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Sampha's 'Process' and the Necessity of Vulnerable Black Masculinity

In his new album 'Process,' Sampha makes sculptures out of his skeletons.

Sampha is no stranger to the shadows on his walls. In fact, they may be his very best friends. Within the dark silhouettes and murky voids, he finds a glimmer of possibility and solace.


Here, words and sounds are constructed into fully realized ballads, contemplations on complicated memories, musings and moods that most of us are reluctant to confront. Sampha specializes in making sculptures out of his skeletons.

“You know Sampha, even if you don’t know him,” I told a friend over the phone this afternoon. This statement is true for you as well. You may have heard his whispery echoes in Beyoncé’s “Mine”, or noticed him, more blatantly, in several of SBTRKT’s songs (“Temporary View”, “Something Goes Right”, “Hold On”), his duets with Jesse Ware, or, most recently, identified him as the soulfully elated harmonizer in Solange’s “Don’t Touch My Hair.”

When Sampha lends his voice to another's music, he sprinkles magic dust onto the tune, evolving the track into an intimate experience—reminiscent of the recently viral Salt Bae’s grace with stocky, crimson cuts of meat. It is a finishing touch, the glitter that completes a masterpiece.

Yet, if you have never heard his voice, you may realize you know him simply by listening to one of his songs. Between his achingly soft, yet immensely stimulating voice and candid lyrics, you will find him describing emotions you didn’t know you knew. That is how you know him—because he already knows you.

Although Sampha’s collaborations are ecstatic, multidimensional and romantic, his own music is unselfconsciously vulnerable and contemplative, flowing with a sensual and enchanting essence.

The album cover for Process alone reveals his meticulousness, amidst his unrestrained creativity: perfectly symmetrical freeform locs crown his head, simultaneously resembling a halo and devil’s horns. He is a pure reflection of humanity’s mystery: finding the balance between good and not so good, embodying the excellence of being imperfect.

Where Dual, Sampha’s 2013 EP, ends, Process begins. Very few artists can say that their music flows seamlessly from one album to the next, yet, with Sampha’s Dual, it feels as though we are reading the opening chapters of an immense, engrossing novel—one that acts as a consolation for our most vulnerable thoughts. We are not alone.

Process is Sampha’s greatest musical declaration so far: a meditation on heartbreak, regret, homesickness, loss, self-image and love, and where he fits within all of these competing emotions and identities. It is also a fantastic and necessary declaration of one of the many faces of black masculinity: one where vulnerability and self reflection are expressed candidly and unapologetically.

The opening track, “Plastic 100ºC,” is a metaphorical anthem on travel, launching, what we leave behind and who we become when we exit familiarity. The setting is space, made abundantly clear by the clever Neil Armstrong sample, leading to the assumption that Sampha is melting from the sun: “It's so hot I’ve been melting out here/ I’m made out of plastic out here.”

However, it can also be read as melting from the discomfort of being away, a feeling I knew all too well the first time I went abroad and left behind my Ghanaian family. The weight, guilt and insecurity of leaving sometimes does not measure against the liberation of being on one's own. The plastic metaphor is also reminiscent of Ghanaian musician Moses Sumney’s usage in his song “Plastic.” There, his wings are made of plastic—and as wings are used for flight (or to signal one’s deity), the connection is palpable.

Home and family are reoccurring themes within Process, which Sampha, who is of Sierra Leonean descent, describes in various degrees. “Kora Sings,” which, audibly alone, feels optimistic, is actually a lullaby of loss and love.

Sampha’s mother battled cancer for several years, before passing away in 2015. In “Kora Sings”, there are moments of hope—“you don’t know how well you are, or just how strong you are”—followed by his pleading that she, his angel, doesn’t disappear. Followed by “(No One Knows Me) Like The Piano,” which describes the piano in his mother's home that served as sanctuary while he cared for her during her illness, these songs ring deeply in the ears and heart of those who’ve lost someone.

In “Take Me Inside,” Sampha displays his gorgeous talent for crafting seamless, exciting transitions. The song evolves from a sensual, alluring piano tune to a former lover, into a hypnotic, electric, invitation to reunite once again. Meanwhile, “Reverse Faults” describes the downfall of a slowly receding romantic relationship—and the destruction lovers can cause to hurt themselves, and inevitably one another. The poetic starkness within this song is a quality Sampha is praised for: his ability to take you there, before you realize it was a place you needed to visit in order to heal.

Every song on Process hits a unique chord within me, touches a spot on my soul that I hadn't realized existed, and thus, I must presume may have been neglected this whole while. Yet, “Under” is enticing in a seductive way: persistent repetition of the word under, intertwined with thunder, reminding us that a woman's spell is as striking as a crash of thunder against the earth’s surface.

The closing song, “What Shouldn’t I Be?” with all of its questioning and doubt about returning home, about confronting self and others, plays like the inner, conflicting thoughts that gnaw at our brains. The product: a stunning finale that does not leave me unsatisfied, nor yearn for what’s next. Instead, I appreciate the experience so much more, and am I excited to replay, to relive it again. You can always come home.

Process references a tenderness in black masculinity that has been recognized and honored with greater validity as of late. For too long, black men have been stereotyped as aggressive, violent, misogynist, problematic beings, who are taught not to confront their emotional pain, mental health, and essentially, to hide behind a mask of nonchalance and strength.

Moving narratives such as Moonlight and musical contributions from Daniel Caesar, Moses Sumney and Blood Orange, push back against these notions, presenting pop culture with diverse depictions of the black male. Sampha’s music is a welcome addition to this syllabus, a graceful, honest and beautiful salve that massages the mind and spirit.

Sampha is no stranger to finding the light in dark atmospheres. There, he extracts unpredictable instrumentals, sporadic yet equally harmonic beats, soothing melodies and tender tones. He submits to his emotions; they are his compass through the dark.

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(From left to right) Stéphane Bak and Marc Zinga in 'The Mercy of the Jungle.' Photo courtesy of TIFF.

Congolese Actor Stéphane Bak on His Intense Experience Shooting 'The Mercy of the Jungle' In Uganda

We catch up with the actor after the film made its North American premiere at TIFF.

When actor Stéphane Bak first got the script for The Mercy of the Jungle (La Miséricorde de la Jungle), he knew there was one person he had to consult: his father. "My dad did school me about this," he says. While Bak was born and raised in France, his parents had emigrated from what was then Zaire in the 1980s—before the events of the movie, and not exactly in the same area, but close enough to be able to pass on firsthand knowledge of the simmering ethnic tensions that underpin the action.

The story takes place in 1998, just after the outbreak of the Second Congo War—which came hot on the heels of the First Congo War. Two Rwandan soldiers find themselves separated from their company and have to make a harrowing trek through the jungle to link back up with their regiment. Bak plays Private Faustin, the young recruit hunting Hutu rebels to avenge his murdered family, a foil to Marc Zinga's seasoned Sergeant Xavier. As a Congolese militia swarms the area, and it becomes increasingly difficult to tell enemies from friends, the two are forced off the road and into the thick vegetation.

Their journey is physically difficult, but the jungle also nurtures them, providing food, water, and shelter. "The title is very explicit in a way," says Bak. It is the human beings they encounter, from rival soldiers and militiamen to the hostile security forces guarding illegal gold mining operations, who bring sudden danger and violence. The challenges are conveyed as much through the actors' physicality as through the minimal dialogue. As for the strain on his face, Bak says it was all real. "To be honest, it was very difficult," he says of the shoot, which took him 25 days. "I had to learn my accent in two weeks." Prior to commencing, there was training with the Ugandan army for realism. Due to the ongoing conflicts in the DRC, the movie itself was shot in Uganda.

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Brazil Has Made Yoruba an Official Language

The language will also be incorporated into primary and secondary school curriculum in the country, says the Minister of Culture.

Yoruba history and culture has an undeniably strong presence in Brazilian society, due of course, to the Transatlantic slave trade which brought millions of enslaved West Africans to the Americas. Despite the inhumanity they faced, many managed to keep their ancestral culture and traditions alive.

Centuries have passed, and Yoruba influences still continue to thrive in various regions of the country, as many Brazilians maintain a strong relationship with the language and religion. Its influence can be seen through the music, food and spiritual practices of various communities. Last month the Ooni of Ife—the spiritual leader of the Yoruba people—visited the country, where he was met by crowds of Black Brazilians who turned up to pay their respects.

This connection will likely remain strong for future generations, as the language has now become an official foreign language in the country.

WATCH: How Ilê Aiyê Brought Blackness Back to Carnival

Brazil's Minister of Culture, Dr. Sérgio Sá Leitão, has said that the language will now be incorporated into primary and secondary school curriculum, reports the Nigerian Voice.

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This EP Blends the Afro-Brazilian Rhythms of Bahia With Bass Music

Get into Telefunksoul and Felipe Pomar's Ré_Con Ba$$ EP.

Brazilian producers Felipe Pomar (of TrapFunk & Alivio) and Telefunksoul come through with a dizzyingly energetic EP in the form of Ré_Con Ba$$.

Telefunksoul, who happens to be one of the main promoters of Bahia Bass music, came up with the concept of exploring the rhythms coming out of Recôncavo of Bahia and showing how they can fit into bass music.

Through the 7-track Ré_Con Ba$$ EP, him and Pomar mold and transform the diverse music of Bahia, fusing its rhythms with afrobeat, future house, deep house and much more.

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