*S stands for Song, a category I apply to part of the repertoire of recreational folk dancers. Songs are just that – songs, or sometimes merely melodies, that are well-known in their country of origin, but aren’t necessarily associated with any particular dance. They may be traditional folk songs, or pop songs written in the folk style, or ‘pure’ pop creations that are dance-able. People will dance to them, but there is no culturally agreed upon ‘traditional’ dance that is particular to that song, just as we don’t associate any particular dance with “Blowin’ in the Wind” or “Lady Madonna”. For more about the category of Song, click https://folkdancefootnotes.org/music/1-songs/
*2 – 2nd Generation dance.
A simple definition of a 2nd Generation folk dance (2ndG) is any dance that isn’t 1stG. More specifically it’s the context in which the dance was created – formal (2nd existence) rather than informal (1st Existence); conscious creation for a specific purpose rather than gradual evolution in a native context – that separates 1stG & 2ndG dances. For more detail on 1st & 2nd Existence situations, see A “Real” folk dance – what is it?
1stG dances are generic – no fixed choreography, length, sequence, or music. It may have a formulaic pattern like, say, the Taproot Dance, but that pattern can vary from person to person according to age, gender, ability, even mood. Many different songs or instrumental arrangements may be associated with the dance. In a dance line, people may be doing different variations at the same time, as long as they don’t interrupt the flow of the dance.
2ndG dances, on the other hand, are specific – usually pegged to a specific song with a specific arrangement. The choreography often matches a particular recording and will only work with that recording. Everyone in the line does the same step at the same time. The dance may be a combination of the best bits from several similar dances. It may be the creation of a choreographer who liked a recording and wanted to have “authentic” footwork attached to it.
(No relation to Jerusarema, a prominent dance style among the Zezuru Shona of eastern Zimbabwe)
Jerusalema music
The story behind Master KG’s ‘Jerusalema,’ one of the most Shazamed songs in the world
By Michelle Cohan, CNN Updated 11:19 AM EDT, Fri October 16, 2020
Source, CNN: https://www.cnn.com/2020/10/16/africa/african-voices-master-kg-jerusalema-shazam-spc-intl/index.html
One night in 2019, DJ Kgaogelo Moagi, better known as Master KG, called up singer Nomcebo to come to his Johannesburg studio to record a song.
“‘But it’s very late,’” Nomcebo recalled telling him. “’You want me to come now?’”
When she got there, the beat Master KG played gave her goosebumps; she loved it. It would later come together as the global hit, “Jerusalema.”
But Nomcebo didn’t think she could come up with lyrics right away and asked if she could work on it at home. Master KG gave her the confidence she needed to do it that night, but she still shooed him out of the recording room so she could have some space to think.
After a few more listens, Nomcebo had an epiphany.
“Something came out from my mouth. And I was like ‘Master KG, come back, come back. Where’s the earphones?’ And then we recorded around midnight,” she said.
Though the lyrics are sung in Zulu, “Jerusalema” quickly rose to global fame. At the time of publication, the track is the second-most Shazamed song in the world – behind only BTS’s “Dynamite” – and the music video has over 185 million views on YouTube and counting.
The song has already landed Master KG five African Muzik Magazine Awards (AFRIMMA) nominations and countless celebrity shout-outs – in part thanks to the global dance challenge inspired by the song.
To watch a video to learn more about the mastermind behind the hit and see how he’s been uplifting his country, and beyond, during the pandemic, click here
How South Africa’s ‘Jerusalema’ Became a Global Hit Without Ever Having to Be Translated
By Samantha Hissong, October 16, 2020
Source: Rolling Stone: https://www.rollingstone.com/pro/news/jerusalema-global-dance-hit-south-africa-spotify-1076474/
The dance-friendly song has dominated music charts this year — despite being written and recorded in a dialect that few people around the world speak
Just around 10 million people speak isiZulu, a language out of South Africa. So how did a song in the little-known dialect become a hit with billions of people around the world?
The song in question is “Jerusalema,” created by 24-year-old Limpopo native Master KG with the vocals of singer Nomcembo Zikode in 2019. It became an anthem of South Africa’s summer (which was the Northern hemisphere’s winter) and entered Shazam’s Global Top 200 chart in December — but it wasn’t until this year that it exploded in earnest. For the last few weeks, “Jerusalema” has been lodged in Shazam’s Number One and Number Two spots.
On Spotify, the track has 85 million streams, not counting millions more streams on its remixes. Phiona Okuma, who handles artist and label partnerships for Spotify’s Africa team, attributes the success to online dance challenges and the “feel-good nature” of the song.
“It’s one of the top saved songs in what we are curating right now,” Okuma tells Rolling Stone, adding that Spotify has seen an influx of users adding the song to personal playlists. “That’s generally how we know a song is successful. When a fan engages with a song, you’re judging things like whether they’re skipping, whether they’re just listening to the first 30 seconds or 20 seconds, or whether they’re saving. Saving means they are that committed to it — and there’s been an incredible amount of saves.”
Since the song’s release in November 2019, Spotify has seen an increase of 40,000% in streams. The “strong upward trajectory” outside of South Africa began in February and March, Okuma says. The surge came partly from a viral event in Angola, where a group of friends choreographed a dance and uploaded it to YouTube. That video now has more than 12 million views — but it also inspired a slew of other videos, including one by students and faculty at a South African school that generated three million views and another by a flash mob in Bucharest that drew two million.
When Spotify editors in various territories started noticing the song, they called Okuma’s team to ask about it. “We’d be like, ‘Yes, we know this song! We’ve been knowing this song! It’s a hit,’ and they ran with it,” she says.
The song quickly became a symbol of hope amidst all the fear brought by the COVID-19 pandemic. When nurses at South Africa’s Netcare Alberlito Hospital performed their version of the dance, one person involved said that “‘Jerusalema’ is more than just a dance. This is a celebration of survivors. It’s a victory from difficult and unknown times. This is a unity, formed like never before, for national and international people.”
On TikTok, #Jerusalema has 418 million views while #JerusalemaChallenge has nearly 200 million. According to a TikTok representative, the song has garnered more than one billion video views on the platform all together, as well as 812 million creations. As for Spotify’s charts, the track has gone Number One in Luxembourg, Netherlands, Portugal, South Africa, Spain, Switzerland, and Romania, and Belgium, while cracking the Top 50 in “many” markets, according to a Spotify rep.
Spotify says the track has been heavily streamed in European countries in the last 28 days, receiving prime placement in playlists like France’s Hits Du Moment and Spain’s Exitos Expaña.
“Jerusalema” is a rarity in its massive popularity, Okuma says — but the demand for music from a variety of African genres has also risen in general. “African music has been on an upward trajectory for the last 10 to 15 years, with the mainstream Afrobeat explosion, championed by artists like Wizkid, Davido and Burna Boy, being the biggest overall story,” she says. “What’s special about Master KG is he’s from South Africa, a renowned dance music [spot]. But in the last two to three years, dance challenges and things like that started making the trends of dance music and Afrobeat that much more accessible to the rest of the world.” She adds that positive, upbeat songs are exceptionally coveted right now.
“A lot of people in South Africa don’t even know what’s being said in the song,” says Okuma. “The vocalist is saying ‘Oh, Jerusalema [the heavenly city], you’re my home. This is not my home.’ That’s the spirit of what’s been happening during COVID and quarantine. The lyrics are literally saying, ‘Take me to a better place.’ It’s just amazing how well it translated through the actual feeling of escapism and the wanting of a better place and a better time.”
Jerusalema lyrics
Found here: https://lyricstranslate.com/en/jerusalema-jerusalem.html-0
x2 x2
Jerusalema ikhaya lami Jerusalem, my home,
Ngilondoloze Save me!
Uhambe nami Join me,
Zungangishiyi lana Don’t leave me here!
x2 x2
Ndawo yami ayikho lana My place is not here,
Mbuso wami awukho lana My kingdom is not here,
Ngilondoloze Save me,
Zuhambe nami Come with me!
Ngilondoloze x 3 Save, save, save me,
Zungangishiyi lana Do not leave me here!
Ngilondoloze x3 Save, save, save me,
Zungangishiyi lana Do not leave me here!
Ndawo yami ayikho lana My place is not here,
Mbuso wami awukho lana My kingdom is not here,
Ngilondoloze Save me,
Zuhambe nami Come with me!
Ngilondoloze x 3 Save, save, save me,
Zungangishiyi lana Do not leave me here!
Ngilondoloze x 3 Save, save, save me,
Zungangishiyi lana Do not leave me here!
Submitted by Super Girl on 2020-08-15
Last edited by maluca on 2020-11-24
Jerusalema dance
The Angolan dancers who helped South African anthem Jerusalema go global
By Ananya Jahanara Kabir Professor of English Literature, King’s College London. Published: October 29, 2020 11.34am EDT
In February the Angolan dance troupe Fenómenos do Semba created the viral #JerusalemaDanceChallenge video that showed off their dance moves to the South African hit song Jerusalema. Their video is set in a backyard in Luanda, where they break into a group dance, all the while eating lunch from plates in their hands.
In the age of coronavirus, the #JerusalemaDanceChallenge video generated a counter-contagion. Almost overnight everyone from police departments in Africa to priests in Europe were posting their own Jerusalema dance videos that repeated the choreography.
The challenge videos were swept along in a message of hope condensed in the single word “Jerusalema” and amplified through an electronic beat that its creator, Johannesburg-based musician and producer Master KG, describes as “spiritual”.
Putting together this beat in November 2019, he invited South African gospel vocalist Nomcebo Zikode to interpret it lyrically. The magic isiZulu phrase “Jerusalema, ikhaya lami” (Jerusalem is my home) arose through their jamming. Then the Angolans provided an irresistible choreography, and the rest is history.
The Angolan dance routine is both just repetitive enough to be picked up and just varied enough to tease. Videos flew around the world on TikTok, Instagram and Facebook. Like the urge to dance to “the earliest Ragtime songs” described by Ishmael Reed in his novel Mumbo Jumbo, the dance challenge, too, “jes grew”.
The gift of moving collectively
So how did it “just grow”?
“We are happy to bring the joy of dance to the whole world through this marvellous dance,” (Estamos felizes por levar a alegria da dança para o mundo inteiro atraves desta dança maravilhosa) Fenómenos do Semba declare in Portuguese on their Facebook page.
What they call “alegria da dança” (the joy of the dance) can also be read as “alegropolitics” or joy pressed out from trauma and dehumanisation. Historically, enslavement, colonialism, commodification and a continuing threat to Black life brings forth Afro-Atlantic expressive culture .
This is seen from carnivals to the viral Don’t Rush Challenge, started during coronavirus lockdowns by a group of African heritage women where each dances to a hip-hop song and uses technology to “pass” a makeup brush to another.
This gift to the world is the secret of moving collectively. Not in cookie-cutter unison but through individual response to poly-rhythmic Africanist aesthetic principles that are held together by a master-structure. Dancing in this way is resistance, incorporating kinetic and rhythmic principles that circulated initially around the Atlantic rim (including the Americas, Europe, the Caribbean and Africa). It connects and revitalises by enacting an embodied memory of resistance to enslavement.
The Jerusalema dance challenge is an example of how dance enables convivencia (living together). It is a line dance (animation in French, animação in Portuguese, animación in Spanish) that enlivens parties through simple choreography that makes people dance together. Routines involve directional movement enabled by switching of feet, with dancers turning 90 degrees to repeat the choreography. Syncopated steps create enjoyable tension, and more and more people can join as the routine repeats itself till the song ends.
Viral African line dances
Many internet-driven line dances have emerged in response to songs such as Jerusalema. Created by popular music producers in Africa, they are often operating with limited resources and responding to national music trends that also have a pan-continental appeal. Think of Ghanaian azonto, Nigerian Afro-beat; Angolan kuduro; South African house.
The dances that develop from the music start out local but can spread from country to country. Choreographies to Ghanaian azonto hits, for example, are taught by dance instructors from Accra when they’re visiting dance clubs in Cotonou in Benin – as I experienced during years of dance research in West Africa.
Videos shared via WhatsApp also enable such “urban” dance styles to jump borders. This is how a member of Fenómenos do Semba received a sample of Jerusalema from South African friends and shared it with his team. According to group leader Adilson Maiza, they loved it as soon as they heard it. To create a line dance choreography to a song from Johannesburg, these dancers from Luanda dipped freely into the vast reservoir of different African accents of dancing to Afro-beat music.
Angola’s rich dance culture
These accents include their own. Angola’s rich social dance culture has gone global through the couple dances kizomba and the more upbeat semba. A DJ will periodically break up dancing couples with a track that unites the crowd through line dance routines that gesture to the Angolan music and dance style kuduro: hyper-exaggerated, angular, dexterous, sardonic. Kuduro steps are hard. To make the routines easier to pick up, they’re mixed with generic Afro-beat dance steps.
Maiza asserts that the Jerusalema choreography mixes kuduro and Afro-beat. Others in the Angolan dance scene disagree, pointing to videos of South African pantsula and kwaito that reveal similar footwork. Master KG himself declared that what the Angolan group made viral was a South African dance style popular at celebrations. Citing him, magazine Novo Jornal observes that the Jerusalema choreography nonetheless transmits an undeniable Angolan touch. It’s what Maiza interprets as signature “ginga e banga Angolana” (Angolan sway and swag).
Ginga, banga, kizomba, semba, kuduro: all Angolan words for dance styles and attitudes that, like line dances, emerge from long circum-Atlantic conversations. Line dances criss-cross the Atlantic, complicating the line between recognition and appropriation. The Danza Kuduro dance was set to a Spanish-language song responding to a Puerto Rican hit. There was the Macarena dance (Spain and Venezuela) and the Electric Slide (US and Jamaica).
A way to build community
Instead of understanding the Jerusalema dance challenge as an intra-African phenomenon, it’s maybe more useful to understand it in terms of ongoing creolisation processes – a mixing of cultures – that spiral around the Atlantic rim. Multi-directional, unpredictable, but always innovative, creolisation is the motor of the “alegropolitics” of African-heritage music and dance. If the Angolan video popularised the South African anthem, this is a collaborative and competitive creolising phenomenon.
As Fenómenos do Semba morph effortlessly from eating together to dancing together, they draw on deep and resonant reservoirs of Afro-Atlantic survival through joy. The dancers’ hangout is the Angolan quintal or backyard, a hub of activity during long, curfewed nights of unending civil war. However, they are eating cachupa, a typical Cape Verdean dish frequently used as a symbol for creolisation.
Like the revival of line dances during the Black Lives Matter protests, Jerusalema went viral during the coronavirus pandemic because the dance challenge enacted a simple way to connect and build community: especially at a time when people were hungering for these possibilities.
A South African singer’s call, “Zuhambe nami” (join me) was realised through an Angolan dance group’s brainwave to use cachupa to demonstrate that, in Maiza’s words:
It is possible to be happy with little: we party with very little. (É possível ser feliz mesmo com pouco: com pouco fizemos a nossa festa.)
And, with just the resources of the body, the locked-down world partied too, for the duration of the dance.
Obrigada to Nikolett Hamvas, Adilson Maiza, Rui Djassi Moracén.
Folkdance Footnotes 