life. Likewise the production: intuitive and fresh but utterly attentive; limber but hefty; vividly sculpted against a backdrop of cavernous silence.
Six chunks of stunning, next-level mbalax, then, funky as anything.

Whoa this record is totally killer.
Intensely concentrated, but with a fresh spontaneity; super-charged with expressivity.
The singing is riveting, diva-esque; the mbalax rhythms are dazzling.
At every turn there are sensational, thrilling injections of Basic Channel and Rhythm & Sound.
Hotly recommended; it’s a must.

Khadim is a stunning reconfiguration of the Ndagga Rhythm Force sound. The instrumentation is radically pared down. The guitar is gone; the concatenation of sabars; the drum-kit. Each of the four tracks hones in on just one or two drummers; otherwise the sole recorded element is the singing; everything else is programmed. Synths are dialogically locked into the drumming. Tellingly, Ernestus has reached for his beloved Prophet-5, a signature go-to since Basic Channel days, thirty years ago. Texturally, the sound is more dubwise; prickling with effects. There is a new spaciousness, announced at the start by the ambient sounds of Dakar street-life. At the microphone, Mbene Diatta Seck revels in this new openness: mbalax diva, she feelingly turns each of the four songs into a discrete dramatic episode, using different sets of rhetorical techniques. The music throughout is taut, grooving, complex, like before; but more volatile, intuitive and reaching, with turbulent emotional and spiritual expressivity.
Not that Khadim represents any kind of break. Its transformativeness is rooted in the hundreds upon hundreds of hours the Rhythm Force has played together. Nearly a decade has passed since Yermande, the unit’s previous album. Every year throughout that period — barring lockdowns — the group has toured extensively, in Europe, the US, and Japan. With improvisation at the core of its music-making, each performance has been evolutionary, as it turns out heading towards Khadim. “I didn’t want to simply continue with the same formula,” says Ernestus. “I preferred to wait for a new approach. Playing live so many times, I wanted to capture some of the energy and freedom of those performances.” Though several members of the touring ensemble sit out this recording — sabar drummers, kit-drummer, synth-player — their presence abides in the structure and swing of the music here…

‘Heady, raw, druggy songs of love, dread, hardship, and yearning, recorded in Athens between 1932 and 1936, when Markos was already a master of the bouzouki. His forceful, clean playing compliments his hoarse voice and his stunning rhythmic sensibility, the result of his years as a champion zebekiko dancer. Tracks build and spiral outward, his open-note drones and melodic lines drawing calls of ecstasy and encouragement from his fellow musicians. These recordings mark the height of rebetika, the brief period between the music’s emergence on the recording scene in the early 1930s and government censorship of all lyrics starting in 1936. During the Axis occupation there was no rebetika recording, and though Markos had some hits in the years after the war, he never again attained this level. These are the dizzying, entrancing, and heaviest works of one of the great artists of the 20th century.’