Stark, moody, percussive amapiano.

Utterly infectious, bubbling, spare, playful house music from Ghana, steeped in neo-traditional idioms like gome and kpanlogo, as much as vintage Chicago acid and UK rave, highlife and hiplife, soca and dancehall. (As well as Accra pop radio stars like Crystal Waters, Inner Life and Rick Astley.) Over bass-heavy, percussive rhythms, Trotro sings, chants and raps in Twi and Ga, often like no one is listening. It’s impossible not to answer back.
Terrific, refreshing stuff.

An invigorating sampling of the prodigious output of this joint in Matariya, Cairo. Mahragan, or electro-shaabi, stripped down Sardena-style: auto-tuned, maxed-out vocals, thumping beats, synths, wild effects.

Astounding, deeply exploratory, previously unreleased work by the legendary Brazilian percussionist and composer.
A wild and unsettling collage, implacably original and startlingly intense — from the electroacoustic opener, which channels ancestral African inspirations into cosmogony, through the proto-mixtape Exemplo de Sintetizadores, which transitions from transcendental drones to astral cha-cha-chas, to a musical consideration of dripping water, in Suite Contagotas.
Djalma is best known for his studio work on benchmark albums, including numerous classics by Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, and Jorge Ben, and for his own polyrhythmic opus Baiafro; and the finale here was first performed at the 1964 Nós, Por Exemplo concert, an event often cited as the inauguration of the Tropicalia movement. Djalma brings the electronics — medical oscillators, for example — to beef up his percussion. It’s eye-opening.
Corrêa called it ‘spontaneous music’; sonic adventures ranging audaciously across an array of genres, from jazz to deep funk to complete abstraction, all imbued with his signature DIY ethic.
Drawn from the original master-tapes, guided by Corrêa himself, just prior to his death.
Intriguing, immersive music. Dazzling, engrossing artwork, too.

Algerian chaabi.

Another round of forlorn songs about lost loves and other sorrows, driven by mid-tempo, wah wah guitars; this second volume tracking the Rai master into the 1990s.

Precious, late-eighties dance music from Mogadishu. Big group —  three horns, four singers plus three backing, two guitars, keys, drummer, two percussionists, bassist — choca with funk swagger and highlife shimmy.

Songs for dancing, about love and heartache, conflict, and spirituality, over the rolling lilt of the ekonting, a three-stringed gourd lute played by Jola people in Gambia and the Casamance region of Senegal.

Fantastic. Raw, blazing street music from Marrakesh. Electrified banjos and mandolins, drums, singing; amps run off moped batteries; the definitive interpretation of the Dana International hit Sabra And Shatilla.

‘Turbocharged highlife from 1980s Ghana… It opens in fine style with Nka Bom, horns sharply descending over a disco bassline, with a triumphant electric piano solo and a lengthy percussion interlude. Other highlights include the growling Gbenta, with a bluesy bassline and machine-gun drumming, and the trumpet voluntary and dubby choral singing on Moonlight Africa’ (Financial Times).
Produced by Eno, who discarded his own contributions as ‘clumsy and unnecessary compared to Edikanfo’s witty, light funkiness… What they’d given me was finished — there was nothing else I could add.’