Morikeba Kouyate and his Kora

When I first saw Morikeba Kouyate in the hallway with his instrument strapped to his back, my attention was caught by the shape and the size of his instrument, the Kora.
I had never seen a Kora before, but being a fan of Mory Kante, I knew what the instrument sounded like, and was looking forward to the his performance.

While waiting in what served as a green-room, Morikeba seemed relaxed, smiling to everyone, and critically considering all those who would make a little stop, a hesitation, when they came across that weirdly-shaped, flashy-colored case on the floor; the case of a Kora.

To my disappointment, Morikeba was dressed in a Western way: white denim pants, black leather jacket. Nothing compared to the beautiful Senegalese outfit he usually wears during his performances. To my surprise, when he took his jacket off, Morikeba was wearing a Chinese shirt…yes, Chinese…not exactly what you would expect a Senegalese Kora player to wear. But, well, this is Chicago, and cross-cultural blending happens in a way that sometimes goes beyond logical understanding and explanation.

When Morikeba took his place in a rather uncomfortable chair for the performance, one could notice how his attitude shifted from a relaxed one to a focused, concentrated posture. The transformation was very noticeable and fascinating. In a split second, more precisely the moment he started plucking his instrument’s strings, Morikeba’s entire attention turned to the sounds he was producing. He and his Kora became one. He first started by tuning his instrument, complaining--just like any other musician living in Chicago--about the weather. It was interesting to see how his tuning technique was based on the use of harmonic fourths and fifths. For someone who never attended a music school, the process was quite remarkable.

Then came the music. And with the first notes came my first thoughts, images, and analogies. The music had a flow similar to the one of pouring water….water pouring from an irregular source…a continuous flow that lasts for a few seconds, and then BAM!!!…an interruption...an abrupt interruption, a sudden ending, one that--in so many ways--is unexpected to my ears, trained to Arabic and Turkish music; a music where endings are highly anticipated and prepared for delivery.

Morikeba’s technique of playing involved the plucking of the 21 strings with both thumbs. The technique he showed is the most-used one, although he mentioned that some Korists (Kora players) experiment with the use of more fingers, apparently in a way similar to the harpist’s. At a certain point, Morikeba started flicking the sound board with one of his fingers while playing, which added a nice percussive sound to the song. Although the beat was regular, his downbeats were not. In a phrasing based on a quadruple meter, Morikeba would emphasize beats 1, 2, and 3; leaving the 4th beat empty.

In-between each of the pieces he played, Morikeba gave a very informative presentation about every single aspect of his music: the songs he was singing, the instrument he was using, the meaning of this music to him, the implication of this music to Senegalese society… The music, according to Morikeba, is deeply rooted in his family tradition. In Senegal, if you were born into a family of musicians, you would have little choice but to become one yourself. Morikeba used some pretty powerful words to describe the situation: “disgraceful” and “shame” were both uttered twice in his presentation.

I was also surprised to hear him describe the first song he sang. It was a song dedicated to mothers; a song that singers sing to their mothers in order to get something from them. In what I thought was a patriarchal society, the idea of mothers being the decision-makers in a household was quite astonishing.

Finally, Morikeba described how, in Senegal, songs are written in praise of other people. The process is worthy-of-note. A person is remembered after her death by the lyrics of the songs written for her; and the lyricists are guardians of those lyrics and are responsible of transmitting them from one generation to another.