Pierre Kwenders
Saffron Davan
In February, Pierre Kwenders released his new EP, Tears On The Dancefloor, his first project since his critically acclaimed 2022 album José Louis and the Paradox of Love. “The previous album came with a lot of anxiety, because I was very vulnerable,” he says. “I was putting myself out there for the first time, in the biggest way possible.” In a 2023 NPR interview, Pierre explained that he gave the album its title because “you ask yourself so many questions about who you are, about who you love.” During the pandemic, he came out as gay to his mom. The second song on that album, “Your Dream”—a collaboration with NGABO—opens with a voice note she left him on his 31st birthday. The song serves as a letter to assure her that everything will be okay.
Born José Louis Modabi Nogaya Cambila Lubango Lubango in Kinshasa, in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Pierre immigrated to Montreal, Quebec with his mother in 2001. His stage name, Pierre Kwenders, pays tribute to his late maternal grandfather. It was after joining the Afrika Intshiyetu Choir that he realized music was the path for him. His time in that choir is the foundation of his signature blend of Congolese rumba, electronic, pop, R&B, and jazz in his music. In 2014, he released his debut album, Le Dernier empereur bantou, which received a short-list nomination for the 2015 Juno Award for World Music Album of the Year and a short-list nomination for the 2015 Polaris Music Prize. He would, of course, go on to win the Polaris Music Prize in 2022 for José Louis And The Paradox Of Love.
Despite being just an EP, Tears On The Dancefloor stands as a full body of work, teasing where Pierre Kwnders will leap to on his next album.
Your last project, José Louis and the Paradox of Love, was an exploration of love, life, and identity. It went on to win Canada’s 2022 Polaris Music Prize. That was three years ago, and so much life has happened since. Can you talk about where your head was at when you were making this EP?
In the past few years, I’ve lost a few important people in my life—key people, people that I trusted, loved, and who loved me back. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to be with my family during those moments. Most of the time when those losses happened, I’d be on stage, DJing, and sometimes I’d cry on stage without people noticing. I figured out a way to not be so sad, because being on stage or DJing reminded me of all the beautiful moments I spent with my family. That’s the energy I wanted to put into this EP. Yes, there’s a little bit of sorrow in all that, but I wanted it to be more than that. I wanted it to be about celebrating life. Yes, the title sounds very dark. But it’s not as dark as you’d think; there’s always a little bit of joy in any sadness we feel.
“Ambiance (Ndombolo)” is a clear standout on the EP. How did that track come together, and what made you want to pay homage to Ndombolo music?
I woke up one day and was like, “Yo, I need a Ndombolo song.” I grew up in the ’90s, and Ndombolo was very hot in the '90s. It started with Wenge Musica BCBG, and then it became like a pandemic of a dance. I was like, “I need to make my own version of it. I need to switch it up a little bit, bring it to my world and also pay homage to those who have paved a way.” There are a lot of people that grew up listening to that, and some genres were also born from it—you have a lot of Ndombolo influences in Coupe Décalé, which is an Ivoirien genre. My take was to bring it to a new generation, and that’s why I asked NegoO to come in. NegoO is a producer and DJ from Lisbon, now based in Paris, but he is of Angolan and Congolese descent. The music he produces is called Batida, which started in Lisbon with the diaspora from Angola. I wanted to have a little bit of Congolese, a little bit of Angola, and a little bit of me at the same time. It’s one of my favorite songs on the EP.
Saffran Davan
With your music, you’ve been mixing different genres: electronic, dance, and Congolese rumba. And with language, too, you sing and rap in French, English, Lingala, Tshiluba, and Kikongo. There’s so much you’re weaving together. Can you talk with me about the decision to do that early on, when you first started, but also as an ongoing choice and consistent practice in your music? It doesn’t have to work, but it works so, so well.
Well, I do my best to make it work. But at the beginning, it was more a matter of not knowing what to do. I started singing in a choir—a Congolese community church in Montreal—and we would sing in many languages. That’s just a thing in a Congolese church: you will sing in Swahili, Tshiluba, and Kikongo , in French. One of my first times in the studio, I tried singing in French, but I didn’t really like it for some reason. I don’t know if it was my own idea or someone around me, but I thought, Let me try singing in Lingala and see what it does, on this kind of music, on this kind of beat. And it just started from there. I felt more comfortable. I felt like I could say all the things I wanted to say, mostly by talking in my languages. And I was okay with adding a little bit of French here and there, a little bit of English here, as long as I had said the most that needed to be said in my own language. My goal was always to showcase my code, my culture. I had recently moved to Montreal, it was important for me to showcase where I was from and what's happening where I'm from. The best way to do that is by singing in Lingala.
When you dropped your first album in 2014, there weren’t a lot of African artists who were as left-of-center as you. 11 years later, there are so many more African artists who are taking risks and combining all these different elements. How does it feel to look around now and see all these different African artists thriving?
I'm really happy with what's going on right now. I'm really happy to see more and more African artists finding their way, singing in their languages, telling their story, and connecting with so many people from everywhere. Music has that power. You know, growing up, we were listening to Michael Jackson. I was listening to South African music without understanding anything they were saying, but I felt connected with it somehow. I don't understand why it took so long for people to connect with African music. We can talk about it for a long time, but at least now it's changing, and hopefully it doesn't stop. Hopefully it's not just a trend. We don't want it to just be a trend because it's trendy to be African or to listen to African music. No, you have to listen to music because it's just beautiful. We listen to jazz because we love jazz. I listen to South American music just because it's beautiful music. It's not because it's in Spanish or it's this or that—it's just because I feel connected with it. I want people to be more and more connected to music from Africa, and get out of this idea of "world music." I used to talk about it a lot in my early days—I don't really talk about it anymore—but it is good to see that we're getting out of it. But let's not go back into it, you know? Because in some ways, you can see that we're getting back into that era, where it was "world music," and you would only see five names out there—while there were thousands of musicians from Africa making great music too. So let's just be careful there.
You mentioned collaborating with NegoO on this EP, but you also worked with Lady Donli, Gafacci, Dogzout, Poté, VanyFox, and Mopao Mumu. All incredible African artists. What was it like to collaborate with them?
Most of them are friends. We’ve met a couple of times, and I also DJ their songs. You mentioned Lady Donli—she invited me on a previous album, African Pan African Super Rock Star. We have a song on that project together. I really wanted to work with her again. I had this song I started with Gafacci, and I felt it needed that female touch and comfort. She was available, so I sent her the track. She loved it and jumped on it pretty quickly. She sent it back, and I loved it. The song was supposed to be a little longer—I actually had a second verse—but her verse was so great, I thought two verses were enough. Just me and her, bringing us together. The magic was already there. It’s incredible.
In 2014, you and your childhood friend Hervé 'Coltan' Kalongo founded Moonshine Collective, an afro-house collective that has thrown parties all over the world and built a global community along the way. This past November, you celebrated its 10-year anniversary. How has DJing over the past decade influenced your approach to making your own music?
This project specifically is for the dance floor. I really made it in my DJ mind. I really wanted songs that I could DJ. Not that I don’t have songs that I could DJ—after three albums, I think I have songs to DJ—but this one was very special, and it was really for the dance floor. That’s really the reason why there’s so many collaborators. I really wanted to showcase each and every one of them because they represent the dance floor I’ve been on for the past 10 years with Moonshine. For example, Poté, who produced “We Like” on the project, is a great friend of mine today. One of the first times we met was at a Moonshine party in Paris. We just kept in touch and became friends, then I was invited to one of his projects. He’s one of my favorite DJs, great DJ, great producer. VanyFox is kind of the same thing. The first time we met was at a Moonshine party in Paris. I knew a little bit about him, and the relation grew stronger from that point forward. For me, it was really important to give a shout to the DJs and the producers, especially the young ones. VanyFox and NegoO are in their early 20s. I think they are the future. I think they’ll take us even further.
What do you want people to take from the album?
What I want people to take from it is to remember the beautiful moments spent with loved ones and to cherish those moments. Tears On The Dancefloor is not about crying; it’s more about celebrating life and remembering the best times. I’m not saying there are always best times, but remembering the best times, why we love the people who are no longer with us, and why we should keep loving the people around us and show them that love. It’s also about that. And the dance floor is the perfect place to shed all sorts of emotions. Whenever you feel sad or anxious, step on the dance floor, put on some music, and dance—you just let it out. It’s the best way to let it go and let it out.
People like hearing what you make. Your last project was critically acclaimed. How do you define success? Is simply releasing the project a success in itself?
Well, for me, as long as I'm able to do everything I do the right way—and when I say the right way, I'm the only judge of it. My right way can be your left, you see what I mean? But it's important for me, when I start a project, to finish it and to present it well. And as long as there's at least one or two people that are happy with what I'm giving, what I'm offering, I'm happy with that. It's very difficult to explain what success could mean to one person, and I wouldn't want to describe what success does mean to me. For me, at the end of the day, what's important is that I'm happy in what I'm doing, I'm satisfied with what I'm doing, I have a roof over my head, I have some food, I'm able to help my mom whenever she asks me to. That's the kind of success I want. And on top of that, being able to work and live from my passion, which is music—that's a better, that's like a blessing.
Do you have any advice for any young person starting who wants to be where you are?
Well, I think anybody can be where I am—and even further. My advice, regardless of what you decide to do, or how you want to do it, or how fast you want to do it, the most important thing is to stay authentic. I think authenticity is the secret of it all. Be yourself all the time. Learn from your mistakes. I’d like to say take your time, but some people don’t necessarily have to take their time. So that’s why I’m like, just be yourself, stay authentic, and tell your story the way you want to tell your story. Don’t let anybody else tell you how to tell your story. You can’t get it right all the time. But know when you don’t get it right, learn from it, and try to change.