SUSO

The first ever in-depth experience of coupé décalé, an African subg-genre that’s just gloriously over the top.

W / SARAH BENTLEY
P / LIZ JOHNSON-ARTUR

In Africa, the history of exploration is a history of exploitation; of countries colonised and drained of life. But now, several centuries later, the African diaspora is turning the tables and staging its own cultural land-grab in the heart of Europe – overwhelming its former colonial landlords with fresh sounds, huge beats and new ideas. Coupé décalé is at the head of this African invasion: a bombastic groove from Côte d'Ivoire, which proves that music itself can cross boundaries and redress the lopsided balance of a continent’s cultural influence.

It’s 2am and The Temple nightclub in the eastern Parisian suburb of Noisy-Le-Sec is jumping. Revellers work their props of bling – over-sized cigars, ostentatious designer shades, champagne flutes – with scant regard for how they jar with the club’s plastic garden furniture and insalubrious industrial estate location. A woman dances with her reflection in a wall-size mirror while a posse of guys – all drainpipe trousers, spray-on shirts and elaborately patterned heads – dominate the dance floor. As DJ Serpent Noir rinses out the latest coupé décalé tunes, the guys, in semi-synchronisation, execute variations of the latest dance – bodies upright, legs in a semi-squat, hips frantically twirling in small, pronounced circles as their legs flap back and forth in an ode to Shakin’ Stevens. Moët, a bargain at €60 a bottle, flows freely and revellers eagerly share their liquid swag. The vibe is more like a post-wedding disco – joyful, free, unselfconscious – than the edgy tension of similarly flossing scenes such as UK garage.

Resplendent in military jacket and aviator shades, Serge De Phalet sidles over to where I’m standing, accompanied by a cigar-toting Boro Sanguy. Both are members of The Jet Set, the crew that founded the coupé décalé movement in 2002. “Welcome to The Temple,” says Serge, “home of coupé décalé; bling-bling African style.”

Of all the new subcultures germinating in nightclubs across Africa and within African diaspora communities, coupé décalé is the Don Dada. More outrageous, provocative and controversial than its equally materialistic competitors, it is the only beat that’s spread on a large scale beyond its original stronghold in Paris and Abidjan, throughout sub-Saharan Africa and diaspora communities across Europe and the US. In France, rappers such as the massively popular 113 crew regularly collaborate with coupé décalé artists, while Magic System have been signed to major French label RFI. In Côte d'Ivoire, coupé décalé concerts regularly attract crowds of 10-15,000, including an annual commemorative concert held in Abidjan in honour of genre founder Doug Saga, who died of tuberculosis in 2006. With government officials and dignitaries in attendance, the concert is testament to the growth of a movement that, just five years ago, the Ivorian establishment vehemently railed against.

In the early days, artists gave out money, but mainly it was a show. They gave it to friends and got it back at the end.

British bon vivants with a penchant for African beats will be forgiven for not having explored the genre as, here in the UK, coupé décalé receives limited love. You might hear it played on DJ Edu’s 1xtra DNA show and in specialist African clubs such as The Volt in Edmonton, Club Afrique in Bow, or Secousse at The Notting Hill Arts Club, a monthly do hosted by long-term coupé décalé enthusiasts, Radioclit. Football fans, on the other hand, may well be unconsciously familiar with the genre, thanks to the nimble-footed dance routines Chelsea players Didier Drogba and Salomon Kalou can be seen breaking into post-goal.

According to DJ Edu, coupé décalé is, “A mixture of African sounds influenced by zouglou and Congolese rhythms but with hip hop hype, man-like vocals and a fast jiggy tempo akin to 4/4 house.” In short, it’s club music made to be played through banging sound systems, overlaid with pumping live emcee chat. The endless coupé décalé clips on YouTube may showcase the latest dance moves (see Serpent Noir’s ‘Sentiment Moko’) but they do the music no justice, thanks to an inability for PCs to bang out bass. The scene’s unquestionable founders are The Jet Set (Doug Saga, Molare, Serge De Phalet, Lino Versace, Boro Sanguy, Solo Beton and Chakoulde) with DJ Arafat, DJ Arsenol and DJ Jacob playing an equally important role in the development of the skittering beats. Today these guys are the veterans while new acts such as DJ Lewis, producer Bablee and singer Kaysha represent the new school.

My first experience of coupé décalé was via a DVD of videos and gig clips that simultaneously delighted and offended my taste barometer. One clip showed the movement’s first prominent female artist Linda De Lindsey performing the ‘Stylemoulance’, a routine choreographed to show off the designer make of her entire outfit. In another, a gaggle of clubbers mercilessly laugh at a woman’s African print two-piece (apparently a cheap copy of a high-end design) while party scenes showed men buying champagne for the entire club and counting wedges of cash onto the floor for revellers to scramble around and pick up.

Live footage of The Jet Set performing in Abidjan, then headed by their now deceased ‘President’ Doug Saga, still blows my mind. As the group arrive outside a packed Maki (an outdoor marquee-style club) in Hummers, the crowd goes ballistic. Saga immediately sets to work revving the masses into an even greater frenzy by alternating between flinging bundles of cash and designer garms off his own back into the crowd, a mini riot eschewing after each offering. These flamboyant displays of altruism are known as travailler meaning ‘work’, a trend based on the Ivorian tradition of giving money to people having fun, dancing or singing, as thanks for the happiness they are spreading. Discretion is anathema to the travailler concept, the point being to make the act as highly visible as possible.

Throughout the ’90s, Ivorian émigrés living in Paris would fling money at visiting artists from Côte d'Ivoire to show their appreciation. In 2002, The Jet Set, then just a posse of seven Ivorian émigré friends with a few dance steps and a limited repertoire of show-off lyrics, inverted this tradition by getting on the mic and flinging huge sums of money at crowds in Parisian clubs The Atlantis and The Titan. They accompanied this with outrageously frivolous lyrics that celebrated how much money they were wasting having a good time. Jet Set member Boro Sanguy says, “We wanted to help people escape the stress and reality of daily life. When people think of Africans they think about misery. We wanted to flip that and show there’s Africans that are doing well, going places and enjoying themselves.”

"We never killed anybody or hurt anyone, but let's just say we did business..."

Adding further potency to the movement was the time it emerged. While Doug Saga and pals were cavorting in the backstreet clubs of Paris, Côte d'Ivoire entered its most unstable period in modern history. In 2002, four years after the 33-year reign of Prime Minister Felix Houphouet-Boigny ended, civil war broke out resulting in the nation being divided in two, the South controlled by government forces and the North by a rebel faction, the New Forces. The young people of Côte d'Ivoire needed escapism from the pressure, violence and uncertainty of daily life and coupé décalé offered that escape in all it’s good-time glory. During this turbulent time many businesses and schools were closed. Bored and stressed people took to frequenting Makis in the afternoon to drink and get their fill of frivolity before the 8pm curfew. The fact that Côte d'Ivoire’s most ridiculous party music took off during its most troubled time says as much about the power of music as it does the solace in which youths around the world seek in it.

In the genre’s opulent early days, Boro says The Jet Set would give away up to €10,000 in a single evening. Amadou Scottie, a producer and distributor behind the popular K-Dance Ivoire compilation series adds a touch of reality to this claim. “In the early days, artists gave out money but mainly it was a show, they gave it to friends planted in the crowd then got it back at the end of the evening. The Jet Set pooled cash and made it look like they were flinging out much more than they were. Others saw it and gave money without realising it was a show. It was very clever.”

Unsurprisingly, The Jet Set gained notoriety for their tendency to give taste and modesty the middle finger. Although based in Paris, it was the media and musical establishment in Côte d'Ivoire that fiercely debated the immoral nature of what The Jet Set and their burgeoning movement stood for. Of this period, Linda De Lindsey says: “We knew how provocative we were being but the more we were criticised the more outrageous we got. But we knew how much everyone really had in their pockets.” Likewise the scene’s founders came under intense criticism for their lack of musical skill. “The critics were right,” says Linda. “We couldn’t hold a tune and we had no formal understanding of music, but the fans loved our vibe and we’ve worked on becoming artists. Now we perform with live bands and no one can accuse us of not being proper musicians.”

During this time rumours were rife about the young Ivorian artist’s incomes being linked to internet scams, credit card fraud and other criminal activities. When the Jet Set were called on to officially announce the source of their seemingly limitless wealth, Doug Saga claimed his cash came from trading in Europe, and Molare said his came from real estate deals. Few critics bought these claims and it is still commonly believed that coupé décalé’s founding years of excess were funded illegally. International writers fuelled rumours by comparing it to a twentieth-century Robin Hood story: Africans robbing from their old colonial masters before going back to share their booty with their home community. But this version confuses coupé décalé’s shady roots, when the cash flashing was in fact a shrewd way of creating publicity.

“Before we started giving away money nobody cared who we were,” says Boro, with a wry grin. “New music scenes need dirty roots,” adds Serge. “They’re what create all the controversy and debate and that brings the initial promotion. We were big fans of disorder. Usually fans give money to artists but we flipped it. Some nights we left clubs in our underwear because we’d given away all our designer clothes. When we were received by the Presidents of Togo and Chad we gave them money. They thought it was hilarious. That’s why we’re successful; we dared to explore and do what no one else would.”

And so to the million-dollar question: where did all the money come from? Laughter erupts from both parties. “We never killed anybody or hurt anyone, but let’s just say we did business,” says Boro. “We’re clean now so we can’t elaborate,” adds Serge. “But we can say the success of coupé décalé got a lot of people out of crime. It created employment for street kids in Abidjan who are now DJs, artists, distributors or running bars in Makis. In Paris everyone has a day job. Linda De Lindsey runs a security firm and a modelling agency. Baba Cool is a hairdresser. Today it’s a clean scene.”

Initially called coupé clouer then changed to coupé décalé by Doug Saga, the phrase is commonly mistranslated as ‘//coupe//’ meaning ‘to cut’ or ‘cheat’ and ‘décalé’ meaning ‘to run away’ or ‘go silently’; a direct reference to the genre’s pseudo Robin Hood folk tale origins. Linda De Lindsey breaks it down differently. “’Coupé’ means you get straight to the point. For example, there are lots of steps to get somewhere, but you miss them all out and go directly to the finish. ‘Décalé’ means success and progress.” Whether correct or not, this interpretation perfectly reflects the way the scene’s originators by-passed all forms of musical training and went straight to the hearts and dancing feet of Ivorian youth with their vibe and energy alone. “No one could be more surprised by our success than us. None of us were musicians,” reveals Boro. “We just wanted to create something fun and joyful, and in the process we became international stars.”

Creating a new style is paramount to earning your stripes as an artist.

In this sense, coupé décalé has remained true to its roots. Although many artists have added serious topics to their repertoires, at its nucleus the genre is still party music with gimmicky dance routines and throwaway chorus hooks. Artists constantly develop what they refer to as new ‘subgenres’ but essentially it is the same sound with a slightly different beat and new tongue-in-cheek dance routines like the Bird Flu, Coupe Chinois, Fatigue Fatigue, Farot Farot and Bobaraba. Devised by DJ Lewis, Bird Flu is one of the most infamous dances, inspired by excessive news coverage of the SARS disease. Coupe Chinois was inspired by the Kung-Fu movies Ivorian youths grew up watching in Abidjan’s picture houses, and Bobaraba pays homage to the well-formed shape of African women’s derrieres. The latter dance is so popular it has resulted in chemically dubious bottom-boosting potions being sold in $2 vials in Ivorian markets for women to inject into their buttocks in the hope it will boost their junk in the trunk.

Creating a new style is paramount to earning your stripes as an artist. Hairdresser to the stars Baba Cool is the proud inventor of the Cale-Bloque Code and is preparing to premier a new style he’s calling ‘Coupe House’, a freestyle rave dance he hopes will catch on beyond the genre’s African fan base. “It’s more freestyle so hopefully it won’t put off the people that find coupé décalé’s complicated dance steps off putting.”

With Africa, Europe, America and the French-speaking Caribbean all on side, coupé décalé artists are focused on expanding their market to Asia, most notably Japan. “I dream of performing Coupe Chinois in Asia,” says Serge. “So far, no coupé décalé artist has performed there.” Now that the artists are stars in their own right, travailler happens less and less. At your average weekly session, local big men in the crowd are more likely to dole out their bundles of cash while the artists save it for big occasions. Although The Jet Set has their own label, Jet Set Productions, the scene lacks a business infrastructure of its own and, unlike other global ghetto music scenes such as Puerto Rico’s reggaeton, Brazil’s baile funk and the UK’s grime scene, artists work towards getting signed by a major label rather than starting their own bedroom endeavour. But as more and more A&Rs head to Africa to plunder the continent’s emerging electronic music scenes, such expectations may be far from a pipe dream.

Wedged inside the office-cum-cleaning cupboard of The Temple nightclub, Boro and Serge are passionately eulogising their former President Doug Saga. But just as they start to animatedly remember the relentless party starter, vibes master and strategist, something stops them in their tracks. “Woooooah – what’s that?” they say collectively. Unashamedly cutting short what was a heart-warming memoir to their fallen friend, Boro and Serge have noticed the Jaeger Lecoutre watch on the wrist of my intrepid translator and fellow coupé décalé-head, Etienne Tron from Radioclit. The modest-looking watch is an heirloom that costs about €4000, and is something he gets away with wearing because none of his colleagues recognise it as anything other than a simple timepiece. Not these guys. A 10-minute conversation pops off about the watch replete with wild gestures. Er, guys – do you realise you just cut short talking about your deceased friend because of a watch? “Of course,” laughs Serge. “Doug would expect nothing less. It’s a classic and rare watch. Like I said, this is bling-bling, African style.”

‘Samuz’, the new single from Bablee, and ‘Sacousse’, a coupé décalé-influenced single from Radioclit, are out now on Upper Cut.

Special thanks to Amadou Scottie and Etienne Tron from Radioclit for their seamless organisation and passionate translations; to Baba Cool for the ride; The Jet Set for the free flowing champagne; Linda De Lindsey for the offer of a trip to Abidjan; Serpent Noir for the marriage proposal (I’ll get back to you); and the dude with no name who dropped us home in the morning.

www.bbc.co.uk/1xtra/djedu

www.myspace.com/radioclit