23 f Distorting: The Facts
The roughly amplified sound of Congo’s Konono No 1 is raucous, gritty and they don’t make any concessions. But when you’re ready for them, they’ll blow you away, finds Jamie Renton. Photos: Judith Burrows
I
don’t want to be here. It’s hot, loud, dark and crowded. There are people on stage plucking and hitting things, all put through cheap dis- torted amplifiers. They’ve been bashing out the same set of notes for what seems like a very long time (but my watch tells me is only a few min- utes); it’s somewhere between a rhythm and a riff and is starting to seriously get on my nerves. Last time I was here, at the Scala in King’s Cross, some 20 odd years ago, the place was a rep cinema and I’d gone for an evening of relent- lessly gory low-budget horror films. Tonight is relentless in a different (and, so far, less entertaining) way. Those same damn notes, over and over again.
The next thing I know, more than an hour has elapsed and I’m not sure where the time’s gone. The musicians, Congo’s urban traditionalists Konono No 1, are still pumping out something close to those same few notes, but the music has somehow found its way inside me. I’m moving, dancing, how long for I couldn’t say, but I feel loose and relaxed. Have I been in a trance? Am I still in one? I’m becoming aware of subtle changes in the sound: an ebb and flow, a building of intensity. And no, I haven’t taken any stimulants in order to feel this way (unless you count a plastic glass of over- priced beer), it’s the music that’s giving me this mind-altering experience.
I didn’t even want to write this fea- ture. When the Editor suggested it, I declined because, on the evidence of their first two albums (Congotronics Vol 1 [2005] and Live At Couleur Café [2007], both on Crammed Discs), I thought of Konono as the makers of a unique sound in search of somewhere to go. Here they are, veterans from Congo, bashing the hell out of likembes (what we ignoramuses in the West sometimes refer to as ‘thumb pianos’) and various bits of makeshift per- cussion, all shoved through their distorted amps. It’s just the kind of thing the more arty end of the rock fraternity get excited about, but it always sounded brutal and repetitive to me. Hot music that left me cold. A brief performance I witnessed at the Awards For World Music 2006 concert didn’t help matters. Their bashing and plucking echoed round the Brixton Acade- my’s cavernous hall. Of course, post Scala trancefest, I realise the problem was prob- ably the set’s brevity. Give those Kononos enough time and their sound will seep into your bones.
The Editor said he more or less agreed with me, but I should try their new album Assume Crash Position (Crammed Discs, 2010), as it benefited from better produc- tion and a fuller sound, with bass and gui- tar added to the bashing, plucking and chanting. Well blow me if he wasn’t right. This is the first album of theirs that I like as much as I hoped I would and thought I ought to; which is how come I’m giving up my Sunday evening to jostle with the crowd at the Scala (a younger, hipper crowd than you usually get at worldy gigs) and how come I think I’ve finally really got Konono No 1.
T
The following evening, fired up with the enthusiasm of the newly converted and hoping to find some kind of explana- tion for what happened at the Scala the night before, I’m sitting in the bar of a City hotel, waiting to meet a Konono. The band have come over from Kinshasa to play a few gigs: as well as the Scala show they’ve appeared at an ‘extreme noise’ double header with Syria’s Omar Souley- man in Bristol and made an appearance at the All Tomorrow’s Parties festival in Mine- head curated by Simpsons creator Matt Groening. He’s not the only sleb fan: Her- bie Hancock, Björk and Dutch noiseniks The Ex have all invited the Kononos to per- form or record with them, and Beck and Radiohead’s Thom Yorke are amongst those who’ve sung their praises. But as I discover, when talking to Augustin of the band (son of the group’s founder Mingie- di), their distorted trance sound was born of necessity, rather than any desire to appear achingly cool.
he interview turns out to be a strange one, as it involves two translators: I ask my questions in English to Nicole Artingstall, who’s been hired specially to
translate them into French, then Crammed’s Aharon Matondo translates from French to Lingala for the benefit of Augustin, who then answers through the two interpreters. It’s an arduous process, one that makes me think hard about each question I ask. But it isn’t the first time I’ve had to conduct an interview in this way. Back in 2001, I encountered Tinariwen backstage at the South Bank, prior to their first UK appearance and interviewed them through two inter- preters (it was English to French to Tamashek that time round); which is fit- ting, as I can see real similarities between the two groups. Both play basic trance music, possess a colourful back
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