K7-16: Satta Kouyate

While this picture is not the cover to Satta Kouyate's cassette, Guéléya is one of the songs. The tape (Dakan) is another absolutely solid one. Satta has a dynamic voice, strong on top of the full music. It's easy to become accustomed to thin voices on some newer wassoulou music, so I enjoy the beauty of Satta's powerful vocals; it reminds me of Kagbe Sidibe.

Nieba was her first cassette, and I'm fairly certain Dakan is the second. I read a rather grim interview with Satta and she mentions singing Guéléya, but not whether it was the hit song or the title of the album. My tape's jacket was labeled Dakan. Anyway, the interview was overall, as I said, grim. Satta is quite troubled by her talent. I won't go into any of the gory details, but the interview doesn't end on a bright note -- tread with caution. Perhaps you can detect her sorrow in the music.

UPDATE (6/10/10): Satta Kouyate at a party of some sort, from Ngoniba's seemingly endless stock of ORTM videos.

K7-15: Lamissa Bengaly

Lamissa Bengaly was instrumental in promoting Senoufo culture and balafon music around Mali and beyond.  And with that reputation behind him, I would have guessed that Lamissa was an artful and skilled player, however the cassette jacket suggests he may have used it only as a vehicle from which to address his audience, his true art. Then, left in his wake was the instrument, ready for attention.

I don't know many details about his life or how vast was his influence, only that he's from the Sikasso region and is remembered next to Bazoumana Sissoko, Tara Bouare, and Toumani Kone, among others no-less important as major influences. He even has a performance hall named after him where balafon competitions are hammered out, and Nebe Solo, a new balafon musician, paid homage to Lamissa by way of song.

The sticker in the middle of the cassette jacket and the number code printed inside it tell me that the cover is indeed original, but I'm rather skeptical of the cassette itself, no matter what the stamp says. Bear with me...

Five tracks are listed on the cassette jacket, while twelve individual tracks are actually on the tape (five on Face A and seven on Face B). After painstakingly comparing like-tracks side-by-side, down to syllables, I determined that Face A contains the whole tape and Face B repeats the three tracks listed, and at the same time presented Behantane and Meilleur Voux spliced together to make a deceptive new track; don't be fooled though. Therefore I included only those tracks from Face A that I judged to comprise the complete cassette. I don't speak Senoufo (and can't precisely say if Lamissa is occasionally singing in Bamana or not), but the only song I could hear him actually say the name of the title was in Fadja Joghou. It was in this manner, using Fadja Joghou as the landmark, that I titled the tracks.

It sounds like Lamissa is accompanied by one other vocalist who, in between Lamissa's extended phrases, sings cycling choruses. The voices sound similar, though it sounds as if the obviously featured voice (Lamissa) cuts off the other whenever he's ready to speak his mind. Each lyrical phrase and transition between the two is introduced by an accented first syllable.

Notice the vocal styling in the final thirty seconds of Meillure Voux (before it unfortunately fades out) and compare it with the old man who finally demands his turn to speak in the movie Bamako, by Abderrahmane Sissako. If you haven't watched it you may enjoy it; a half-fictional film about many relavent topics, including the strategies and effects of the World Bank and IMF in regards to African nations, unfolded as testimony from villagers and city-dwellers in court. Anyway, the old-timer might be Senoufo.

Enjoy!

**If you're losing sleep at night because I didn't provide the full cassette, just listen to each track a few times in a row and it'll give the same effect while reducing redundancy. (Except for Vavouughou and Fadja Joghou, which play once each on the full tape).**

K7-14: Kagbe Sidibe

This is a good one.  Kagbe Sidibe and her group drive the music forward relentlessly.  Each song swaggers so deeply, bouncing between steps quickly but strongly.  Indeed, if it were coming down the street, with that heavy swagger, I wouldn't want to get in its way.  Kagbe must have been a force in her day.  When I heard her on the radio a friend told me it was the song Patron that won Kagbe a spot on the Friday night music show Top Etoiles, in the early 1990s/late 1980s(?).

Don't try to drive home after this one.  More Kagbe to come.

Enjoy!

K7-13: Gobou Woletö

This past month has been absolutely insane. Who knew fruit flies could be so demanding? Every day it was more and more of I'm too hot! I'm too cold! Feed me! Read me a story! Bacterially express and purify my proteins to show a direct interaction!

Man alive! I suppose it's job security, though. Not like those grocery checkers who can be replaced by the machines; flies won't be reading their own bed-time stories anytime soon, that's for sure!

Well, I suppose I'll get back at it here. The picture above was drawn for a friend (and if you haven't received it yet...surprise!)  The picture of Samory Touré was printed. The text/lyrics were pilfered and rearranged with a liscence artistique from another Duran article, wherein she quotes from Coumba Sidibe's version of Ndanani. In rearranging the lyrics for my specific needs I'm not sure if I took all sense out of them, perhaps taking them out of context. It makes for nice poetry however:

The road to Wasulu is far for us,/ the little place is far./ Don't you hear the little bell ringing?/ Words cannot be trusted today/ But if you have love,/ love is trust./ Don't you hear the little bell ringing?/ For this is your song./ The bird of Wasulu has sang./

Samory Touré has an interesting story that leads to his founding of the Wassoulou Empire in the latter half of the 1800s, and wanders further until his eventual capture by the French in 1898.  Interestingly, Sekou Touré, infamous Guinéen president, is Samory's grandson. This might partly explain Sekou's obstinate objection to French involvement in Guinée--not in the obvious connection between Samory and his evasion of and eventual capture by French armies, but in the sense of Samory's character, who rarely compromised his will or desire in obtaining his vision for a united Wassoulou Empire.

I'll use Sekou Touré as my jumping off point to present my much delayed musical mango, which arrives ripe from deep down in the forest of southern Guinée--N'Zerekore specifically. This small town is near the lively borders of Liberia and Côte d'Ivoire, and it was indeed lively. The crowded and endlessly bumpy modified-Toyota-van ride down from Kankan left everyone caked in red dust.

After a few weeks I was introduced to the group Gobou Woletö.  Four guys played wooden trompets (tulu), one a smaller higher-pitched drum, another a slightly larger deeper drum with aluminum fins stuck in the cords of the drum that were lined with soda-can tabs to make the soft jingle, and the last kept all the time on his iron bell.  Hearing and seeing this music upfront was incredible.  The first song felt like a swirling cloud overhead.  It was madness, I couldn't tell where the rhythm was (though it's pretty clear in the recordings that the bell is the anchor).

The trumpeters alternated blowing in the horn and singing syllables which added to the swirling effect.  I wish I understood any bit of the language Guerzé to know if they each say a different word to make a phrase in these songs, or if they're all alternately saying different things with their own complete meanings.  I don't know and didn't ask.  

The trumpeter in the red cap was responsible for obtaining and distributing the gasoline-jug full of palm wine, which was quite tasty. The picture of him climbing the tree with a knife between his teeth and slingshot in his pocket didn't turn out.

Kéwo, the woman off to the right in the picture above, was instrumental in helping me find this group and others in the area. She can't be thanked enough for her effort, patience, and kindness.

Our talented dancer in white explained the significance of each song and Kéwo supplemented his efforts with written notes in a small book, and here are my translations:

1) La Salutation:  Song often played for strangers, respected old people, and officials.

2) Nangha ma pa:  A song to manifest love or declare our love for someone or something.

3)  Yawala ga bhè ghanli:  Title-- For those who want to say you don't see me, tell yourself that I've gone.  This is a song of goodbye, often sung at the end of ceremonies and events to say goodbye to the crowd.

4)  John Paul II:  This song was played to get people to go to church.  It was a manner of respect for John Paul II; when he goes to church we should follow behind him.

5)  Yila löbha kani kokoï:  Title-- Patience makes joy.  In life we must be patient; don't be hurried.  God doesn't forget anyone and knows what he's planned for everyone.  Patience is a good thing.

6) Ya yanlo te ghe wa ne ba:  Title-- When I cross the river I greet my mother.  At the death ofune grande personnalité and at the moment they are to be buried, we sing this song to say goodbye and many other things about the other world.

7)  Yawala loga wo bhogho tu wo kè:  Title--If you haven't had any children, don't behave badly.  Women shouldn't tell themselves, "since I haven't had a child, I'm going to behave badly".  Certain women who haven't had children prefer to drink alcohol because they think it diminishes their worries.  On the other hand, there are women who haven't had children and they respect themselves.  Women should maintain their dignity.  The lack of a child should not be at the base of bad behavior.

Enjoy!

(I went straight)

And, does anyone know of any blogs that have Oromo music from Ethiopia?  Let me know!

K7-12: Wa Flash

Let us take a slight detour away from the arid land of Mali and venture into the just-as-arid land of Thiés, Senegal.  Enjoy the relatively relaxed mbalax of Masane and Wa Flash.  My friend Jules Diop respected Masane because her hair was real, but I suspect that some of his appreciation was reserved for her voice*.

At the time I spoke Wolof well enough to explain the vile things I was willing to do to the mothers of would-be pick-pockets, and that I would eat their days (demai lekk sai funn) if they kept bothering me (I learned these vile words from children or the parents yelling at their children in Dakar).  However, as much basic conversation that was to be had, I could never fully understand the lyrics of mbalax, nor did I ever really fully appreciate mbalax, in all its sugary, treble-heavy sabar madness and glory.  

Nevertheless, this is one tape that I do enjoy.  Some songs are a little blown-out.

My favorite song is Sincerité.  I don't know exactly what Masane is singing when she says someone is crying, but when she sings "mingi joy", she sings "he/she is crying", which would make sense in a song titled Sincerité.  And she implores someone, presumably the husband and father in the video, to wanko--to show it, sincerité.  My best guess is that Masane is singing about anonymous woman married to typical man who refuses to show any sympathy to the woman's situation (the video doesn't reveal much, so perhaps polygamy, which is a relevant topic today) and later in the second little segment between the dancing, the father not being sympathetic to the daughter's situation with her young suitor.  

'Soxna' is either the word for woman or a respectful word used to address women.  For example, to get the attention of a woman working in a little shop I'd address her generally as, [Hey] woman...soxna si ([hey] this woman).  I'm pretty sure adding si, because soxna starts with an 's', makes it a close noun, like saying gorgui, where gor is the word for man, and gui is the grammatically correct thing added after. Since gor starts with a 'g', gui is what follows.  I'm not a linguist.  However, it was explained to me by a linguist that modern Wolof has generally abandoned the agreement between noun and grammatically-correct-thing-added-after-the-noun, and made them all neutral, in a sense (I'm not sure they took a male/female sex), in that, now nouns are mostly followed grammatically with a 'gui' rather than agreeing with whichever letter the noun starts with.  Like I said, I'm not a linguist, so that may have been terribly confusing.

Enjoy the music.  More mbalax to be posted later.

But before I go and since I'm feeling rather mbalaxy right now, here's a youtube video of one of my favorite songs, coincidentally enough also concerning women's plight in Senegal. 

*and that Masane is very attractive.

K7-11: Allata Broulaye

Allata Broulaye seems to have wanted to stay out of the media's attention--including the recording industry--preferring to be known through performance instead.  He is credited as being the "inventor" of what we all know and love (if not by name at least by sound)--the kamelen n'goni.  I hope you'll be lenient with me in light of most of what I am going to write below is taken from one excellent article written by Lucy Duran, as well as from what I remember asking friends in Yanfolila, who didn't speak much French and I very little Bamana, about the origin of the songs I was hearing and learning.

I say Broulaye avoided attention because Duran credits herself as having the only interview he ever gave (1996), months before his death (1997).  I say he avoided the recording industry because Duran and another talented researcher, Graeme Counsel, cite his only full-length, official album to have been recorded in 1981/3, titled Spécialiste de Kamelen N'goni.  Before I go on with more info about him I want to point something out, if you haven't noticed already.

Duran's note at the end of her article and Counsel's comprehensive discography list Broulaye's only LP/cassette as Spécialiste de Kamelen N'goni (the year of release differs).  However, the cassette I present to you, and that was presented to me in the market as Allata Broulaye's "only" cassette, is titled L'Initiateur de Kamele Ngoni.  Presently, the only other island in this vast internet ocean where I can find another listing for L'Initiateur de Kamele Ngoni is here, a listening syllabus for a Harvard music class in 2008.  I cannot find a single website that provides a track listing for Spécialiste de Kamelen N'goni album, nor for L'Initiateur de Kamele Ngoni, save for the three tracks on the Harvard site linked above.  So, your guess is as good as mine as to whether or not I have the true "only" cassette.  The score is 2-2.  Duran and Counsel -vs- me and Harvard.  Perhaps these tapes are one-and-the-same, perhaps not.  Let me know if you figure something out.  At least here I have home-field advantage.

I'll get back to this conflict with relevant information a little later, but for now, enough of that.

Duran writes that Broulaye was the first to record kamelengoni with his niece Coumba Sidibe (to be posted later) for Radio Mali, in 1977, and it wasn't until the early 1980's that he put his first LP to wax.  Brulaye said he was never paid for that album and thus never recorded again.  I would like to think that it would be impossible that not a single event where Brulaye may have played for a crowd, such as for the opening of such-and-such market, or such-and-such school, or whatever else might warrant ceremonious music in his whole career, wasn't ever recorded by a Radio Mali journalist or Radio Wassoulou journalist, as is quite common.  There are plenty of locally recorded tapes available to support this practice, my Seydou Camara post being one of them (although I don't know the exact purpose for that recording).  But then I remember one has to consider the original "purpose" of the kamelengoni and what it represented to Malian youth and musicians and artists: freedom from ceremony and ritual, which was required for any occasion that the donsongoni played.  Instead, kamelengoni was/is for pure entertainment.  So perhaps there aren't any recordings of Brulaye playing for the opening of whatever was opening because he simply didn't play for those events.  He only played to make people dance in the villages, a pure expression of "his" art.  Broulaye's brother said, "'This was our own dance music.  We didn't listen to records or the radio.  Young boys and girls would meet in the evenings outside the village and dance to this music until the early hours of the morning...'" (Duran, 2003; I'd give a page number but my copy doesn't have them).

Duran also mentions that shortly before his death, Broulaye recorded a few songs with Oumou Sangare at her house in Bamako.  These were recorded by Ousmane Haidara.  I'm excited for a future trip to Mali, in part to track down some of these forgotten recordings.  Speaking of Oumou Sangare...she is one of the singers on this album.  If you listen closely to the songs Dundun Ba and Djigui you can hear Broulaye single out Oumou Sangare, singing her name.  

I will never claim that I speak Bambara well (yet), and if someone out there can correct me please do, but to me it sounds like Broulaye is singing something like this, beginning at minute mark 1.29 of Djigui: Oumou Sangare ngoni min y'a djigui ye/ (chorus)/ Kamelengoni kan...//

My translation, if I'm correct would be, roughly: Oumou Sangare, the ngoni that gives her hope/ (chorus)/ The language of kamelengoni...// and then I can't separate the words (plus he sometimes sounds like he doesn't have any teeth).  In most cases djigui translates to hope, but from experience it seems to me that any word in Bamana can mean anything depending on the context of the rest of the sentence.  Then in the next line, adding -kan after a noun typically means "the language of that noun".  Such as Bamanankan = the Bamana language.  Konokan = the language of the bird.  Side note: when you hear many Wassoulou artists sing "wassoulou konokan bora", they're singing that their words have left.  (bo = to go--among other things--and -ra makes that verb take the past tense).  In this case the singer is the bird of wassoulou who has just said whatever it is they did and the words have left them.  Another side note: although Oumou Sangare is most famously given the title of the Bird of Wassoulou, such a title is not unique to her, although she does have a very pretty voice. 

A brief return to the conflict of the dueling cassettes:  Duran quotes from two of Broulaye's songs from Spécialiste de Kamelen N'goni in her article, listing the titles as Mousso keleyato and Yayoroba.  You may notice that neither of those are in my cassette presented to you.  However, I have not scoured the lyrics of my tape for those phrases, which if identified, would lead me to believe there is merely a difference in song titles not content.  The score is still 2-2 in my book (Harvard has my track titles, and Duran has them for her team).

I've written more than I thought.  I love the kamelengoni.  The picture at top is a close-up of Sekou Kouyate's axe, who is pictured behind the title of this blog.  I hope you enjoyed the brief lesson in Bamana grammar.

Post script:  I am hesitant to make any connection between Malian music and the blues, for one because I'm tired of reading about it in the superficial terms by which it is typically presented, and two because what I want to write is not founded on anything beyond an entertaining coincidence; so here goes.  I've been listening to a lot of pre-WWII blues lately.  Allata Broulaye reminds me of a Henry Sloan type character.  Henry Sloan is credited with teaching Charley Patton to play the blues, and Charley Patton, as I understand it, went on to teach people like Son House and Bukka White, among others, and on and on until the blues is what it is today one-hundred years after the fact.  There is only one single reference to anyone besides Charley Patton ever having seen Henry Sloan alive (W.C Handy in 1903), and even that is an ongoing debate.  Allata Broulaye apparently only gave one interview and he was the founder of a musical movement that cemented a cultural identity.  

--an entertaining coincidence, is all.  Enjoy!

K7-10: Tara Bouare

This cropped picture was taken years ago for other purposes and was found now in my computer; not complete, but something.

I know very little about Tara Bouare, and most (all) of what I do know is from brief internet searches.  She seems to be regarded as a musical pillar of Malian and Bambara culture, and has remained a vital and inspiring figure in the cultural consciousness as far as twenty years after her death in 1971 or 1972.

Dictator Moussa Traore's caravan was stopped by the now current second-term president Amadou Toumani Toure, in 1991.  At the time ATT was general of the military and his coup took place as the result of Traore's violent suppression of growing protests against his thirty year reign as head of state/presidency of Mali.  Traore's security forces opened fire on a crowd of protestors, killing around three hundred people on March 22, 1991 in central Bamako.  Apparently Tara Bouare's song Sanounegueni was somewhat of an anthem at the time*.  The translation is golden rod, and the substance of the song, I've read to be, is that no kingdom is forever.  One can imagine that during a time of favourable political upheaval and transition, such a message would be inspiring, and especially--at least from my perspective as an outsider looking in--since that message was delivered by means of a simple song by an artist who had been absent, yet apparently lingering in the public consciousness, for the previous twenty years.

Goes to show the power of song and the Malian musician!

**Interesting note: Friends in Yanfolila told me that during Moussa Traore's reign, his police forces were instructed to stop anyone from playing kamelengoni down south.  It was thought that too much entertainment meant too little work, so anyone seen playing was promptly made to stop.  This might explain the legends of late-night gatherings and dancing outside of town, of which I have no reference to direct you, but remember reading.  I wonder what (negative) effect such a policy had on the prevalence of the instrument today.**