At the tender age of nine, I found myself securely fastened in the front seat of my step-aunt’s family van, a place of sanctuary where I could savor my meal away from the prying eyes of the people gathered on the football field.
“Ei, as for Mr. Gentleman, he does not eat outside oo,” I remember her joking to quizzing friends and family. Those friends and family, in the heart of Accra, under the blazing Ghanaian sun, quickly forgot about me as they moved gracefully, their smiles wide and infectious, music filled the air, and their feet tapped and swayed to the compelling rhythm of the emotions and memories that the songs deliver.
This is no ordinary gathering; it’s a funeral, and they’ve come to celebrate life through dance.
A group of women dressed in varying yet all flowing slit and kaba, in the family-approved vibrant funeral cloth that is more blue than black, a testament to two things – the family’s ties to the Jehovah’s Witness teachings and the other half of the family’s Nigerian marriages and background. These women gather in a circle, creating a vivid kaleidoscope of bodies and an array of personalities under an umbrella of similar clothing, disregarding their Accra\Europe\Abuja cliques against the backdrop of a golden afternoon. Their exuberant dance to the melodies of Ziboté by Ivorian Ernesto Djédjé tells stories of joy and nostalgia.
A music request comes from my step-grandmother, leader of the Ga-London aunties, in her Gabriella Union turn-up hairstyle, which is now the face of early 2000s hairstyles on Google images. Nkebo Baaya by E.T. Mensah and the Tempos Band comes on. All for You by the same band follows. Amarh Pino and the Ozimzim band complete the set with one of the most beautiful love songs ever written – Maria.
Even though I did not understand the language then, with each graceful step and rhythmic sway, and their voices joining the chorus of the music, I knew that they were singing heartfelt tributes. The unmistakable celebratory atmosphere honors the departed by rejoicing in the beauty of life even amid sorrow.
Born as a fusion of local Akan and Kpanlogo rhythms, European military band music, and American jazz, highlife continues to swiftly capture the essence of the changing times.
In the 1920s, European military bands trained Gold Coast musicians to blend traditional music with exotic foreign instruments and sounds including brass band music from New Orleans in the United States of America, Calypso music from the Caribbean and other South American sounds. The consequence of this was delivered as a thirty-piece bass and percussion band to entertain the European colonizers and the Gold Coast local ruling class.
As the spirited and transcendent sounds played in upper class night clubs, those who listened from the outside couldn’t help but christen it “Highlife,” as it was music for those living the high standard lifestyle. Brass Bands like the Cape Coast Sugar Babies, Accra Orchestra, Winneba Orchestra, the Asante Nkramo Band, the Sekondi Nanshamang, and the Jazz Kings were the most prominent artists of this time.
At the time, Highlife’s melodies, characterized by the sweet sounds of trumpets, guitars, and intricate percussion, embodied colonial influence and the relentless drive for independence. While the songs from this era are lost in private collections of European collectors, the captivating essence of highlife has transcended the times and shape-shifted to embody the generations and eras that have followed.
What followed the 20s and 30s were a sequence of events that sensationalized the genre. During World War II, highlife music in Ghana started spreading into the rural parts of the country. The forest belt of the country, with its knack for communal palm wine drinking and moon-lit evening lazing embraced highlife with a different twist. Uplifting Guitar Bands, made up of less bandmates than the brass bands started springing up. For the rural folk, and even, less affluent coastal communities, this was an economically viable option, requiring less manpower and delivering the same groovy rhythms.
Each melodious tune relates to the resilience and aspirations of those seeking the independent high-life devoid of any proximity to whiteness. The most outstanding musicians from this era, which also started the concert parties, include Kakaiku, Kumasi’s King Kwabena Onyina, and the evergreen E.K. Nyame, leader of E.K’s band. E.K.’s guitar band gave us some soothing blues like Akwankwaa Hiani, Maye Mmobo, and the timeless Nyame Bekyere(Ponko Abodam), which Kojo Antwi covered under the same name. The fluidity of Guitar Band highlife, borrowing from Black American Blues, invigorated Gold Coasters through the Great Depression, World War II, Big Six arrests, and the path to self-governance.
When Louis Armstrong, the legendary jazz trumpeter, set foot in Ghana in 1956 to perform alongside the iconic Ghanaian highlife bandleader E.T. Mensah, a wave of excitement and anticipation swept through the streets of Accra. The atmosphere was charged with an electrifying sense of cultural exchange and musical harmony. An extraordinary fusion of jazz and highlife, two distinct musical genres that merged in a momentous performance as blurry YouTube videos suggest. The night of the concert, the audience, dressed in their finest kente attire, exuded an air of exhilaration.
It was at this concert that Louis Armstrong declared E.T. Mensah, credited with creating the Dance Band Highlife subgenre and also introducing Highlife to Nigeria and Sierra Leone, as the King of Highlife. The concert was more than just a performance; it was a celebration of a shared love for music and the recognition that, through this universal language, barriers could be broken. The joyous applause, the swaying of bodies in rhythm, and the beaming smiles on the faces of the audience members painted a vivid picture of a night that would be etched in their memories forever.
The 60s pursued the big Dance Band revolution instigated by E.T. Mensah and the Tempos Band. Theirs was a smaller brass band incorporating Highlife, Swing and Afro-Cuban music. An identical sound to American Jazz. The Republicans, Royal Brothers, Black Beats, and Ramblers Dance Bands were the charting groups of this era. You might remember The Ramblers Dance Band lead singer, Jerry Hansen on songs like Ama Bonsu, Ahomka Wom, Meni Nda Obiara So and Onua Pa Due.
Now the 70s. Berlin, Hamburg, and Dusseldorf are the primary European cities that Ghanaian musicians sought refuge within as political unrest and military rule grip Ghana between 1979 and 1981 – characterized by curfews that halt concert parties, nightclub operations, and town center entertainment. It is amidst this transcontinental exodus that George Darko of Akoo Te Brofo fame and co. invented Burger Highlife. “Borga” is a term that refers to a “been to” Ghanaian from Germany and abroad in general. Burger Highlife, pronounced as “Borga” is a mesmerizing and irresistible blend of German Disco, Techno, House, and Highlife music, driven by cutting-edge technology of the era, notably the revolutionary drum machine, painting a vivid portrait of a bygone era marked by both struggle and creativity.
The Burger Highlife times are still with us. From the Disco sounds of CST Amankwa, Lee Duodu, Nana Acheampong, A.B Crentsil, and Charles Amoah to the groundbreaking songwriting of Daddy Lumba including my personal favorites; Ankwanoma, Theresa, Makra Mo, Mensei Da etc. Daddy Lumba integrated proverbial traditional Asante Nwomkro storytelling and shout outs into the new wave of highlife regardless of the theme he chanted. He set the tone and bar for a legacy that is still unmatched today.
As I write this with Atta Frimpong’s Bepo So Dua in the background, sun leaking through my window, upbeat with a Sunday glass of Club Shandy and my last GHC45 presented as jollof with goat, I am tempted to decide what my all-time favorite highlife song is. I live by Daddy Lumba like Christians swear by the Bible. However, this once, I am thinking beyond intricate lyricism. I am intent on picking a favorite song from my playlist for the singular fact of it being transcendent.
It is no surprise that this essay began at a funeral. Funerals or celebrations of life as they are called here are a moment to embrace the circle of life and to reaffirm that, in the face of loss, life endures. The gatherings pulsate with a spirit of unity, where friends and family come together to share stories, offer condolences, and remember their loved ones with joy rather than sorrow.
Unsurprisingly, some of the most heartfelt and raw songs in the Highlife genre are funeral songs. Think of Asaase Asa by Alex Konadu, Owuo Mpa So by Obuoba J. A. Adofo, or Kwabena Akwaboah’s Hweme Bi Na Ko. As I have curated and dissected highlife for most of my adult life, I have come to realize that YEWO AYIEM by CST Amankwa is the most successful seven minutes and six seconds dedicated to melding Disco and Boogie but at a pace that aligns soulfully with Guitar Band highlife.
Its songwriting is clear and concise, it is conversational, and – as someone who has sat through multiple royal death announcements – fulfills the oratory articulation of the passing of a loved one; history, lamentation, and eulogy. The song captures the exuberance of Burger Highlife and sweeps me to my feet every time.
It’s 2004. I am back at my first Ga funeral. My step-aunt asks why I am not dancing, and I tell her to give me some time.
“Are you waiting for music from your hometown star before you hit the dance floor?”
She is talking about Kofi Nti.
Hewal3 Klan 