Toumani Diabate – The Mande Variations (World Circuit, 2008)
A true master of his craft, Toumani Diabate is capable of adapting the Kora to a wide variety of contexts, sounding every bit as comfortable on this exquisite solo recording as with his thrilling Symmetric Orchestra. The uniquely challenging instrument (a 21 stringed harp with 11 strings for one hand and ten for the other) has been in Diabate’s family for generations – his father Sidiki was reputedly also a virtuoso. Toumani recorded ‘Kaira’, his first solo Kora album at the tender age of 21, now returning to the strictures of solo recording (mostly single takes with no overdubs) more than twenty years later. In many ways, it represents a withdrawal or introversion – a musical examination of personal experience and founding influences.
‘The Mande Variations’ contains some of the most beautiful music of this year or any other. A lot of this undoubtedly rests heavily on Toumani’s technical brilliance and personal approach to composition but a good deal of credit should also go to World Circuit’s Nick Gold for creating such an extraordinary sound. Whilst little or no treatment has been applied to Toumani’s playing here, the natural acoustic is so reverberant and spacious as to capture Toumani’s dazzling virtuosity without sounding cluttered or busy. There is a calm, meditative quality to much of this music.
Toumani appears particularly open-minded in his approach to music. Whilst there is, as might be expected, a close personal engagement with the griot folk tradition from which he comes, there are also references and even quotes that present ‘The Mande Variations’ as an attempt to juxtapose heritage with some wider, more immediate influences, drawn both from music and experience. The wistful, haunting ‘Elyne Road’ incorporates the melody from reggae classic ‘Kingston Town’, with Toumani affected by the ubiquity of UB40’s version during his first trip to England. The remarkable closing track ‘Cantelowes’ quotes directly from Morricone’s soundtrack to ‘The Good, The Bad and The Ugly’, as well as being dedicated to a friend who lived on Cantelowes Road in London, where Toumani apparently stayed for several months when first in the UK.
The near-perfect synchronicity between Diabate’s left and right hand figures is astonishing, particularly on the peculiarly relentless ‘Kaounding Cissoko’. ‘Ali Farka Toure’, of course dedicated to the recently departed desert blues sensation, demonstrates both Diabate’s manual dexterity and his musical intuition, with lengthy flurries of notes that defy the imagination. The latter was purely improvised in the studio, a further testament to Diabate’s open-mindedness towards a variety of compositional techniques.
Elsewhere, he draws directly on the folk tradition, always refashioning melodic ideas for his own purposes. For example, the opening ‘Si Naani’ features two themes taken from Griot folk songs, but which Diabate has made his very own through his considered and expressive extrapolations. The album’s title perhaps hints at his extraordinary talent for developing and expanding melodic ideas. There’s little of the twitching and flitting between numerous ideas that sometimes undermines improvisational playing – Diabate is more interested in establishing and sustaining particular emotions. Whilst there’s a sense of wistful nostalgia to much of this music, there’s also a sense of looking forward at the same time as retreating inward – a powerful combination that lends Diabate’s refashioning of his influences a genuinely timeless aura.
What is most powerfully striking about ‘The Mande Variations’ is that, in the midst of all this dazzling technique and exceptional skill, there is very little sense of ego or aggression. Somehow, Diabate manages to make all this sound peaceful and reflective, and he never resorts to vacuous showmanship. He may have the ability to dazzle, but he also has the judgement and instinct to know when to hold back. Technique is always firmly subordinated to the abiding mood or feeling, and the album is richly rewarding and emotional as a result of this.
Showing posts with label World. Show all posts
Showing posts with label World. Show all posts
Monday, March 03, 2008
Friday, November 02, 2007
Get In The Sunrise
Yeasayer – All Hour Cymbals
There’s a similar buzz around this debut album from Brooklyn’s Yeasayer as surrounded Arcade Fire’s ‘Funeral’ on its initial release. That excitement seems already to have spread from blogs and webzines to the conventional music press who have, admirably, been much quicker to react on this occasion. I’ve already ranted at length about the NME’s description of Yeasayer as ‘world music that doesn’t make you want to puke’. I’m grateful to the anonymous reader who quite rightly corrected me on my own description of the group as White Americans (one member is Indian and another is Jewish), although I think my point about the NME and its astoundingly ignorant journalism still holds. The clear implication is that ‘world music’ is only OK if it is filtered through the prism of a Western based indie band. It was more an issue of territorial rather than racial prejudice.
I don’t want to focus on that now though, as the paper’s enthusiasm for Yeasayer is not, to my mind, misplaced. The band’s unison shouting vocals certainly recall the collective energy of Arcade Fire at their best, but, in what may be an unfair comparison, the sheer musical audacity of ‘All Hour Cymbals’ reveals that much lauded band’s increasingly transparent limitations. Whilst Arcade Fire prefer layering grandiose instrumentation upon what are really rather basic chugging rock templates, much of the music on ‘All Hour Cymbals’ is intricate, fascinating and rhythmically inventive. This band’s closest contemporaries may be the likes of Animal Collective or TV on the Radio, although it’s worth emphasising that their own blend of influences is uniquely diverse and impressively organic.
This is a genuinely remarkable record characterised by a questing ambition completely absent from our domestic rock scene in the UK. Just listen to the rhythm section alone, which is carefully orchestrated and technically adventurous, particularly the inventive bass lines. It seems as if every beat and every note is played to add depth or meaning. On top of this more than solid foundation comes striking and beautiful vocal harmony closely resembling those of The Byrds or Crosby, Stills and Nash.
Although the rather mean sleeve only lists nine tracks on ‘All Hour Cymbals’, there are in fact 11, with two quite lengthy untitled tracks rounding off the proceedings. The album begins in imaginative but accessible terrain with the groovy and spirited ‘Sunrise’, where bass and percussion immediately stand out as the most effective parts of the ensemble. ‘Wait For The Summer’ is more reflective in tone, but its dense vocal arrangements are entrancing. ‘2080’ offers signs of some seriously unfashionable influences, sounding not unlike that highly respected rock classic ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ by Tears for Fears. It’s a remarkable track though, veering from mellifluous African-sounding guitar cadences though to tribal vocal assaults.
The album becomes more mysterious, wispy and elusive as it progresses and, as such, requires a few listens to leave its complete impression. It is music to inhabit rather than pass through though, and it casts a cumulatively powerful spell. ‘No Need To Worry’ is both complex and compelling, whilst the more atmospheric tracks towards the album’s conclusion, particularly ‘Worms/Waves’ are mesmerising in their range of sounds and styles. ‘Worms/Waves’ appears to draw from traditional Indian folk music in its non-Western sounding guitar lines, and perhaps also from Middle Eastern or African music in its unconventional percussion.
It’s tempting to conclude on a resoundingly negative note by again emphasising the point about the lack of comparable ambition in British rock music. Aside from Radiohead, where are the bands striving to make such inventive use of the studio and of production? Where are the bands working to mould rock music into a vital and thoroughly contemporary form of composition and arrangement that is both elaborate and viscerally exciting in this way? If there are any out there, they are not being effectively marketed, and the British music scene is depressingly stagnant as a result.
Ultimately, I’d like to conclude more positively though. Yeasayer are a band unafraid to express idealistic sentiment, both in their use of natural world imagery and futurist preoccupations. The sounds of summer and sunrise persist throughout, whilst ‘2080’ argues that ‘by 2080, only enlightenment can prevent terror everywhere’. This is not, in itself, a very encouraging thought about our global future. We don’t seem to be moving much closer to enlightenment at the moment (and, historically, ‘enlightenment’ is a rather tricky and misleading concept anyway). Yet, it’s comforting in these times to find a band with the clarity and spirit to express ideals. Again, comparison is unfavourable to Arcade Fire – an ungenerous assessment of ‘The Neon Bible’ would describe it as a rather vague extended apocalyptic whinge. ‘All Hour Cymbals’ seems like so much more than that. It is positively charged.
There’s a similar buzz around this debut album from Brooklyn’s Yeasayer as surrounded Arcade Fire’s ‘Funeral’ on its initial release. That excitement seems already to have spread from blogs and webzines to the conventional music press who have, admirably, been much quicker to react on this occasion. I’ve already ranted at length about the NME’s description of Yeasayer as ‘world music that doesn’t make you want to puke’. I’m grateful to the anonymous reader who quite rightly corrected me on my own description of the group as White Americans (one member is Indian and another is Jewish), although I think my point about the NME and its astoundingly ignorant journalism still holds. The clear implication is that ‘world music’ is only OK if it is filtered through the prism of a Western based indie band. It was more an issue of territorial rather than racial prejudice.
I don’t want to focus on that now though, as the paper’s enthusiasm for Yeasayer is not, to my mind, misplaced. The band’s unison shouting vocals certainly recall the collective energy of Arcade Fire at their best, but, in what may be an unfair comparison, the sheer musical audacity of ‘All Hour Cymbals’ reveals that much lauded band’s increasingly transparent limitations. Whilst Arcade Fire prefer layering grandiose instrumentation upon what are really rather basic chugging rock templates, much of the music on ‘All Hour Cymbals’ is intricate, fascinating and rhythmically inventive. This band’s closest contemporaries may be the likes of Animal Collective or TV on the Radio, although it’s worth emphasising that their own blend of influences is uniquely diverse and impressively organic.
This is a genuinely remarkable record characterised by a questing ambition completely absent from our domestic rock scene in the UK. Just listen to the rhythm section alone, which is carefully orchestrated and technically adventurous, particularly the inventive bass lines. It seems as if every beat and every note is played to add depth or meaning. On top of this more than solid foundation comes striking and beautiful vocal harmony closely resembling those of The Byrds or Crosby, Stills and Nash.
Although the rather mean sleeve only lists nine tracks on ‘All Hour Cymbals’, there are in fact 11, with two quite lengthy untitled tracks rounding off the proceedings. The album begins in imaginative but accessible terrain with the groovy and spirited ‘Sunrise’, where bass and percussion immediately stand out as the most effective parts of the ensemble. ‘Wait For The Summer’ is more reflective in tone, but its dense vocal arrangements are entrancing. ‘2080’ offers signs of some seriously unfashionable influences, sounding not unlike that highly respected rock classic ‘Everybody Wants To Rule The World’ by Tears for Fears. It’s a remarkable track though, veering from mellifluous African-sounding guitar cadences though to tribal vocal assaults.
The album becomes more mysterious, wispy and elusive as it progresses and, as such, requires a few listens to leave its complete impression. It is music to inhabit rather than pass through though, and it casts a cumulatively powerful spell. ‘No Need To Worry’ is both complex and compelling, whilst the more atmospheric tracks towards the album’s conclusion, particularly ‘Worms/Waves’ are mesmerising in their range of sounds and styles. ‘Worms/Waves’ appears to draw from traditional Indian folk music in its non-Western sounding guitar lines, and perhaps also from Middle Eastern or African music in its unconventional percussion.
It’s tempting to conclude on a resoundingly negative note by again emphasising the point about the lack of comparable ambition in British rock music. Aside from Radiohead, where are the bands striving to make such inventive use of the studio and of production? Where are the bands working to mould rock music into a vital and thoroughly contemporary form of composition and arrangement that is both elaborate and viscerally exciting in this way? If there are any out there, they are not being effectively marketed, and the British music scene is depressingly stagnant as a result.
Ultimately, I’d like to conclude more positively though. Yeasayer are a band unafraid to express idealistic sentiment, both in their use of natural world imagery and futurist preoccupations. The sounds of summer and sunrise persist throughout, whilst ‘2080’ argues that ‘by 2080, only enlightenment can prevent terror everywhere’. This is not, in itself, a very encouraging thought about our global future. We don’t seem to be moving much closer to enlightenment at the moment (and, historically, ‘enlightenment’ is a rather tricky and misleading concept anyway). Yet, it’s comforting in these times to find a band with the clarity and spirit to express ideals. Again, comparison is unfavourable to Arcade Fire – an ungenerous assessment of ‘The Neon Bible’ would describe it as a rather vague extended apocalyptic whinge. ‘All Hour Cymbals’ seems like so much more than that. It is positively charged.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Buried Treasure #1
It's not the most original idea I've ever had but, partially because I've been writing almost exclusively about new music here, and also simply because I feel like it, I've decided to initiate a new occasional series focusing on lost or undiscovered classic albums. Here's the first.
Peter Gabriel - Us (Realworld, 1992)
Artists can sometimes never win. They are often lambasted for compromising, and paying too much attention to their core audience, as Coldplay were (perhaps justly) for resisting experimentalism on 'X&Y'. Sometimes there's a much thornier criticism though - that an artist has made a record purely for themselves, and if anyone else likes it, well, it's just a bonus. This is how many approached 'Us', Peter Gabriel's magnum opus dissecting human relationships, when it finally appeared six long years after the commercial triumph of 'So'.
It's certainly a difficult record, and perhaps there are parts of it that are easier to admire than like. Only two of the album's ten tracks are less than five minutes long. I was a mere eleven years old when the album first appeared, and much of its subtle ambience baffled me at that age. Had I purchased it on CD rather than cheapo cassette, I would surely have skipped to the more rhythmic and accessible singles - 'Steam', 'Digging In The Dirt', and 'Kiss That Frog' (the first basically a verbatim rewrite of 'Sledgehammer'), all three of which I completely adored.
Yet 'Us' is a defiantly mature record, rich in wisdom and experience, and something much greater than just a conventional 'breakup' record. The sensory, atmospheric flourishes to much of the music, the meticulous studio sheen and the sheer ambition of the arrangements serve to highlight its emotional and thematic complexity. It's a collection of songs that, challenging conventional wisdom, dare to suggest that as we grow older, we merely become more confused and perplexed by the intricacies of emotion and feeling. As such, it makes perfect sense that the accompanying music is frequently labyrinthine and difficult to interpret.
Thus far, 'Us' is probably the most coherent synthesis of Gabriel's preoccupations with Western production techniques, pop melody and the rhythms of music from around the globe, particularly from Africa. It's a much less schematic and less explicit synthesis than Paul Simon's 'Graceland', or even much of the recent solo work of David Byrne. For example, the combination of Irish intonations and harmony (as emphasised by Sinead O' Connor's longing backing vocals) with the elaborate rhythms of the Boubacar Faye Drummers on 'Come Talk To Me' makes for something mysterious and intoxicating. What a perfect backdrop all this is for Gabriel's extraordinary opening lyrics, compelling in their considered intensity: 'The wretched desert takes its form/The Jackal proud and tight/In search of you I feel my way/Through the slowest heaving night/Whatever fear invents, I swear it makes no sense/ I reach out through the border fence/Come down, come talk to me'. It has the beauty and poise of great poetry.
Elsewhere, Gabriel's imagery is unafraid to delve into the darkest of places. On 'Only Us', he sums up the album's themes most succinctly: '..I'm finding my way home from the great escape/The further on I go, oh the less I know/I can find only us breathing, only us sleeping, only us dreaming'. On 'Digging In The Dirt', he's actively searching for the unpleasant truths concealed beneath thick skin ('something in me, dark and sticky/all the time it's getting strong'). The opening lines of the gorgeous 'Blood Of Eden' are also extraordinary in their portrayal of a man finally understanding what he sees in the mirror's reflection. Reprieve comes only with the lite funk of 'Steam', a hugely enjoyable pop moment that perhaps sounds out of place, with the baptismal qualities of the vulnerable 'Washing Of The Water', and with the nostalgic regret of the closing 'Secret World'.
The album also benefits massively from its enormous cast list of musicians. Regular collaborators such as drummer Manu Katche, and technically adept bassist Tony 'Mr. Funk Fingers' Levin provide the crisp, almost mechanical rhythm section, whilst appearances from the likes of Brian Eno, Daniel Lanois and Malcolm Burn (as musicians rather than producers), enhance the dense and compelling mood. The contributions of legendary Meters guitarist Leo Nocentelli on 'Steam' and 'Digging In The Dirt' add real spirited groove too. The arrangements are audacious in the extreme - 'Digging In The Dirt' veers through multiple personalities, all the time retaining its relentless metronomic backbeat, whilst 'Kiss That Frog' places the rhythmic emphasis in a place completely unfamiliar to most western ears. What a shame that the version released as a single was plodding and conventional by comparison.
Whilst it's easy to see why the ethereal, otherworldly atmospherics made listeners feel detached from the experience, in retrospect, it's also arguable that this album had an enormous influence. It's perhaps no coincidence that Daniel Lanois and Malcolm Burn would use similar tactics as producers on records as vital as Bob Dylan's 'Time Out Of Mind' and three superb albums from Emmylou Harris ('Wrecking Ball', 'Red Dirt Girl' and, most recently, 'Stumble Into Grace'). They were lucky to be working with artists who could reach similar lyrical depth as Gabriel explored on this candid, challenging and powerful masterpiece.
It's clear now too that 'Us' marked a point of transition in Gabriel's career, much as 'The Royal Scam' marked out a seismic shift for Steely Dan in the mid-70s. After that album, Fagen and Becker became obsessed with the quest for perfection, gradually reducing the input of their always superb groups of session players, and eventually emerging with the total precision of 'Gaucho' in 1980. Gabriel's obsession with sound and studio techniques probably began as early as his time with Genesis, but there was always an organic quality to the best of his early solo albums. He would take more than ten years to produce a successor to 'Us', the meticulously crafted, if less consistent 'Up'. Rumour has it that another album will emerge this year through an online only distribution process - but Gabriel doesn't any longer have a good track record on meeting self-imposed deadlines!
Peter Gabriel - Us (Realworld, 1992)
Artists can sometimes never win. They are often lambasted for compromising, and paying too much attention to their core audience, as Coldplay were (perhaps justly) for resisting experimentalism on 'X&Y'. Sometimes there's a much thornier criticism though - that an artist has made a record purely for themselves, and if anyone else likes it, well, it's just a bonus. This is how many approached 'Us', Peter Gabriel's magnum opus dissecting human relationships, when it finally appeared six long years after the commercial triumph of 'So'.
It's certainly a difficult record, and perhaps there are parts of it that are easier to admire than like. Only two of the album's ten tracks are less than five minutes long. I was a mere eleven years old when the album first appeared, and much of its subtle ambience baffled me at that age. Had I purchased it on CD rather than cheapo cassette, I would surely have skipped to the more rhythmic and accessible singles - 'Steam', 'Digging In The Dirt', and 'Kiss That Frog' (the first basically a verbatim rewrite of 'Sledgehammer'), all three of which I completely adored.
Yet 'Us' is a defiantly mature record, rich in wisdom and experience, and something much greater than just a conventional 'breakup' record. The sensory, atmospheric flourishes to much of the music, the meticulous studio sheen and the sheer ambition of the arrangements serve to highlight its emotional and thematic complexity. It's a collection of songs that, challenging conventional wisdom, dare to suggest that as we grow older, we merely become more confused and perplexed by the intricacies of emotion and feeling. As such, it makes perfect sense that the accompanying music is frequently labyrinthine and difficult to interpret.
Thus far, 'Us' is probably the most coherent synthesis of Gabriel's preoccupations with Western production techniques, pop melody and the rhythms of music from around the globe, particularly from Africa. It's a much less schematic and less explicit synthesis than Paul Simon's 'Graceland', or even much of the recent solo work of David Byrne. For example, the combination of Irish intonations and harmony (as emphasised by Sinead O' Connor's longing backing vocals) with the elaborate rhythms of the Boubacar Faye Drummers on 'Come Talk To Me' makes for something mysterious and intoxicating. What a perfect backdrop all this is for Gabriel's extraordinary opening lyrics, compelling in their considered intensity: 'The wretched desert takes its form/The Jackal proud and tight/In search of you I feel my way/Through the slowest heaving night/Whatever fear invents, I swear it makes no sense/ I reach out through the border fence/Come down, come talk to me'. It has the beauty and poise of great poetry.
Elsewhere, Gabriel's imagery is unafraid to delve into the darkest of places. On 'Only Us', he sums up the album's themes most succinctly: '..I'm finding my way home from the great escape/The further on I go, oh the less I know/I can find only us breathing, only us sleeping, only us dreaming'. On 'Digging In The Dirt', he's actively searching for the unpleasant truths concealed beneath thick skin ('something in me, dark and sticky/all the time it's getting strong'). The opening lines of the gorgeous 'Blood Of Eden' are also extraordinary in their portrayal of a man finally understanding what he sees in the mirror's reflection. Reprieve comes only with the lite funk of 'Steam', a hugely enjoyable pop moment that perhaps sounds out of place, with the baptismal qualities of the vulnerable 'Washing Of The Water', and with the nostalgic regret of the closing 'Secret World'.
The album also benefits massively from its enormous cast list of musicians. Regular collaborators such as drummer Manu Katche, and technically adept bassist Tony 'Mr. Funk Fingers' Levin provide the crisp, almost mechanical rhythm section, whilst appearances from the likes of Brian Eno, Daniel Lanois and Malcolm Burn (as musicians rather than producers), enhance the dense and compelling mood. The contributions of legendary Meters guitarist Leo Nocentelli on 'Steam' and 'Digging In The Dirt' add real spirited groove too. The arrangements are audacious in the extreme - 'Digging In The Dirt' veers through multiple personalities, all the time retaining its relentless metronomic backbeat, whilst 'Kiss That Frog' places the rhythmic emphasis in a place completely unfamiliar to most western ears. What a shame that the version released as a single was plodding and conventional by comparison.
Whilst it's easy to see why the ethereal, otherworldly atmospherics made listeners feel detached from the experience, in retrospect, it's also arguable that this album had an enormous influence. It's perhaps no coincidence that Daniel Lanois and Malcolm Burn would use similar tactics as producers on records as vital as Bob Dylan's 'Time Out Of Mind' and three superb albums from Emmylou Harris ('Wrecking Ball', 'Red Dirt Girl' and, most recently, 'Stumble Into Grace'). They were lucky to be working with artists who could reach similar lyrical depth as Gabriel explored on this candid, challenging and powerful masterpiece.
It's clear now too that 'Us' marked a point of transition in Gabriel's career, much as 'The Royal Scam' marked out a seismic shift for Steely Dan in the mid-70s. After that album, Fagen and Becker became obsessed with the quest for perfection, gradually reducing the input of their always superb groups of session players, and eventually emerging with the total precision of 'Gaucho' in 1980. Gabriel's obsession with sound and studio techniques probably began as early as his time with Genesis, but there was always an organic quality to the best of his early solo albums. He would take more than ten years to produce a successor to 'Us', the meticulously crafted, if less consistent 'Up'. Rumour has it that another album will emerge this year through an online only distribution process - but Gabriel doesn't any longer have a good track record on meeting self-imposed deadlines!
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