quête:titi bakorta

- Panda Bear, Voice of the Seven Woods, Mammane Sanni Abdoulaye. File under: Jazz / Electronic. Titi Bakorta almost didn't make it. Born in and raised in Kinshasa, the Congolese multi-instrumentalist was on his way to Uganda when he fell off the boat as it traversed the mighty Congo River. Unable to swim, Bakorta was saved by a friend who dragged him to the closest city Kisangani, where he was unexpectedly acquainted with local singer Dancer Papalas. Soon they were performing in bands together, traveling across the continents and settling in Tanzania, South Sudan and Dubai - they even appeared in front of General Defao, the beloved Congolese vocalist who fronted legendary soukous bands Grand Zaiko Wawa, Choc Stars and Big Stars. Now based in Kampala, Bakorta offers his own unique take on Congolese pop and folk sounds, weaving traditional elements through a psychedelic lattice of guitar loops, mangled voices and eccentric beatbox rhythms on his debut full-length. He bends woodblock snaps on 'Kop' into stuttered blurs, wailing emotionally over twanging riffs and bizarre, theatrical xylophone twinkles. It's still pop music on some level, but curved around Bakorta's unwieldy personal narrative - there's a sense that everything could unravel at any time but it all hangs together, strengthened by Bakorta's confident, contemporary production smarts. 'Elles Vais' is more airy, with celestial soukous vocals that float above tight, electronic drums. Tangled guitar echoes overlap each other like dense, weaved tapestries, contrasting perfectly with Bakorta's urgent, driving pulse. Occasionally, he transcends completely, like on 'Molende' where his chants and phrases neatly flutter between praise music and contemporary R&B. "Hustling, hustling, hustling, everyday I'm hustling," an angelic voice coos over phased electric guitar plucks and looped, AutoTuned chorals. It makes perfect sense that Bakorta should team up with Metal Preyers' Jesse Hackett on the album's final track, the aptly-titled 'Titis Haunted House'. The two artists share a similar obsession with moonlit, carnivalesque soundscapes, and Hackett's eerie synths provide a suitably eccentric foundation for Bakorta's ghostly wails and fuzzy guitar sounds.

Following a string of acclaimed collaborations, including Agua Dulce with percussionist Laura Robles and Mapambazuko alongside Congolese guitarist Titi Bakorta, Peruvian artist Alejandra Cárdenas (aka Ale Hop) returns with her most personal work to date yet, A Body Like a Home. Marking her first album under her birth name, the project is a sonic memoir exploring the tangled realms of trauma, recovery, and love through autobiographical soundscapes.
A Body Like a Home is the artist at her most exposed. Comprising 13 songs and 15 poems, the album sees her set aside collaborative fusions for solo catharsis, channeling years of turbulence - intergenerational scars left by colonialism, racism, domestic violence, and alcoholism - into a work that oscillates between brutality and tenderness. Cárdenas states: “I grew up under Alberto Fujimori’s dictatorship, when a veil of hopelessness seemed to settle over everything. This is the backdrop of the album. The songs and poems trace the inevitable loop between private wounds - addiction, domestic violence, fractured intimacy - and Peru’s national scars, carved by colonialism. It’s not a straight story or a resolution. Writing and composing became a ritual of digging for meaning, into what’s buried, disguised, or renamed, until the body itself became a living archive.
” At the heart of the album is Cárdenas’s own voice - part witness, part confessor - reciting over layers of electric guitars, electronic textures, the haunting violin of Mexican musician Gibrana Cervantes, and a collage of field recordings, from rainfall, muffled whispers, broken glass, to archival protest footage from Peru. The result is a work that resonates like a diary written in sound.
The first single, "Motherland", is a searing testimony where Cárdenas voice cracks under the weight of history and personal loss. Amid a storm of distorted guitars, she traces the cyclical legacies of colonialism, from state massacres branding Indigenous bodies as “terrorists” to the spiral of addiction as an unavoidable future. The lyrics draw parallels between political and domestic violence: a mother’s drunken knife pressed to her chest, and a motherland where racism is currency. She utters: “sacrifice demands a body.” Yet, amid the wreckage, a willful grip on love and faith persists. Ultimately, A Body Like a Home is a document of transformation. Tracks like "Evangelina" and the title piece "A Body Like a Home" hold space for resilience, spirituality, and love, while "Early Road" and "Going South" thread subtle nods to Peruvian folklore, opening up bright vignettes into a sense of belonging.
The poetry chapbook accompanying A Body Like a Home (five of its pieces are also recited on the album) extends the work, building a parallel architecture. Oscillating between the documentary and the mythic, the intimate and the forensic, the profane and the oniric, these poems practice a theology of the ordinary, where everyday objects - cameras, knives, moth-eaten cotton - are charged withspiritual and historical weight. Here, the body is land, house, battlefield, collective pain, geological territory; and trauma is, in contrast, archival, cellular, ritualistic, inherited. Read alongside the music, the stories refract across two mediums: songs give them breath and poems give them bone.