Tcheka shines in the Big Apple

By Jayant Kairam Ex-Peace Corps Volunteer in CV & FORCV Correspondent in New York

NEW YORK July 3, 2007: “Nu Bai! Tchabeta!” It is a rallying cry to the audience. The singer pauses, flashes the same mischievous smile he’s been wearing all night, and launches into a flurry of Cape Verdean Kriolu. His claustrophobic vocal soloing, an homage to rural Cape Verdean oral poetry, is punctuated with the rhetorical refrain “Kuze n’ta fazi?”(What can I do?). The band starts up a traditional batuque beat as the singer’s monologue bleeds into the warming rhythm. Suddenly, the build-up drops out. Tcheka, the singer, returns to the microphone and challenges the crowd again, “Nu Bai! (Let’s Go) Tchabeta!” before releasing another round of mesmerizing wordplay.

On an unseasonably cool July 3rd evening, Tcheka, who is opening for Cesaria Evora on her US concert hall tour, arrived at S.O.B.’s for his first headlining show in New York, and performed as part of a news series at the club that spotlights Cape Verdean music. Tcheka is the latest in a growing list of young, upstart Cape Verdean musicians sweeping that nation’s renowned music scene with their innovative, free-for-all approach to traditional music. Along with contemporaries like Lura and Ferro Gaita, this new generation is striking a chord among world music aficionados and the Cape Verdean diaspora. Opposed to Lura’s distinctive pop sensibility or Ferro Gaita’s raucous preservationism, Tcheka is unique in incorporating Western influences like modern jazz motifs and blues riffs into his neo-traditionalist songwriting to carve out a slightly unclassifiable style somewhere in between pop and roots.

Growing up the son of a famous violinist on the island of Santiago, Tcheka, the stage name of Manuel Lopes Andrade, was thrust into the island’s (the most “African” of the archipelago) rich musical heritage. He first attracted attention for taking batuque, a genre strongly grounded in African influence and its barebones, communal performance, and transposing its strictly percussion-based polyrhythms to the guitar. On his most recent album, 2005’s Nu Monda (Let’s Weed, a common farming phrase), most of which he performed during the hour and a half long set, his expansion into other local styles including morna and talalu is clearly evident. His top-flight backing band deftly tackles each stylistic challenge and skillfully weaves and blends the shifts to generate a fluid, airy yet definitive groove. Of particular note is the lead guitarist, Hernani Almeida, who ornaments the songs with an innumerable quantity of splendid runs and fills. During the show, Almeida gracefully translated the intricacies from studio to stage, especially on the whirlwind solo from “Makriadu” (Poorly Raised). Yet, despite his exploration into other styles, lyrically, Tcheka remains true to his underlying inspirations. Themes of folk culture continue to dominate his songwriting. Details like the “fomi di ‘47” (the 1947 famine which drove many families from the country), “peixe fritu” (fried fish, a favored staple of villages) and the story of “Tete di Nhora,” dot his songs and remind the listener of the local-ness of roots music.

Tcheka opened with “Santanaz” (Satan), which he ably performed solo, despite obvious nervousness and first song jitters. The band joined him afterwards for the gentle “Agonia”, Nu Munda’s first track that straddles something between a Portuguese fado and a morna. His sound is often characterized by delicate build-ups that deceptively fill out a space. The driving groove creates a necessary platform for his vocal acrobatics which can rapidly shift from hushed singspeak to off-time staccato bursts to a sustained falsetto. Or even semi-scatting which he employed a few times during breakdowns and outros. Crisp key changes and tempo shifts are also common and allow for the melding of styles though never detract from the songs continuous movement. This was no better showcased then the two song centerpiece of “Talalu” and “Ana-Maria”. Each one began soft (with Talalu, inspired by the festas and sounds of the Island of Fogo, especially highlighting Tcheka’s unconvential vocal juxtapositions), then methodically working up an almost straight rock tempo into an explosive climax. The majority Cape Verdean audience that had steadily streamed in and filled up the space feverishly stomped to the dizzying crescendos, raising arms and cheering with each cymbal crash and one-beat. By this point, Tcheka’s nerves had long since been replaced with a devilish playfulness. He opened conversation with the crowd by delivering a surprising “Good Evening.” But as his comfort grew his little English forced him to use his Almeida as a translator (though much of the audience understood Kriolu). He played the rest of his songs with a sometimes subtle, sometimes not-so-subtle Elvis like gyration and led the crowd through sing-a-longs and clap-a-longs. The final number “Djan Kre Bejabu” (I Want to Kiss You), a lovesick anthem for Cape Verdean males, featured a stirring bass solo and easily left the crowd craving more.