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Blick Bassy: 'I want to expose the dangers of the immigration dream' Blick Bassy: 'I want to expose the dangers of the immigration dream'
(about 1 hour later)
A few years ago, the Cameroonian musician Blick Bassy put out an appeal on Facebook. He was, he wrote, looking for a home – somewhere away from Paris, where he had lived since 2001, but which was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to him. “There were practical issues,” he says. “You’re a musician, you need to practise and what can you do in a small flat in Paris, with neighbours? But also I needed to be away from the city, close to earth and close to nature.”A few years ago, the Cameroonian musician Blick Bassy put out an appeal on Facebook. He was, he wrote, looking for a home – somewhere away from Paris, where he had lived since 2001, but which was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to him. “There were practical issues,” he says. “You’re a musician, you need to practise and what can you do in a small flat in Paris, with neighbours? But also I needed to be away from the city, close to earth and close to nature.”
Where Bassy found himself was here, in a quiet village of under 1,000 people not far from Calais, living in a low house next door to the garlic seller. He is, he laughs, “the only exotic character” in a community where “all they have in terms of knowledge of Africa is through the news on TV. And what is that? Ebola, presidential coups – nothing real, actually.”Where Bassy found himself was here, in a quiet village of under 1,000 people not far from Calais, living in a low house next door to the garlic seller. He is, he laughs, “the only exotic character” in a community where “all they have in terms of knowledge of Africa is through the news on TV. And what is that? Ebola, presidential coups – nothing real, actually.”
He does, however, talk to his neighbours a lot and has been struck by their openness, their warmth and their kindness. “The first time I was walking to the post office here, a police officer said, ‘Hello!’ And I was expecting questions, an interrogation – the way it would be in Paris – and no, it was just to say hello. And that was a good sign.”He does, however, talk to his neighbours a lot and has been struck by their openness, their warmth and their kindness. “The first time I was walking to the post office here, a police officer said, ‘Hello!’ And I was expecting questions, an interrogation – the way it would be in Paris – and no, it was just to say hello. And that was a good sign.”
Bassy grew up in a similarly rural area in Cameroon, part of a large family in the Bassa community. His father had three wives, of which his mother was the youngest, and it was through his parents that he found his way to music – the sound of his mother’s voice as she sang around the house and rifled through the Marvin Gaye, Nat King Cole and Gilberto Gil albums that filled his father’s record collection.Bassy grew up in a similarly rural area in Cameroon, part of a large family in the Bassa community. His father had three wives, of which his mother was the youngest, and it was through his parents that he found his way to music – the sound of his mother’s voice as she sang around the house and rifled through the Marvin Gaye, Nat King Cole and Gilberto Gil albums that filled his father’s record collection.
He pursued it professionally – first as part of a bossa nova group named the Jazz Crew, and then forming the award-winning jazz fusion group Macase, before releasing his solo record, Leman, in 2009. It was an album that explored what it is to be African, the problems faced, the culture eroded. Singing in his native Basaa language, it also showcased his exquisite voice – its soulfulness, warmth and quiet melancholy. Two years later he released Hongo Calling, a musical travelogue tracing the slave route from Cameroon to Brazil, through Benin, Senegal and Cape Verde.He pursued it professionally – first as part of a bossa nova group named the Jazz Crew, and then forming the award-winning jazz fusion group Macase, before releasing his solo record, Leman, in 2009. It was an album that explored what it is to be African, the problems faced, the culture eroded. Singing in his native Basaa language, it also showcased his exquisite voice – its soulfulness, warmth and quiet melancholy. Two years later he released Hongo Calling, a musical travelogue tracing the slave route from Cameroon to Brazil, through Benin, Senegal and Cape Verde.
“One day I asked myself, what do I have to sell in this world?” he recalls, “and I realised, well, I only can sell what I have in my bag, and what I have in my bag is my past, and this is Cameroon. This is the raw material of my career.”“One day I asked myself, what do I have to sell in this world?” he recalls, “and I realised, well, I only can sell what I have in my bag, and what I have in my bag is my past, and this is Cameroon. This is the raw material of my career.”
This year brought Ako, his most adventurous album to date, which layers guitar, banjo, kora, cello and trombone. One track, Kiki, was picked up by Apple and used in their advertisement for the iPhone 6 – a matter Bassy greets with something of a shrug. This year brought Akö, his most adventurous album to date, which layers guitar, banjo, kora, cello and trombone. One track, Kiki, was picked up by Apple and used in their advertisement for the iPhone 6 – a matter Bassy greets with something of a shrug.
He is more preoccupied with the gallery of pictures he has pinned on the wall above his desk. He wears all black, save for an elaborate necklace, green Crocs and striped socks, and speaks in a soft, pattering French as he gestures to each image. There is Ruben Um Nyobé, the anti-colonialist Cameroonian leader, Thomas Sankara, the president of Burkina Faso often regarded as Africa’s Che Guevara, Martin Luther King, Skip James, Miles Davis, Michael Jackson, Quincy Jones, Charlie Chaplin and his own 16-year-old son.He is more preoccupied with the gallery of pictures he has pinned on the wall above his desk. He wears all black, save for an elaborate necklace, green Crocs and striped socks, and speaks in a soft, pattering French as he gestures to each image. There is Ruben Um Nyobé, the anti-colonialist Cameroonian leader, Thomas Sankara, the president of Burkina Faso often regarded as Africa’s Che Guevara, Martin Luther King, Skip James, Miles Davis, Michael Jackson, Quincy Jones, Charlie Chaplin and his own 16-year-old son.
The pictures, he explains, “are a motivation for my work”, but they are also reminders of creativity, dedication to music, entrepreneurial ambition, and – particularly in the cases of Um Nyobé and Sankara – the importance of Africans telling the history of their own continent.The pictures, he explains, “are a motivation for my work”, but they are also reminders of creativity, dedication to music, entrepreneurial ambition, and – particularly in the cases of Um Nyobé and Sankara – the importance of Africans telling the history of their own continent.
“For example, with Um Nyobé [who was killed by French forces in 1958], in school we studied the French version of what happened. The way I learned it in the books it was that they were agitators, troublemakers. Which is wrong. He was in this movement hidden in the mountains, organising the Cameroonian People’s Union, And the truth about what happened has never been out. My grandfather, who worked with Um Nyobé, won’t even talk about him out loud because he’s still in the fearful mindset of that time. It’s only recently that President Hollande visited Cameroon and even mentioned his name publicly.”“For example, with Um Nyobé [who was killed by French forces in 1958], in school we studied the French version of what happened. The way I learned it in the books it was that they were agitators, troublemakers. Which is wrong. He was in this movement hidden in the mountains, organising the Cameroonian People’s Union, And the truth about what happened has never been out. My grandfather, who worked with Um Nyobé, won’t even talk about him out loud because he’s still in the fearful mindset of that time. It’s only recently that President Hollande visited Cameroon and even mentioned his name publicly.”
Since he moved to France, Bassy says he feels “even closer to Africa”. In Cameroon, he says, “it was that thing of being right in the middle, where you can’t step back and realise how lucky you are to be somewhere. And the distance of moving here created this realisation that Cameroon is amazing. The values of it, the principles, the whole country.”Since he moved to France, Bassy says he feels “even closer to Africa”. In Cameroon, he says, “it was that thing of being right in the middle, where you can’t step back and realise how lucky you are to be somewhere. And the distance of moving here created this realisation that Cameroon is amazing. The values of it, the principles, the whole country.”
He returns as often as he can, though he is hesitant to say whether he would ever return fully. “I’m a citizen of the world,” he says. “I don’t see myself anywhere specifically, but you can’t deny that in terms of opportunities to create or be an entrepreneur Africa is a boulevard – it’s still all to be done there. And as an African guy, as a Cameroonian, I will obviously do as many things as I can over there.”He returns as often as he can, though he is hesitant to say whether he would ever return fully. “I’m a citizen of the world,” he says. “I don’t see myself anywhere specifically, but you can’t deny that in terms of opportunities to create or be an entrepreneur Africa is a boulevard – it’s still all to be done there. And as an African guy, as a Cameroonian, I will obviously do as many things as I can over there.”
He has two big projects close to his heart – the first a music project in Cameroon, working with local artists, helping them record, promote and distribute their music. “I try to make them understand that their future is happening in Cameroon, and that’s where it has to be,” he says. The second is a video project called Basaa in Two Words – an attempt to promote the Basaa language, one of 260 spoken in Cameroon, where the official languages are still English and French.He has two big projects close to his heart – the first a music project in Cameroon, working with local artists, helping them record, promote and distribute their music. “I try to make them understand that their future is happening in Cameroon, and that’s where it has to be,” he says. The second is a video project called Basaa in Two Words – an attempt to promote the Basaa language, one of 260 spoken in Cameroon, where the official languages are still English and French.
Today, though he lives his daily life in French, he sings in Basaa “and I think in Basaa. It’s always there. I’m very attached to this language.”Today, though he lives his daily life in French, he sings in Basaa “and I think in Basaa. It’s always there. I’m very attached to this language.”
Bassy makes us lunch. He stands proudly before the stove, preparing a traditional Cameroonian dish of beans served with plantain and rice. It is rare, he notes, for an African man to be in the kitchen; he has 14 sisters, and the men in his family were not allowed to cook.Bassy makes us lunch. He stands proudly before the stove, preparing a traditional Cameroonian dish of beans served with plantain and rice. It is rare, he notes, for an African man to be in the kitchen; he has 14 sisters, and the men in his family were not allowed to cook.
On the day we meet, there has been further unrest in the nearby camps at Calais. You can sense the tension, he says, in local communities. “It gets here through the TV,” he explains, “and it doesn’t affect day-to-day life, but people have it in their minds. They might think that at some point illegal immigrants could come here. But the real problem is that it can affect other decisions they would make in terms of how they vote.”On the day we meet, there has been further unrest in the nearby camps at Calais. You can sense the tension, he says, in local communities. “It gets here through the TV,” he explains, “and it doesn’t affect day-to-day life, but people have it in their minds. They might think that at some point illegal immigrants could come here. But the real problem is that it can affect other decisions they would make in terms of how they vote.”
Sometimes he and some friends go to the camps at Calais to donate food.“We have this bad influence of television showing these people as not human beings, and it’s a shame because you could just take them a bag of tomatoes and it would mean a lot.”Sometimes he and some friends go to the camps at Calais to donate food.“We have this bad influence of television showing these people as not human beings, and it’s a shame because you could just take them a bag of tomatoes and it would mean a lot.”
Right now, as well as his music, and the oil painting propped on an easel in his living room, Bassy is at work on a novel on the subject of immigration. “It’s a subject close to my heart,” he says. “And I chose fiction to allow me to go further and deeper into the subject.”Right now, as well as his music, and the oil painting propped on an easel in his living room, Bassy is at work on a novel on the subject of immigration. “It’s a subject close to my heart,” he says. “And I chose fiction to allow me to go further and deeper into the subject.”
It is complicated, he says. “There’s the whole trafficking aspect of it. And the fact that the countries where the people are coming from are the countries that western countries exploit.”It is complicated, he says. “There’s the whole trafficking aspect of it. And the fact that the countries where the people are coming from are the countries that western countries exploit.”
There are, he says wearily, so many lies being told – by governments, by the communities at home, by the immigrants themselves. “I’ve seen so many people struggling to come over here to meet this dream that is often closer to a lie than a dream,” he says. “And I want to expose the dangers of this dream.”There are, he says wearily, so many lies being told – by governments, by the communities at home, by the immigrants themselves. “I’ve seen so many people struggling to come over here to meet this dream that is often closer to a lie than a dream,” he says. “And I want to expose the dangers of this dream.”