BEATS OF LOVE
163. Biko by Robert Wyatt
AFTER WATCHING in awe and wonder, Beverly Glenn-Copeland spellbind his audience, by splashing colour and hope, it set me to wax lyrical about politics and the personal.
Then I heard this whilst exploring some Afrobeat. The prolific Man Power turned me onto Robert Wyatt a few years ago. A voice I was once resistant to suddenly mesmerized me by its rough fragility. Paradoxically abrasive and tender at the same time.
Whether it is simply the voice or the subtly penetrative Adrian Sherwood production that makes the stood back anti-apartheid anthem sound less tiring here than on Peter Gabriel's longer, more intense original, I can't say. Maybe it's not hearing bagpipes but a haunting, austere minimalism. Another case of less is more.
The effect is more disarming as we get teased by the warmth of a simple electric organ before having to face some harsh truth about reality. Steve Biko's brutal torture and murder was as brazen as it was harrowing, with many arguing that South Africa's collective consciousness hasn't recovered. It's partly why the system of injustice and brutality survives at the end of apartheid.
That Wyatt can splash some colour, and hope is possibly down to his musical genius. Or just maybe Biko's spirit is still alive and well.
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