The Kora Through Time

How has the kora evolved? From its original gut strings to contemporary innovations, discover the technical and sonic history of this unique instrument.

KORA

Jérôme De Cuyper

9/25/20266 min read

Introduction: The Mirage of a Frozen Sound

When listening to kora music, we often surrender to an imaginary sense of timeless purity. We like to dream that the vibrations escaping from the calabash are the exact replicas of those that echoed through the courts of the Mali Empire centuries ago. This feeling of historical connection shapes the very beauty and spiritual power of the kora.

Yet, the kora instrument we know today is the product of continuous metamorphosis. Far from being a frozen artifact, this West African harp-lute has undergone major technical and structural revolutions. As a woodworker and luthier, I observe that what the general public calls "traditional music" has actually become deeply Westernized, both in its material craftsmanship and its sonic architecture. Retracing this chronology means understanding how modernity subtly weaves its way into instrument making, ultimately redefining tradition itself.

1. Origins, Gut Strings, and Non-Tempered Scales

To understand how far we have come, we must look back at the genesis of this exceptional instrument. Originally, its making was intimately bound to raw natural resources and local craftsmanship: a calabash half-shell covered with a stretched cowhide, a neck made of vène wood, and above all, strings crafted from animal gut or leather fibers. What was meticulously braided around the neck were the konso: traditional leather rings used specifically to tension and tune the strings. The number of strings itself fluctuated across regions and eras, most often stabilizing around 21 strings.

These gut strings offered an acoustic texture radically different from today's nylon: a duller, fleshier sound. But the most profound transformation took place in the ear. Early kora music did not comply with the rules of the Western equal temperament system (the division of the octave into 12 equal semitones that rules our modern pianos and guitars). Traditional tunings relied on microtonal scales or equiheptatonic temperaments, which divided the octave into seven approximately equal intervals.

Listening to a kora tuned to these ancient criteria can surprise or even disorient the modern ear. There is no need to travel two centuries back in time to experience this: one simply needs to listen to certain archival recordings or old tracks still available on YouTube to perceive this alternative tuning—a raw color that gradually faded in favor of alignment with Western listening standards.

2. The Physics of Luthier Craft: Every Change Has a Consequence

In instrument making, nothing is neutral. Altering a material, weight, tension, or tuning system inevitably affects how the instrument responds and produces sound.

When nylon fishing line replaced gut strings during the 20th century, the instrument's brightness and tuning stability were profoundly altered.

The quest for more precise and convenient tuning subsequently led makers to seek alternatives to leather tuning rings. A significant initial shift occurred with the introduction of wooden pegs inserted directly into the neck, similar to those found on other string instruments.

Then, in the late 1970s, Benedictine monks at the Keur Moussa Abbey in Senegal pioneered a new approach by equipping the kora with metal guitar tuning machines.

The practical benefits are obvious, particularly for tuning on stage. Yet, this change involves more than just convenience. A string does not behave in exactly the same way depending on whether it rests on a leather ring or wood, or is anchored in a metal mechanism; each solution alters the instrument's balance in its own way.

My own approach as a luthier is rooted in this line of thinking.

To the best of my knowledge, I was the first to design an all-wood, 32-string kora in 2008, completely dispensing with the traditional calabash and skin. This kora features a wooden body and soundboard, with sound holes cut into them much like those of a cello or double bass. The result offers greater projection and depth, along with a distinctive woody resonance, all while preserving the soul of the kora’s playing technique.

Above all, this experience demonstrated to me that it is possible to radically alter an instrument’s structure without losing the essence of its character.

More recently, other luthiers have continued this research into materials. The makers at Koras Kaëlig, in particular, have distinguished themselves by incorporating carbon into their manufacturing process, creating models that retain the traditional calabash shape—and even feature soundboards made of carbon membrane. The aim is notably to achieve greater thermal stability and reduced weight—qualities that are particularly advantageous when the instruments need to be transported.

3. The illusion of the lever-operated "chromatic kora"

The next issue was no longer merely a matter of materials or tuning, but rather the musical possibilities offered by the instrument.

In this quest to adapt to modern repertoires, the incorporation of semitone levers—borrowed from the Celtic harp—marked a new milestone.

It is often said that these levers gave rise to the "chromatic kora." However, from a strictly musicological standpoint, this term requires some qualification.

A Celtic harp equipped with such levers does not thereby become a chromatic harp; it remains a diatonic instrument on which the pitch of certain notes can be altered. On a kora, these levers primarily allow for quick tuning changes between pieces. With sufficient dexterity, the musician can also manipulate one or two levers while playing.

They thus offer an additional capability but do not provide fluid, simultaneous access to the full range of chromatic notes.

This distinction is important for understanding what follows. The real question was how to preserve the kora’s layout and playing technique while giving the musician genuine access to every note of the chromatic scale.

4. The Jazzy-Kora: two pedals, two mechanisms

The Jazzy-Kora was born from this line of thinking.

The Jazzy-Kora is a 32-string, pedal-operated chromatic kora designed to provide access to a much broader harmonic and melodic vocabulary, particularly within jazz and contemporary music.

Its distinctive feature lies not merely in the presence of two pedals; each one controls a separate mechanism.

The first pedal operates a double bridge. This is a feature I had never really examined in detail in my presentations of the instrument. This double bridge makes it possible to mechanically alter the pitch of the affected strings.

The second pedal controls a linkage that acts on another set of strings and, in conjunction with the first mechanism, completes the chromatic system.

The decision to separate these two functions into two distinct mechanical systems addresses a very practical constraint: the need to allow for string height adjustment while preserving the playing layout unique to the kora.

The double bridge and the linkage system thus represent two different solutions to the same challenge in instrument making. Combining them makes it possible to achieve the desired chromatic capabilities without transforming the kora into a different instrument.

With its 32 strings, two pedals, double bridge, and linkage system, the Jazzy-Kora is the culmination of a long-standing quest: how to evolve the instrument without losing the very qualities that define its unique playing style?

Conclusion: tradition is a movement.

It is within this continuity that I place my work as a luthier. The 32-string wooden kora from 2008, followed by the Jazzy-Kora, are two different answers to the same question: how far can we evolve the instrument while preserving its identity?

Traditional music, regardless of its origin, is never quite the same when passed from one musician to another. Each artist brings their own playing style, ornaments, variations, and rhythm—sometimes even small liberties that ultimately enrich the transmitted musical language. Tradition, therefore, does not lie solely in the faithful reproduction of what existed before us, but also in the ability of each generation to make it their own.

I view lutherie in the exact same way. An instrument can change in its materials, mechanics, or structure without its identity disappearing, just as a melody can be transformed by the performer while remaining recognizable. Tradition is not a fixed state: it is a living entity that is transmitted, transformed, and continuously enriched by those who bring it to life.