Music from South Sudan

Being an ecumenical sort of chap, I am becoming rather a fan of Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury.  I think that he explains himself clearly and intelligently, and speaks in complete paragraphs of measured English, which is rare in the media these days.  His sincerity and sense of humour give him an approachable, slickness-free media presence, which no doubt matches the impression he must give in person.  Above all, his faith spills out of him, qualmless and unabashed, in an invigorating and heartening way.

I mention him because the other day I listened to his appearance on 'Desert Island Discs' (which should be audible here).  Kirsty Young's questions were not always easy, so he was perhaps less relaxed than I have heard him elsewhere (here, for example), but it was certainly enjoyable.  In any case, my main reason for listening was my curiosity about his taste in music (I have admitted to being nosey about this sort of thing!).  There was a broad spectrum: Tavener, Beethoven, 'You'll Never Walk Alone', an evangelical worship-song by Matt and Beth Redman, and even 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'.

His fourth choice, however, stood right out from the others:

It is a South Sudanese folk-song called 'Yesu Odechi' (the translation is given as 'Jesus Number One', so perhaps it is more of a folk-hymn).  I was stunned by its freshness, even rawness of sound and by the soloist's incredible voice.   Looking it up, I found that it is in fact very new, having been composed by its very singers (they are members of the Kachipo tribe).  In fact, there was apparently some trouble in transcribing the words, Kachipo culture being entirely oral.  Although the accompaniment was added later in a studio, the mood and sound seem unfakeably unchoreographed and authentic.  

This music speaks (or sings?) for itself, but I cannot resist noting the light it sheds on one of the paradoxes of our age, which is itself made up of two contradictions.  The first paradox, as Justin Welby observes, is the brightness of this music against South Sudan's already bloodstained short history (some of which he has witnessed at first hand).  The second, on the other hand, is that we who enjoy relative peace do not write peaceful music, but instead content ourselves with sordid lyrics set to mindless beats or pride ourselves on our supposed edginess.  It is needless to say that the victims of war are little to be envied, but I think they (as opposed to the wagers of war) seem to have a firmer grasp of truth, in faith as well as in art, than we do in our indulgent age.   Perhaps this is one of the things Pope Francis meant when he said, "Certain realities in life can only be seen through eyes cleansed by tears".