Afric Simone
Ramaya

THE REVIEW

Yesterday, I was riding home on my scooter through a downpour of biblical proportions and, soaked like a sponge, I inadvertently found myself singing this song that my subconscious had buried under layers and layers of cultured, challenging, and "serious" music accumulated over years of listening and various purchases.

It was my first 45 RPM record purchased back in 1975, I was 9 years old, and it was the first hit song to capture me: I was thrilled by the nonsense, the danceable rhythm, the incomprehensible language, and the euphoria radiated by the character (very "eager" to emphasize his "blackness," then seen as a "charming diversion" from a quasi-television character more than anything else).
I remember listening to it all summer, and it was my first experience of world music avant la lettre, which made me realize that music was also something else—it was travel, knowledge, experience, and understanding.
What can I say: I don't know why in certain situations these choruses come back to mind, which, listened to today, can only induce tenderness (if you don't believe it, find the film "TOUCHING THE VOID" where a climber fallen into the abyss starts "hearing" the Boney M's catchy tune!!).
It's a vote for the tenderness of memory, more than for the intrinsic quality of the track (a kind of "Don't Worry Be Happy") that in its simplicity delivers at least one riff that is unforgettable to me.