I've been in the Valley for over three decades, and I've seen it transform from a group of quiet New England towns into a mecca of culture. It seems to me that the big attraction is the "everything is possible" vibe that this place has taken on. It wasn't always here, but somehow the potential for it was. Of course, it all emanates from us, the inhabitants and our interactive chemistry, but there is clearly something special in the air, in the water… in everything here.
So it's 1994. I had recently met a South African singer, Tsidii LeLoka, and we started working on music for voice and percussion. Her voice is very powerful (she later went on to be Rafiki in the original Broadway production of The Lion King) and it was a special challenge for us to create something that simultaneously embraced and went beyond our respective traditions. We had some unlikely similarities: Tsidii was at UMass on a scholarship through the jazz program there. I had originally come to UMass long ago on a gymnastics scholarship. After graduating I went on an extended trip to West Africa to follow my interest in the African connections to jazz, and she came here because of them.
Next thing I know, the phone rings and we're invited to open up for Baaba Maal at the Iron Horse. Baaba Maal is an Afro-pop superstar but more importantly, his stardom originates from a homegrown spiritual connection to his people, his country, and to his vision for a united Africa and a peaceful world. (He digs Northampton.) That night Tsidii and I are doing the soundcheck, and Baaba and his band come in.
They are looking at us with a kind of puzzled vibe. They've seen a lot of music… they are world travelers… but a South African singer with a strong American jazz influence and a white guy from New Jersey playing balafon, talking drums and gongs… this was a stretch even for them. It created an instant bond. They were Senegalese tradition-benders themselves, and got a lot of attention for being just that. I think they dug the shared mindset.
After we had seen and heard each other in the soundcheck, Massamba Diop (the lead tama drummer) comes over and we immediately hook up in a friendly competition of chops and pyrotechnics. He clearly loves this kind of challenge, and I'm a lifelong instigator of challenges, so we're loving it. Baaba sees and hears all the commotion, and adds even more fuel to the fire. When the dust settles, both Baaba and Massamba invite me to Senegal to work with them. Three months later I'm doing performances with them in Senegal. One performance is Baaba's Live to the Nation televised concert (which is a little like playing with the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show), and through their huge popularity, by the next day just about everyone in Senegal knows me. Because of my connection to Baaba and Massamba, I meet a group of young city-dweller rap poets called Gokh-bi System. I love what they do, and bring them to the U.S. for tours. I create the Senegal-America Project from these connections, and with the help of Baaba, Massamba, and GBS, the project has expanded far beyond my original vision and into other projects of social activism, education and health care. My four-year-old daughter has been to Senegal twice, calls Massamba "neejeye" or "uncle" Massamba, speaks some Wolof, and loves hanging out with and listening to the music of Gokh-bi System, who now live in Northampton.
"Allah Akbar… God is great… You never know."
It's all a great reminder of a Senegalese adage, "lepp ma nanay," "all things are possible."
