When I first heard Hailu Mergia & His Classical Instrument, I was struck by how strange yet familiar the whole affair felt. I knew the components—Moog synthesizer, Rhodes electric piano, drum machine and, the classical instrument itself, the accordion—yet I’d never heard them arranged this way. I wasn’t familiar with the rich textures of Ethiopian music; Hailu Mergia was born in Ethiopia in 1946, and his country’s traditional songs inform the wending, hypnotic melodies woven throughout His Classical Instrument.
Hailu (I’ll be referring to him this way since Mergia is a patronymic) rose to prominence in Ethiopia as part of the seminal funk group Walias Band, which formed near the tail end of the Ethiopian Golden Age of music. As he recounted in Berklee Online’s podcast Music Is My Life, he loved music ever since he was little, singing as a kid and eventually learning piano and accordion as a teenager in the army music department. The Walias Band kept playing through the harsh rule of the Derg, the military dictatorship that was in power in Ethiopia from 1974 to 1987. Censorship and curfews threatened to stifle creativity, but the Walias Band found inventive workarounds. They had a residency at the famed Hilton Addis Ababa, and on weekends they’d play from midnight to 6am (when the curfew was in place) so that music lovers could just stay there and dance the night away. Their songs were purely instrumental, which meant that the group didn’t have to worry about the government suppressing their lyrics.
Walias Band toured the United States extensively in 1982 and 1983, and it was while there that Hailu and several other members from the band decided to defect. In the wake of that breakup, Hailu went on to play in the Zula Band with Moges Habte and Tamiru Ayele, but when he recorded Hailu Mergia and His Classical Instrument in 1985, it was a one-man affair, a true departure for an artist who’d been playing in groups for most of his adult life. He made the record in Washington D.C. and released it via Kaifa Records in Ethiopia, where it enjoyed some unexpected popularity. Its appeal was in its strangeness: The usual big brass band elements and impassioned singing weren’t there, the traditional Ethiopian melodies transmuted into something oneiric and comfortingly discomfiting through the use of synths and drum machine.
Hailu stopped performing in the early 1990s, going on to run a restaurant and eventually becoming a cab driver. Nonetheless, he kept a keyboard in his trunk so he could practice on the go. In a turn of events that feels very Searching for Sugar Man, Awesome Tapes from Africa founder Brian Shimkovitz found His Classical Instrument while visiting Ethiopia and, after contacting Hailu, rereleased the album on his label in 2013, which was met with critical acclaim in Western music circles. In the years since, Hailu has returned to the stage and begun making new music again. It’s a story that reminds me of the importance of music discovery and sharing those songs that give you that spine-tingling feeling, the sense that you’ve found something special that others need to love, too.
But what about the album itself? Hailu Mergia & His Classical Instrument is a loving exercise in nostalgia, drawing from Amhara, Tigrinya and Oromo melodies and featuring Hailu’s beloved accordion, but by introducing modern elements, he creates something completely his own. Hailu eschews lyrics here—the rare times his voice is heard on the album, it feels more like a fifth instrument than anything else. His vocalizations provide rhythmic texture to the ebullient “Hari Meru Meru” and the upbeat, bouncy funk of “Hebo Lale.”
The archness of the accordion on opener “Shemonmuanaye” lends it a film noir feel. Between the soft brush of the drum machine and the dramatic stabs of piano, this is a song that Audrey Horne could dance to in Twin Peaks. The following track, “Sewnetuwa,” is comparatively gentle and sunny, with space-y synths that ping through like lasers. The unhurried accordion feels especially sentimental on this song, surely conjuring up memories of the past. There’s a contentedness here, that feeling of time passing slowly and elongating in a particularly beautiful moment. “Laloye” is similarly lackadaisical, with ponderous, clapping percussion, while “Wegene” ventures more into jazz and funk territory thanks to playful piano and a buzzing synth bassline.
Side A ends on the bright zenith of “Hari Meru Meru,” and “Amrew Demkew” kicks off Side B with lithe accordion and a summery easiness, punctuated by synths that turn from robust and rubbery to zippy and ethereal. The Rhodes piano positively sparkles under Hailu’s fingers here, and on the next track, “Anchin Alay Alegn.” The jazzy “Ambasel” feels meant for a smoke-filled backroom, returning to the brooding atmosphere established on “Shemonmuanaye.” Upbeat drum machine drives “Hebo Lale” forward, and bolstered by the jauntiness of the accordion, it becomes the perfect walking song. Hypnotic, repetitive synth anchors “Belew Beduby,” the slinky, shimmy-worthy penultimate track. “Shilela” sees out the album with warmth and steadiness, cementing an idea that’s been knocking around in my head ever since I first listened to Hailu Mergia: A great album doesn’t need lyrics to latch onto, or incredibly catchy hooks—it just needs to craft an impeccable vibe. It’s a task that appears deceptively simple, but that’s because an expert multi-instrumentalist like Hailu makes it look easy.
It’s been over a decade now since the second act of Hailu’s career kicked off. Last month, he played shows in Italy, France, Sweden and Oslo, and he doubtless has more coming performances on the books. His journey is a reminder to keep seeking out, loving and sharing music, especially when it’s as ineffably mesmerizing as Hailu Mergia & His Classical Instrument.
Clare Martin is a cemetery enthusiast and Paste’s associate music editor.
