The Forensic Ear

I woke up for my 9 AM class on Wednesday slightly dazed, with a dull headache, and a smile on my face. It felt like I had woken up from a fantastical dream filled with freestyle rhymes, art filling the space in every corner and between every soundwave, headphones, and stimulating, eye-opening conversation. It took a few minutes, and a cup of coffee to realize that I had instead woken up from a night that took place in reality, not the dreamworld, that included all of those things and more.

As I have previously mentioned I have been spending a lot of my time jamming with Pat - an intelligent, creative, laid back, and hilarious middle-aged social worker/musician/full-time hippy. He has been here for the past three months finishing up his practicum for his masters in social work. It is also worth mentioning that the Pat that Ilana, Daniel and I have been enjoying is only a recent manifestation of a Pat who spent years married and designing "bad-ass garbage disposal trucks" in a period he refers to as 'Hell.' In the past few months, starting with a chance conversation on the streets of Gabs, Pat has been writing, jamming, and recording with a group of Batswana artists (in every sense of the word). For the past week or so, since Daniel, Ilana and I have been hanging out with Pat, he's been talking about this group of people incessantly and how bringing us and them together was a dire necessity that would inevitably result in magic. Well Tuesday night it happened and, sure enough, there were sparks, flame, and other incendiary explosions of magic for hours and hours.

Every other Tuesday at a quaint restaurant/bar at the Main Mall called Kwest there is an open mic poetry night. While we weren't sure whether that night was the on-night or the off-night we decided to arrange a visit anyway, with hopes that Pat and I could press out some tunes at the open mic. It turned out to be the off-night for 'Kwest Poetry Night,' but was surely not an off night in the traditional sense of the word. The guys, including the two main MCs of the group, Kwayze (sp?) and Shorty, came to pick us up at the Graduate Village and we made our way in the two cars to the restaurant. Short introductions were given and then everyone launched into a sudden frenzy of art and idea sharing; Daniel showing photos, Ngozi (girl who is part of the band/group/whatever you want to call it) displaying some flawless pencil-work, and some profound discussions on music between Pat, Kwayze and myself. After a couple of drinks and a 'North African Salad' we realized, as we heard the torturous sounds of 70's new-wave synth-pop coming from the inside of the restaurant, that poetry night was not on. That wasn't going to stop us though and Pat and I, with Daniel on his trusty mouth organ, set up in the corner of the balcony and launched into some blues. It was great to have the attention of such a creative, artistic, imaginative crowd and it really shone through in our next song. We played one of Pat's originals, a song that he wrote during his stay here in Botswana called "Give It A Try," with Ngozi supporting him on vocals with some beautiful harmonies. Towards the end of the track there's a slow, hauntingly melancholy riff that Pat plays on repeat ad nauseum. At about the fifth time around the loop one of the guys began to speak in a style somewhere between spoken word poetry and rap. As the words ran into eachother, slipping and sliding between the breaths and spaces, I got that all too unfamiliar feeling of synchronization where something I'm playing just fits like one hand in another. As one voice faded out another came in, as Kwayze stepped in adding his own poetic flair, and then Kago (more on him later) ended things as Pat and I slowly faded into silence, my palms slapping the drumskin slowly becoming fingers barely touching it. And then the bartender interrupted with "can I get anyone else drinks or are you guys good?" Ngozi summed up the feeling pretty well: "Back to reality!"

I would have been happy if the night had ended there and would have gone to sleep a different person than the one I woke up as, but the night was only going to get better. When the bill had been worked out we headed to Mex's studio, the place where the group plus Pat has been recording. The ride was fairly uneventful... No, the ride was highly eventful. You see, I was sitting next to the aforementioned Kago.

I could go into great detail about Kago, his situation, and the effect he and the circumstances had on me, but I will only skim the surface as I don't think I am comfortable with, or qualified to really dive into the depths. Kago is a friend of the musicians and was at the restaurant and so was invited to join them at the studio. I know what its like, and how "the studio" usually is more of a social venue than a musical one. What we found out later in the night was that Kago and his girlfriend, Marsha, had a child about a year ago who passed away three weeks ago. Until the point that I learned of this, Kago just seemed like a beligerent drunk. He talked a lot and a lot of nonsense for the entire car ride to the studio, only interrupted by me nodding my head in mock agreement or Pat letting out an exasperated "Jeeeesus..." At the studio, it continued but when I found out what had happened I was taken aback and understood. Then I saw the way that the other guys and especially Ngozi was treating him and I was utterly touched and even realized some of my own shortcomings. Here was a guy who was being nothing short of obnoxious. Talking loudly and yelling when Mex was trying to record something, asking silly questions, and generally being a nuisance to the entire group. Yet I never saw anyone lose their temper (except maybe Kwayze, but it was done in a quasi-jesting manner). Again and again I'd see Ngozi telling Kago as he self deprecated himself, "you are a beautiful person. We all know you are such a beautiful person and that's why we love you so much." I've never seen such beauty and pure amistad in people. They were entirely selfless as they would delay recording a song to talk to him, reassure him despite his incessant interruptions. I won't elaborate further on what it was like to see all of this or to hear Marsha talking about the death of her baby, as I don't think I am fit to fully portray it.

We arrived at the studio, and walked through an entrance of the house into what used to be a garage but was now a fully (or at least close to fully) equipped studio. A few guitars in the corner, an old but fully functional drumset, the familiar sight of tangled cords and speakers framing the magic box of the computer. It felt amazing to be in a studio again, as it has been over two years since I was in Studio 267 in Jakarta with Mercy Beat. Mex, the producer/sound engineer/guru walked in looking as if he had just woken up scooping strawberry yogurt into his mouth as he booted the computer. First thing we did was listen to some of the stuff the group has been recording with Pat and I was left, to use a word that fascinates me, - flabbergasted. I've never heard stuff like this. Intricate, hard hitting hip hop riffs with rhymes by Kwayze and Shorty flipping and spinning over them, backed with the acoustic guitar riffs and soothing voice of Pat sprinkled into the mix like ginger in squash soup. The material they are creating, the recipes they are concocting, are completely new and immediately I was so grateful to be able to hear it from the artists themselves. And then I became a part of it.

The recording of Pat's song that I already mentioned, "Give It A Try," with Ngozi was the agenda for that night at the studio. After a round-table meeting, sans table, where every member of the group gave their two thebe on how they think the song should sound, I was suddenly in the curtained make-shift sound booth, my ears hugged by headphones rolling away on my doumbek along with Pat - recording. I was recording. On an album. In Botswana. With amazing people. I know I have talked about how I haven't quite come to terms with the fact that I'm really here right now - in Botswana. But at that moment, I wasn't really anywhere. I was ecstatic, completely in my element, feeling the music - not only playing it. I could almost feel the soundwaves entering my blood stream, reverberating through veins and arteries, and as I tried to get my bearings and say to myself - "you are recording in Botswana, right now," I couldn't stop smiling. After the first take, when I peaked around the curtain to see Ilana and Daniel absorbed in their notebooks, I could tell they were having similar feelings by the (here I go again) flabbergasted expression on their faces. It wasn't over. I realized I was sitting on another drum (seating at the studio was scarce), a "homemade djembe" as Mex called it, and minutes later I was recording a second, different drum track over the first. And then a third with another drum. And then the moment I had been waiting for. Three months without a drumset is to a drummer what three months without a drink is to an alcoholic. I was ITCHING to play. So when Mex suggested we could record a subtle drumset track over the other drums, despite me saying it didn't quite fit with the song at first, I immediately jumped onto the djembe and sat behind the kit. It was refreshing working with Mex. The way he approached the recording process was like nothing I've experienced. He really was a producer, not just an unenthusiastic sound engineer being paid by the hour. Every step of the way, as he made no efforts to hide his excitement that he was finally able to record some drums, he was asking me my opinion. "What do you think about the mics here? I'm thinking maybe you should do something like this, but I don't really know, what do you think? Is this okay? Is that okay? What do you think about starting the drums here? Sha'p, sha'p." Once again as I started playing the drums, despite a few takes of working out the rust in my joints, I was transported somewhere else and returned to Earth just in time to realize, again, that I was recording. On an album. In Botswana. With amazing people.

The recording continued, with more breaks than recording sessions as is the usual studio environment, and it wasn't until about 3 in the morning that we realized we really needed to head home if we wanted to make it to class the next morning. I wish I was a better writer, as maybe talent and skill are necessary to portray something like this. I, sure as hell, am not doing it justice. Not only did I get to record music with some inspired and inspiring Batswana artists but I saw what it is like to be part of something totally new. The word 'underground' makes it sound like something stationary and hiding. What these people are part of isn't the underground, it's a movement. They all believe in Art, they all believe in themselves. They believe in good conversation, good friendships, creation and creativity. At one point Kwayze began talking about what he calls "the forensic ear;" the ability to hear something and dismantle it simultaneously. Listen for the parts that blow the mind, and the parts that underwhelm, figure out how to improve it. Dissect and rebuild, shatter and sculpt, simultaneously tear down the art around you while taking the shards and building something new and brilliant. I look forward to the many nights at the studio I hope to spend with Daniel, Ilana, Mex, Kwayze, Shorty, Ngozi and the rest bringing all of our worldviews, experiences, and creativity together to shape and construct the brand new. Pat leaves in a little over ten days and we are going to miss him very very much, but I'm forever indebted to him for introducing me to these young artists who are building a brand new edifice of art, music and ideas that should and will shine over Botswana and the world.