Latest news with #Kidjo
France 24
08-05-2025
- Entertainment
- France 24
Beninese-French diva Angélique Kidjo lights up FEMUA 2025 Festival
Culture 12:40 Issued on: Modified: She is a music legend whose voice and presence have shaped generations beyond the African continent. Beninese-French singer Angélique Kidjo is a multi-Grammy award winner but also a fierce advocate for education, culture and freedom. This year, she was one of the "Guests of Honour" at Abidjan's Festival of Urban Music in Ivory Coast, where she shared the stage with emerging artists in Africa. On the sidelines of the festival, Kidjo sat down with our music editor Fatimata Wane. In this special interview, they discuss Kidjo's passion for music and working with the next generation to come.
Mail & Guardian
02-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Mail & Guardian
Angélique Kidjo still sings with purpose
All Hail Angélique!: At the age of 64, the Beninese-French singer-songwriter Angélique Kidjo lives joyfully, performs powerfully and gives relentlessly. Photo: Patrick Fouque It's the first day of the Abu Dhabi Culture Summit and I am sitting, along with about 100 other people, in the main auditorium of the Manarat Al Saadiyat in the capital of the United Arab Emirates for a special performance. The one and only Angélique Kidjo is here. On a small stage on the right of the circular auditorium, the legendary Beninese-French singer-songwriter speaks to the CEO of The Recording Academy Harvey Mason Jr about her music and impact. But this is just a precursor for what we have all come to see. It's not long before Kidjo springs to her feet and launches into a medley of some of her greatest hits — with the support of Togolese guitarist Amen Viana and French-Lebanese trumpeter Ibrahim Maalouf. At first, the crowd is dead quiet, observing the performance as though they aren't witnessing one of the finest musicians Africa has ever produced. 'Are we in a library or a concert?' I wonder out loud. But it's a summit that has far more panel discussions and keynote speeches on the programme than it does music performances, so I shouldn't be surprised that everybody is taking themselves way too seriously. Kidjo isn't deterred. She performs with the energy and vitality of a rollicking sold-out show, her voice soaring and, slowly but surely, she shakes the audience out of its slumber. Enticing us into a call-and-response, initially only a handful heed the invitation to collaborate on her choruses but, gradually, more and more voices join in the celebration and the volume of the music grows. As the sound rises, people rise to their feet. Now we're talking. It takes only 10 minutes to go from folded arms and solemn faces to hand clapping, feet stomping, rhythm swaying and chanting in harmony. Kidjo is singing at the top of her voice, and moving with the careless abandon of a woman who knows joy — pure, unfiltered, boundless joy. That's the reason that she can still perform with such vitality at 64 years of age and still tours, performing at venues across the world. 'Performing is the thing I like the most,' she tells me. 'I don't like studios. I mean, to me, the studio is a way to get on tour. 'That's what I grew up doing. I started singing on stage at six years old, so I got the virus for performing early.' In a few hours, she'll get on a plane to New York to perform at the hallowed concert venue Carnegie Hall. But, for a few precious minutes, I get to speak to Kidjo in her backstage dressing room alongside Jean Hebrail, her husband and musical collaborator of over 40 years. The impact of her music has spanned generations and earned her accolades including five Grammy awards. But perhaps even more impressive is the list of fellow musicians she's collaborated with which includes Carlos Santana, Peter Gabriel, Alicia Keys, Branford Marsalis, Herbie Hancock, Josh Groban and Ziggy Marley. Hebrail shows me a video clip of Kidjo performing with Mama Africa herself, the late great Miriam Makeba, at a concert in 2006. The image of the two icons joyously singing Makeba's classic song Malaika is magical. Yes, Ms Kidjo is loved across the world — but she belongs to Africa first and foremost. 'If I was not born in Africa, I don't think I would be the artist I am,' she says. 'I never deny the place where I am from. We have our issues. We have our problems. But I was born in Africa for a reason. And that reason, I don't know. 'I'm just proud of who I am. Everywhere I go, every time I'm on stage, I always stand knowing where I come from and carrying the African continent on my shoulders.' More recently, Kidjo has collaborated with younger artists like Burna Boy, Mr Eazi, Yemi Alade, EarthGang and Blue Lab Beats. I ask her how these collaborations — which run the gamut from Nigerian Afrobeats artists to a British jazz duo and an Atlanta-based hip-hop group — came about. 'I'm always listening to music and keeping my ear out for new artists that excite me,' she says. 'Sometimes I receive a DM and I say, 'Okay, let's do this. Send me the song.' 'It's always about the song. How is the song we're making going to help us tell a compelling story that's going to outlive us? A story that's going to form part of the heritage of the next generation. I'm always available for any young artist that wants to do something compelling but you have to work hard because I won't work with you if your song isn't good and if it's not going to lift you up to the next level. 'I'm not doing stuff to please you. I'm doing it because I want you to elevate yourself. And when you get there, pass it on to the next generation,' she says. Kidjo is deeply concerned about passing on the knowledge and wisdom to younger generations and leaving behind a world they can be proud to inherit. No wonder she has done so much work advocating for social issues. She's been a Unicef Goodwill Ambassador for more than 20 years and she founded the Batonga Foundation, a non-profit promoting education and leadership for girls in different parts of Africa. She's been a strong advocate for climate justice, refugee rights and global education; her music has been used in UN campaigns and she has addressed the General Assembly calling for more to be done to reduce child mortality rates. While her contributions as a musician are incredible, Kidjo will be remembered for more than her work as an artist. I ask her what the word 'legacy' means to her. 'Well, I didn't start doing music thinking about legacy or being rich,' she says. 'That was not the core of what I wanted to do. 'When I was a little girl I was taught that, when you are given a gift of voice and song, or whatever gift you're given by nature, if it serves you, you have to use it to serve other people. If it makes you happy, you have to share that happiness with others. 'It's not for me to keep my voice to myself; I need to share it with the largest amount of people I can. So, that was the foundation I started on and that's still how I function today. I am always at the service of a song. My desire is to give something to others, not to keep it to myself. 'So, for me, the word 'legacy' is not something I think about at all because, as long as I still have my health and a voice, and I can go out there and have fun on stage and make people happy, that's my salary. 'That's what gives me the strength to go through horrendous hours of travelling around the world, just to be on that stage …' What lingers most is not just Kidjo's voice, or even her accolades, but the sheer force of spirit she brings to every room she enters. On that stage in Abu Dhabi, she didn't just sing — she ignited something in all of us. She reminded us, through movement and music, that joy is a powerful form of resistance and connection. It's the same joy that has propelled her through over four decades of global touring, collaborations and advocacy, and the same joy she insists on sharing with those she mentors. A woman who knows the meaning of joy — Kidjo does more than merely perform, she rises to the occasion, makes the most of her gifts and selflessly shares her voice with others. In the process, she invites us all to rise with her.
CBC
25-03-2025
- Entertainment
- CBC
Angélique Kidjo's life and work is defined by one thing — freedom
Social Sharing Angélique Kidjo still remembers the night she learned what it means to be "naked spiritually" on stage. It was something her mom taught her. When the Beninese singer was young, her mom ran the largest theatre company in West Africa, so most of her childhood was spent messing with costumes that had been carefully laid out in the dressing rooms. Mesmerized, she told her mom that one day she wanted to wear clothes like that herself. She got her big chance when a little girl who was supposed to play a princess fell ill. Kidjo's mom needed to find a replacement as soon as possible, and Kidjo had spent enough time backstage to know the piece by heart. WATCH | Angélique Kidjo's full interview with Tom Power: "[My mother] came and dragged me by my ankle," Kidjo recalls in an interview with Q 's Tom Power. "She said to me, 'You bug me every day. You want to be the girl? You want to sing? This is your chance.'" Before she could change her mind, her mom had already shoved her onto the stage. Kidjo remembers the spotlight being so bright that she couldn't see the audience in front of her so she thought no one was there. It wasn't until after she had sung her heart out that she realized people were watching her the whole time, and she was met with a standing ovation. "If you're not naked spiritually, you can't get there," she says. "It means you just have to give yourself completely. You can't hold anything back, because if you're onstage and thinking about what you have to do after … what the heck are you doing on stage?" Today, Kidjo is known as a legendary singer, a five-time Grammy winner and one of the most lauded African artists of our time, but her path in music was almost cut short. Looking back, her life and work has really been defined by one thing: freedom. In Benin, Kidjo grew up under a strict communist dictatorship that prevented free speech. Even in her family's own house, they had to keep their doors locked and communicate in whispers. "It becomes stifling," she says. "It makes you feel little. It makes you want to jump out of your body, but you don't know where to go, because there's nowhere to go…. They don't have to put you in jail. They jail you in your home." Under this regime, all art was expected to be politically-charged in the government's favour. Kidjo recalls being invited to sing at a concert where her parents watched her closely from the wings the entire time she was onstage, making sure she was careful with her words. When they got back home, they sat in the car as Kidjo's father explained how they would get her out of Benin to join her brother in Paris. After spending a year setting aside whatever money they could, Kidjo and her father drove to the airport — or rather, to an unlit area within walking distance of the airport where no one could see Kidjo exit with her suitcase. "The last image of my father is my father behind the wheel of his car, weeping like a child," she says. "He was saying, 'What am I doing? What if you get caught? How am I going to live with myself?' And I said, 'Dad, please let me go. Even if I go to jail, I will never blame you for you giving me a chance.'" She made it out of Benin and escaped to France. But even though her home wasn't safe for a very long time, Kidjo says it's impossible to ever feel fonder for someplace other than where you grew up, and this sentiment shines through in everything she creates. Her original music is an undefinable combination of genres, but is undeniably driven by the rhythms of West Africa, played on traditional percussion instruments. "I live in exile, with the drums in my head," she says. "It's a reminder of me, where I come from, and it's a comfort for me, too."
