When an album like Port’Inglês arrives, it’s more than just new music—it invites a deeper exploration into its inspirations and meanings. Make no mistake; Carmen Souza‘s latest offering is as engaging and danceable as her music has always been, filled with appealing and sinuous melodies, and body-shaking Afro-Luso rhythms. But beneath that resonant, jazzy surface, the London-based Cape Verdean artist channels her rich heritage and first-hand life experiences into a compelling work.
Released just a month ago, Port’Inglês is a carefully crafted exploration of identity that spans both the Atlantic Ocean shores and eras. It delves into the tapestry of Cape Verdean heritage intertwined with Souza’s life in Portugal and London, reflecting the complex dialogue between these worlds. The album serves as a reflection on migration, colonisation, and cultural exchange, inviting listeners to explore the nuanced intersections of history and personal experience.
We caught up with Carmen for a detailed Q&A to peel back the layers of this ambitious project. She offers an intimate glimpse into the inspirations that fueled the album—from historical research to personal stories—and discusses how these elements come together to challenge and enrich our understanding of cultural interplay. Carmen also shares her thoughts on how her music navigates the complexities of identity and aims to foster a deeper connection among diverse audiences.
Dive into this conversation with Carmen Souza as she unpacks the creative journey behind Port’Inglês, revealing the meticulous craft and passionate storytelling that define her latest work and her vision for a world connected through art.
Port’Inglês, your latest album, is only a few days old. How would you introduce it, and how does it align with the direction of your artistic journey?
My albums mark my personal and artistic growth, each representing a snapshot of my musical journey. My latest album is inspired by the British influence in the Cape Verdean islands. I first encountered this topic while pursuing my Master’s Degree in Ethnomusicology at Goldsmiths University. It struck a personal chord when I learned that my grandfather had worked for British coal shipping companies in the Port of Mindelo (São Vicente, Cape Verde). This connection between my personal history and global events forms the basis of my auto-ethnographic research.
The album explores themes of cultural identity and decolonisation. How do these themes resonate with your own personal journey as a Cape Verdean artist living and creating music in Europe, particularly in the UK?
As someone of Cape Verdean descent who has lived in the UK for 18 years, I have a deep connection to both cultures. When I discovered the history of the interaction between these two cultures, I was fascinated. It led me to explore not only my own roots and traditions but also those of the UK. I was amazed by the impact the British presence had on Cape Verdean culture. For instance, I learned that some words in Cape Verdean Creole are actually Anglicisms, such as “Ariope,” which comes from “hurry up.” People in Cape Verde also adopted British habits like 5 o’clock tea, gin, and cricket. This adoption of the coloniser’s habits was seen as a sign of progress and evolution during colonisation. The imposition of one culture over another raised questions of identity, as it muted individuality and the sense of self.
I aimed for my album to express the contradictory nature of the stories we were told about colonisation. For example, Sir Francis Drake is viewed as a hero in the UK, but in Cape Verde, he is known for piracy, pillage, robbery, arson, and destruction. In the song “Pamodi,” I challenge the narrative of colonialism, questioning the need for whips, chains, and slavery if colonisation was supposedly for the benefit of the colonies. Port’Inglês reflects not only the struggles of colonisation but also serves as a form of discussion. My hope is that this music can unify cultures, look towards the future, and consider how we can cooperate.
In Port’Inglês, you explore the British presence in Cape Verde and its impact on the islands. What specific stories or events from this period stood out to you the most during your research, and how did they shape the music?
I was surprised by the lack of information about this topic; it was difficult to find diverse perspectives. When studying Lusophone culture, it’s challenging to find information because the Portuguese mainly documented administrative matters, such as the quantity of salt or the number of enslaved people working there. It seems there wasn’t much interest in documenting the customs, cultures, or celebrations of the colonies. In fact, the Portuguese were very strict and practically banned many Cape Verdean celebrations or musical genres, like batuku or funaná, which were considered “too proud expressions of Africanity” and were forbidden to prevent a slave revolt. However, British explorers or scientists, like William Dampier and Charles Darwin, despite their biased perspectives due to their privileged status, made some observations about Cape Verdean culture.
In 1832, Charles Darwin described what was most likely a batuku performance while visiting the island of Santiago. He portrayed the people as cheerful and welcoming, which inspired me to write the song “St. Jago,” where I envision Darwin interacting with the locals and experiencing their food and traditional “Grogue” (a strong drink made from sugar cane). I wanted to discover other perspectives from the Cape Verdean side and came across a fascinating story about one of Cape Verde’s greatest music composers, B. Leza. He had a deep admiration for the British, having grown up in Mindelo, where his parents worked for the British Telegraph Company. He wrote a book expressing this admiration, and according to legend, he raised money during World War II to help the British purchase a warplane to fight the Germans. He even composed a song called “Hitler Will Not Win the War.”
The album’s release date was close to the 50th anniversary of the Carnation Revolution in Portugal, which led to Cape Verde’s independence. How does this historical context inform the album’s narrative and its exploration of Cape Verdean identity today?
The revolution played a crucial role in overthrowing the authoritarian regime in Portugal and its colonies. Portugal was one of the last regimes to grant independence to its colonies. This year also marks the centenary of the father of Cape Verdean independence, Amílcar Cabral. This album encourages everyone to reflect on the history of struggle, liberation, and resistance that our ancestors endured. While we now enjoy the privilege of freedom and self-determination, we often take it for granted and risk repeating past mistakes. Whether we like it or not, the legacy of colonisation still affects us. As an artist, I believe it’s important to encourage dialogue between cultures and consider the future of our nations in a post-colonial world. Nina Simone once said, “As an artist, it is my duty to express the present times.” I agree with her, as there is still much work to be done in the pursuit of social justice and equality.
On Port’Inglês, you blend Cape Verdean rhythms like funaná and morna with English sea shanties. Can you share how you approached the arrangement and fusion of these distinct musical traditions?
My idea was to bring these two cultures back together through music. I love traditional English music because it is all about storytelling and musically transports me to a time of sea exploration and spontaneous singing in pubs. In traditional English music, you always hear fiddles and flutes, which I find beautiful and organic. So, I invited one of the greatest flute players in the UK, Gareth Lockrane, who is a jazz musician and educator, and I really love his sound and musicality. He plays the flute in the song “Francis Drum,” and the rhythm in this song is a traditional Cape Verdean batuku. We also used elements like a vintage drum, which is characteristic of sea shanties as well as traditional English and Cape Verdean music.
The first single extracted from the album, “Cais D’ Port’Inglês,” reflects on cultural assimilation through the sea. How does the image of the sea function symbolically in the album, especially in its portrayal of Cape Verde as a crossroads of cultures and histories?
The people of Cape Verde have always had a melancholic view of the sea, perhaps feeling overwhelmed by its vastness. Due to Cape Verde’s poverty, many families had to move abroad in search of a better life and to support their loved ones. This is where the feeling of “Sodade”—longing—comes from. In the morna “Cais d’ Port’Inglês,” I see this longing as a force that is constantly in motion, bringing new cultures and traditions to Cape Verde while also carrying a piece of Cape Verde out into the world.
During the Portuguese discoveries, Cape Verde served as a transatlantic trading centre, so one can imagine the influx of diverse cultures arriving on the islands for business. I also read a book by Michael Denning that discussed colonial ports as musical and cultural hubs where people from all over the world interacted. Enslaved Africans sang songs from their cultures while Europeans listened to music on phonographs or gramophones. These diverse cultures blended and transformed spontaneously, leading to a creolised adaptation of the British quadrille or contradance, as well as the mazurka in Cape Verde. The process of creolisation was a way to adapt to these new influences, languages, cultures, and traditions.
The track “Francis Drum” references the British explorer Francis Drake. What drew you to this figure, and how do you interpret his dual role as both a hero and a villain in the song?
The contradiction between these two perspectives drew me to him, as there are many other figures that embody this conflicting dual persona. This acknowledgment fuels our critical thinking and encourages us to question the processes of colonialism and imperialism, as well as the history that was taught to us in schools.
Your song “Pamodi” questions the narrative of colonisation being beneficial. Can you explain the process of writing this song, and what emotions or experiences influenced its powerful lyrics?
When I was researching the British presence in Cape Verde, I couldn’t help but come across stories of injustice and inhumane treatment of people. This made me wonder: if the goal of the crusades was to spread the word of God, why did they resort to slavery, whips, and chains?
Musically, this song is inspired by the traditional Cape Verdean rhythm funaná and can also blend with bebop. The song features the great Mark Kavuma on trumpet, whose sound and solo transport the music into a creative and free space. Zoe Pascal‘s drumming is outspoken and uninhibited, giving the song a rebellious character that always questions the system and authoritarianism. Theo Pascal on double bass connects and channels all these emotions, challenging the idea of prosperity tarnished by blood and pain. My piano playing serves as a foundation for all these critical questions to flourish.
The vocal solo at the beginning expresses a conflicted environment, marked by the imposition of a new religion, new “Christian” names, and a new way of life. I thought about the complete suppression of identity, which led to fractured societies still in repair in the 21st century, as their culture was considered inferior and primitive for so long.
In “Ariope,” you reflect on how English phrases entered Cape Verdean Creole. Could you tell us more about the specific linguistic connections you discovered between the two cultures, and how they are reflected in the song?
As I mentioned, there were words like “Ariope” that I heard my father say while growing up, which I never knew were derived from the English “hurry up.” Other words like “boat,” “laizin” (lazy), “Nhongra” (to be hungry), and “Quiki” (quick), among others, are still used today. A British language school was established for the elites on the island of São Vicente, in Mindelo, between 1917 and 1960. The British also built clubs where they would gather to drink gin and engage in other British cultural practices, which significantly impacted society at that time.
The story of the song is about two men working for a British coaling company in Mindelo. The older man is trying to motivate a younger worker to work quickly, as he says the British are impatient people who don’t like to wait. He tells the younger man that if he doesn’t want to starve, he has to work quickly. My father told me stories about how the British would make men work under the scorching sun, urging them to work quickly; it makes sense that the words they probably heard most often were “hurry up,” “quickly,” “streitoei” (straightaway), and “fulespide” (full speed).
Your track “Moringue” touches on the idea of language creating misunderstandings and missed connections. How does this reflect the broader cultural disconnects between colonisers and the colonised in Cape Verde’s history?
This is actually an anecdote that my grandfather told my father, which expresses the misunderstandings between cultures and the culture shocks of that time. Only a fraction of people spoke English, leading to many “lost-in-translation” moments. The British companies were mainly established in the Port of Mindelo, and their presence was felt on many other islands, but the Port of Mindelo became the fourth largest coaling station in the world and a very important hub for communications. For quite some time, there was a division between São Vicente, the island where the administration and elites were based, and Santiago, which, despite being home to the capital city, was seen as a primitive island with a larger percentage of Africans and less cultural admixture.
There were two distinct groups in Cape Verde. The mestizos or Creoles had a higher social status and were part of the administrative elites. They were educated and influenced by the Portuguese system and believed they were different and superior to other Africans. They spoke Portuguese instead of Creole to show sophistication and distance themselves from enslaved Africans, rejecting their African identity altogether. On the other hand, there were the Cape Verdeans from Santiago, who were closer to their African heritage musically, culturally, and genetically.
So, this man I am referring to knew nothing about English and misunderstood the greeting of “Good Morning” for “Moringue,” which is a clay pot used in Cape Verde to store fresh water. In some ways, I imagine it is very confusing because in Mindelo, there is a culture that adapts and moulds to that of the “other,” while in other islands, there is a complete disconnection from this British influence.
The song “Amizadi” narrates a friendship between Cape Verde and Britain. Can you tell us more about the historical figure Francisco Xavier da Cruz (B.Leza) and his role in shaping this relationship, as well as your interpretation of it in the song?
B. Leza is a highly regarded national artist and a social interventionist. He united Cape Verdeans and significantly contributed to Cape Verde’s historical and cultural rebuilding as a society. He revolutionised the Morna, one of the most significant musical genres representing Cape Verdean life. Through his music, he criticised colonialism and the relationship between the Portuguese and Cape Verdeans while expressing hope for a better future.
In one of his mornas, B. Leza reflects on the prosperous times when the port of Mindelo was bustling with life, work, and foreigners. According to B. Leza, life was enjoyable, filled with dances, good conditions, and well-dressed women and men. He grew up in São Vicente, and his parents, like many other Cape Verdeans, worked for British companies. Growing up, he developed a solid connection to the British and expressed his support for whom he called his allies. In his book “The Reasons Behind the Friendship Between Cape Verdeans and the British,” he sheds light on the British influence on the progress and economic development of the Cape Verdean islands. Investments by the British brought skilled labour and taught Cape Verdeans various trades. The British also established sports clubs where people could participate in hockey, rugby, water polo, rowing, sailing, swimming, and cross-country, among other activities.
In “Amizadi,” I used a traditional rhythm called funaná, which is characterised by an accelerated tempo. This genre promotes fun and social interaction. Throughout my repertoire, I have mixed funaná and jazz, which I like to call FunaJazz, as I use instruments like the acoustic piano and incorporate improvisation into funaná.
You’ve described the album as a “musical suite” reflecting Cape Verde’s cultural complexity. Could you walk us through the suite’s structure and how you used different musical forms to represent various aspects of Cape Verdean history and identity?
This album takes a thoughtful and nuanced approach to representing Cape Verde’s rich cultural tapestry.
The first movement begins with the arrival of Charles Darwin in Santiago, in the song “St. Jago.” I originally called this song a “Contrazurka,” meaning a mixture of contradance and mazurka. Darwin describes the island as desolate, very dry, and volcanic, with very little greenery, reflecting his initial impressions as a British man in Cape Verde. Some scholars question why the Portuguese named the islands “Cape Verde” (Green Cape) when they have very little greenery and are believed to have climatic conditions similar to the Sahara. It might have been a marketing strategy by the Portuguese to attract people to the islands for business.
The second movement, “Pamodi,” is a fusion of jazz and Cape Verdean elements that illustrates the role of the Atlantic Ocean in shaping the identity of Cape Verdeans, especially through trade and colonisation. This movement blends improvisation with traditional rhythms like funaná and bebop, showcasing the dynamic and chaotic nature of this cultural exchange while also reflecting the injustices and challenging times, questioning the authoritarian system.
The third movement is a morna called “Cais D’ Port’Inglês,” a traditional Cape Verdean genre embodying the essence of longing and nostalgia. It also reflects on the experiences of Cape Verdean immigrants and their connection to their homeland, as well as the influence of other cultures brought in and taken away by the waves of the sea.
The fourth movement, “Ariope,” is a mazurka expressing creolisation as a method of adaptation to another culture. Cape Verdeans adopted English words into Cape Verdean Creole, perhaps to fit in or as a means of survival to provide for their families.
The fifth movement, “Francis Drum,” is inspired by sea shanties, incorporating traditional English music with flute and guitars, along with the traditional Cape Verdean rhythm called batuku. The song is about Sir Francis Drake’s attacks on the islands, while the Batuku rhythm symbolizes the resilience and strength of the Cape Verdeans through historical struggles such as colonialism and the fight for independence. Legend has it that Sir Francis used to carry a drum with him in his travels, and he would play the drum while at sea. In his last days, he ordered his men to bring this drum back to the UK and store it in a safe place, saying that whenever England was in danger, they should play the drum, and Sir Francis would come down from heaven and save Britain from harm.
The sixth movement, “Amizadi,” is a funaná. Amid colonisation, conflict, and slavery, it reflects a story of friendship between two different cultures.
The seventh movement, “Badju Mandadu,” is a contradance-inspired song that reflects happiness, fun, social gatherings, and healthy interactions.
The eighth and final movement, “Moringue,” is like a lullaby. It imagines telling stories to a child, ending with a humorous tale about the confusion between Cape Verdean Creole and the British language, reflecting the complexity of colonialism and the British presence in the Cape Verdean islands.
Jazz plays a central role in your sound, but as mentioned, this album also integrates other genres and traditional Cape Verdean music. How did you balance the jazz elements with more indigenous sounds to create the world jazz fusion heard on Port’Inglês?
The traditional rhythms from Cape Verde always form the foundation of my compositions. They have a drive and energy that work beautifully when combined with jazz. Theo and I also enjoy experimenting with these traditional rhythms by playing them in non-traditional structures. Jazz’s harmonic structures allow for improvisation and expressive melodies. Cape Verdean music, especially funaná and batuku, follows a “call-and-response” pattern that complements jazz and allows for musical dialogues between me and other instrumentalists.
Jazz also provides a platform for free expression, bringing spontaneity and creativity to the music. The choice of instrumentation is crucial; I can blend traditional instruments like the ferrinho with piano and trumpet. In this album, I collaborated with musicians from the Lusophone side as well as those from the British jazz scene, which brings new perspectives and styles to the music.
You’ve already started to tour the album extensively across Europe. What has the audience’s reaction been so far, and what do you try to convey in its live rendition?
The audience has been very enthusiastic and receptive, which I believe is because this story engages people and sparks curiosity. I enjoy sharing these stories during live performances, and people resonate with the message behind the album.
Your summer and autumn have already been quite busy with the album release and tour. Have you had a chance to think about any future projects or plans?
Not yet; it is only a few weeks old. I’m taking my time to savour it because this album was created in a unique way for me. It was born out of my Master’s Degree research, so I want to really enjoy it and let it guide me into new musical and personal discoveries.
Port'Inglês, Carmen Souza's brand-new album, is out now via Galileo MC. You can get your copy HERE To see her live on tour for the album release and her 20th career anniversary, find all the dates HERE
Photo ©: Patricia Pascal