Most people think The Lion King soundtrack begins and ends with Elton John and Tim Rice. They’re wrong. Honestly, if you haven’t sat down with Rhythm of the Pride Lands, you’ve basically only seen half the movie. Released in 1995, this wasn't just some cheap "direct-to-video" style cash grab. It was a massive, sweeping collaborative effort led by Lebo M and Hans Zimmer that basically served as the spiritual DNA for what eventually became the Broadway sensation.
It's a weird artifact of the 90s.
You’ve got these deep, guttural African chants colliding with glossy, mid-90s synth-pop. It shouldn't work. On paper, mixing Jay Rifkin’s production with traditional South African choral arrangements sounds like a mess. But it’s beautiful.
The Lebo M Factor: Beyond the Opening Chant
Everyone knows the "Nants Ingonyama" chant from the start of the film. That’s Lebo M. But Rhythm of the Pride Lands is where he really got to stretch his legs as a composer and performer. When Disney was finishing the original film, they realized they had all this incredible material—melodies and vocal snippets—that didn't fit into a 90-minute kids' movie. Instead of tossing it, they built this "sequel" album.
It feels more like a tone poem than a soundtrack.
Take a track like "He Lives in You." Most people recognize it from The Lion King 2: Simba's Pride or the stage play, but it originated right here. It’s the soul of the project. The song manages to bridge the gap between the mourning of a lost father and the terrifying responsibility of taking over a kingdom. Lebo M’s voice has this raw, sandpaper quality that makes you feel the heat of the savannah. It’s not "Disney-fied." It’s real.
The album also gave us "Shadowland." If you've seen the musical, you know this is Nala’s big emotional breaking point. In its original form on this album (titled "Lea Halalela"), it’s even more haunting. It’s a plea for rain, a plea for survival. You can hear the desperation.
Why the Production Style Divides Fans
Look, let’s be real for a second. Some of the tracks on Rhythm of the Pride Lands are aggressively 1995. "Warthog Rhapsody" is... a choice. It’s a precursor to "A-Z" or "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" covers, and it’s definitely the weakest link for anyone looking for a serious musical experience. It’s goofy. It’s bouncy. It’s very much a product of its time.
💡 You might also like: Not the Nine O'Clock News: Why the Satirical Giant Still Matters
But then you hit "Lala."
It’s a lullaby. It’s sparse. It’s mostly just Lebo M and a gentle backing track. The contrast is what makes the album so human. It’s not trying to be a cohesive pop record; it’s trying to be a landscape.
A lot of the "world music" craze of the 90s felt exploitative or shallow. This didn't. Because Hans Zimmer and Jay Rifkin stepped back and let the South African performers lead the way, it feels authentic. They weren't just adding "ethnic flavor" to pop songs; they were building pop songs around the structures of South African music. This is why the album eventually won a Grammy for Best Musical Album for Children, though calling it a "children's album" feels like a massive undersell.
The Broadway Connection
Without Rhythm of the Pride Lands, the Broadway show doesn't exist. Period. When Julie Taymor was tasked with bringing the movie to the stage, she didn't just want a costume parade. She wanted depth. She went straight to this album.
The stage show lifted "He Lives in You," "Shadowland" (Lea Halalela), and "One by One" almost directly from these recordings. "One by One" is particularly iconic. It’s the song that opens the second act of the musical, with the cast throwing giant bird puppets into the aisles. On the album, it’s a vibrant, percussive explosion that celebrates the end of apartheid without saying it explicitly. It’s about the spirit of the people surviving oppression.
It’s heavy stuff for a Disney-adjacent release.
Digging Into the Tracks That Time Forgot
There are some deep cuts here that never made it to the stage or the sequels. "Kube" is one of those. It’s got this driving, almost tribal house beat that feels like it belongs in a cool lounge in Cape Town rather than a nursery. It’s sophisticated.
📖 Related: New Movies in Theatre: What Most People Get Wrong About This Month's Picks
And then there’s "It's Can't Be Bee."
Actually, wait. Let’s talk about "Busa."
"Busa" is essentially the "finale" of the album’s emotional arc. It’s a call to rule with justice. It uses the themes Zimmer composed for the film’s score but adds layers of vocal polyphony that the original movie score just didn't have room for. If the movie score is the "skeleton," this album is the "flesh."
- The Vocalists: It’s not just Lebo M. You have Khululiwe Sithole, Rose Stone, and even James Earl Jones doing spoken word bits that actually work.
- The Themes: It covers grief, exile, and homecoming far more deeply than the 1994 soundtrack.
- The Legacy: It sold over a million copies, which is insane for a "companion" album in the pre-streaming era.
The Technical Brilliance of Zimmer and Rifkin
Hans Zimmer gets a lot of credit for his wall-of-sound approach, but here, he’s surprisingly delicate. He uses silence well. He lets the breathing of the singers stay in the mix.
Jay Rifkin’s role shouldn't be ignored either. He was the one who helped translate these complex choral arrangements into something that could play on a Western stereo system without losing the "soul" of the South African sound. It’s a delicate balance. If you over-produce it, it sounds like elevator music. If you under-produce it, the casual Disney fan might find it too jarring.
They found the "sweet spot."
The percussion is crisp. You can hear the distinction between the different types of drums—the djembe, the talking drum—and the way they interact with the digital basslines. It was "hybrid" music before that was a buzzword in every film trailer.
👉 See also: A Simple Favor Blake Lively: Why Emily Nelson Is Still the Ultimate Screen Mystery
Is It Still Relevant Today?
In a world where Disney remakes everything in "live-action" (read: hyper-realistic CGI), Rhythm of the Pride Lands feels like a relic of a time when the studio was willing to take weird, artistic risks. It’s a bold album. It doesn't treat the audience like they have a five-second attention span.
If you’re a fan of the 2019 remake’s soundtrack, or even Beyoncé’s The Gift, you can see the fingerprints of this 1995 album everywhere. Beyoncé’s approach to "Spirit" and the broader Gift album—incorporating authentic African artists and modern production—is a direct evolution of what Lebo M was doing thirty years ago.
But there’s a rawness in the '95 version that’s hard to replicate. It was recorded in the wake of a changing South Africa. You can hear that hope and that history in every note. It’s not polished to death.
How to Experience the Album Properly
Don't just shuffle it on Spotify while you're doing dishes. You'll miss the nuances.
First, get a good pair of headphones. The stereo imaging on tracks like "One by One" is incredible; the voices move around you. Second, look up the lyrics. Most of the songs are in Zulu, Xhosa, or Swahili. Understanding that "Lea Halalela" is a prayer for the "holy land" changes how you hear the melody. It’s not just pretty sounds; it’s a narrative.
Honestly, the best way to track this down is to find an old CD copy. The liner notes are gold. They explain the meaning behind the chants and give credit to the dozens of South African singers who flew to Los Angeles to make this happen.
Next Steps for the Listener:
- Listen to "He Lives in You" first to anchor yourself in a familiar melody, then immediately jump to "One by One" to hear the contrast in energy.
- Compare "Lea Halalela" to the Broadway version of "Shadowland" to see how a raw vocal track was transformed into a theatrical powerhouse.
- Research Lebo M’s backstory. His journey from an exiled teenager in the U.S. to the voice of a global franchise is arguably more compelling than Simba’s own story.
- Avoid the temptation to skip the instrumentals. Zimmer’s work here is some of his most textured and least "bombastic," focusing on atmosphere over action.