africa explained

A friend, who loves the Toto song "Africa," asked the other day, "can someone please tell me what on earth the song is saying, exactly? My brain is treating it like it's a Rubik's cube."

I'll give it a shot.

DISCLAIMER: This song is an 80s pop song, from an era in which ambiguity in lyrics was considered a universalizing element, a blank screen onto which we can each project our own meaning.
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A man, now somewhere on the vast continent of Africa (following the great Anglo-American songwriting tradition of not bothering to distinguish between any of its 50 countries) is waiting for his woman to come to him, and he's thinking about their relationship and how it fits into his life. Some kind of reckoning is coming when she lands.

He's going to the airport to pick her up. Her plane arrives at midnight; he imagines the wings reflecting the night sky, whose stars have guided him in his treks through the wilderness. In the same way, those same stars now may be guiding him out of his personal wilderness. He sees an old man and hopes to hear some word of eloquence from him, but that hope is both violated and validated by a simple "go to her" in the man's look.

He thinks about her, and talks to her in his mind about how nothing and no one could tear him from her. Perhaps it's a rainy season where they are ("Africa!") and he's prevented from his usual wanderings, so they will be able to take time to build life together this time around.

He hears wild dogs howling, and imagines that they're longing for the kind of "solitary company," being alone together, that he desires for this relationship. His certainty solidifies: he must do the right thing, to correct this warped version of himself that he has become over the years. The implication is possibly that her return will be the beginning of a new step, a step *back* in a way, to where they need to be.


Musical high points:

The slight chorus effect that gives David Paich's voice an unusual presence. It's a kind of trademark for this song.

Switching to another singer for the chorus: Bobby Kimball. His hard edge contrasts nicely against Paich's mellow voice. It's one of the great virtues of having a band with many vocalists rather than just a single one, or an act built around a soloist. Several bands used this to advantage: The Cars, Styx, Yes. Great way to get variety in a band's sound, even within one song.

The thoroughly infectious drum groove. Word is that the guys sat around and did this for 30 minutes or something, and then went and found the best 2 measures to use as a loop. It worked: simultaneously relaxed and propulsive.

The flutelike synth duet. It's hip and pretty, and so melodic.

The superb production values, from the mix to the mastering. It's deep but not muddy, clear but never brittle. Amazing, especially in those days of live mixing boards, when the mix was a kind of performance in itself, sometimes with 2 or 3 engineers riding all the tracks.

The chorus's chord structure, vi - IV - I - V, which is notable in being the first instance I can think of of this progression in a popular song. It has become nearly universal: it has carried hundreds of popular songs now. (Its staggered version, I - V - vi - IV, is equally universal.)


Meanwhile, if you can write the line "Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti," and it becomes a number one hit, and then a perennial standard, you've got something going on.