Ilo Toerkell: Zina Saro-Wiwa, you have been singing and composing since a young age. Yet, you only started putting out music as SIRA* this year. What moved you to release this record now?
SIRA*: I would say that the death of my mother in 2022 was a large part of why I turned to music. She was the most important person in my life. To lose her on top of everybody else in the family was a breaking point for me. We as a family have been stretched to the point of disbelief in terms of untimely bereavement. But we all survived admirably. I had my art practise which helped me continue to feel curious and alive despite all the deaths. But my mother’s passing needed something more and music is the deepest and closest art form to my soul.
How have those years until you started releasing shaped the music you put out today?
I think the engagement with Ogoniland, my rural ancestral homeland in Nigeria, has shaped the music. I’ve been making art there for over ten years. During that time I made a huge amount of field recordings. I also started an all-female masquerade troupe called Sira Ogbo which consists of older farming women mostly and the odd teacher. So, I’ve become versed in some of the local songs we sing, instruments we play, and church choirs. Those sounds as well as the sound of nature have inspired me. Ogoniland shows up in many ways: bird song, cadence, and subject matter. It perfumes my music in a singular way.
African Sound Magic
Your songs fuse ancestral traditional rhythms and chants with electronic production. How do the two styles connect?
I am no electro wiz by any stretch of the imagination, but I love mixing the two. People often cite the link between West Africa and North American pop, rock, soul, funk, and blues music. I am trying to explore lines in this connection that haven’t necessarily been highlighted before. When I play my music to people in Port Harcourt or Ogoni they love and recognize what is ours and traditional but appreciate the elements I have added. It goes in a very different direction than Afrobeat. I’m finding that even older people will do traditional waist dance to “Cosmic Shebeen” for example. It’s glorious to watch! It’s all rhythm at the end of the day. I see so much funk, and sometimes even Bounce, and similarities with other New Orleans music styles in our traditional music. We’re all cousins so they go together well.
Your work as an artist and filmmaker gained international acclaim. Its multidisciplinary character and the wide range of disciplines you explore are impressive. How does SIRA* connect to the body of your larger creative work?
My artwork is really about environmentalism and invisible ecosystems and through my research, I’ve begun to understand that sound is an important part of African environmentalism. African sound magic is a real thing. There are many ways in which we use sound to control our environment. Some of these are lost arts but I am slowly and organically researching and compiling what these are. Making music is a way to communicate my findings.
Divine Femininity
What does your artist name SIRA* mean to you?
Sira is my middle name. It means ‘first daughter born’. Saro means ‘the first son born’. But the Sira culture in Ogoniland is interesting and something peculiar to the Ogoni people for some reason. The oldest daughter who is treated as a son would be in traditional society. I am affirming something to myself, I guess. I used SIRA* as a way of upholding the divine feminine at a time when both the divine feminine and women more generally are under attack or demeaned.
You run Mangrove Arts Foundation, a non-profit using art, culture, and agriculture to regenerate the environmentally-degraded region of the Niger Delta, as well as advocate for the people who have been victims of this capitalist destruction and exploitation of natural resources. How does that work connect to your art and music?
The music I make is a continuation of my non-profit work. Art came about because I wanted to take more control of the storytelling of my place of birth. I think when people are confronted with the tragedies of the place, they want to amplify the story, which in some ways, I am grateful for. But at the same time, this is my roots and speaking death into the place does not help me feel more alive and does not necessarily help people on the ground. The story of sound in Ogoniland is a big one. The region is rich in sound and sound technologies. My own story of sound as an international Ogoni woman with cultural and spiritual connections to many parts of the world also tells a story.
“I believe in culture as the most effective means to providing the route out of any economic or political quagmire. Culture is the root of the matter and the operating system. If you do not tackle this first then dealing with anything else is like throwing money, time and energy into a deep well. The NGO sector when it operates in Africa is sadly often disconnected from the notion of our having any cultural power in Africa. It is invested in our victimhood. This sits uncomfortably in a time when Africa is flexing her cultural muscle in a serious way. There needs to be a joined up approach to tackling the problem of the region. The art and culture sector I feel is profoundly important and it is doing what I call root work.” – Zina on MAF
Deep Listening
You call for a practice of deep listening. What does deep listening mean to you and how has it influenced your record?
Deep Listening is listening to the land. The land has an identity – many identities – outside oil pollution, corruption, and violence. I have been able to give voice to some of these other identities and through it I feel there is an opportunity for renewal. Deep Listening also means letting go. It sounds like you would have to be trying harder to listen but paradoxically what you need to do is be still, and open your eyes and your heart. My best work is when I get out of the way, at least in the beginning stages. I love it when I finish a song, and I wonder how I made it afterward. That’s how I know it has been a result of deep listening.
One of the most impressive songs on the record is “Gbenebeka Rising.” It is named after a goddess from Ogoni mythology and spans over 13 minutes. Can you tell me about the song and your idea behind it?
“Gbenebeka Rising” came from me meditating on where music comes from or at least my music perhaps. The piece starts with the sound of breathing. Breath turns to wind in the track which, in turn, animates the birds, hence the birdsong. The oja flute imitates the birds. And it is the oja flute that is the summoner of spirit. And that spirit is in the ground. I am interested in the soil. The soil and earth spirits are represented by a low rumbling sound and the drums in “Gbenebeka Rising”.
“Gbenebeka is the founding mother of Ogoniland. A powerful matriarchal figure. The song honors the divine feminine and I hope clarifies and raises the spirit. Sometimes I naturally trip out when I listen to this at night. I definitely travel into a different realm and a few people who have listened to it feel the same way. Don’t listen to it whilst you’re driving.”
Why did you name your album Songs for the End of the World?
Because this is an album about the apocalypse. Or at least the idea of the apocalypse. It is something I think about a lot. I don’t think I am alone in this either. And each song attends to a different aspect of the end of the world. But in ways that might surprise you. It is not overall a sad album full of dire dirges. It acknowledges our fears and apprehension but is also joyful and full of life. This is not an album about death even though it seems to be about endings. The takeaway should be a sense of renewal and resilience.
Songs for the End of the World by SIRA* is out now via Copperqueen Records.