Congotronics, the 2004 album by the Congolese ensemble Konono No. 1, resonated with Western ears in part because it didn't hew cleanly to any one region or genre. Sure, they deployed traditional instrumentation, but their likembés were amplified via car batteries as well as percussion hammered out on scrap metal. The scrappiness and noisiness seemed to situate them along a punk and industrial axis rather than a world music one: Konono No. 1 got compared to Einstürzende Neubauten, toured with The Ex and Tortoise and recorded with Björk. And that was before they found themselves mashed with the likes of Andrew Bird, Glenn Kotche, and Micachu & the Shapes on a peculiar remix set.
So while Konono N°1 Meets Batida might scan as yet another cultural exchange, Konono has actually moved closer to the sound of their home country now. Batida, the alias of Pedro Coquenão, is Angolan-born and Lisbon-based and most sympathetic to the ensemble’s sound, since he does similar work, but updates Angolan music with software rather than metal. In addition to the group, Batida also recruited guitarist Papa Juju, vocalist Selma Uamusse and MC AF Diaphra, though the passing of founder Mingiedi Mawangu no doubt hangs over the group. It's an impressive influx of new talent, but you would be hard-pressed to hear it for most of the album.
Batida’s beats give "Nlele Kalusimbiko" a firm foundation, and Diaphra’s verses give the number a velvety growl, before the likembés flare to the fore for the last half of the song. A pitter patter of drum machine opens "Kuna America," which seems rather thin at first. But when the distorted melody buzzes to life nearly two minutes in, the polyrhythms and whistles give the track the feel of a moveable Carnival. The new members tuck into Konono’s sound well enough, but don’t do much to differentiate it from albums past. One might not be able to suss out the collaborative part of the album, mistaking it instead for initiates into the ensemble finding their way. Some of the songs do little more than tread water until the likembés lurch into earshot.
For all of the music that the Congolese group has released in the past decade, songs were never really Konono’s forte, so much as building up a headful of steam and letting things careen and rumble as they might. Their finest moments remind me of a ferris wheel gone off its moorings, the likembés making a metallic churning that cycles in ever widening patterns; it's an astonishing sound that both mesmerizes and rolls over everything in its path. So the most effective track here is the eleven minutes of "Nzonzing Família," where it sounds like Batida stands to the side, deftly fills in some of the spaces with small sounds and just allows the group churn towards the horizon. Perhaps that’s Konono’s fate, to always be taking their collaborators for a ride but never getting taken to some new destination.
