At first listen, one would not identify Tumi and the Volume's Live at the Bassline as an African album. This is live hip-hop--a thirteen track recording complete with thumping drum beats, funky bass lines, fluttering R&B backup vocals, and most importantly, a commanding lyricist rapping in English. What accentuates this album as an important contributor to African music is precisely its crossover appeal: Tumi is a powerful voice of the new South Africa.

The music is rich and wonderfully arranged. The musicians are talented and well-polished. The band behind Tumi (which includes guitar, bass, drums, violin, a backup vocalist and an occasional horn section) interweaves unique melodic lines to outline chords as a collective with sweet and sporadic pockets of improvisation. The band subtly and tastefully brings in elements of jazz, rock, and funk that color the beat. The result is a minimalist and often subdued groove that gives ample room for Tumi to command the audience with lyrical athleticism. His voice is smooth and as a rapper he exhibits unusual rhythmic and thematic versatility. This is a guy who, given the right promotion and marketing, could rise to the forefront of international hip-hop. His skills are world-class.

Most significantly, this album gives profound political insight into the opinions and attitudes of South Africa's youth as it reflects on its bitter history and considers the challenges the country must now confront. The album begins with Tumi belting a moving a cappella monologue about the rape of a woman he had recently met. The stage is then set for provocative political commentary manifested through disturbing imagery and Tumi's personal experiences. The track "My Posters" tells us that "the struggle continues" and that "my black president does me wrong/he has the mask on." The track "'76" recounts Tumi's take on the June 16th Soweto riots. The sheer fact that these riots are being discussed in such a context is extraordinary. The references Tumi draws upon throughout the album soberly reflect the state of affairs in a country with a democracy ten years young, a polarized population and a laundry list of woes and worries. This is "conscious" hip-hop (a term I'm fond of, as it implicitly and aptly denotes commercial hip-hop as "unconscious"). This is hip-hop that embodies all the virtues of the art form as it was originally conceived: as a voice of political upheaval. This is hip-hop that seeks to move and enlighten, as well as to entertain. This is African music, as it gives a window into the hearts and minds of young South Africans, where optimism and fear, art and globalization all butt heads. Amazingly, amidst all this furious tension, there is joy. This album lifts you up and makes you dance. Call it hip-hop music. Call it African music. Just make sure you call it important to both.

-review by Eric Herman

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For more info on Tumi and the Volume, check out District Six Music