The Best of Belafonte, 1957: Listening to the archives, echoes of 1960s Kampala’s clubs.

In my ongoing research on Uganda’s cinema heritage, one of the first songs that expanded my perspective beyond film posters, newspaper listings, and architectural traces was Ebinyumu Ebyaffe (1998) by Elly Wamala (1935–2004). The song, reflective and nostalgic, guided me to listen differently—to hear the city’s stories not only through its buildings and screens but through the music and voices that animated its cultural spaces.

In Ebinyumu Ebyaffe, Wamala recalls Norman Cinema on Kampala Road—not just as a movie house, but as a place that also hosted small shops. He sings of the spot where he bought “stylish pants”:

“Nabanganyo smart enono endabada jjenabangamu, ez’omuyonani ow’eli engulu ku Norman Cinema (now Watoto Church).” 
(Translated: I used to buy bell-bottom pants at Yonana’s shop above Norman Cinema.)

He juxtaposes this with New Life, a club he frequented in Mengo, likely where Club Ambience on Hoima Road is now located:

“…mu New Life e Mengo, nga bakuba nnyo calypso, eza Belafonte ne Lord Kitchener.”
(Translated: At New Life in Mengo, like most clubs, they used to play calypso music—Belafonte and Lord Kitchener.)

Through these verses, Wamala paints a vivid picture of 1960s Kampala a city pulsing with energy, where cinemas, streets, and nightclubs thrummed with fashion, film, and music, shaping a generation’s sense of modernity and urban rhythm.

One such musical reference spins on vinyl: The Best of Belafonte (RCA Victor, RCX-103), a 7-inch, 45 RPM Extended Play, released in 1957 under RCA’s His Master’s Voice (HMV) imprint. The EP features Eden Was Just Like This, Shenandoah, Hava Nageela, and When the Saints Go Marching In songs that embodied Belafonte’s blend of folk and world sounds and resonated widely across the Commonwealth, including Uganda.

This record , along with its HMV automatic player from the 1970s, is now archived by Emmanuel Semwanga, a fellow archivist at Brims Heritage. We often cross paths and share insights, and it was he who once shared this image from his collection unaware that it would become a key link in my exploration of cinema, sound, and memory. The player itself, a stereo autochanger housed in a wood-grain plinth with a smoked dust cover and Garrard mechanism, stands as a tactile relic of listening in the analog age.

Viewing this clip, I am reminded that each time the needle meets the groove, it bridges time, connecting Belafonte’s voice, Wamala’s words, the streets and soundscape of 1960s Kampala’s nights.