sounds of Mali
Tired of having your feet on the ground?
Salif Keita, live, Netherlands (Hertme), July 6th
“A Demain”
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“Yamore”
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“Madan”
Vive la France, Vive le Mali
The recapture of Timbuktu was done by moonlight. More than 250 French troops parachuted down to the northern entrance of the fabled desert city, while an armoured column sealed the southern exit.
After close to a year of occupation by Islamists, which has driven more than half the population from Mali’s cultural heart and left an unknown toll on its famous libraries and shrines, the ordeal was over.
“Not a shot was fired,” said a French Colonel who declined to give his name, but confirmed he had led the 12-day operation to retake the city.
By this afternoon the city’s maze of dusty streets were being patrolled by French and Malian troops for remaining militants and crowds had gathered at every corner chanting: “Vive la France, vive le Mali!”
Women and children mobbed two pick-up trucks of Malian soldiers that arrived after the French force had sealed the city. One man was dressed from head to foot in a costume that he had fashioned from hand-stitched Tricolore flags. Many of the women were dressed in vivid colours and had removed their veils to replace them with flags.
Mohamed Ibrahim Traore, a shopkeeper whose store has been closed for months said the women were happy “because they don’t have to put on the veils on their face”. “Today we got our liberty back,” he said. “Every Malian deserves their liberty, the Frency army and the Malian army have given us this.”
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A crowd had gathered at the house of singer Akia Coulibaly. Dressed in a turquoise wrap she stopped her street show briefly to recount how life has been since last April when Timbuktu fell into the hands of Islamists.
“We are having a party,” she shouted over the din. “We haven’t danced or sung while they have been here. They cut hands, they beat people. We have been prisoners.”
—Daniel Howden, Timbuktu, The Independent, 1/28/13
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Voices United for Mali,* “Mali Ko (La Paix/Peace),” 1/13
*Fatoumata Diawara, Amadou & Mariam, Oumou Sangare, Bassekou Kouyate, Vieux Farka Toure, Djelimady Tounkara, Toumani Diabate, Khaira Arby, et al.
what’s new
Let’s pick up where we left off—Mali.
Amadou & Mariam (with Tunde Adibimpe & Kyp Malone [TV on the Radio]), “Wily Kataso,” 2012
career plans for the next life
If none of the other things I’ve mentioned pan out (tap dancer, rubboard player, reggae bassist), I might take a stab at playing guitar in a Malian band.
Salif Keita & Band, live, Germany (Leverkusener), 2010
Part 1
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Part 2
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Part 3
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lagniappe
reading table
a glimpse of moon
over my home village . . .
then clouds—Kobayashi Issa, 1807 (translated from Japanese by David G. Lanoue)
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taking a break
I’m going to take a little break—back soon.
three takes
Salif Keita (with Cesaria Evora, takes 1 & 2), “Yamore”
Luciano remix, 2006
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Original recording & video, 2002
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Live, London, 2002
More? Here.
three takes
“N’teri”
Habib Koité, live, c. 2007
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Regina Carter (violin), Yacouba Sissoko (kora), Will Holshouser (accordion)
Live, radio broadcast (KPLU-FM), 2011
Kora, violin, accordion—even the names of these instruments sound good together. You have, in succession, words of two, three, and four syllables. Consonants repeat (k/c, r, n), as do vowels (o, a). The last word (“accordion”) echoes both syllables of the first (“kora”), reversing them, as well as the end of the second (“violin”). What does any of this mean? Nothing—it’s simply, for me, a small source of additional pleasure.
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Habib Koité, recording, 2007
more sounds from the desert
Tinariwen, “Cler Achel,” live, London, 2007
Vodpod videos no longer available.**********
lagniappe
The desert is where I feel the most comfortable, the most at ease, the most relaxed. It’s also where I’m inspired to create music. To be honest, I don’t like spending too long away from the desert now. Well, that’s to say, I still like touring and travelling and seeing different parts of the globe, but I also like to be at home. And in the desert there are a lot of people who can help us . . . by hiring us a house, by cooking, by playing music with us. We can’t take all those people with us if we go and record in Bamako or Paris.
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Assouf means nostalgia, homesickness. We’ve all felt it a lot, ever since the time of exile began after the first [Tuareg] rebellion in 1963. It’s the feeling that is most important in our music. But it also means other things. It’s like a pain that you can’t see and can’t touch, a pain that lives in your heart. It means loneliness and separation too. When I was living in Algeria and Libya in the 1980s and 1990s I felt assouf a lot, and that’s when I wrote a lot of the songs I play today.
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In the desert, everybody is always moving. That’s our culture. It’s very very hard sometimes to get together, or to stay in the same place. We need our freedom. So Tinariwen has survived because really almost every Tamashek musician in the northeast of Mali or the south of Algeria is part of Tinariwen. And if just two of them come together to sing our songs, that’s enough for it to be Tinariwen. In the past, that’s how our concerts happened. Hassan and Abdallah might perform in Bamako or Abidjan while I was hundreds of miles away in Tamanrasset or someplace. So I know that some people have been frustrated for example when I haven’t been present on stage in America. But that’s how Tinariwen has always been, loose and flexible. Otherwise we could never survive.
The other night I saw these two bands—both are from Africa—at Chicago’s Logan Square Auditorium.
Kenge, Kenge (Kenya), live, Denmark (Roskilde), 2008
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Khaira Arby (Mali), live, Mali (Festival of the Desert), 2010
“Haidara”
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“Sourgou”
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Scribblings from the show (habit picked up reviewing live jazz for the Chicago Reader):
Kenge Kenge’s bass player at the start of their set: “We’ve been in America for the last three months. This is our last show. And we want to have some fun.”
Drum is king.
As much as I appreciate the musical experiences available via the ’net, they’re no substitute for live music. Among the casualties of the technological filtering are bass and drums—this music’s heartbeat.
This stage isn’t a dividing line. It’s porous, readily penetrable in both directions. Those onstage come down and dance; those offstage go up and dance. When everybody’s dancing—onstage, offstage—the performer/audience line dissolves.
African music, live, is a full-body experience: you listen not just with your ears but with your hips, your feet.
If folks aren’t dancing, this music ain’t happening.
Kinetic elegance.
At times the dancers look as if they’re in a trance.
Lightness, buoyancy, drive: this is music that takes you in its arms, lifts you up, carries you away.
Mali—one of the poorest countries economically, one of the richest musically.
Amadou & Mariam
Live, Mali (Festival of the Desert), 2010
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“Dimanche A Bamako,” live (with David Gilmour, guitar), England (Islington), 2009
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“Welcome To Mali,” “Africa,” live, South Africa (Johannesburg), 2010
Want more? Here.
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I saw Amadou & Mariam, like Orchestra Baobob, with my son Alex—last year at Chicago’s Park West.
How far away does Africa seem to Alex?
About as far, I think, as South Carolina seemed to me at 23.
music clip of the day 