- Nídia withdraws the explosiveness of earlier projects for her third album, making the most of floral melodies and soft pads to revisit a vital history.
- Nídia once said, "When something comes out of the ghetto, it can't come softly." Since she was a teenager, the Lisbon artist, whose origins are split between Cape Verde and Guinea-Bissau, has been known for a sound as disruptive as it is sensual. Her releases are emblematic of the noise Afro-Portuguese artists have historically had to make in order to be recognised and respected in the Portuguese music industry, a trend that has in part reversed since the arrival of Lisbon-based label Principé in 2013. Nídia's earliest releases on the imprint were incendiary in both sound and subject matter, with track titles like "Mulher Profissional" (translating to "professional woman"), a debut EP called Danger and sparse sound design that often weaponized silence to catch listeners by surprise. On her third album, 95 Mindjeres, Nídia tackles an oft-forgotten history of the Guinea-Bissau War of Independence with a surprisingly gentle touch: bright melodies, stable rhythms and sounds that replicate the warmth of acoustic instruments.
95 Mindjeres translates to "95 women" in Guinea-Bissau Creole. The album is an ode to the women fighters of the PAIGC (African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde), a political party and paramilitary that fought for the independence of the former Portuguese colony. Switching up the palette of Nídia's last album, Nāo Fales Nela a Mentes, which embraced glassy synths and 808s, 95 Mindjeres culls from kizomba, R&B, house and Afrodiasporic percussion. An excellent example is "To-La," where muted guitar riffs that could pass as a cover of Michael Jackson's 1982 hit "Human Nature" sway between alternating levels of delay. Sometimes the guitar is clear and bright, while at other moments it's muddied into a soupy delight. A chorus chants jauntily in the background.
Nídia's strength, percussion, reigns supreme on this record. But the rhythms are tempered, and the melodies are some of the most elegant in Nídia's discography. "Abcd"'s hand drums are added layer by layer like a game of Jenga, channeling the slight and galvanizing flow of traditional West African drumming patterns, before a synth slashes through the digital sheen. On "Mindjeres," a flute ambles clumsily like a child taking its first wobbly steps, a marimba following closely behind it. Underneath, a kuduro beat steadily advances, like women freedom fighters readying themselves for combat. "Sukuku" is one of the album's more surprising tracks—in the moments its uneven percussion tumbles into the background, the track leans toward house. Here, idle flute synths wrap themselves in hopeful pads.
Nídia still makes heavy use of empty space, but there's also an unprecedented depth to these tracks. After the stark drums that open "95" halt, for example, a sticky percussion rattles continuously while metallic pads bloom, and a hand drum closes each measure. On "Pose," like a game of red light green light, spiky synths inch forward until a note freezes, held for an extra beat. Across "É Como?," the main melody toots and retreats with the same staccato as the instantly recognizable synths in Usher's 2004 hit "Yeah!"
Pauses also separate the album's closer, "Paradise," into two separate minor key melodies—one that propels hips into movement and the other that calls for a moment of reflection—both shrouded by cloudy late '80s, Art Of Noise-style synths. The space in between recalls the swift transition between hope and despair that accompanies the fight for freedom—or given the Guinea-Bissau declaration of independence in 1973, the fragile and ambiguous nature of independence for oppressed peoples. Through this emotive music, the history of Nídia's ancestors basks in a magnificent new light.
Tracklist01. É COMO?
02. Deep
03. Caiomhe
04. To La
05. pose
06. Sukuku
07. 95
08. cp
09. Mindjeres
10. abcd
11. Paradise