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ALBUM REVIEW

Tchiss Lopes: Ja Bo Corre D’Mim — Cape Verdean songs of loss, longing, and dreams

Tchiss Lopes’s Ja Bo Corre D’Mim is a buoyant slice of dance music
Tchiss Lopes’s Ja Bo Corre D’Mim is a buoyant slice of dance music

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★★★★☆
It’s the women who have tended to be the figureheads: ask most people to name an artist from Cape Verde and the answer is certain to be Cesaria Evora, followed by younger singers such as Lura or Mayra Andrade, two artists who have built a solid following over here. More recently, the exuberant Elida Almeida has emerged as the latest protégée of Evora’s producer, Jose da Silva.

Male artists have been less prominent. In Britain we’ve had only rare glimpses of artists as talented as Tito Paris. (I was lucky enough to see him sing at his own restaurant-cum-club in the Belem district of Lisbon when I travelled to the city many moons ago to interview Lura, who performed an impromptu song in front of his clientele.)

Tchiss Lopes is an even less familiar name. This album first surfaced in 1984, and since then has been something of a vinyl collector’s item. It has now been reissued by a new, Milan-based label, Arabusta, which plans to concentrate on unearthing neglected material. Sharp-eyed music lovers may have noticed Lopes’s name on a recent Analog Africa compilation, given the eccentric title Space Echo: The Mystery Behind the Cosmic Sound of Cabo Verde Finally Revealed!. If that makes the singer-guitarist sound like some west African version of Sun Ra, it’s because Lopes was actually one of a cohort of musicians who fused traditional Cape Verdean rhythms with various sorts of electronica. Like many an islander, he took his chances elsewhere, embarking on a new life in Rome and working on a cargo ship. (There are far more Cape Verdeans scattered around the globe than there are in the archipelago itself.)

Ja Bo Corre D’Mim is a buoyant slice of dance music, which, unlike many a recording from the glitzy 1980s, hardly sounds dated at all. The irrepressible funana beat provides the foundation, but Lopes also indulges his love of reggae, foreshadowing the genre-crossing recordings of that restless Brazilian singer known simply as Céu. There’s a bluesy ballad too that wouldn’t sound out of place on an AOR station. The lyrics, as in so many Cape Verdean songs, speak of longing, loss and thwarted dreams. Most of the music, though, fizzes with life and passion. (Arabusta Records)