Lionel Kizaba is part of an influential group of African diaspora musicians contributing to Montreal’s thriving international music scene. Hailing from Kinshasa, Congo, he moved to Canada in 2011 and has been crafting his own musical path ever since, merging various cultural and personal inspirations. During performances, Kizaba transforms into a whirlwind of energy. Standing at the center of a vast arrangement of percussive tools, he not only sings and dances but also unleashes torrents of rhythm never experienced before. Recently, Lionel Kizaba launched his third studio album.
Future Village
. Afropop’s Banning Eyre reached him in Montreal to hear his story and delve into this singular set of songs. Here’s their conversation.
Banning Eyre: Greetings, Kizaba.
Lionel Kizaba:
Hi, Banning. How’s everything?
I have been listening to your album, and it is truly remarkable.
I appreciate your gratitude. It’s good to know that.
We will talk about is. But first, you and I have never done a proper interview. So tell me a bit of your story, how you became as musician and how you arrived in Montreal. What are the origins of Kizaba?
Sure. It all began many years back. In my family, there were five kids, now reduced to four. After losing our parents at an early age, my siblings and I moved in with our grandmother. This is also where my love for music took root. Both of my parents passed away when I was just six; first my dad, followed by my mom. Even as a child, I had a knack for making rhythm—often tapping out beats using cutlery against plates, much like a little drummer boy. My mother would tell me to stop, yet those moments laid the foundation for what later became my musical journey.
This is in Kinshasa?
Yes, in Kinshasa. When my parents died, I went to my grandmother. She was a percussionist and a singer of traditional music. She also sang in a choir. That’s where I started to see how to play percussion, and she invited me to play with her. I learned the love of music with my grandmother. I started to make percussion instruments myself, because I didn’t have money to buy them. I made a drum with a casserole pan; I made a kick with pieces of wood. My uncle, the older brother of my mother, was a jazz musician in Chicago, Professor François Mantuila. When he arrived in Congo, he saw my talent. He taught jazz, blues and music history at the University of Kinshasa. He made me his drummer and trained me in jazz.
I began my journey playing jazz with my uncle, an activity we continued together for several years. Eventually, I developed an interest in learning Congolese music and ended up collaborating with musicians such as Ferre Gola. This shift was not well-received by my uncle; he disapproved of my desire to explore Congolese music and insisted that I should stick solely to jazz. However, I pursued my individual path. Through my grandmother’s guidance, I delved into traditional music. Speaking about my album,
Future Village
I mimic her voice as a homage to my grandmother.
I began performing Rumba with Ferre Gola and Kabose Bulembi. Over time, I played with various bands in Congo before forming my own jazz ensemble. In this project, I merged the traditional tunes passed down by my grandmother with the jazz style taught to me by my uncle. The band we formed was known as Jazzmobile.
What was your age at that time?
When I was just 15, I founded Jazzmobile, which consisted of seven musicians. Life was incredibly challenging then, and without parental support, I struggled to get by. Music became my livelihood; I performed gospel tunes and provided musical accompaniment for various artists. The earnings allowed me to open a modest store selling provisions—a means for sustenance. My aunt Madeleine Toto Nyomo, my mom’s elder sibling residing in France, covered my educational expenses. School materials and incidental costs were funded through my performances. Additionally, assistance came from my two sisters and two brothers—we remained closely knit. For instance, out of every $100 earned, I’d allocate $40 towards our collective needs: giving each sister and brother $20 respectively. This way, we managed day-to-day survival as a family unit.
My elder sister worked as a model. She often hung out with others. Whenever she made $100, she would share it equally among her friends. She used to give me $20 and also handed over another $20 to my brothers. Our family included two girls and three boys before any of us turned five years old. However, I later lost my older sister due to meningitis. This experience inspired my song titled “Yembelaye.” During this period, I felt very disheartened about life itself. Losing both my parents along with my sibling weighed heavily upon me. As such, I ceased having faith in God. To me, He seemed non-existent since despite our prayers during their illnesses, they passed away regardless. Consequently, I questioned whether God truly existed or not. After all, even though we sought His help through prayer, things did not change according to our wishes.
What is the translation of the word Yembelaye?
Yembelaye means “sing for them.” It’s a tribute. I sang for my father, my mother and my sister, who died in 2004.
Wow. That’s tough.
After that, I left the country. I was tired of staying in Congo. My friends, the ambassador, everyone told me, “With your talent, you have to leave here. You will never succeed here. You have to leave the country.” I almost moved to Germany. They told me Germany was good, but it was better to go to Canada. I had friends from Canada, so I moved to Canada in 2011 and continued my music. I was really motivated. Thanks to my uncle, I knew how to talk to people. I was already dynamic. I learned all that from my uncle. Then I made business. I went to see shows, I went to see a documentary about the Congo, and there I met a Quebec singer who was also a film actor. His name is Mario Saint-Amar. He sang and played blues. I had played blues with my uncle: 12-bar blues, jazz, swing, contemporary experimental jazz. By then I was 18. I showed him my videos on YouTube. He watched and called me the next morning.
He said, “Listen, I have a tour and I need musicians. Can you find me a pianist and a bassist?” I said, “Yes, I’ll find you that.” I called friends I met here in Montreal. I had done a training for professional newcomers. This shows you how they subsidize music here in Quebec. I met my bass player there, and there was also an immigrant who came from Argentina, a pianist. I saw his profile. “Oh! He’s a good pianist.” So I called and said, “I have a contract for you.” I called Mario Saint-Amar and said I had found musicians. We would be four on stage. We started rehearsing and he loved it. Then we did a 40-day tour through Quebec.
Next, I joined forces with other Quebec artists such as Sébastien Lacombe. He features on my new album too; we collaborated on the lead single called “Future Village.” Additionally, I worked alongside various rap artists including Manu Militari. My collaborations extended widely within the community. Afterward, I turned my attention back to developing my personal music venture. This led to the creation of Kizaba. It was for the debut album,
Nzela
, came in 2017. Nzela means “path.” So I wanted to start a new path in Canada. Then I released
Kizavibe
in 2022, and now
Future Village
. I started working on this album in 2021.
Your sound is quite distinctive. It doesn’t resemble any kind of Congolese music I’ve encountered previously. Could you explain how you would characterize it?
I’d describe it as Afro-Electro-Pop music. It incorporates numerous influences. On one hand, there’s the root element where I mimic traditional vocals using my throat technique.
performs with a high, tense vocal delivery
Then comes the pop segment. The initial track is titled “Fumu Na Betu,” translating to “The Ancestors of Our Country.” In this piece, I delve into themes centered around my grandmother and pay homage to those who came before us, paving the way forward. The subsequent song, “Sapologie,” explores aspects of Congolese cultural heritage.
Oh, I see what you mean about the
sapeur
(Société des Ambianceurs et des Personne Élégantes or Society of Atmosphere Creators and Stylish Individuals), this culture of refined presentation, promoted by
Papa Wemba
.
La sape
,
voila
. I grew up in Papa Wemba’s neighborhood, Matonge. I lived there for a long time. Papa Wemba inspires me a lot.
He’s among my absolute favorite creators. He made Village Molokai.
Absolutely! That perfectly describes my neighborhood. “Sapologie” draws inspiration from Papa Wemba since I spent my childhood in Matonge. In our community, we take pride in dressing stylishly. This reflects our cultural identity. The music incorporates elements of pop with hints of traditional sounds, including some Afrobeat influences and Congolese guitar towards the end, which captures the essence. To sum it up, it’s definitely an Afro-Electro-Pop style.
Let’s discuss some of the other tracks. First, provide more details about “Fumu Na Betu.”
That’s the opening. I call my ancestors; I call on my grandmother. I say, “With this album, give me the chance. I want the light of my ancestors to open the door.”
I’ve mentioned “Les Eglises de Kinshasa,” which refers to the churches in Kinshasa. This was featured during an episode of our podcast.
Planet Afropop
.
Nice.
Our host George Collinet has visited Kinshasa multiple times, although not lately. He mentioned that he doesn’t remember seeing numerous churches there. According to him, his attention was mainly on beer and music during those visits.
(Laughing), well, “The Churches of Kinshasa” narrates an experience I went through in Congo. While living there, I performed Gospel music in those churches, which gave me insight into both virtuous and unscrupulous religious leaders. Many use their position merely as a means to generate income. Life was extremely tough for most people due to poverty, coupled with widespread corruption within the nation. Despite being rich in resources like minerals, much of the wealth from these mines ends up lining the pockets of corrupt officials who sell extraction rights to Western countries. Instead of distributing funds back to the populace, they hoard them for personal gain. Consequently, the general public remains impoverished. This situation led to proliferation of numerous church establishments; each neighborhood often houses anywhere between five to ten places of worship where many clergymen engage primarily in profit-driven activities rather than spiritual guidance.
Sure, here’s your requested paraphrase:
In any case, my sibling is employed at a courier firm where they deliver meals directly to residences. Additionally, this person acts as a protector for an affluent clergyman based in Congo. On one occasion, after stopping the delivery vehicle to refuel, my sibling ventured into the store to settle the payment. Upon returning outside, their satchel had vanished without a trace. It turned out someone shattered the side window just to seize the bag containing $2000 USD. Consequently, my brother reached out to me immediately.
My brother is part of a household with his spouse and three offspring; occasionally, I contribute financially to support them during tough times. However, on this particular instance, he contacted me sobbing uncontrollably stating, “The organization’s funds were taken from me, and now I’m uncertain about repaying what was lost.” Apparently, the employer mandated him to reimburse within two days or face termination.
I mentioned, “I’ve got rent for my apartment, expenses for my music studio, and payments on my credit card. It’s utter mayhem.” I suggested perhaps he should inquire with the pastor about getting financial assistance. So, he approached the pastor who responded, “I’ll be praying for you; God will provide.” The pastor did not offer a cent. Upon hearing from my brother about this encounter, I felt both furious and disheartened. This wealthy pastor had nothing to spare when he needed support as your bodyguard? Accepting defeat, I headed to the bank and took out a loan before sending the funds to my brother. Despite having plenty of issues of my own, I handle all matters independently. Yet, it pains me deeply what transpired with him. Eventually, he repaid the sum, but I insisted, “Absolutely not. Instead, I must compose a song criticizing the churches in Kinshasa.”
My sister concurred, saying, “Absolutely. You must compose a song about the churches in Kinshasa since there are far too many dishonest and fraudulent pastors. It’s crucial that you expose this issue.” Following her agreement, I penned this song.
That’s intense. I understand this is a genuine issue, and it’s not specific to Kinshasa. It occurs in many areas like Ghana and Zimbabwe as well. Numerous pastors exploit the disadvantaged with empty assurances and enrich themselves through these practices.
That’s everything across the whole of Africa. It’s quite serious.
You’ve got a track titled “Congolese Musique,” yet it sounds more like a rock song to me. Can you explain what’s happening with this particular piece?
Absolutely. Yes, yes, yes. The song revolves around various influences. Jazz has had a significant impact on me due to my uncle’s guidance, while tradition comes through via my grandmother. These elements are reflected at the beginning of “Congolese Music,” where I mimic those classic vocal styles, reminiscent of my grandmother’s teachings.
You employ many distinct vocal styles on this album.
However, I have listened to pop-rock music, and I realize that people enjoy rock in the United States and Canada. I began performing this song in 2020 when I started playing.
Mundial Montreal
, and people really loved the song. In fact, “Congolese Musique” is also about the influences that we have brought to Africa. Congolese guitar is very special. In the time of Mobutu, he sent Congolese guitarists all over Africa, to Chad, Burkina Faso, many African countries to give lessons in Congolese way.
Certainly. This includes both Tanzania and Kenya as well.
Mobutu had a great appreciation for Congolese music. As you might be aware, Afrobeats originated from rumba music.
Coupé decalé
emerged from Congolese soukous. We refer to it as the
seben
In Africa, we refer to it as soukous. Therefore, Afrobeats, coupé décalé, and even salsa all originate from Congolese music. These genres emerged in Congo. This is what I express in my song. The influence of Congolese music has spread far and wide. Despite sharing our music globally, we seldom discuss this fact; instead, we stay modest.
Your track “Bas-Koko” boasts an almost industrial vibe. The guitar rumbles akin to an engine. Impressive! Quite powerful material!
Absolutely. “Koko” refers to our elders, specifically our grandparents. This song revolves around my grandma and grandpa, highlighting the profound respect we hold for them. In African culture, elderly grandparents often reside with their families as they age. If they require assistance—such as using the restroom—we take care of them: washing them, providing all necessary support. There’s immense reverence for our grandparents. The song also celebrates this bond through music.
Simon Kimbangu
(Congolese Protestant cleric who founded a religion there in the mid 20th century).
Ah, yes. A fascinating man.
I respect his universe and what he did. I pay homage to him in this song. This is the other song I I played at the Mundial Mondeal in 2021. And the director of the New Orleans Jazz Festival was in the room. She saw my show, and it made her crazy. She said to me, “I want you to open Jazz Fest at New Orleans.” So I did that in 2022. I played the New Orleans Jazz Fest opening. There was Lionel Richie, CeeLo Green, Foo Fighters, Erykah Badu, and me! I was very happy.
I wager you were. Your track “Kitoko” has quite a funk vibe. It really gets people dancing.
Exactly. It’s a love song. I talk about women. I call them ”
poussin
.” Poussin refers to a baby. But you can call a beautiful woman poussin. In Africa, it’s like “my baby.” So I talk about love and the affection of a couple.
Let’s discuss the titular track, “Future Village.” It presents quite a blend. The beginning is rather sluggish, yet it transitions into a rapid-fire, almost speed-metal section. You perform vocals in English throughout. This tune packs in plenty of variety.
In “Future Village,” we encounter both traditional roots music and dubstep electronica towards the conclusion. This piece reflects on my personal vision of what lies ahead, yet begins with references to my forebears. I convey to them that I wish not to dwell in darkness; instead, I aspire to tread the path illuminated by light. I express this desire: “Guide me toward progress along the beam of light and aid us in illuminating the way forward for every African individual, as well as those enduring conflict.” The narrative touches upon aspirations for liberation across Africa, particularly emphasizing the plight of individuals in Congo who face significant hardships.
I understand the suffering experienced in Congo. When speaking with Congolese individuals today, they mention, “We must offer our nation the beauty of progress.” However, merely presenting our country with such symbolic gestures won’t lead to transformation. Instead, we should cease this kind of rhetoric and focus on genuine changes needed within the country—addressing issues like corruption, which plagues both my homeland and many parts of Africa as well. The Democratic Republic of Congo possesses abundant mineral resources. Drawing from my experiences in Canada, were I to become president, I’d leverage these natural assets to generate employment opportunities. For instance, securing vehicles dedicated to waste management could help gather discarded plastics and repurpose them into new products, thereby fostering job creation. Consequently, street gangs might diminish due to improved prospects, leading to safer communities overall.
shegue
(street children) Kids who have been left behind and live on the streets.
In the evenings, the streets can be quite perilous; criminals might snatch your belongings like bags and phones due to lack of employment opportunities. This raises the question: why are so many unemployed? It’s largely attributed to governmental practices where officials hoard most funds for personal gain. Once individuals join the public sector, their remuneration skyrockets beyond what even the U.S. President earns. Imagine someone from Africa pocketing a higher income than the leader of such a powerful nation, with cabinet members commanding wages surpassing those in Western nations—that leads me to advocate fervently for “Africa’s Freedom.” People here face immense hardship daily. Voting seems imperative as our current leadership does little to improve lives. Basic necessities must be provided—food distributed—and industries developed, particularly tourism which holds potential to generate numerous job openings across various sectors.
Lionel, this is intriguing because, as you’re aware, in Congo, particularly during the Mobutu era and even today, expressing yourself through music with such themes has been challenging. From what I gather, addressing issues like corruption openly isn’t feasible; instead, one must approach these topics subtly or avoid them altogether.
It’s challenging, which is precisely why I am discussing liberation for Africa.
You can express such ideas freely because you are part of the diaspora.
Yes.
However, even when crafting your musical style for this album, it might be tougher to do so in Kinshasa and gain acceptance. Audiences there tend to have specific expectations, correct?
That’s all. Once I create a track similar to “Sapologie,” people will adore it. They’ll be compelled to dance due to the soukous-style guitar work along with the bass lines. My previous album featured numerous songs designed for dancing.
coupé decalé
And Afrobeat—they’ll readily accept that. However, when it comes to experimental music, they might listen and exclaim, “Oh!” This goes for even the musicians who would likely respond with an impressed, “Oh maestro!” During my trip to Congo to record at the studio,…
Did you record this in Kinshasa?
Certainly. My initial album was recorded in Canada. For the second one,
Kisavibe
and
Future Village
The latest work I completed in Congo involved renting a studio where I collaborated with local traditional musicians along with all necessary equipment. Upon hearing the instrumental tracks, they regarded me as though I had lost my mind. Some thought of me as insane. Even the engineers were doubtful, repeatedly saying, “No, no, no, no, no?”
Even the engineers!
They remarked, “This isn’t how things happen here; your approach won’t succeed.” In response, I insisted, “Pay attention, it will work—like this, exactly like this…” The wisdom behind these insights came from my uncle who often shared his belief that engaging with jazz could reshape one’s mind. He emphasized playing complex jazz patterns such as 3, 5, 7, 6, and 9 beats. Following his advice, I immersed myself in practicing these intricate rhythms. My uncle also advised, “Once you venture beyond Congo, others will view you as a prodigy due to your fusion of traditional Congolese music with innovative styles, which may puzzle them.” Meanwhile, back home in Congo, locals commented, “He must be out of his mind—he’s ill,” (chuckles). However, my uncle would have been proud knowing he inspired me to pursue this path—it feels almost reverential toward him now. Sadly, he passed away in 2010 after battling severe alcoholism. A true aficionado of the blues, he left an indelible mark through his guidance and passion.
Intriging. I assume the track “Kimbala” serves as an illustration of this. Counting through, it totals 12 parts. Additionally, it’s quite a catchy and groovy piece.
“Kimbala” is discussing a festival taking place in a village. We refer to this rhythm as originating from Congo.
kitweni
Kitweni is a traditional beat originating from my village. This beat journeyed through the era of slavery. In Haiti, they refer to it as
rara
It has also reached South America. This is why I frequently perform in South America since people enjoy my music there. They perceive it as blending the musical journey that was tied to slavery but infused with a futuristic aspect.
I begin by discussing the celebration in the village. I incorporate this particular dance style into my lyrics. I shared it with my friend.
Wesli
, who is from Haiti, mentioned that he wanted to collaborate with me on singing this song. According to him, it resembles rara. At that point, everything became clear to me. Indeed, the essence of rara originates from the music prevalent in my hometown. Therefore, I shared the track with him, and he added his vocals.
Great! It’s such an awesome track. This leads us to “AfroFuturisme,” which is also quite experimental, wouldn’t you say? Quite appropriately too.
Exactly. This is my own Afrofuturism, the way I define it. In fact, it’s a movement that started a long time ago, back in the ’80s. I want the future to be this kind of music that I make, this mix. One day, people will start to interpret the songs like that. I am showing a direction for the future of my music. I want it to be like a signature. “Ah, that sounds like Kizaba.” When I think of the future, the future village, I think one day Congo will be a country where there is no war and everyone will live together and have a good relationship with the West, a good union with the rest of Africa, a Congo where everyone has enough to eat well, and be in good health without cholera or malaria. Malaria is the disease that killed my parents. There will be lots of jobs. There will be tourism and employment for the Congolese people. It will be a future without racism where everyone can live together. This is my future village.
That’s excellent. First, you must envision the future before bringing it into reality.
You know, I recently had a conversation with
Pierre Kwenders
, an additional Montreal-based Congolese artist whom I assume you’re familiar with, along with several other beatmakers hailing from Lagos and Johannesburg—individuals known for crafting major hits for artists such as Tyla. Our conversation revolved around various rhythms and concepts related to music production. Perhaps you’ve encountered this producer/artist before.
Kooldrink
. He told me that his goal is to translate the African rhythms for the West. And he wants the big audience, 2,000,000 hits on YouTube and all that. But for Pierre, it’s all about the club, creating a mix that makes people dance.
To me, it appears that you are somewhat liberated from such goals. Your concept leans more towards artistry perhaps with a touch of spirituality. Additionally, Montreal surely possesses a particular openness and atmosphere that allows space for your distinctive musical style, doesn’t it?
Absolutely. In Montreal, having a distinct identity is crucial. If you stand out uniquely, people take greater interest in you. Being an outsider aspiring to create Québécois-style music won’t cut it; they’ll dismiss it as artificial. The same goes within my own community—I’m originally from there—they insist on maintaining tradition over innovation. My aim isn’t merely to produce African music but global music. I aspire to craft tunes that resonate with audiences worldwide so when folks attend my shows, they can exclaim, “That’s unmistakably Kizaba!” My vision encompasses boundless creativity. Within my compositions, one might detect elements of electronic beats intertwined with funk rhythms, infused with Afrobeat flair and traditional influences alongside pop-rock undertones—everyone enjoys rock music after all. As both artist and performer—a multi-talented figure encompassing roles such as musician, percussionist, vocalist, and choreographer—I pour every ounce of vigor into each performance. It was essential to devise a concept distinctly mine, truly embodying who I am: this embodies what being ‘Kizaba’ means.
I’ve witnessed your performance, and it truly lives up to the hype. Congratulations on the album release! Let’s hope we get to see you perform again soon.
Nuits D’Afrique
Will you be performing at the festival this summer?
Certainly. Prior to Meiway on July 20.
Excellent. We’ll be there.
Thanks for the interview. The album delves into aspects of my life such as bravery and success. When I arrived here, I pondered over how to begin afresh. Back in Congo, I was signing deals, performing at hotels with jazz gigs every weekend and entertaining in eateries. However, upon coming here, I needed to rebuild everything from the ground up. It’s this resilience and valor instilled in me by my uncle that guided me through. He always assured me that someday I would achieve greatness. Indeed, those aspirations have now become reality.
Provided by Syndigate Media Inc. (
Syndigate.info
).
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