Se Nou Ki La! (2015)
15 tracks, 59 minutes
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Voodoo gets a bad rap. In the Euro-American sphere, we mostly think of it as a shady and sinister folk belief based on the esoteric magic and the occult, with the most common symbolism being voodoo dolls and zombies. If you know even a little bit about world history, it probably won’t be too surprising that these preconceptions are not only false, but are the result of racism and colonialism in action. In fact, a lot of it was the direct result of American anti-Haitian propaganda beginning at the time of the Haitian slave revolt and eventual independence; the USA was eager to paint the victory as mysterious, evil and, above all, Satanic to deter similar actions in their own country. Just one more way white people made the world a little worse.
In reality, Vodou (as the Haitian variant is correctly called; Voodoo is from Louisiana) is a religion just like many others. It is a syncretic religion that draws mostly on West African beliefs such as the Vodun of the Fon and Ewe people and the Ifé of the Yoruba as well as drawing from aspects of the native religions of the Caribbean and adopting a veneer of Roman Catholicism (such as the equating of various spirit-gods with Catholic saints). In this way, it is very similar to other Afro-American religions, especially Santería in Cuba and Candomblé in Brazil – the religions share many deities between them.
As with most religions, Vodou has its own associated musical culture, and that’s where Chouk Bwa Libetè come in. They play the traditional form of mizik rasin - literally ‘roots music’ – that draws heavily on their religious beliefs. For this album, the group are 12 strong and their music is made solely from percussion and vocals (as well as a single horn that blasts a heralding bass call every so often). This isn’t the war drumming and chants of the early Hollywood portrayal of voodoo though; this music is intricate and complex and filled with beautiful harmonies. The songs, which sing of olicha (spirit-gods) and ache (soul and spirit), range from sad and mournful to sweet and joyous, but always in the gentlest, warmest tones and sung with a real camaraderie. Just listen to the songs ‘Olicha Legba’ and ‘Nèg Ayisyen’ – the way the voices join and entwine feels like a loving group hug for the ears.
There is an undeniable Africanness to Chouk Bwa’s music, in their overlapping rhythms, asymmetrical tapped-out timeline patterns and call-and-response vocals that are an obvious link to Haitian’s and Vodou’s shared histories, but there are also connections to many American styles. Their music bears an understandable resemblance to other Afro-American percussion-and-voice religious music such as Santería’s bembe and Candomblé’s batuque, even Rastafari’s nyabinghi, and it goes further: there are slight but definite strains of everything from calypso to gospel to blues in here. It isn’t even a question of ‘who influenced who’ – these musics all arose from common ancestry, so it makes sense that they would share characteristics.
Vodou is such a crucial element in Haitian culture and history, and its music such a window to the history of African people in the Americas. For religions and cultures as important and wide-ranging as Vodou to be misrepresented for so long as a malevolent force – so much so that the very idea of it has become a shorthand for creepiness and evil – is such an infuriating wrong. The beautiful, deeply religious sounds of Chouk Bwa Libète are a wonderful antidote to this injustice in more ways than one.
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