by Patrice van Eersel [Translation by Roy Mac Coinnich]

We are physically separated from the meaning. A great black musician with huge experience - of whom we tell the story- tells us how that shows through our movement. And our dance.


Born in 1946 in the midst of Lufu-Louse train station, in what still was Belgian Congo, Ray Lema grew up in the big city of Kinshasa, a foot in the African world, a foot in the western world. At eleven years, as a student of the white fathers, he makes his concert debut: Sonata of Beethoven. The fathers thought he was so gifted that they offered him a special treatment: instead of following the courses like the others, he would be able to play organ as much as he wanted. Here he is, immersed in Bach all day long. He wants to be a priest… and becomes a musician. He plays in trendy bands of the Zairean capital, in particular with the famous Tabu Ley. Step by step, his reputation is built-up: in Zaire, he is know as "the egghead” of the musicians . The one who think so hard that his head gives out heat. Beware, sometimes he really looks like a white! But no one laugh at him, people admires him.

One day, in 1974, “the egghead” is summoned from high level for a mission of the utmost importance. In the recent nations of the Third world, the national orchestra is an important entity, a symbol of union. In Africa, it is even seen as a key political instrument. But, in Zaire, there is a hitch: the country is so huge, the tribes are so much blown up and so differents, that they never managed to play together. However, this is precisely what's being expected from this orchestra: several hundreds of musicians (and dancers) coming from all four corners of the country. Several conductors had already tried and failed: nothing to be done. As a last resort, it is Rey Lema the authority calls.

And Ray, like the others, starts by failing. Each time he tries to make the citizens play together, there is always one who comes to complain: “That's no good at all, this one doesn't play right boss!” Few weeks later, Ray understands that he won't manage to do it. Their rhythms, their way of playing -although seemingly close- are organized in a manner he can't conduct them. He needs to find a trick, but which one? And soon an obviousness began to grow on him, and quite staggering : the only solution would be to go directly there, in the bushes, and into the deep forest where the Pygmies live, to find musicians there; but especially to learn how to play the rhythms himself.

Here begin a long initiatory trip.

Firstly, Ray Lema discovers each village has its own rhythmic “signature”. Obviously, this signature is systematically set up, at the beginning, by mixing two different and very fast rhythms, from percussions played by the “small ones”, i.e. the children or the teenagers - “because the children are talkative and have to build up physically”. This rhythmic - whose result is a beat of interferences - resounds most of time in the space of the village, beyond the forest and the fields, with slack periods during the day, and strong periods, in particular each time there's a festival, a ceremony. When one plays this kind of music, people will usually say: “That turns”; but if Ray make them listen to a modern piece of music, they'll probably scowl: “That doesn't turn!” Ray wonders what that means: what “doesn't turn”?

Translation not finished !

 

 

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