In an industry that thrives on young stars, Mangane stands out. He’ll be sixty in 2024, and he’s preparing to release his first album on a label, at a time when others are contemplating retirement. This won’t displease the more curious, who should find it easy to understand, as this Afro-jazz isn’t quite in the vein of the genre’s classics. No, Zoom Zemmatt’s music—which gives the album its name—is more like a byway, with a dozen tracks that bring together the sediments of a life spent in music, with its suggestive sound in its plural form.

And yet, it wasn’t a foregone conclusion for the man born in Thiès, a large city an hour’s drive from Dakar and the epicenter of railway construction in the sub-region, into a family of farmers. His father was a railway worker, his mother ran the household. In the early days of independence, the tradition of music being practiced by griots was strong, but young Ousseynou—his first name, Mangane being his last name—still dared to venture into what wasn’t really a profession at the time. I grew up in a neighborhood populated by people from the sub-region, both Nigeriens and Malians, who came to work on the railway construction.

In this multi-ethnic atmosphere, cultural activities were constantly taking place, and that’s how I got into music! As a child, he saw the legendary Rail Band of Bamako, among others. And he was immersed in Afro-Cuban music, that of Baobab, Number One, and Star Band. Not to mention Dieuf Dieul and the Royal Band, on a more traditional level, two bands from Thiès. And at the same time, I also began listening to African-American and English music. Jazz, blues, folk, pop, everything passes through the ears of this young man who takes theater classes at school, a lesson in humility he will say much later, and tries his hand at the guitar thanks to his uncles.

It was in fact his home when he moved to Dakar in the early 1980s. Xalam and Touré Kunda were two sources of inspiration for the man who joined the conservatory at 22, where he learned the balafon from a master, Balla Doumbia, as well as the basics of classical guitar. He was so passionate about the guitar that it wasn’t unusual to play it air guitar style. A younger brother, or rather a friend from the same neighborhood in Dakar, gave him an old six-string guitar. He also gave me a book on chords, which was enough to start me off seriously, self-taught.

From then on, things accelerated for the man who had already formed a band with young friends, combining original compositions with offbeat covers. Other experiences in the early 1990s followed, but it was with Nakodjé, of which he was a founding member in 1996, that his destiny shifted gears. This group, whose name means “vegetable garden,” offered him the opportunity to express the full potential of his musical personality. It was an atypical research project: the aim was to reconcile the traditional and the modern, highlighting instruments such as the balafon, the Fulani flute, and the calabash, and using them in ways other than those used during traditional gatherings. The sanza, an instrument originating from more southern Africa, would have its place, alongside the drums, bass, and sax.
Very quickly, this fusion group, where modernity naturally blends with tradition, gained a strong following in Senegal, and even beyond in West Africa. And soon in Europe where a record was released in 1998. It was after a tour in Switzerland that he first set foot in Limoges, invited by the Francophonies festival. Arriving at the station, I was immediately captivated by this city! He stayed there for a month and a half, giving concerts and workshops for children. He soon found love there. Three years later, in 2001, Mangane settled there permanently. It was the beginning of a new life, synonymous with a solo career. In the heart of France, the Senegalese met local musicians, while developing Guêw bi, a Senegalese musical ballad, a project to introduce children to African cultures, a project that continues twenty years later. All of his experiences would fuel his own verve, as evidenced by a first self-produced album in 2011. Lann la, (text Y’a quoi?), met with initial critical acclaim. This should have been confirmed in 2019 by Lëkkëlô (text link). Unfortunately, Covid unfairly denied this second album, produced at his own expense, the chance to achieve the desired impact.
Four years later, he’s back in stores, with an album that finally benefits from the support of a seasoned team, starting with Jean-Michel Leygonie, who, as programmer of the Éclats d’Email Jazz festival, has invited Mangane to perform on stage several times. This time, as the head of the Laborie Jazz label, he suggested a studio appearance in November 2022. And when Jean-Michel asked me to see who to work with, I suggested Alune Wade. We obviously agreed!
Although he was his junior, bassist, composer, and arranger Alune Wade nevertheless brought his experience to the table, handling the arrangements for the sessions while suggesting suitable musicians. We held preparatory meetings, where he suggested arrangements and orchestrations. In addition to the two Senegalese musicians, the album features guitarist Anthony Jambon, Cuban percussionist Inor Sotolongo, drummer Benjamin Naud, saxophonist Hugues Mayot, Cuban trumpeter Carlos Sarduy Dimet, and Valérie Belinga on backing vocals. The rich cast already speaks volumes about the aesthetic intentions of this album, an openness that goes beyond the clichés that cling to the skin of Afro-jazz.

This is truly a new stage, where I benefit from the expertise of these formidable musicians. Certainly, but his humble lyrics should not mask his own qualities. Those of a songwriter who forges his own path far from the controlled highways. A single note can send me off to meet a melody!
With Zoom Zemmatt—a curious title referring to his need to zoom in on details, to better understand, to see further—Mangane brings together all the pieces that have shaped his uniqueness over so many years, reflecting his repertoire, a music open enough to allow for improvisation, where the man who plays the guitar but also the kalimba expresses himself primarily in Wolof on the issues that have always plagued him. Starting with immigration, which he addresses in “Emmènes-moi.” All these young people who, out of despair and lack of prospects, take to the canoes to seek a better life, risking their lives. And to ensure the message gets across, Mangane caresses the kalimba, while the trumpet adds depth of field to this melancholy song. It’s also the kalimba that sets the tone for Silalola, a form of initiation song, like a nursery rhyme where West African tradition rubs shoulders with the elegant breath of the saxophone. He also addresses the young people of his native country on Ndaw-ngni, an Afro-Serer mix with hints of desert blues. They are the future; we must allow them to exist, help them, advise them, help them find the right path. Some stay in their country and we must support them, give them the means.
In Jubbantil (text, straighten), Mangane chooses, over Afro-funk, boosted by Alune Wade’s bass, the right words to call on elders to know how to pass on knowledge without mistreating them, to accompany children so that they grow up well. Xam Xam, a title inspired by the Casamance tradition that could serve as a happy conclusion to this collection, sees even further towards what he calls a path to knowledge. We must constantly search, deepen our knowledge, cultivate our curiosity and know how to evolve at any age and in any situation. Mangane also addresses the family in Afro-pop jazz mode, this space where solidarity can endure, where we believe in the future to overcome problems, just as he takes care to pay tribute to the memory of Maam Souley, an older brother to whom he pays homage with his deep yet high-pitched voice in an intense folk ballad, a style so typical of Senegal. Conversely, he adopts the Afro-beat fever on Sama Reni to declare, as he smiles, his flame to the queen of his heart, and with Nguistal, a fusion close to Afro-rock, in a pedal-to-the-metal style, he evokes the importance of keeping one’s word. This respect, a cardinal value that he gently expresses, alone with guitar and voice, on Cërr. In just three minutes, everything is said, perfectly in line with the state of mind of a musician who, far from the sirens of an industry, has built himself as close as possible to everything that establishes the meaning of a life.