She sounds like Sade dipped in elements of funk, hip hop and something else ineffable. The tone of her voice typifies originality, close to the raw, unadulterated timbre of a lyrebird. The sound belongs to South African-Canadian music artist Zaki Ibrahim.
Not your usual “fresh girl on the scene,” Ibrahim holds a style very unique to her person, one made possible by a strong sense of self. Her carefree movements in performances corroborate this notion of nonconformism about her; her songs elucidate this even better.
“I think the music that I make will always be the poetry that I write. It contains what it contains. It’s like my point of view, my expressions, my influences, my interpretation of things,” Ibrahim explains.
True. But one interesting aspect of Ibrahim’s artistry is the arduous task of classifying her music – there is no one dominant element.
She professes: “I don’t like to categorize. I come from many things; the music comes from many things. I like to call it music; I like to call myself human. I recognize and pay homage to and respect all of the influences that make up the sound but I can’t necessarily call it one thing.”
Indeed, Ibrahim’s origin knows no borders. She was born to a South African father and British mother in Vancouver, BC, where she lived until age three and then moved to South Africa to live with her grandparents. Her father, she asserts, was exiled during the apartheid period and was adamant about having her experience life in South Africa as well as North America. This resulted in Ibrahim schooling in both South Africa and Canada. The encouragement from her family to be cognizant of the differences between the two places seems to have greatly contributed to the grounded life of this conscious artist.
“I remember at some point I felt there was a lot of anger, there was a lot of confusing things, the whole world was racist to me, the whole world was unjust,” Ibrahim reminisces about her high school years in Canada and South Africa.
As she narrates her story there appears to be a hint of something yet to be unearthed in the emotional effects of apartheid.
She softly chuckled before launching into the territory.
“I remember being in South Africa looking like I do with a light skin tone, being called white by some cousins. It was like I was experiencing racism from my own family and I would come back to North America, at the time I lived in this really small town and I experienced racism there as well.”
Acknowledging the severity of the pain inflicted on victims during that period she adds: “There were some really really nasty things that happened to an entire people, to an entire nation, completely broken. Now the country is still trying to heal.”
Perhaps Ibrahim’s aversion for categorization is deeply rooted legitimately. She validates this when she notes:
“During apartheid in South Africa, people had to create passes, saying what race they were. ‘Are you Indian, are you black African, are you Chinese, are you Malaysian, what are you?’ But the thing is that people who were non-white couldn’t go into all-white areas. So it seems I’m very uncomfortable with things that have to do with putting you into a box. Especially being multicultural and biracial and having two different heritages, I honor all of them, I recognize all of them but I’m not going to say I’m this much more than that.”
The song “Connected” on her EP, Eclectica, pivots on the notion of being one blood and one people. The CD represents various elements Ibrahim considers to be an experimentation of uncharted recording areas. The first track, “Love Like,” for instance, was recorded with percussion and water instruments, such as the gourd. The sounds, she adds, were created by placing a plastic wrap over a microphone and immersing it in a bucket of water. Pure demonstration of originality!
“I have a deep imagination, I think. I feel [that] as much as my parents are like education is important, they’re very encouraging about having a healthy imagination and creativity…I don’t have musical training, I didn’t learn piano, I didn’t learn all these things but I make sounds and I make rhythms,” she admits.
Ibrahim’s diverse choice of musical influences range from Stevie Wonder to Paul Makosa and Sade to Miriam Makeba. From listening to Dusty Springfield to influences from her grandfather’s Cape Malay community where he wrote and performed folk songs, the unrestrictive nature of her music is astounding.
If the bright lyrics of this burgeoning artist remain steady in her musical journey, there is no doubt her most desired goal to inspire others to create and live well will be attained.
She concludes about her music: “It’s kind of being treated like love, there’s a tender feeling about it and I’m protective about it. So my hopes and wishes for it and me are that it remains protected, it remains healthy and to be able to pay that back.”