When life gets chaotic, having a few favourite bands to turn back to is like a river finding its course in a cozy groove around the mountain. It’s also quite easy to plateau. Whenever I feel like there is nothing new to listen to, I turn to trusty ol’ Song Exploder, the podcast where “musicians take apart their songs and, piece by piece, tell the story of how they were made”. Hosted by Hrishikesh Hirway, it’s been my gateway to artists such as Kimbra, Sampha and Noah Kahan, as well as offering wonderful behind-the-scenes stories from the likes of Hozier, Hans Zimmer and Rick Astley.
By the end of the 20 minute episode on the song Let Me Be Great, I’d found and booked a ticket to see Sampa The Great live. It was that quick. I’d never heard a voice like hers before. I had to hear it in person.
On the day, I got there early and snagged a spot on the rail. The freshly-refurbished Koko in Camden slowly filled up with incredibly well dressed people of all skin colours, golden earrings and headscarves shimmering under the disco ball lights. My right-hand neighbour draped a Zambian flag over the rail and, in a flash, I understood - I had stepped into a community completely new to me.
Opening was Denise Chaila, a phenomenal Zambian-Irish rapper, who both hyped up and educated the crowd with lyrics speaking to the experience of the Black Irish community (“this is what Irish has always also looked like”) and her own efforts as a woman in the rap world (“Don't talk about female rap / Like I'm extra in the scene”). As an immigrant with a bewildering name for English speakers to pronounce (please y’all, you can get past the X in Ruxandra, it won’t bite), I particularly loved the song Chaila.
“It's not Chillay, it's not Chilala / Not a hard pill to swalla / Chai-li or Chalia / Chia, Chilla, Dilla / that's not my name / Say my name”
Preach it, queen.
Then on stage came Sampa and her incredible band, as well as her sister Mwanje and fellow vocalist Niasha (who sang both backup and solos through the night). With interspersed choreographed moments (performed by Cori D Lionne and Grace Amelia and devised by Ramario Chevoy), the show kicked off with Bona and a cameo appearance from Kojey Radical for IDGAF and started a party that wouldn’t slow down for the next hour.
Sampa Tembo cut her teeth on the Australian rap scene and carved a new space for herself and artists wanting to write music like her. Combining traditional bars with traditional singing techniques and Zambian rock (Zamrock), her songs ebb and flow between spiritual and downright badass.
Music creates community - we’re all there swaying to the same rhythm, jumping in time. But there was one aspect I’d not anticipated: some songs I couldn’t sing along to. Take the opening bars of Never Forget.
Who took fabric / Made that shit classic / That shit ain’t average / We did / Never Forget
Who did music / Made that shit language / African branded / We did / Never Forget
Who took movement / Spirit included / Made it a Movement / We did / Never Forget
I, as a music lover and dedicated concert-goer, knew the words and wanted to join in. But I, as a white woman from a predominantly white country, can’t use that communal “we”. There was a separation between myself as a label (white) and myself as a face in the crowd (vibing) - a sudden extra awareness that, in a shared space, your internal life and reasoning and sprawling tree of meanings remain unseen, while all things visible become political, as in debatable, as in easy to generalise, as in you are not really there just as yourself anymore. It’s a very privileged take that I’ve never had to think too hard about myself as a category before, so it was a valuable experience to participate in a space that was not created for me, but in which I was welcome.
The mental switch was quick: the song started on stage and I just sang out “you did”.
Because welcomed we were - to a huge dance party (Tilibobo), to stories of growing up and finding new depths to who you are (Shadows), to songs written for the little black girl who didn’t have many heroes who looked like her (Black Girl Magik). There was so much light and charisma in her stage presence, Sampa sharing snippets of life on tour, how her sister teased her when the legendary Angelique Kidjo reached out to work on a track together (the first song mentioned, Let Me Be Great), the vocalists, dancers and choreographers all coming together into a big dance circle to the crowd’s delight.
By the encore and arguably the fan favourite, Final Form, with its lyrics “Great state I'm in / In all states I'm in / I might final form / In my melanin“, she had the audience proudly and enthusiastically jumping in her palm. We had come there to bear witness to talent and years of hard work paying off, to bear witness to the first Zambian act to break through the mainstream - “this doesn’t happen”.
We were there to see it happen.
Sampa the Great has just finished her Europe festival run, so keep an eye out for announcements, as she has teased a new album throughout the summer @sampa_the_great