In troubled times, when the heart is weary or scared or tired, a voice like Labi Siffre’s doesn’t just comfort. It heals. Or, at the very least, it creates a space where healing can happen, where healing is possible. To talk more about it might take away some of its power. There’s a delicate almost fragile thing that happens with certain performers, who meet their audiences in an unmediated way. There’s nothing between them and us. The communication is pure. Watch how Labi Siffre performs “Bless the Telephone”.
He is speaking to the person on the other end of the line, but he speaks to them through us. He meets us openly. There’s no “attitude” whatsoever. This is a performance – obviously – but it feels like more than a performance. Something is being communicated.
Some singer-songwriters create almost a closed loop of associations: their work is so personal, so “gone over”, so “of themselves”, that you almost feel like you’re eavesdropping on something so private they’d hesitate to share it with you in a one-on-one interaction. I’d put Elliott Smith in that category. Nick Drake, too. Some of Billie Eilish’s stuff has this feel too. These people are “extroverts” in the sense that what was (is) inside of them – the sounds they hear – what they want to communicate – came out. They found a way to bring what is inside them OUT. Despite being shy and sensitive and perhaps introverted personalities, they didn’t hide from the world and write in their journals. They put themselves up there and out there for us to see, to feel what they felt. We are let into their private worlds.
Siffre isn’t like this. This might be a distinction without a difference, but the distinction seems important. He “meets us” in a pure and neutral space, and in that space is shared humanity. He knows we know what he’s talking about when he sings the telephone song. He knows we all know the feelings, we all go through this, we all have people we love, we love to hear their voices. What he’s doing is just as personal as what Elliott Smith did. But it doesn’t have a “closed loop” feel. (Because compare/contrast is, seemingly, dead – I must reiterate for those of you who didn’t learn about it in school: Compare/contrast is not “either/or”. It’s “this thing is like this and NOT like this other thing and here’s where it converges and where it differs, and comparisons are helpful to distinguish not just what a thing IS but what it ISN’T.” I hate that I even have to say this but the internet has made me realize that the value of compare/contrast has somehow not been transmitted.)
Siffre was mostly active in the 1970s, although a lot of people probably know him from his 1987 song “Something Inside So Strong”, written as a protest against apartheid.
When “Something Inside So Strong” came out, Siffre had been out of the business for about ten years.
In the 70s, he put out six albums, and was a regular presence on the Top 40. He is a heavily sampled (and covered) artist. I was introduced to him – although I didn’t know it at the time – in high school, through Madness, who covered “It Must Be Love”. I still know all the words.
I also was introduced to him again – although I didn’t realize it at the time – from the opening strains of Eminem’s first hit “My Name Is”. That’s a sample from Labi Siffre’s “I Got The …” The list is endless. The biggest names in the business continue to sample from Siffre. Here’s a fascinating clip of an interview with him about all of this.
What happened to Labi Siffre after the ’70s? Why did he stop recording? (This 2022 interview with the 76-year-old Siffre is excellent!)
He was openly gay and, according to that interview, his first goal in life was to find someone whom he could love for the rest of his life. He achieved that. Twice. Both of his partners died within two years of each other. He was a caregiver for one of them after a catastrophic stroke. The three men lived in Wales, and Siffre devoted himself to his home life. (I love how he speaks about it in that interview. To him, what is most important is what you have going on at home.)
The grief is intense and the communication remains pure. His voice, his lyrics, his storytelling, the feeling you get that he’s speaking about things we all know … (it makes me think of George Carlin’s funny bit about “our similarities“). Carlin’s bit is so funny but it’s also political. Because the powers that be don’t WANT us to realize our similarities. They want us at each others’ throats. Siffre, a black gay folksinger in the 70s, came out of the closet early, it sounds like even before he started singing professionally. He was out, and he was out early. He was not afraid. Love made sense to him, and he wanted love.
Asserting that a black gay man wanting love has the same experience as a white straight man wanting love … is political. The “belief” that something DIFFERENT happens with gay people, that their experience is somehow different from the all-hallowed heterosexual love – causes so much evil in the world, because it dehumanizes and other-izes. Siffre refused to use “he” or “she” in his songs, spoke instead to a very specific person – whoever it was – and in so doing, spoke to the shared humanity. We all have these experiences, we are not so different, you and I.
His work was quietly radical. Musicians and artists are certainly aware of him but his name should be much more well-known!
