Cosmic Disco—How a Mysterious Shipwreck Led to a Revolutionary Sound
Written by Mayra Heredia Edited by Chelsea Rose
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If you’ve ever wandered into East L.A.’s Zebulon on a Wednesday night or any pre-Covid weekday you probably got down with African cosmic music without actually being aware of it—bands like Dizzy K and Charly Boy pumping through the crowd of moving bodies. These records have been gate-kept for ages and DJ’s fought to get these dancey numbers at all cost, never letting on their secret spots or connections. But what makes these groovy records so special is the seldom heard, often incredulous history of how they came to be. Some say the music was born from a sheer act of divine intervention.
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Picture it with me now. It's March 1968 on the coastal island of Cabo Verde (now known as Cape Verde), just west of Africa. Colonized by the Portuguese the island has been steeped in war for years, but on this particular spring day something mystical happens. As you make your way down to the white sand beach you spot it there through the fog: a ghost ship is floating off the coast, void of any life and looking tattered. You make your way to investigate and find its cargo chalk-full of instruments you've never seen before. Crates with names like Moog and Rhodes glisten in the sun. Space-like and foreign in their appearance, these electric synthesizers will lead to a revolutionary sound.
The events leading up to this mystery were mundane at best: A ship set sail out of the Baltimore shore headed for Rio de Janeiro; a journey of utmost importance for there was money to be made. The ship had been secured and loaded with cutting edge instruments most musicians of the time only dreamed of. State of the art synthesizers like Farfisa, Hammond, Korg, Moog and Rhodes, were among the cargo. The destination was the Exposição Mundial Do Son Eletrônico Exhibition in Brazil—a brand new exhibit for all things electronic music. It was expected that these instruments would blow everyone out of the water and many would sell. Unfortunately for our innovators, destiny had other plans. Somewhere along the way the ship mysteriously disappeared with no trace.
This my friend, is where it gets downright strange. Some say the ship was found in a field eight kilometers from the sea, with evidence of intense heat and layers of cosmic dust found along the decks, similar to what a meteor might leave behind. Could it have fallen from the sky? Others ascertain that the ship had crashed into the white sands of Cabo Verde after a rough journey across the seas. Fact and fiction blend to create a story of mysterious proportions.
One thing is certain—this was a dark time in Cabo Verde. Joyful expression had been banned by Portuguese rulers and the consequences for partaking in native music like coladeira, morna and funaná were severe. The locals saw the cargo as a message from God. If they couldn’t fight their colonist oppressors with their hands, they would fight them with their culture. In the hay filled wooden crates was the key to a revolutionary sound—the sound of rebellion and freedom.
When presented to their anti-colonial leader, Amílcar Cabral, it was decided that the instruments would be equally distributed wherever electricity was available. The precious equipment made its way into unsuspecting churches and schools. Nuns incorporated the mystical synths into religious rhythms, while school children and musicians experimented, transforming the familiar sounds of the old world into a new, transcendental sound. The very instruments trademarked by their European oppressors now rang through churches and guerilla radios, serving as inspiration to the people and a real "fuck you" to the Portuguese. The people of Cabo were fired up and ready to fight back.
In 1975 Cabo Verde gained independence. Its revolutionary music had already spread through Africa and the rest of the world. Over time, albums by artists like Bana and Paulino Vieira became sought after crowd pleasers as the cosmic sounds of Cabo Verde became a whispered myth amongst DJs and fans alike. When heard today, the style infects us all with the urge to dance, but may the significance of its origin ring clear for decades to come.
