In Sound Fragments, the author engages with a pressing question facing most archives, museums, and other heritage organisations today: how do we work responsibly with colonial and apartheid-era collections, and how can we make them accessible to the public in ethical and critical ways? Through this ethnographic study, the author provides a nuanced exploration of these issues, focusing on the International Library of African Music (ILAM), one of the biggest collections of African music on the African continent housed in Makhanda, South Africa. This book is both a reflection on the colonial legacy embedded in archives like ILAM, and a testament to the possibilities of an active decolonial practice.
ILAM was established in 1954 by Hugh Tracey to safeguard, study and make available the material he recorded during his fieldtrips to southern, eastern and central Africa. Collected during the colonial and apartheid eras, the archive operates within a Western, colonial paradigm - one that seeks to capture, preserve, codify, classify and objectify, often at the expense of context and agency for the communities from which the recordings originated. Lobley does not shy away from addressing the problematic nature of the archive but instead critically engages with the contradictions in Tracey’s work. He juxtaposes Tracey’s progressive ear and humanistic vision with his racist beliefs and patriarchal mindset, and examines Tracey’s motivations and methods – from his corporate relationships to his ethnographic practices.
However, the author moves beyond critique, showcasing how the ILAM archive has been reimagined and repurposed in post-apartheid South Africa. Central to this effort is the practice of active archiving and epistemic delinking. Through these approaches, the book advocates for transforming the archive from a static repository into a dynamic, participatory space. This is exemplified by the development of ‘sound elicitation,’ a method co-developed by the author to bring recordings out of the archive and into local communities by creating shared deep listening experiences ‘within local social mechanisms’ (p.105). Through sound elicitation the author sought to redefine ILAM’s role, shifting it from a distant, inaccessible institution to a community-orientated space that supports local artists and fieldworkers. The result is a living, breathing archive, where recordings are not just preserved but also reactivated, serving as catalyst for memory, storytelling, and artistic creation.
One of the book’s most compelling aspects is its focus on community-driven curation and collaboration. The author’s long list of acknowledgements reflects the depth of these partnerships, highlighting the integral role of local artists, poets, beatmakers, and community activists in reimagining the archive and its role in the community. The book opens with a story about a Xhosa artist, referred to as X, whose life was transformed through engagement with the ILAM archive. This narrative sets the tone for a broader discussion about the democratisation of archival spaces and the value of including local knowledge partners in such projects.
As a counterpoint to the institutional archive, the author discusses the establishment of The Black Power Station (TBPS) by local artists for ‘producing, documenting, framing, and archiving of their own stories’ (p. 2). Described as an independent arts education space, TBPS demonstrates the book’s vision for alternative modes of archiving. It emphasises human relationships over recorded sound, prioritising ethical and sustained collaborations with communities. The TBPS artists also reinterpret ILAM’s archival fragments, blending traditional practices with avant-garde performance, hip-hop and Afrofuturistic art. Lobley points out that this work not only challenges the colonial legacy of the archive but also asserts ownership over cultural memory and tradition, creating radical new spaces for expression.
The book’s case studies – from Xhosa poets reimagining Tracey’s recordings to hip-hop artists creating new works inspired by archival fragments – illustrate how decolonial practices can transform an archive, albeit temporarily, into a site of empowerment and creativity. However, the book also acknowledges the challenges and limitation of this work. While sound elicitation and other community-based methods have proven effective, they are not without their complexities. The author’s analysis of Tracey’s strained relationship with collaborators, as well as the difficulties of marketing his recordings to African audiences, serves as a reminder of the enduring tensions between institutional archives and the communities they aim to serve.
Sound Fragments offers valuable lessons for archivists, museum professionals, and anyone interested in decolonial practices. It demonstrates the importance of listening – not just to recordings but also to the voices of communities whose heritage is held within archives. Sound elicitation provides a practical framework for engaging with communities in ways that are both ethical and transformative. The book underscores the value of community partnerships. The success of projects like the TBPS hinges on the involvement of local artists and knowledge partners, whose contributions are vital to the process of decolonising the archive. This collaborative approach not only enriches the archive but also ensures that it remains relevant and accessible to the communities it serves. By prioritising community engagement, ethical collaboration, and creative reimagination paired with active archivists interested in expanding their purview beyond mere preservation, Sound Fragments charts a path forward for a decolonial archival practice.
The book also highlights the need for archives to move beyond preservation towards activation. By reimagining the archive as a fluid, responsive space, Sound Fragments challenges the traditional notion of archives as static containers of knowledge. Instead, it presents a vision for archives as sites of collaboration, creativity, and social change.
