TAMIKREST - Toumastin (Glitterhouse Records)

They’re keen this new generation of Kel Tamashek rockers, these self-styled spiritual sons of Tinariwen. Little more than a year after their atmospheric debut album Adagh comes this solid follow-up to consolidate the band’s place at the peak of the rockiest end of the desert blues outcrop.

The Tinariwen comparisons inevitably remain – from frizzy-haired Ibrahim-a-like lead singer Ousmane Ag Mossa, through lyrics that focus on the Touareg struggle for autonomy and nomadic freedom, to the vocal ululations and rhythmic undulations that add texture to ringing electric guitar lines. The Tamikrest template is clear, forceful electric guitar winding over a relaxed groove, with Mossa’s earnest vocals backed by the pulsing drone of rhythm and bass guitars (there should be a collective noun for this ubiquitous desert blues rumble – a tremor of Touareg guitars perhaps?).

The solemnity of the lead vocalist is uplifted by the exultant ululations of female backing singers, who also provide alluring responses to the lead singer on the funky love song Tarhamanine Assinegh and the twisting Tidit, a tune that seems to channel mid-70s American blues-rock as well as the best of Tamikrest’s fellow Touareg spiritual travellers Terakaft. Elsewhere, on the stripped back Aidjan Adaky, Mossa’s heartfelt vocal rides on a hypnotic wave of feedback and sustain.

It almost goes without saying – and indeed seems pretty much de rigeur at the moment to point out with each new Touareg release - that overall the album doesn’t break much new ground, although Tamikrest do absorb tinges of country- and blues-rock guitar into their sound. On the one occasion when they do try to cross-over into western rock terrain, on the album’s closer Dihad Tedoun Itran, the result is an incongruous clash between country rock, heavy metal guitar, viola and a 4/4 drumbeat. Most uncharacteristic for a band of subtle rhythmic pull, and a reminder perhaps that this music is indeed like the camels that are so often used as a metaphor to describe it - at its best taking steady steps forward, absorbing the sustenance of other styles when required but likely to stumble and fall if asked to move too quickly onto unfamiliar ground.

www.tamikrest.net

ETRAN FINATAWA - Tarkat Tajje/Let’s Go! (Riverboat Records)

The third album by Etran Finatawa finds the nomads from Niger further carving out their atmospheric and philosophical niche in the crowded “desert blues” field. If their debut was a tight and tuneful Tinariwen-lite (in the best sense) and the follow-up, Desert Crossroads, a slicker, more accessible attempt at tackling the concerns that affect the shrinking itinerant communities of the Sahara, then Tarkat Tajje feels like a concerted effort to revert to the elongated percussive call and response roots of this hypnotic, community-focused music. The loping electric guitar-led melodies of the Tuaregs are still a key component to the sound, leavened by the perky multilayered rhythms and colourful polyphonic singing (and painted faces) of the Wodaabe people, allowing the songs’ natural ebb and flow of rhythm and musical dialogue to draw the listener in. This intricate template is used to address a broad set of themes centred on the ensemble’s own role in its Saharan community but also as a global voice for their compatriots. It’s a classic case of a group’s experiences opening up as a result of their initial success and informing the subject matter of their songs whilst paradoxically forcing the musical approach back on itself as they return to the haunting repetition and stark rhythmic pull out of which this music originally sprung. No real breath-catchers lurk within; no short, obviously radio-friendly blues-rock tunes; just an end-to-end series of unfolding songs that build a mesmeric force of their own. Etran Finatawa are quietly evolving a sterling canon of recordings to match their compulsive live performances.

www.worldmusic.net

MAMAN BARKA - Introducing (World Music Network)

Maman Barka is a former malam (teacher) from Niger whose remit in the Ministry of Culture is to support and preserve the traditional music of the nomadic tribes of this landlocked desert-dominated nation from the African mid-west. To wit, he has spent six years becoming the only living master of the near-extinct music of the biram, a boat-shaped five-stringed harp formerly used by the Boudouma nomads and fishermen of eastern Niger. Like the provenance of the music, the sound of this sacred instrument is as dry as the desert, yet at times as difficult to pin down as a free-flowing river. Accompanist Oumarou Adamou lays down a heavy polyrhythmic base on douma, calabash or kalangou (talking drum), alongside which Maman Barka drives out an insistent groove punctuated by short runs of rhythm and light melody. Maman Barka is relatively limited vocally, his voice high, all in the head, but occasionally plangent too, and although he's not incapable of impassioned outbursts it's more a conversational and rhythm-riding style than a dominant force. This two-man ensemble really pushes out a funky, hypnotic sound when heard first hand, but the biram doesn’t cut through the air with great flourishes of notes like other African harp-lutes such as the kora, or possess the polyphonic strum of an oud or ngoni. So pulling the subtle, buzzing sound out of and above the percussion must present a bit of a challenge in the recording studio. Etran Finanatawa producer Paul Borg has made a good job of achieving that, bringing the expected clear and snappy feel to this sparse and elusive sound, and with very few overdubs - the occasional echoed backing vocal, tiny shades of what sounds like un-credited acoustic guitar – there is enough rattle and hum to most of this album to provide a fair approximation of a sound that is possibly always going to require the acoustic space afforded by the live set-up to fully appreciate.

www.worldmusic.net/mamane-barka

MALAM MAMAN BARKA

One of the ironies of the increased urbanisation of the developing world is the tendency for such movement to trigger the urge in some of those who have departed to re-evaluate, revive and consequently preserve the localised traditions and arts of their former communities.

Malam Mamane Barka is one such example. He's a Toubou by birth, from one of the semi-nomadic livestock-raising tribes that are scattered throughout the eighty percent of desert that makes up the landlocked West African nation of Niger. He moved to the country's capital Niamey to study (the first Toubou to receive a formal education), and his mission now is to draw our attention the sound of the biram, a five-stringed boat-shaped harp-lute originally played by the Boudouma people of eastern Niger. “It is shaped like a boat because it was a fisherman's instrument,” explains Mamane, “the Boudouma live near Lake Chad, and I heard this sacred music being played in a Boudouma village, but learnt that it was becoming extinct. I felt it was my job to keep the tradition going for the people of that region, and for my country.” Mamane is talking literally here, because his subsequent three-year devotion to becoming the sole living master of the biram is congruent with the aims of his day job working at the Ministry of Culture in Niamey. “I work for le Centre de Formation et de Promotion Musicale (CFPM), working to preserve all the traditional music of Niger - it's of the utmost importance as the population moves more and more into the city, because this music tells our story, where we come from. The sound of the biram reflects its geographical provenance, possessing the parched, dusty tone of western African instruments such as the ngoni allied to the melodic possibilities and insistent drive of instruments like the Egyptian simsimiyya. It’s a funky and urgent sound, backed by traditional Nigerian percussion (a rhythmic enhancement to the original practice of tapping away at the 'prow' end of the instrument) with a charming spontaneity to the performance as Mamane's rich, penetrating voice calls and responds with percussionist Omar Adamou. There's a spare, relatively dry spirit to the music, but it has an absorbing, hypnotic effect on the listener. Prior to his work with the biram, Mamane played a long-necked two-stringed lute called a gurumi, an instrument that he started playing in 1978 when aged sixteen, at around the time he became a primary school teacher (‘Malam’ means teacher in the Hausa language). “When I finished my studying I immediately became a primary school teacher. We were obligated because not many teachers in the ‘70s were from Niger; they mainly came from Benin and Togo. The President said ‘enough, we must get our own teachers, all young men now in college must become teachers'. But I always wanted to be a musician too, and I saw a guy called Warsou playing the gurumi in a place called Kaouboul. He played so well I asked him to teach me. "I began by singing traditional songs," he continues, "and recorded two albums of traditional music. Then I began composing, mainly love songs and political songs. By political I mean that I write only to tell people what I see, what everyone sees, observing rather than criticising.” These albums of earthy, gnawa-like gurumi music are cassette-only releases and difficult to source outside of Niger (although if you googling 'Malam Mamane Barka + Guidan Haya' you may have some success at finding online extracts), however Mamane and Omar have recently recorded an album of biram music for World Music Network's admirable Introducing series, which is due for general release in Spring 2009. With Etran Finatawa producer Paul Borg at the helm, it promises to be one of the more exciting debuts of the coming year. Meanwhile Mamane continues his role as civil servant, musician, teacher (he has a half a dozen or so biram students in Niamey) and broadcaster, presenting a regular weekday three-hour slot called “Bonjour le Niger". “It's a private radio show, it's not run by the Government. Each day I will do animations [entertainment], and play as much of the music that's found throughout Niger as I can, as well as telling the city people what's going on elsewhere. My grandparents still live in the desert so I still have a connection there, but these days the desert is not like it was before, it has changed because nomads are not there so much, they spend two to three days in the desert, then they come to the village, for schooling for their children, and for healthcare. I would never criticise that, because I have succeeded by coming to the city. But I hope that, like me, people who do move keep their heart in the culture that made them what they are.”

ETRAN FINATAWA - Desert Crossroads (Riverboat)

Part of the appeal of the desert blues music from West Africa is its sheer simplicity, with circular guitar lines, handclaps and call and response vocals all buttressed by a lurching camel-gait drive that feels like the very essence of the peripatetic, communal lifestyles of the artists involved.
So, with Tinariwen having buttoned down the electrified Hendrix-inspired trance-rock end of the spectrum, Tartit the traditional end, and Toumast making a sterling attempt at filling a more experimental gap somewhere in between, where does that leave Niger’s Etran Finatawa, whose impressive debut album Introducing ran the risk of being crowded out of this relatively narrow field?
The answer, judging from this follow-up, is in a place where a lighter, peppier take on the genre is punctuated by a series of more traditional, meditative tunes. Allying Tuareg rhythms with the call and response vocals of the Wodaabe tribe from which a number of members come, the band employs acoustic instrumentation (percussion, flute, acoustic guitar) around a single crisp, melodic electric guitar line. The result sounds more spacious and unfussy than the band’s debut release, with many a catchy hook raising the up-tempo numbers into best-in-class territory. Kel Tamashek in particular has everything a desert blues addict needs - a snaking electric guitar motif, chunky acoustic guitar rhythms, a bouncy, rocking beat and a chorus to draw the most reluctant of phonetic singers-along out of their shells.
The stripped back but catchy Amidinine also begs audience participation, and on the more traditional side, the three snapshots entitled Tea Ceremony I, II, and III allow an ambient, atmospheric peek into a simpler past where music and mealtimes drew nomads together in communal contemplation.
With many of the lyrics reflecting similar deep concerns to those on Tinariwen’s recent offerings (the community's place in the world now seemingly as important as the everyday boy-meets-girl stories of Etran Finatawa's debut), there’s a sense of a group determined to put across weighty messages in as accessible a manner as possible, and those listeners who have yet to reach their personal Tuareg tipping point will find much here to savour.

Worldmusic website

This review first appeared in fRoots magazine.