You know, sometimes I’m as much of a wanderer as you are. There are stories I’d love to really tell but (try as I may) I run into a limitation called: written history. Catherine Le Forestier’s Music Of Aziza is just one of those creations that merits more discovery than what I can share today.
Catherine’s story sounds as intriguing today as it probably landed so on that French record label head who okayed this album. Where did Catherine go? And why did she turn up like this?
It was in the mid ‘60s that Catherine and her brother, Maxime, attained their first taste of fame in the burgeoning French pop scene. In that snapshot in time, Catherine was this young doe-eyed singer who transformed early French folk songs by Georges Moustaki into youthful takes reminiscent of new-kind American folk singers Ian & Sylvia. As the psychedelic ‘60s came through, they switched up their style to fall somewhere between it and the now exploding Yé-yé scène.
When they tried to maximize their careers by releasing solo albums, shortly thereafter, as separate entities they’d diverge on what role they thought music would play for them. For Catherine, 1969’s L’amour Avec Lui felt like a placeholder for what would occur next. Rather than release an easily consumable record, she released music that sounded influenced by the more esoteric singer-songwriters of the time.
Later in 1970 Catherine would follow her brother Maxime to San Francisco where they felt they had to live the life they espoused in their music. Infatuated with the freer lifestyle of the counterculture movement, they imagined a week-long stay to experience life in a commune, imbibe in the spirit (and routines) of New Age America, and see where that took them.
Catherine, it appeared, was changed by her time in America. Sporting a wild mane of glory and decked out in bohemian fashion. Her background vocals on George Moustaki’s iconic Bobino 70 cemented a shift to purer creative intentions. Catherine came back to France and released music that would feature the touchstones of Dylan, Joni, and others, in what would become 1971’s Le Pays De Ton Corps. Even if she was far from the Topanga Canyon, her self-penned music had a certain air to it that was already looking beyond France. Somehow, the title track wins Catherine first prize at the Prix du Festival International de la Chanson. Yet, this wasn’t enough.
In 1971, Catherine would take a step that would more profoundly change her life. On a decision that only she can elucidate, Catherine booked a solo, seven day trip to Morocco. Falling in love with its music, its climate, and people, Catherine bought a humble house in Marrakesh. Then seven days, somehow, became seven years once she set up roots, have children, and be married there.
Catherine would change her name to Aziza, taking inspiration from the mysterious beings of North African lore. It was that special time in Morocco that would introduce her to the hypnotic music of the Berbers and Morocco’s local Maghreb tradition and unique Gnawa style. Working with Steve they’d create a group they’d dub Babel.
1976’s Babel was the first thing Catherine’s Phillips record label heard from her in years. Even now, it’s an eye-opening release. Recorded in the Netherlands, live, and featuring the melismatic vocals with the equally hypnotic violin playing of Catherine, it slipped (somehow) through the cracks of African music and new school, world music. Reminding many of the equally beguiling music of England’s Third Ear Band, Babel voyaged for an audience, becoming this extremely rare release tailor made for an audience that didn’t quite exist yet. It wouldn’t be until four years later that the ever mercurial Catherine would come back to France to build on this experience.
Now going by Aziza, she would agree to record a new record on the condition that the record would be known by her chosen name. Although Catherine Le Forestier would appear somewhere on the record this was Music By Aziza. Gone was the hippie of the early ‘70s, replaced by the Afro-centric person she came to be.
On Music By Aziza you’d clearly hear the influence of her time in Morocco. Taking full control of her record, Catherine would use her voice, violin, and percussion to reimagine the influence of the music of the Maghreb in her own voice and life.
Songs like opening track “Voyageur” use the repetitive melodics of the region for a hypnotic intent. Violin lines would snake around talking drums that might have been created from some sonic aether. Foregrounding her vocals allowed Catherine to float her melismatic vocals through regions that must have sounded alien to a lot of her existing fans. No matter, this was the spirit of the tantric music that was exactly moving through that magical sound she fell in love with years ago.
Imagining call and responses by looping her vocals, by taking free umbrage of spatial effects, somehow, Aziza ws creating music that was venturing through a third way. Lead single, “Je Suis De Là-Bas Baba” reminds me of the equally haunting work by Brigitte Fontaine (with Areski Belkacem) in their Vous Et Nous. Music Of Aziza was released in 1980, in a new decade where electronic gadgetry had surpassed such “traditional” exploration. Yet, it sounds utterly divorced from its time — timeless. Only time will tell why it was released with little fanfare and remembrance.
In a way, this album posits a theory, that the more we try to explore tradition or a tradition, the more our work finds a way to evolve everyone’s folklore. Others will speak about “Your Children Are Not Your Children” but few will tell the tale quite the same as Catherine would. My hope is that this music points us to where the ball began rolling first.