Issue No. 327

The Afterlife of Swinging Addis

Most nights in a number of dimly lit bars in Addis Ababa, one can hear a vibraphone hum over a syncopated bassline. The sprightly rhythm is unmistakably jazz, but the scales are Ethiopian; pentatonic, looping and melodic. Five decades after its pioneering by visionary musician Mulatu Astatke, Ethio-jazz remains in full swing, with its renaissance from the late 1990s persevering despite tough political and cultural conditions. 

Spearheaded by Mulatu Astatke in the 1960s and 70s, Ethio-jazz-- now listened to world over-- was partly born from his experiences studying music in London and New York. Born in Jimma in 1943 and partly educated in Wales, Mulatu enrolled as a young man at London's Trinity College of Music, where he absorbed Caribbean and West African influences. It was Berklee College of Music in the early 1960s, however, that served as the true laboratory for his experimental style. Among the first African students to attend the institution, Mulatu began experimenting with how Ethiopian Orthodox music could fuse with Western instruments within the context of America's experimental jazz movement. And upon his return to imperial Addis, his music and others caught a moment of profound cultural foment, in spite of the centralised, oppressive nature of the state. And so, Ethio-jazz flourished in the twilight years of Selassie's reign, when the nightlife in Addis rivalled that of Cairo or Beirut, with nightclubs and bars thronging with people. Mulatu was not alone, with others like 'The Walias' following and adapting his innovative style in turn. Fronted by Hailu Mergia, a keyboardist from Debre Berhan, their 1977 album Tche Belew fused Ethiopian scales with jazz as well as funk. 

It was, inevitably, more complex than that. Suspicion and suppression by Haile Selassie's administration constricted the use of lyrics, with government censors watchful of the burgeoning movement. And so, scrutinised for criticism or dissent, musicians relied on horns and the vibraphone to carry melodies in place of Amharic, Oromo, or Tigrinya. Yet perhaps because of this absence of lyrics, Ethio-jazz has been able to transcend its moment, without being pinned to any particular political movement.

The music drew on multiple traditions for its form. Ethio-jazz incorporated the American jazz scene, but it is the traditional Qañat modal system — from the Ethiopian highlands — that has historically defined the genre, pentatonic structures that shape both melody and improvisation. There are four main modes: Bati (lively), Ambassel (regal), Anchihoye (mournful), and Tezeta (nostalgic). The last — Tezeta — lends its name to perhaps the most famous Ethio-jazz composition by Mulatu, which has since found a worldwide audience. Traditional Ethiopian instruments are central to the sound as well, with the masinko, a one-string fiddle; the krar, similar to a lyre; and the begena, akin to a harp, woven alongside Western keyboards.

But, tragically, the experimentation and complexity of Ethio-jazz were silenced when the Derg military overthrew Haile Selassie's regime. The junta's political repression was broad and heavy-handed, seeking to dampen and discourage urban artistic life and expression. The blossoming nightclubs of the Ethiopian capital fell quiet, and many musicians were either excluded or co-opted into state nationalist ensembles. Ethio-jazz dispersed — some artists continuing to play in backrooms or on cassette tapes, others leaving the country altogether. The Walias and a handful of other bands continued to perform even after the Derg seized power in 1974, jamming through the night in defiance of the strict curfew the regime imposed. Mergia, though, continued releasing music as a solo artist in the United States during the 1980s.

The overthrow of the Derg by the Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF) in the early 1990s did not immediately resuscitate the genre. Its rejuvenation, instead, emerged from the Éthiopiques series, when a French record label reissued a series of Ethio-jazz records. DJs and global audiences were swept up by the sound, which was sampled and played widely to this day. Over two decades ago, though, the diaspora and international love for Ethio-jazz helped spur renewed interest in the music within Ethiopia as well. Just last December, Mulatu Astatke played a gig in his farewell tour in London, beginning the set with a song inspired by a 4th-century melody of the Ethiopian Orthodox church. Mergia, too, enjoyed a late surge in popularity; a reissue of his work in 2013 spurred two new albums and a series of international tours.

Today, venues like Fendika — among the few small stages to have survived Abiy's wholesale razing and rebuilding of Addis — remain spaces of improvisation, where newer genres are blended with traditional Ethiopian music. A younger generation of Ethiopians, more international and urbanised, is spearheading this revival, with the global music scene amplifying their reach. Unlike 'Swinging Addis', there is no dominant sound today, though, and Ethio-jazz arguably represents more of a method than a genre.

For some, particularly for the diaspora, Ethio-jazz can be profoundly unifying, providing a cultural resonance that transcends today's polarisation. But its origins complicate that narrative, with its height during imperial Addis, Ethio-jazz is entangled with a centre and legacy that cannot command consensus. Imperial Ethiopia, after all, carries a complex history for many Ethiopians whose languages and identities were subordinated during that era. And today, in Abiy Ahmed's Ethiopia, cultural power projection is vital to his bullish foreign policy, with the quasi-imperial PM presenting Ethiopian music and culture as unified and distinct. His co-opting and rewriting of Ethiopia's messy, fraught history has spanned the bulldozing of the historic Piazza neighbourhood in Addis to invoking memories of Adwa to justify his bellicose claims to the Red Sea.

Nostalgia—distinct from tezeta, its musical counterpart—can be dangerous, rose-tinted spectacles that obscure the complexities or pain of a particular moment or era. The continued renaissance of Ethio-jazz, with new musicians breathing fresh life into the genre, does not simply harken back to the mid-twentieth century. It is not an exercise in retrieval. Rather, Ethio-jazz in some ways offers a mirror and a metaphor for Ethiopia itself: the challenge of reconciling and negotiating pluralistic cultures, histories, and musical traditions in a single, living form.

The Ethiopian Cable Team