SOUNDTRACK: LOUS AND THE YAKUZA-Tiny Desk (Home) Concert #168 (January 27, 2021).
If I listen to a few Tiny Desk Concerts in a row, it can get pretty dull hearing the same more or less generic pop music (the bar has been lowered I’d say for Home Concerts). So it’s really nice to hear something different. Like vocals in French!
Lous — an anagram for “soul” — is Marie-Pierra Kakoma, a 24-year-old artist based in Belgium but born in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Lous and The Yakuza perform a Tiny Desk from the Book Bar in the Hôtel Grand Amour in Paris.
“Dilemme,” her 2019 single, opens the set.
The song conjures up images of growing up in the Congo and Rwanda: “Living haunts me, everything that surrounds me made me mean,” she sings in French. Her songs are often set to Congolese rumba rhythms, filled with resilience, beauty and resistance.
I just love the way the chorus ends with a choruses and echoed “na na na na” (or “non non non non”) as Ayelya Douniama and Myriam Sow sing along and harmonize.
“Bon Acteur” opens with some sharp drums from Jamiel Blakeand and then gentle keys from Joseph Nelson while Lous kind of raps–quickly–in French. It is pretty sweet. The song has a slower soft jazz feel at the end.
Up next is her favorite song on the album “Dans La Hess” means “being broke” ’cause that’s what I used to be. “It’s over now because we’re shining. Some black girl magic.” The song has a soft bounce with some slightly funky five-string bass from Swaeli Mbappe.
And while the music is smooth, upbeat and warm, what lies beneath in Lous backstory, in her French lyrics, is, at times, deep and disturbing.
She came to Belgium because her family escaped war in the Congo. They were refugees. These songs from her 2020 album, Gore, are steeped in a life that saw her mother imprisoned in the Congo for being Rwandan, then become separated during their escape to Belgium. They were eventually reunited, but Lous was a troubled teen and spent a period of time adrift before pulling her life together in pursuit of music and art. There’s much to uncover and discover here. This Tiny Desk (home) concert is a deep journey.
“Solo” is a quieter ballad with just washes of keys and her voice for the first half of the song. Eventually the bass and drums come in, but they stay quiet accenting her wonderful voice.
She thanks everyone and then speaks in French to introduce “Amigo.” This song feel more tense than the others. There’s a wicked drum beat (mostly rims) and a sliding funky bass that counterpoints the swirling keyboard chords.
It’s fascinating not knowing what she’s saying and honestly being unable to tell what the tone of the lyrics are meant to be (if she is playing music that’s contrary to the lyrics, I’m a total loss).
“Amigo” feels very dancey with nice backing vocal but the highlight is the moment in the middle where it’s just the keys and her spoken word. Who knows what she’s saying, but it sounds great.
[READ: March 20, 2021] “Seven”
I don’t often think that short stories published in the New Yorker are actually excerpts from future novels. I’ve got it in my head that these are all short stories. Which is patently false. Although it doesn’t say anywhere on the page whether it is or not, so I simply don’t know.
What has happened many times is I’ve felt that a short story had a poor ending only to find out it wasn’t an ending, just a part of a whole.
So I’m assuming that this story is part of a much greater story because otherwise the ending is a total fizzle. And yet the story felt like it could have been a short story–the detail wasn’t extravagant (the best sign that it’s a part of a novel is if it seems like there is too much detail).
This story is fairly simple, so far. A Haitian immigrant is living in New York. It has been seven years since he has seen his wife. We learn a little later that they were married for exactly one day–as a binding agreement–before he left for New York.
He had been trying to get her a visa and it took over six years (hence the title “Seven”). (more…)