Elias Melka Geresu: the urban monk

What we today call modern Ethiopian music is the product of a collision between history and modernity, tradition and experimentation, homegrown scales and global rhythms. Its story arcs from the haunting echoes of the Azmari — the minstrel poets who travel across the country singing with the single-stringed Masinqo — to the electric explosion of Ethio-jazz in the 1960s and ’70s, where musicians like Mulatu Astatke, Getatchew Mekuria and Hailu Mergia took Ethiopia’s ancient five-note scale and married it to jazz, soul and funk, birthing one of the richest hybrid modern sounds on the continent. 

The 1960s to 1980s are often referred to, in alignment with other neighbouring countries like Somalia and Sudan, as the golden era of Ethiopian modern music. 

The musical scene was indeed bursting with horns and innovation, until it was suddenly muted by the arrival of the Derg military regime, under which music — like many forms of public expression — suffered censorship and suppression. Experimentation was reduced to whatever pleased the authorities. Marching band trumpets and militant sounds filled the air, and music was deprived of its natural capacity to accommodate all feelings; instead, it was limited to serving as a tool to accompany and praise the insecure and fragile revolution. Culture was conscripted by the regime. 

What emerged later in the 1990s and early 2000s was a fragmented soundscape — urban yet unstructured, yearning yet unsure — but certainly expressive of a recovery.  

Into this vacuum came Elias Melka Geresu.  

Born in 1977 in Addis Ababa, Elias Melka was shaped by both gospel and grit. He sang in Protestant choirs as a boy and was later classically trained at Yared Music School, where he studied piano and cello, as well as the krar, the traditional Ethiopian lyre. This gave him a fluid musical vocabulary that oscillated smoothly between the ancient and the modern. What truly set him apart, though—alongside his outstanding guitar performance—was how he embraced the studio itself as an instrument. 

After graduating from Yared Music School, having written his thesis on Oromo music, Elias’ distinction did not go unnoticed by his teachers, who invited him to join their group, Medina Band. He later worked with and co-founded numerous other bands, including Zema Lastas and Afrosound. 

Elias didn’t just produce songs; he created a new sonic architecture for Ethiopia’s 21st-century identity and helped reorient the sound of Ethiopian popular music from live-band arrangements to digital production—without losing emotional depth or cultural texture. Known by friends and peers as Ye Ketemaw Menagn, the Urban Monk, he lived, breathed, and eventually died in service of music. He never married, had few worldly attachments, and found his only real joy behind the mixing board. His life was a studio, and his relationships were with sound. 

In the early 2000s, at a time when few Ethiopian producers were fully utilising digital tools, Elias became a pioneer of programmed arrangement and is credited as the man who initiated modern studio music in Ethiopia. But he didn’t rely on programmed, low-fidelity sounds. In fact, Elias played nearly every instrument himself—drums, keys, basslines—and arranged them meticulously using software and an ear trained both by faith and formal theory. His productions didn’t sound like poor imitations of Western pop; rather, they were precise, elegant, deeply Ethiopian, yet resonant beyond the country’s borders, accommodating the tastes of both local and international audiences. 

A man of many genres, Elias composed progressive rock, disco, and funk, and—alongside creating numerous works in the nostalgic Ethiopian Tizita scale—also explored its Western twin: the blues. 

Elias Melka’s discography is indeed difficult to summarise, not because it is scattered, but because it is so seamlessly embedded in the canon of modern Ethiopian music. His fingerprints are everywhere: from the breakout albums of Teddy Afro (Abugida, Yasteseryal), to the soul-reggae fusion of Eyob Mekonnen, which introduced reggae to the Ethiopian mainstream; from the pop-soul voice of Zeritu Kebede to the rich vocals of Gossaye Tesfaye, Haile Roots, and many more. 

In Teddy Afro, he found a kindred spirit: unapologetically political, musically daring, and rooted in Ethiopian identity. On Yasteseryal, one of the greatest albums of the modern Ethiopian sound, Elias sculpted melodies that carried both protest and prayer—creating tracks that made you dance and reflect in the same breath. 

With Zeritu, he introduced a new kind of femininity to Ethiopian music: vulnerable yet powerful, smooth yet intellectually textured. He also brought progressive rock to Ethiopian ears through her, with songs like Atehedebign, featuring electric guitar riffs, dynamic percussion, and a melodic structure influenced by gospel. This blending of secular and gospel music was one of Elias’ key contributions to the growing scene at the time. And it wasn’t just in music—when it came to lyrics, which he often wrote himself, the songs he composed blurred the line between the spiritual and the secular. 

Perhaps one of Elias’ most important contributions was the emotional range he brought to Ethiopian music. Where pop had often oscillated between celebration and heartbreak, Elias introduced a third emotional register: social contemplation. This is evident in many of the songs he wrote and composed, but most powerfully manifested in his productions for the late, unrivalled reggae singer Eyob Mekonnen. 

His songs were cinematic—often beginning with a simple yet captivating intro, then layering and slow-building tension that would gradually bridge to a cathartic ending. It was music that respected your attention. In fact, that was one of his guiding principles: Elias held his listeners in high regard and always tried to give them what he believed they deserved. 

Despite his growing reputation, Elias was remarkably accessible. His studio was always open to emerging singers, producers, and musicians. He didn’t hoard knowledge—he shared it. Many of today’s producers in Ethiopia name him as their first teacher, even if they never formally studied with him. 

He trained them not only in software and sound design, but also in respect for the listener. Elias insisted that every song must have purpose—must carry something beyond mere trend. His discipline was monastic: he worked long hours, skipped sleep, and rarely took breaks. This relentless focus is what earned him the name Ye Ketemaw Menagn. In the words of one contemporary: “Elias didn’t live in the city; he lived in its sound.” 

Elias’s dedication to music extended far beyond production. He was one of the loudest advocates for the creation of proper copyright legislation and royalty structures in Ethiopia, at a time when the idea of musical intellectual property was hardly recognised—let alone protected. 

He believed that Ethiopian artists were not only underpaid but systematically robbed of the fruits of their creativity. He spoke on stages, in forums, and in private meetings with lawmakers, pushing for the establishment of a national royalty system. He challenged record producers who profited off artists without compensation and supported the founding of collective rights management groups that would fight for musicians’ legal and financial recognition. 

In a continent where piracy and lack of policy had made music a thankless career, Elias risked not only his popularity, but at times his life, to speak truth to power. He often reminded younger artists that “music is not only art, it’s labour. And labour deserves to be protected.” Second to the policy on music copyright, Elias’s efforts led to the creation of Awtar, an application that legally allows listeners to stream and purchase music while ensuring artists are fairly paid. 

On 4 October 2019, Elias Melka passed away at the age of 41, after battling chronic kidney illness. He had been in and out of dialysis, often working between hospital visits, never fully resting, and never slowing down. When he died, tributes poured in from across generations. Some spoke of the songs. Others of the mentorship. Most spoke of integrity. 

He left behind not just music, but a philosophy: that the modern Ethiopian sound could evolve without erasing its roots; that artists could be both popular and principled; that creativity and copyright were inseparable. 

Elias Melka was not the first to contribute to modern Ethiopian music, but he redefined its modernity. His legacy lies not only in the albums he produced, but in the confidence he gave a generation—to mix, to sample, to sing, to speak, to own. One example worth mentioning is DJ and producer Rophnan, a pioneer of Ethiopian EDM, who considers Elias Melka one of his role models. In an interview, the young musical mutineer recalled bringing a sample of his work to Elias, seeking feedback. Having already faced criticism for his revolutionary sound, he was surprised when Elias encouraged him to continue. That moment opened the door for what would later become Ethiopian EDM: a sonic crochet woven from different times, cultures, and genres. 

It was this openness to experimentation that made Elias an unforgettable friend to most Ethiopian musicians—even those who never met him. And it is this character that is often lacking in African music and art scenes: people who understand the dynamic nature of both time and taste, and who recognise the hunger in the eyes of younger artists. 

Today, Elias’s work continues to echo in every young Ethiopian producer who believes they can create from a small bedroom studio and still change the world. In every singer who insists their voice deserves fair pay. In every song that dares to blend old with new. 

He lived simply, worked obsessively, and died too soon. 

But Ethiopia’s soundscape—its evolving, yearning, polyphonic self—will forever carry his resonance.