If ever we needed a brother or a sister, we sure do
need one now, what with busy battlefields and all this brokeness. This
is where “Nonvignon” comes in, one of the stickiest songs of Benin-born
recording artist Lionel Loueke’s Blue Note debut, Karibu.
Written on a two-hour lunch break in 2002 at the behest of Loueke’s
then teacher, Terence Blanchard, it’s rosy by definition. “Nonvignon is
my middle name, my African name,” Loueke explains. “Nonvignon means
it’s good to have a brother.” So it shouldn’t be surprising that the
song’s melody taunts like an older sis and is as unshakeable as a baby
bro.
Growing up, Loueke’s older brother wouldn’t let him touch his
guitar, so Loueke didn’t pick up the instrument until he was 17. His
West Africa-meets-the-West approach was developed through study in
Paris, Boston, and Los Angeles—all under mentor and former
bandleader Blanchard at the Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz. The
trumpeter had asked Loueke to write a simple African song, the result
was “Nonvignon.” “I’m saying let’s all be brothers and sisters and use
that gift we receive.” Loueke says of the lyrics, which are in his
native Fon. “It’s a joyful and peaceful song.”
The 35-year-old clearly savors time spent with Blanchard and
prominent endorser Herbie Hancock. The three spent over two months
together on tour last year and Loueke doesn’t distinguish between the
music and life lessons gleaned. “I learned to chant through Herbie
Hancock,” Loueke says of the noted Buddhist. “Terence chants now as
well, so we have a lot to talk about besides music, and I think that
always comes through in the music anyway. For me, it’s one thing.”
Chants and world peace notwithstanding, Loueke’s musicianship is
surprising and rhythmically complex—he was a percussionist before
he picked up a six-string Godin—and not always easy to swallow.
But the soft spoken and, on the surface, sober Loueke, is committed to
learning—his parents are both educators—and therefore
compelled to try new things along with his trio-mates, Berklee College
of Music buds Ferenc Nemeth and Massimo Biolcati.
“I don’t like to do the same thing over and over,” Loueke says in
regards to his best-known composition, “Benny’s Tune.” “I don’t know
how many different time signatures we play on it. We play in five, in
six, and seven… on Terence’s CD, it’s in 11.” “Benny’s Tune” is a
love song that he wrote around the same time as “Nonvignon.” The antsy
Karibu version draws on the sound of Benin and environs, but
allows space for seamless straight-ahead improvisation. It’s a
combination Loueke owns.
When asked if “Benny’s Tune” is melancholic, Loueke suggests
otherwise. “The lyrics are not sad at all,” he says of the song he
wrote for his wife of seven years, Benedicta. “As musicians, we’re
always on the road traveling and she’s at home taking care of our kids.
It’s a way for me to say thanks to her.” The depth of that love has led
both up-and-coming and established artists to put their stamp on it,
but Loueke’s version, denial aside, emits a bit of dolor. The Loueke
family’s loss; jazz listeners’ gain.