“Kalimba Story”: Thumb Piano Pop

My first encounter with a kalimba, the African instrument (also known as a “thumb piano” or mbira) was when I read the album credits for Space Oddity in my youth and learned that David Bowie played a kalimba on the title track, Bowie’s first American breakout hit (a.k.a., “Major Tom“).  You can hear the kalimba’s shimmering effect in the intro and into the first verse (Bowie, no doubt, getting a strong vibrato effect by rapidly moving his finger on/off the instrument’s sound hole).

Hmm, I wondered – has any popular musical artist ever decided to write a song that celebrates or honors the kalimba itself?  As it turns out, yes:  Earth Wind & Fire‘s “Kalimba Story” from 1974’s Open Our Eyes, the group’s fifth album – and third for Columbia, since switching from Warner Brothers:

“Kalimba Story“

Earth, Wind & Fire (1974)

How refreshing to see the kalimba makes its first appearance a mere two seconds into the song and then proceeds to kick out the jams a little further ways in.  Heartening to see this song released as the A-side of a 45 (#6 R&B, #55 Pop), the second of three singles from that album.

Seven years later, Earth Wind & Fire would issue “Kalimba Tree” on 1981 album, Raise! – an interesting melange of deep analog synthesizer, soprano sax, and vocal chants with gentle mbira embellishments.  Earth, Wind & Fire’s bandleader, Maurice White, would also name the production company he co-founded with Charles Stepney, Kalimba Productions, and explain the significance of the kalimba in his 2016 memoir, My Life With Earth, Wind & Fire, written with Herb Powell —

I was drawn to people who were searching for enlightenment.  I didn’t like conventionality.  The Afro-Arts Theater on the South Side was a hip place of non-conformity, filled with Afrocentric thinkers teaching yoga, music, and everything else artistic.  The theater was a hub of “new thought” and a new kind of consciousness, which was being born in centers like that all over America.  It was a militant black power thing, but a place of black awareness, teaching us to fall in love with our culture, giving us an understanding of our rightful place on the planet and of ourselves.  It was more than dashikis and Afros.  It was spiritual, not religious.  I met the poet/playwright/singer Oscar Brown Jr. and poet Gwendolyn Brooks.

One day I saw Phil Cohran, who kind of the director of the center, playing what he called a frankiphone.  It was actually a kalimba, a little wooden box carved hollow, with a sound hole in it like a guitar, and metal strips attached to it that are plucked with the thumbs (it’s sometimes called an African thumb piano).  I instantly fell head over heels in love with the sound of the kalimba.  Its percussive and melodic tone just spoke to me.  Its primitive yet futuristic sound gave different textures to all of the rhythms that I heard.  Its African origins appealed to me as well.  I found one at Drums Unlimited downtown and started to practice on it religiously.

(image courtesy of 45Cat)

“Kalimba Story“

from Open Our Eyes (1974)

Saw it in a store one day

Thought it might make me play

Future music all for you

Seen me through my hardest times

Thought it was ’bout time

To open up a new world just for you

Fills all my needs, gave me the key

Door was open for me to see

Playin’ around the world

Touchin’ all the boys and girls

With a new love to make them free

Kalimba, oh kalimba, play me a tune

Kalimba, oh kalimba, I’m glad I found you

Kalimba, oh kalimba, play me a tune

Kalimba, oh kalimba, sends a message to you

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Japan

45 picture sleeve

One cold day I brought the kalimba into rehearsal.  I was messing around with it, and Ramsey [Lewis, bandleader] said, “We’ve got to use that it in our show, it’s perfect!  Ramsey was my boss.  I had to do what he wanted.  However, I still didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t argue with him.  I had gotten too comfortable with my crutch — my shyness.  Deep down, I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, and playing the kalimba would put me in the spotlight.,  Ramsey was constantly trying to bring me out of my shell.  That first night we stopped the music, and I put my drumsticks down, stood up, and picked up the kalimba, I played my ass off.  I just killed it!  It was an immediate hit with our audiences.  They ate it up, but Ramsey was not satisfied.  

“Reece, you’ve got to take a bow and a full bow after your solo, ” he said.

“Man, the audience doesn’t care.  They like it just as it is,” I said.

Ramsey looked at me in the most bewildered way.  He way saying with his eyes, What in the world is wrong with you?  “OK, Reece,” he said, and he walked away.  Rams was patient with me, but he was pissed and wouldn’t let it go.  At the very next gig he had the sound guy put a microphone center stage.  As we were walking out of the dressing room, Ramsey said, “Reece, that mic stand is for your kalimba solo.  Just get up from your drum set, walk to center stage, adjust the mic, and play.”

“But—” I said.

“Reece, trust me, you can do this.“

“I don’t know, but—“

He interrupted again, “This is good for the show.“

Like a parent who knows what is best for his rebellious teenager, Ramsey knew what was best for me.  That night I walked to the microphone and proceeded to play.  The crowd went berserk.  I was almost in shock.  After doing this four or five times, I started to strut out to the microphone.

Ramsey didn’t only help me with my shyness; he also made a cultural statement by showcasing the kalimba, which, as a primitive African instrument, gave a wink and a nod to the growing Afrocentrism, in major American cities in 1966 and ’67.

1993’s Millennium

includes “Kalimba Blues“

A piece about the mbira wouldn’t be complete if I failed to mention the work of Zimbabwe’s Thomas Mapfumo, whose music not only embraced the instrument from the outset but also featured electric guitar lines that beautifully emulate a master mbira musician.

“Hanzvadzi“

Thomas Mapfumo (1993)

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Electronic Music History –

Rolf Harris Introduces the Stylophone to the Masses

Right after I posted this piece, I was reviewing the musician credits for the Space Oddity album and was struck by the fact that, in addition to the kalimba, David Bowie also played a stylophone during the recording sessions.  A few years ago I was introduced to this monophonic electronic keyboard — one this is played with a metal stylus — by my friend, Deborah Guinnessy, who graciously bestowed one upon me.  I had assumed all this time that the stylophone was a relatively recent invention, but seeing the instrument credited on a 1969 recording, of course, set me to wondering:  when did the stylophone enter the realm of popular music?

As it turns out, Rolf Harris – the (disgraced) Australian entertainer probably best known for his hits, “Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport” and the Aboriginal-inspired, “Sun Arise” (produced by George Martin and probably the first time most Americans heard a didgeridoo) – is likely responsible for unveiling the stylophone to European audiences for the first time, as this documentary clip reveals:

[documentary clip has since been removed]

Harris demonstrates the electronic instrument using a song from the “hit parade” – John Hartford‘s “Gentle on My Mind,” first covered by Glen Campbell in 1967 – on a program that may have originally been broadcast on BBC in September 1968.

This film clip, thankfully, answers the question raised by the Space Oddity LP liner notes –

Q:  On which song did Bowie use the stylophone?

A:  The album’s title track (at around the 2:37 mark) during the instrumental bridge immediately following Bowie’s strummed acoustic guitar riff.

Stylophone originally produced in 3 versions –

Standard, Treble & Bass