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youssou n'dour
 

Youssou N’Dour
Africa’s world musician

A leading figure in World Music, Senegal’s Youssou N’Dour wants to use his success to aid humanitarian causes and encourage the development of talented young African musicians.

You’re a star of African music. But is there such a thing as African music?
There are countless kinds of music in Africa. Every region has its own traditional sounds. Then there’s modern African music, which combines local and foreign influences, and that’s what I’m part of. The two currents inspire each other. Traditional music is more vibrant when modern performers make use of its potential and variety.

What does music mean to you?
It’s a kind of natural force. Especially in Africa, where there’s something musical in the air, in people’s bodies, in the way they move. Africans don’t read much. They listen. And they listen with their bodies. The first thing about a song is its rhythm. But you can use its power to convey a message, to express commitment or to make people happy.

How do you write your songs?
Fifteen or twenty of my compositions came naturally. The rest I had to work on. To write them, I shut myself away and concentrate on a single topic. Today I must say that Africa has never been so ready to assert itself on the world stage. The head of the United Nations is an African. African culture is like a moving train. Its locomotive is music which can produce universal melodies.

How did you come to World Music?
Gradually. I started out when I was thirteen, singing with friends. Then I was in a more modern group, which played traditional music on modern instruments. That way I got to play in nightclubs in Dakar. Then my music took off. It started travelling and I was invited to follow it. As I listened to other kinds of sounds, through meeting stars like Peter Gabriel, I came up with a new form of expression.

What obstacles have you encountered in the course of your career?
At first my father was against it. He said people looked down on musicians and he was afraid that might rub off on him. He didn’t want to see me drinking or taking drugs. In my country, the relationship between parents and children is heavily influenced by tradition and Islam. Even after the age of twenty, children must obey their fathers. I was very young and I did a deal with mine: I’d behave myself totally as long he let me be a musician. I also thank God and my father for giving me good health and enabling me to be a role model for young people. But I don’t condemn people who drink or smoke dope. Some of them are very talented.

n Many African musicians live in Western countries, but you don’t. What keeps you in Senegal?
My family, in the broadest sense of the word. Not just my wife and children. A family is really something. I’ve agreed to take over from my father and keep an eye on everything and everyone. That’s what keeps me at home. Performers leave Senegal because there’s nothing there to help them fulfil their potential. This has made me want to change things. But I can go whenever I want to. There’s an airport in Dakar and you don’t need an exit visa to leave.

You bring the people around you into your creative universe. How do you reconcile loyalty to friends with the need for quality?
I started from nothing. Just me and a few musicians. I really had to talk them into forming a group. At the time, everyone was afraid people would look down on them. Relatives and friends were the first people to join me. Then other people did. But first and foremost I’m a professional. When someone has to be fired I don’t hesitate, whether it’s a member of my family or not. It’s all in the way you go about it. For example, if someone in my studio isn’t getting anywhere, I tell them to go and work with the sound technicians. They soon get fed up and leave of their own accord.

What are you doing to encourage artistic creativity in Senegal?
I started a record label, Gololi, which in Wolof means the bells which horses have round their necks. It works with the studio I have in Dakar, called Xipi (“open eyes” in Wolof). The label produces seven artists a year and their work is distributed in Senegal and internationally through our partners, foreign record companies which have faith in us. That’s how Cheikh Lo, a Senegalese musician I produced, was launched. The critics have given him rave reviews, and World Circuit is distributing him successfully. I’m also working so that one day Senegalese can take over the recording and technical side of their music. At the moment, we’re 90-per-cent dependent on Westerners. That’s not a bad thing in itself but local professionals can do better because they know the language and understand our music more quickly. So I organize training sessions, sometimes pay for courses in Paris and take young people on tour abroad. About 80 per cent of the professional performers in Dakar today started out with me.

Do you think governments should help encourage artistic creation?
The state should protect the rights of artists but let creativity develop freely. Pirating is a plague in Africa. Performers can’t make a living from their own work. At least half my songs are copied in Senegal and up to 80 per cent elsewhere in Africa. Governments should fight that by strengthening and enforcing copyright laws. At the moment, if a guy is caught bringing an illegal truckload of pirated cassettes into Senegal, weeks go by before they can be confiscated. By that time, he’s sold them.

Why aren’t you involved in distribution?
You can’t do everything—write, produce, manufacture and distribute as well. The traditional outlets are there, especially in the markets. They shouldn’t be destroyed but built up with organization.

Do you promote new talent by working with other African stars to co-ordinate efforts across the continent?
Indirectly. But there isn’t much co-operation. Performers can only help by finding backers at government level. Then it’s a matter for ministers of culture, who have to push through laws and make sure they’re in line with regulations set up by international bodies such as the Organization of African Unity. There’s no point in passing a law in Senegal if there isn’t one in Mali.

Is there a balanced relationship between artists from countries of the South and the labels in the North?
Even though I’m with Sony, I think major record companies have failed, in spite of the big investments they’ve made in African music over the past decade. They interfere with the creative process by trying to push modern songs instead of helping artists to do their creative best. They’re like banks—if you’re not profitable, they drop you. I learned that lesson the hard way when Virgin dumped me. They expected me to sell as well as Peter Gabriel or Phil Collins, two of their stars. I sold a quarter of a million discs but it wasn’t enough. They wanted a million.

Is there an alternative to this system?
We have to create African recording labels. Bob Marley reached the whole world because he got help at home, in Jamaica. Our music must be created in Africa, but we musn’t stop travelling, meeting other artists and listening to other sounds. My dream is to change the system. When my contract with Sony expires in about five years time, after I’ve made the three albums I owe them, I’ll come back to my own label and cut a sales deal with Sony. Whatever happens, you have to stick with an international label if you want to get distributed.

You campaign for humanitarian causes, including the fight against poverty. Where do you start in Africa?
By communicating. Everyone must have the right to voice an opinion—the poor, the rich, the middle class. They don’t know each other and their paths never cross. I want to use my music to bring them together. I perform everywhere—from city suburbs to the poorest villages. When there’s no electricity, we make do with a generator to try and put on as good a show as we would in Paris. Artists have power and should use it to get their messages across.

Which is more important, working at the grassroots or at the international level?
They go together. At first, I was encouraged to work with organizations like UNICEF, for which I’m a “goodwill ambassador,” and Amnesty International. They opened my eyes. You see your own country clearer when you’re far away. Working with these organizations gave me the idea of setting up an association in the neighbourhood where I was born, the Medina, a wonderful ragbag of contradictions. Like my music.

But you left to live in a smarter part of town.
I live in Almadies, but my heart’s still in the Medina. I go back there very often, my best friends live there and there’s no reason to think I won’t return to live there one day.

How does your organization work?
I contribute 250,000 CFA francs (about $420) a year. We started out with an exhibition to help young people to get to know the neighbourhood’s history and problems. We’d like to see the local architecture more in line with the Medina’s needs. Meanwhile, we’re tackling the rubbish problem by organizing set setal days, when everyone joins in cleaning up—sweeping up and painting bright murals over anti-government graffiti.

You’re a political fireman, then. Don’t you think opposition is necessary?
Neighbourhood walls aren’t the best place to protest against the government. It’s better to do that through politics.

You even endorsed Ibrahim Bare Mainassara’s January 1996 coup in Niger by giving a concert there two months later. Why?
I wanted to help calm things down, to make the people of Niger smile again. I’m dead against any kind of violence. It’s better to have an illegal government than civil war.

You campaign for human rights, yet you’re in favour of polygamy. Isn’t there a contradiction there?
I’m a practising Muslim and Islam allows polygamy. Anyway, is it really a denial of human rights?

It’s against equality between the sexes. Are you in favour of polyandry?
No. Anyway, for the moment I’ve only got one wife. But I believe religion comes before all else.

Even human rights?
Yes and no. Polygamy aside, I’m in favour of human rights. I’m against female circumcision and believe in the emancipation of women. But I also think women should remain the guardians of African values, like family harmony.

People say you’re a multi-millionaire. Is that in CFA francs or dollars?
I’ve worked hard. But I don’t measure my success in terms of money. Instead I try to make it an example for other Africans to follow. I reinvest some of my fortune to help them along that path. The World Cup song will bring in a lot of money. Some of it can be used to fund a large-scale humanitarian effort in Africa. Several associations are working on that. Nothing’s decided yet, but I’d like to extend my activities to this kind of thing in Africa. We need it, don’t you think?

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