Almost immediately after his arrival in 2004 from the Democratic Republic of Congo, Niwel Tsumbu made his presence felt on the Irish musical landscape, involving himself in both local bands and grander musical projects.  

His versatility is evident in the groups and musicians who have required his services, from Buena Vista Social Club, The Wailers and Kíla, to Niall Vallely and Liz Knowles, Mel Mercier and Liam Ó Maonlaí, and Rhiannon Giddens.  

In his recordings he has been able to fully outline his musical credo. His debut, 2006’s Uh! Eza Nzela Molayi (Oh! It’s a Long Way), may have been released under his own name, but the overwhelming majority of songs see percussionist Eamonn Cagney bring heft to Tsumbu’s exuberance. The one exception being the dreamy six-minute-long ‘Emotional Time’, which provides a solo showcase of his acoustic guitar skills.  

The full-band-powered S’All Vibration in 2011 was a joyful mix of rock, jazz, funk and African grooves, and then there is his full collaboration with Cagney on 2021’s The Art of the Duo.  

Nine years after S’All Vibration, Tsumbu returned to his acoustic guitar in 2020 on a single titled, ‘Tears of Joy’, and a version with Cagney also opens The Art of the Duo a year later. Interestingly, it now resurfaces again as the tenth track on his new, predominantly instrumental, collection, Milimo, just released on Diatribe records. 

It clearly is a composition that means something to him, not just as a tune, but perhaps also as a doorway into this solo exploration of the nylon string. Even so, while operating in strict ornate miniatures on this album, he manages to express a number of emotional states and zig-zags through different styles. Put him, for convenience sake, in the world music category and he will chaff against that. Placing him in the jazz section may seem the more comfortable option, but he will defy that too. With thirteen tracks clocking in at an average of just over two-minutes each, Milimo feels like a travelogue of places and eras.  

Totally unexpected
Tsumbu grabs the listener at the beginning from the abrasively struck opening notes of ‘Rubato’. Delivered with a flourish, strings twang like a table tennis ball bouncing to a standstill on a tile surface. Each approach is accompanied by different ornamentation, building a tension begging the question of how it will be resolved. How it is is totally unexpected as it cuts to a low-key, sensitively played coda. 

The similarly gritty title track that follows feels more North African, particularly in the ornamentation around the jagged strumming. ‘Tirizah’, which means pleasantness, feels more Western and classical, and is characterised by easeful arpeggiations and intricate and melodic fingerpicking. 

As if titling the opening track ‘Rubato’ was some indication of Tsumbu’s technical motivations in making this record – see also ‘Polyphony’ – the inclusion of the three brief interludes titled Études adds to the kaleidoscopic sensation of fleeting moments that Milimo evokes. There may be technical investigations at play, but there is something mysterious and soulful present also.  

The previous versions of ‘Tears of Joy’ were presented with far less economy than the one here, and while they possess more warmth, and it is more ornate on The Art of the Duo, this tighter and somewhat more subdued take on Milimo better serves the spirit of the piece, revealing an underlying melancholy. 

The penultimate piece, the improvised ‘The Silence Within’, is the album’s most muted moment. The space becomes a presence, with notes hanging before they slowly decay.  

Milimo ends with the listener in a sense also left hanging, through the enigmatically titled ‘To Be Continued’. A haltingly played early passage conveys a sense of exploration, of finding one’s way into the song. As his playing becomes increasingly nimble, Tsumbu begins to tap out some bass notes, giving a gradual sense of ascension as he adds these little footholds. It ends with the softest of jolts. Surely this isn’t the end? We can only hope this is a project to which Tsumbu will return. 

One song on Milimo stands out from all the others. ‘Masta’ is conspicuous because it’s a traditional song, presented in Tsumbu’s arrangement, and it’s also the only non-instrumental track on the album. Naturally, you only realise this when you return to it again after the first listen. In an unfathomable way, it makes Milimo feel less like a solo excursion. A deeper presence from his homeland can be felt in the soukous stylings and the see-saw back and forth swing of the song’s refrains. That idea of a call and response becomes a reappearing motif in tracks like ‘Gracias Paco’, in honour of his hero Paco de Lucía, and ‘Afrique Moderne’.   

One can’t deny that there is a yearning to hear more of Tsumbu’s gently cradling voice. He could record a beautiful collection of traditional songs, but there is no way Milimo lacks for the want of his voice. Given the singular beauty of ‘Masta’, that is quite a feat.  

The album can be appreciated in a number of ways, ranging from a technical standpoint to an expressionistic experience. Regardless of the minuteness of the canvas, Milimo is a collection of pieces better appreciated as a series of brushstrokes, providing glimpses of sweet melodies, dreamlike fragments that endure in their own space outside the technical artistry.

Minimo by Niwel Tsumbu is available on CD from Diatribe records. Visit https://diatribe.ie/product/milimo/.

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