THE SCORPIONS & SAIF ABU BAKR
Life-affirming, multicultural grooves from a soon to be brutally divided Sudan
“We are one nation/Sudan is one nation,” sang Kamal Keila on a 1992 song from Habibi Funk’s previous archival release, Muslims And Christians. Given the horrifying internecine conflict that has ravaged his country in the decades since, his words sound hopelessly optimistic. Yet back in the 1960s and ’70s, before Islamic fundamentalism and civil war took hold, Khartoum boasted one of the liveliest music scenes in Africa. Stars of ‘Sudanese jazz’ such as Keila and Sharhabeel Ahmed enhanced a melting pot of local music traditions with the funk and rock styles introduced by various European ex-pat communities, with the sound reaching its apogee on this 1980 recording by The Scorpions.
The Scorpions have a long history dating back to 1965, when bandleader Amir Nasser was inspired to put a band together after meeting Louis Armstrong backstage after a show at Khartoum’s National Theatre. Initially they relied on music shops and schools to loan them instruments, building their own when none were available, drumkits being a rarity in ’60s Sudan. Musicians came and went, but by the end of the ’70s The Scorpions were one of the most popular groups in the country. Through their friendship with Sudanese émigré Saif Abu Bakr, the band made several trips to play hotel and casino residencies in Kuwait, their visas personally waived by the son of the Crown Prince. It was during one of these visits that The Scorpions recorded Jazz, Jazz, Jazz, with Bakr on vocals.
Borne along by a breezy Meters strut, the album is closer to what we would call funk than jazz. Its heady organ thrum draws parallels with the work of Hailu Mergia, from neighbouring Ethiopia, although The Scorpions often favour a peppy, major-key positivity more in keeping with West African styles such as highlife and Afrobeat. Led by their Congolese bassist Osman Zeeto, they even serve up a pretty effective soukous on “Bride Of Afrika”. If you’re looking for a western analogue, perhaps a useful comparison is with Charles Wright & The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band, the irresistibly catchy “Forssa Saeeda” functioning as The Scorpions’ very own “Express Yourself”.
When Bakr enters the fray on the third track, his Arabian vocal stylings add a different flavour again. Yet Nasser is the clearly the band’s fulcrum. Playing saxophone here (he was also adept at clarinet, trumpet and flute), he punches out memorable riffs in tandem with the slightly giddy trumpeter or improvises leads that are inventive but never showy, always complementing the groove.
Although Nasser continued to perform, The Scorpions – and the notion of multicultural good vibes they represented – dissolved in 1983, around the time sharia law was declared. The master tapes remained with Bakr in Kuwait until war reached his country too, and he was forced to abandon them when fleeing the Iraqi invasion of 1991.
This reissue is sourced from a copy of the original vinyl, but still sounds satisfyingly bright and involving. Apparently, it has prompted Bakr to reconnect with his former bandmates, with plans to tour and possibly even record new material. There haven’t been too many stories of hope emerging from Sudan recently, but this may be one.