TIME WITH AN AFRICAN MUSIC ICON

Mbilia Bel and the all-consuming power of Congolese rumba

They are gone now but during the 70s and 80s, Africa’s two great dance music masters, Franco and Tabu Ley Rochereau were in a friendly rivalry (sometimes strained) for the title of best Congolese artist. Franco, the child guitar prodigy, whose band defined the rumba Congolese sound with his band OK Jazz, came first; Rochereau, whose sweet tenor was honed in choirs, favoured a softer more international sound.

By the early 80s, the two stars were fronting huge orchestras that toured the continent, and increasingly Europe. While Franco added more guitars and a bevy of singers to supplement his singing and guitar pyrotechnics, Rochereau brought in young musicians, expanded his brass section and added both Caribbean rhythms and features from US soul music. You could argue that Rochereau was the one to internationalise the Congolese dance music but at the same time you’d have to admit that the young generation, led by Zaiko Langa Langa, was already doing that with their stripped-down, brass-less, smaller combo sound.

Both stars must have felt that the pressure was on. Rochereau was keen to find a singer or singers to perform his sultry songs (some reports suggest he wrote up to a thousand songs) and in early 1981 while watching a talent show on television he found what he was looking for: Mbilia Mboyo. She was hidden away with the backing vocalists; fronting another star, Abeti Masekini. Quite what he saw we will never know, but he sent for her and signed her to his band, Afrisa International, without hesitation. It was the start of a golden period for Rochereau and Afrisa International.

You have to understand that in Kinshasa at the time, you had to take sides. One of my Congolese friends told me that the men often went for Franco (the guitar sorcerer) while the women preferred Rochereau (the sweet voice). Outside the Congo, both men were giants; their music played across the continent at parties and on the airwaves.

But back to the story of how a young African woman went from backing singer to the most recognisable African female singer on the continent.

Bel left school at 17 to pursue a career in music. She was hired almost immediately by Abeti and joined her Tigresses backing unit. She stayed with Abeti for four years before joining Sam Mangwana (a rarity in Congolese music as he was able to perform without any problem for both Franco and Rochereau) briefly.

Rochereau quickly realised he had a real star on his hands. He renamed her Mbilia Bel and slowly introduced her to audiences who quickly took to her swinging voice, which perfectly counterpointed Rochereau’s own sweet tenor. But there was more. In the old style Congolese rumba played by Franco and Rocheareau there is a slow lilting introduction, followed by a faster section (often driven by banks of guitars and brass) called the sebene during which the female chorus line would often hitch up their skirts and “get on down”. Bel was so good at this she would cause a crush at the front of the stage. I saw Rochereau just once in 1989, after Bel had just left, and his new protégé Tessa Faye performed in the same way and it brought the house down in the London venue they were performing. It was unforgettable.

He set to work recording songs for Bel on his Genidia label and in 1983 she released her first full album, Eswi Yo Wapi, which sold like wildfire and garnered all the music awards available in Kinshasa that year. Rochereau’s popularity and that of his band skyrocketed and wherever Bel appeared audiences would collapse into delirious madness.

Interestingly, she was popular with women and her songs often addressed issues related to inequality; the song title Eswi Yo Wapi, for example means “Where did it bite you?”, which was taken to mean “You got what you deserved”.

At the end of 1983, Rochereau and Bel married. Partners now in life and music, the duo went on to record arguably their best music until she left and move to Paris in 1987. Rochereau never wrote songs of the same class again and Bel’s career never touched the heights of her period with him.

Bel has been with me for a few weeks now. I’ve been listening to the tracks she recorded on the Genidia label on the wonderful double CD compilation, M’Bilia Bel – Bel Canto: Best Of The Genidia Years, Congo Classics 1982-1987 (Sterns Music, UK). I also dusted off some of the Bel vinyl albums I have in my collection to play at my DJ night on Valentine’s Day. When I played Eswi Yo Wapi a young lady came over to the decks and asked me if this was another Congolese song (I had warned her about the infectious power of Congolese music already) to which I nodded. “It’s great, isn’t it?” she said, spinning around with a big smile on her lips. It sure is.