Mali music reviews

Savane, the great African guitarist and bluesman Ali Farka Touré's final solo studio album, was recorded in his native Mali toward the end of his life, when the artist knew his days were numbered. He spent his last years in his home village of Niafunké, concentrating on farming and family matters, jamming with local musicians of an evening. This impassioned, roots-drenched, mostly acoustic valedictory finds the Maestro's stalking rhythms and high-noon-at-the-crossroads, dusty desert-to-delta vocals in no less than life-summing form. "Soya" (track 5) seems to stand still in a million directions, while "Hanana Soko" (track 9) features a searing njarka fiddle spinning delirious circles around its throaty accompanying percussion. Pee Wee Ellis (sax) and Little George Sueref (harmonica) each manage to make strong impressions while adhering to the groove at hand. Afel Boucoum, a talented younger musician who has been mentioned as Touré's most likely successor (as if such a thing were possible!), graces "Njarou," the last tune. The other players are also at the top of their game, as fluttering ngoni (a West African spike lute) riffs weave in and out and airy female vocals float like a breeze off the river Niger. There are reports that Touré senior sat in on his son's upcoming album and scads of archival material will undoubtedly materialize. But his unsentimental, voluptuously masculine, spirit-guided magic is captured at its best, for all time, in this magnificent farewell. --Christina Roden

This all-around strange record comes from "the mansa of Mali," one of Africa's most revered artists, both in and out of Africa. Known for his high-tech fusions, often criticized for his complete dedication to pop music, he takes a big leap on Sosie by taking on a set of chansons made famous by French pop singers like Serge Gainsbourg, Michel Legrand, and Bernard Lavilliers. What's so amazing about the project is that musically it comes off as one of his most contemporary, yet most "African" recordings in a long time. He blends pure Euro-pop guitars with kora, dancehall drum machines with acoustic balafons, traditional rhythms with the slickest of disco grooves. It's overblown, almost cheesy at times, yet it is a real case of "the singer not the song" here as he roars through a set of love songs from Paris as if the Bamako was a stop on the Paris Metro. This is primarily for Salif Keita fans. Fans of Gainsbourg may not get it. African-music purists will hate it. Those with a taste for slightly confused and skewed pop music will love it. --Louis Gibson

Originally released in 1998, Amadou and Mariam's debut recording took the blind couple's pentatonic (built upon five tone scales) Malian R & B around the world. As neither was born into the Jeli (praise-singing hereditary musician) caste, they were free from the outset to incorporate non-traditional musical influences and write topical lyrics. The first track, "Je Pense a Toi (I Think Of You)," got a special nod from radio programmers. On it, Amadou's wily, funky guitar and rough-shod Bambara vocals were supported by rustic fiddles, an Arabic flute, Fender Rhodes and Hammond organs plus swaggering brass and growling bass lines, with Mariam's soulfully feminine voice shadowing his like a guardian angel. But when she emerged to sing lead, as on "Mouna," her sinuous, Islamic-tinged singing could stand comparison with the greatest West African stars. The duo’s later output is far more polished and the Manu Chao-produced Dimanche a Bamako (Sunday In Bamako -- 2005) is undeniably a personal best. But their first album showcased two artists at the apex of a breakthrough and no collection of their works can be considered complete without it. --Christina Roden