A User's Guide to Abdullah Ibrahim
More than most musicians, jazz pianist Abdullah Ibrahim is a man of autobiographical artistry. He was born Adolphes Johannos Brand in 1934 and raised in the seaport of Cape Town, South Africa, where his grandmother was a pianist and his mother led the choir in the local A.M.E. (African Methodist Episcopal) Church. Wayfarers created a cultural polyglot of blues, swing jazz and African tribal and folk musics in Cape Town. Calling himself Dollar Brand, the pianist became a dance and jazz band leader (playing with trumpeter Hugh Masekela as far back as the late 50s), until his differences with the apartheid government forced him into self-exile with his wife-to-be, vocalist from 1962-92.
Honored with the name Abdullah Ibrahim after his conversion to Islam in 1968, his songs and albums frequently invoke Africa and Cape Town in their titles, reflecting the yearning he felt for his homeland and, later, the joy he experienced upon his return. At the same time, his spirituality and learned embrace of bebop, the orchestrations of Duke Ellington and Euroclassical scholarship mixed with these childhood memories to create a unique mosaic of styles, one that conveys great serenity and subtle but unmistakable passion.
Ibrahim's first genuine triumph in that regard was African Sketchbook (released under the name Dollar Brand) in 1969. A little rougher-hewn with more brittle timbres than his later solo works, it jumps between the graceful flow of Ellington and the angularity of Monk (his two primary jazz influences), and nods to free jazz. But the abiding touchstone is gospel, both its African and American roots. The form is one Ibrahim still deploys, stringing together a series of short pieces interspersed with two or three long ones to generate both stylistic diversity and a unified arc.
I would declare Good News From Africa (1973) to be Ibrahim's first masterpiece. Performed with bassist Johnny Mbizo Dyani (it was released as the Dollar Brand Duo), the repertoire mixes traditional South African spirituals and folk songs with Ibrahim originals. As with Sketchbook, the pianist plays flute early in the collection, and he and Dyani chant-sing, but there is nothing schmaltzy or esoteric about this reverent-but-simple invocation of South Africa. Dyani often strums and plucks with vigor and Ibrahim adds some stride phrases, but by the time the pair launch into Ibrahim's exquisite "The Pilgrim," their spare exchanges fill the space with lingering resonance and gorgeous restraint.
Many regard Water From An Ancient Well (1985) as the one Ibrahim disc that must be owned, and with a superb, empathetic septet voicing some of his most durable melodies and finely shaded arrangements, it is at once a work of Ellingtonian splendor and yet a very humble, pacific record. Saxophonists Ricky Ford and Carlos Ward and drummer Ben Riley are among the players on tributes to Nelson Mandela, Ibrahim's wife, and an Islamic anti-colonialist. All are anchored by the gleaming title track, just the right centerpiece to put everything into context and natural balance.
With the end of apartheid and the freeing of Mandela, Ibrahim celebrated his return to South Africa with Knysha Blue (1993) a solo tour de force that includes overlaid horns, drums, and spoken-word narrative as well as piano as the composer strives to capture both his personal joy and gratitude and the historical significance of the time. It is too much, making Blue a most-noble failure but nevertheless an important marker in his musical autobiography.
Two years later, playing in the intimate New York club Sweet Basil with a relatively obscure rhythm section that knew him well, Ibrahim rolled out what may be his most accessible disc for jazz fans (I play it as much as any of the others) — Yarona. This is a heartfelt valentine to Africa without a hint of strain, with a tribute to the resilience of South African women ("Nisa"), a Cape Town love song ("Cherry"), and the country's unofficial national anthem "Mannenberg." There's also a wonderful interpolation of Ellington and Ibrahim snippets on "Duke 88," and a rendition of "African River" that recalls the inimitable style of Ahmad Jamal.
There are many other discs in Ibrahim's vast catalogue that are certain to be especially cherished by niche audiences. For those interested in orchestral interpretations of Ibrahim's music, African Symphony (2002) is lighter, but perhaps more straightforward, than African Suite (1997) — although both are recommended. Ibrahim scored a film about cockfighting, No Fear, No Die (1997), for French director Claire Denis, which bumped him off his traditional methodology but stands very well on its own. And his music has been subjected to the remix treatment, on re:Brahim, with techno and electronica spins that yield surprisingly un-terrible results.
But the recent trend for Ibrahim himself has been to go back to the African Sketchbook template make records that plunge into a pastiche of his compositions, sometimes for no more than 20 or 30 seconds, sometimes three or four minutes. More a purposeful amble than a roam, it's a kick to hear recognizable riffs and melodies come and go. African Magic (2003) is a particularly inspired live engagement with a trio, and Senzo (2008) finds the 74-year old maestro on solo piano reinventing songs like "Tintinyanna," that are more than three decades old. The sound is fresh, the music is timeless.
