-erie Hilarity

Greetings once more from the biggest village in Africa.  I'm still playing lots of banjo, kora, and n'goni here  and as nothing much has changed on that front, I thought I'd talk (write) a little about everyday life here in the city this week.

Bamako is the largest city in Mali, with around 2 million inhabitants.  It dominates every sector of Malian society, with the exception of agriculture.  Industry, commerce, entertainment, and government are all centered here, and the city is growing at an astonishing rate.  In the five years between my second and third trips to Mali, entire new neighborhoods had come into existence.  The huge number of (predominantly young) Malians moving to the capital is a source of serious social friction, and the problem is only aggravated with each passing year; the more people move here, the more everyone else wants to, too.  That said (written), the constant immigration and crowding do make for fascinatingly diverse and energetic street-life, plus great music, food, and a great mix of taxi drivers, food vendors, and merchants.

By far the most common languages here are Bambara and French.  Bambara is a dialect of what is usually called Mandékan or Mandingkan (and, occasionally, Mandenkakan), a language group that is spread across most of W. Africa.  The majority of Malians speak Bambara, and many immigrants from Senegal, Burkina Faso, Guinea, the Gambia, and Ivory Coast speak some language that is mutually comprehensible with Bambara.  The Bambara spoken in Bamako, however, is heavily mixed with French, and also incorporates lots of words from other Mandé dialects.  It's nice to be able to use the occasional French word that I don't know in Bambara, although that's a trick that only works in the capital.  This mixture (fr. mélange) of French and Bambara is evident not only conversationally, but also in various street signs.  One of my favorites is the picture below; a marriage of Bambara and the French suffix "-erie" ("shop," roughly).

Dibi= BBQ in Bambara.  So, "barbequerie?" "Barbeque-erie?"

Another thing I love about Mali are the various slogans, emblems, and proverbs painted, stencilled, or stuck onto the sotramas (public transport mini-busses) and tractor-trailers.  I'll keep updating with more pictures in the future (I get a couple good ones every week) but for now, I'll just put in this one:

"Who knows the future?" Particularly ominous when written just over the "Inflammable liquid" warning on a tanker truck (not that it keeps people from tailgating).  

One last city event; on Monday, there was a general strike by the sotrama drivers and petits comerçants (the street vendors who sell almost everything in Bamako), protesting a precipitous hike in their annual taxes.  The streets were bare, and I made it across town in ten minutes' less time than I ever had.  By nightfall, the government had caved, and the streets were full again yesterday.  "Comme d'habitude" was the only comment from my bemused host-father.  This incident certainly underscored the power of communication and mass action in Malian society to me; the Malian government certainly didn't want such a large sector of the Bamako population angry, particularly with an election six months away.  Not exactly an Occupy Wallstreet, but still an example of the power which mass action can have.

Questions and comments; waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com.

The Cool Season

Bamako is finally cooling down.  I've bene sleeping without A.C. for the last few weeks, and the last two days I've even managed without a fan.  I'm savoring the respite before the hot season starts in February and it never gets below 90, even in the middle of the night.

It's been over 2 months since I arrived in Mali.  Things are going well; both faster and slower than I imagined, in typical Malian fashion.  I've been playing more kora than n'goni lately, but that looks like it should change next week, as my primary n'goni teacher will be returning to Bamako from his home village, Kita, where he's been for the traditional 40-day mourning period for his older brother.

I've been going to see music at least once a week at the clubs since I've gotten here.  The results have been decidedly mixed.  I've seen a couple of great shows (Vieux Farka Touré at the Centre Culturel Français, Boubacar "Kar Kar" Traoré at Blonbla 2) and a whole lot of mediocre ones.  Partially this has to do with Malian sound systems (often bad) and club audio aesthetics, which tend to favor volume above everything else, like a mix that permits each instrument to be heard, or minimizing feedback.  However, I've also seen a fair amount of bands which probably won't ever make it past the club circuit here in Bamako.  Mali is blessed with an abundance of musical styles and traditions, not to mention musicians.  However, most of Mali's A-list musicians are aging; Salif Keita and Boubacar Traoré are both in their late sixties at least, as is guitar superstar Djelimady Tounkara.  Oumou Sangaré and Habib Koité are now in their forties, as is Bassekou Kouyaté.  There have also been significant losses in the last five years, including Ali Farka Touré (a multiple Grammy-award winner and mainstay of the Malian musical community), the Bambara rocker Lobi Traoré (on the eve of an international tour), and Mamadou "Mangala" Camara.

There are plenty of young Malian musicians coming on, getting their songs played on ORTM here in Bamako and bringing in the crowds in the Hippodrome club neighborhood, but the vast majority of them are rappers.  Rap is hugely popular among young people in Mali, to the exclusion of other, traditional musics.  Two of the most popular artists here are Iba One (backed by the lightning-quick kora loops of Toumani Diabaté's son, Sidiki)  and Master Soumi, whose thoughtful, pun-laden tracks often deal with social issues.  I'm not a huge fan of rap, even in a language I can understand, but I can see why it's so popular here in Mali.  It's a way of articulating social problems and constructing an identity musically that hasn't been available in Mali prior to this.  There have been plenty of griot or Wassulu songs about social issues (polygamy, public health, infant mortality), but none of them has had the immediacy of Master Soumi's "Sonsoribougou," about a young farmer coming to Bamako and becoming a Malian hustler.  Everyone, even my teachers (who are definitely NOT in their twenties!) knows this song.  In many ways, rap is a natural evolution for Mali, where everyone sings along with the radio, and listens carefully to lyrics so as to understand their deeper and multiple meanings.  Instead of the ancient Bambara proverbs of Bazoumana Sissoko, the legendary blind bard whose occasional broadcasts on ORTM could bring the city to a halt, Malian rap deals in the plain truths and aspirations of youth.  It's a different form for different times.

I just hope that rap doesn't take a fatal bite out of traditional Malian music.  What with the spread of radio and non-Malian music, as well as the tremendous influx of Malians to the capital, Bamako, traditional music is already being put to the test.  Griot music has managed to find a new niche in the weddings, baptisms, and street-parties (sumu, pl. sumuw) that take place every weekend in Bamako, but there have to be other, less dynamic traditions that are being swept away.  For every griot, or hunter, or Wasulu musician who adapts, there is a water-ceremony, or full-moon song which is forgotten...

Or not.  I was chatting with the father of my host-family the other day, and he said that he had come full circle to liking the music of his childhood again.  As a young man, he listened to the great Cuban-influenced Malian orchestras of the 1970's, like Mopti's Kanaga Orchestra and Ségou's Super Biton.  While a student in the U.S.S.R., he switched to Western music, classical guitar and jazz.  However, he told me that he had recently begun listening to his old favorites again, as their lyrics were more meaningful to him.  Besides, "traditional" music has always adapted with the times, and nowhere more so than in Mali.  Bands from Orchestra Baobab to Les Ambassadeurs du Motel, from Habib Koite to Amadou and Mariam have played the classic ballad "Diarabi," a song that has been around for at least decades, and quite possibly centuries.  I'm sure that the Malian musical aesthetic will survive in some form or another, though hopefully not solely as backing loops for rappers...

Tabaski

Hello! It's been a few weeks since I posted, so this will be a little longer than normal.

I've been busy playing and listening to music, mostly in the neighborhoods of Djelibougou (home to a disproportionate number of Bamako's musicians) and Hippodrome, site of most of Bamako's nightclubs. Due to the sudden, unexpected death of their elder brother, both of my n'goni teachers (Simbo and Kélémonson Diabaté) have returned to Kita to be with their extended family.  As such, I haven't had much chance to play n'goni, and have been concentrating on the kora.  Given that the kora and n'goni repertoires (at least, of the Mandé/griot variety) are largely similar, I've really been learning many of the same songs I would have on the n'goni.  

One of my goals here in Mali is to immerse myself in the standard repertoire of griot songs, of which there seem to be (by my completely unofficial and unscientific guesstimate) around 40 or so.  These songs all have relatively long and complex histories and associations, both historical and ideological, and are constantly reworked, oftentimes with new lyrics, to create new songs.  Most Malian musicians are more than willing to change the (traditional) title and attribute the 'new' song to themselves on their CDs which means, practically, that the only way to identify them is to know the traditional songs already.  Given that each musician puts their own spin on the song to make it their own, and also that there are many different "accompaniment" patterns and solo melodies associated with each song, I've always found it quite difficult to differentiate traditional songs unless someone names them for me.  In any event, I now have samples of many (possibly even most?) of these core griot songs, and I'll be listening to them intensively over the following months to try to drill them into my head.  We'll see if that works!

Last week, I stopped by Mali's largest source of non-pirated CDs, Mali K7, and picked up an even 50 new ones.  They have a varied selection, from the Cuban-inspired bands of the '70s and '80s to traditional singers (Kouyate Sory Kandia, Ma Kouyate, Khaira Arby) to newer acts like Magic System, local mega-stars like Sékouba Bambino and Abdoulaye Diabaté, as well as the obligatory street-level rap and reggae artists.  Guaranteed good listening for the next few months!

Pictured: Loot

To add to the general madness of Bamako, two weeks ago was the festival/feast of 'Eid al-Adha, known locally as Tabaski.  Tabaski commemorates the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son to his God, and his joy at being allowed at the last minute to substitute a sheep instead, a story common to all three of the People of the Book (Christians, Muslims, and Jews).  What this means in effect in Mali is a massive influx of sheep into the capital city, where every family does its level best to buy at least one, and occasionally several.  Sheep markets suddenly sprang up everywhere alongside the main roads, and their bleating became the common aural backdrop of every day (and night).  Along the roads, sheep were herded by old men and young children, dragged by their halters, trussed up on top of public transport busses, pulled by their horns, smacked ineffectually with sticks, and constantly yelled at.  My favorite mode of sheep transport was by moped.  I managed to get a photo of the sheep below which, contrary to my expectations, turned out to be alive and attempted to bite its captor as my taxi passed at break-neck speed).  

A sheep in every pot

Little did I know that my kora teacher, Toumani, would also be bringing his back in similar fashion!

Toumani with his Tabaski sheep

I passed the actually day of Tabaski with my host family, visiting and receiving visitors and numerous phone calls, and eating mutton with every meal.

I'll try to update in the next few days with a review of a Boubacar Traoré concert I saw last Saturday, as well as some more pictures of Bamako street-life.  Until then, here's a picture of two of my teachers listening to field recordings of themselves made not ten minutes before.  How cool is digital recording?

Simbo Diabaté and Toumani Kouyaté

Some Music from the Heart of Bamako

Greetings once more from sunny Bamako.  This last week has been a complete musical immersion for me; I've been playing/learning at least 6 hours a day during the week.  It's lots of fun, but leaves me without a lot of energy to update the blog.  By way of an apology, and as promised, here's a field recording of my kora teacher, Toumani Kouyaté, playing "Salimu," a traditional Malian song about the dangers of alcohol.

Toumani Kouyate Salimu by waraden

(I think I've figured out how to get this audio player to work; if you're having trouble, please drop me a line @ waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com.)

One of my primary n'goni teachers, Kélémonson Diabaté, has been in Guinea for the last week for a recording session with one of Mali's more famous divas, Amy Koita.  Luckily, his half-brother, Simbo, is around to pick up the slack!  I'll post a picture of him next week.  The brothers' father is a famous musician in his own right; his name is Cemogo (pronounced "Chay-mo-go") Diabaté, and he's been a musical hub in Kita for decades, having reached the ripe old age of 96 or 97, depending on who's telling the story.  I had the chance to meet him in 2006 when I was in Kita when I learned, to my surprise, that he was the one who had made my n'goni!  He is also usually credited by Kita n'goni players as the man who first added extra strings to the traditional 4-stringed n'goni.  It is now common to see 7- or 8-stringed n'gonis among professional griots.  Interestingly, I've learned that both Simbo and my first n'goni teacher, Cheick Hamala Diabaté, tune their 8-stringed n'gonis identically: I strongly suspect that this is because both trace their n'goni "lineage" back to Cemogo.

One of the best parts about being in the midst of the professional griot/musician class is seeing the ways in which "traditional" music is adapting itself.  The n'goni, for example, is an instrument normally classified as "traditional" which has, in fact, undergone a radical physical alteration within living memory.  The kora has undergone a shift of its own through the playing of Toumani Diabaté.  His unique style, which burst onto both the Malian and world stage with his debut album, Kaira, instantly became the benchmark by which all other Malian kora players were judged.  Many of his interpretations of traditional tunes ("Alla L'A Ke," for example) have in turn become standards, and been incorporated into the tradition.  My kora teacher, Toumani Kouyaté, laughingly explained today that most young kora players "don't know the original Lamban; they can only play Toumani Diabaté's version!"  It's fast becoming evident to me that Malian musical "tradition" is not only flexible but even welcomes innovation.  No doubt this is less than revelatory for anyone who has studied other cultures or traditional musics, but I was still surprised.

In final news, I stopped by the Centre Culturel Français today to attend a talk at an "International Colloquium on the Sources of African Music" that's taking place there this week.  I heard a fascinating report on the music of Burkina Faso by Florent Mazzoleni.  As he pointed out, Burkinabé music is basically unknown outside of the country, so it was a treat to hear some.  I'll write something about the conference next week.

The highlight of this week, aside from the hours of music, was definitely watching a man remove not one, not two, but four sheep in gunny sacks from the trunk of a taxi.  And on that note, see you next week!

À l'attaque!

Greetings from Mali!  

It's been a busy first week-and-a-bit.  I've reconnected with my old kora teacher, Toumani Kouyaté, and had several lessons with him.  I've also begun lessons with one of my primary n'goni teachers, Kélémonson Diabaté.  Kélémonson is a highly-regarded traditional n'goni player from Kita, the heartland of Mali's Mandé griot tradition.  He has also performed with Mali's Orchestre Nationale "A," a government-sponsored griot orchestra.  

Some of these terms could probably use some explanation.  The kora and the n'goni are traditional instruments of the Malian griot (the French term for the Bambara-language jeli).  Griots/jelis are oral historians, negotiators, counselors, musicians, praise-singers, orators, and wedding planners/officiators, among other roles. They all come from specific families (Kouyaté, Diabaté, and Sissoko being some of the most famous); as such, griots are often referred to as a sort of caste.  Not every Diabaté or Kouyaté is necessarily a griot, but it's impossible to become a griot if you're not born into one of the families.  Also, although griots are not the only people making music in Mali, they're far and away the dominant ones, so there's an interesting power dynamic between these semi-"official" musicians and the non-official "folk" variety.  There are also popular rap and reggae artists who are not part of the griot caste, too.  I'll try to illuminate the Malian music scene as I go along, but I readily admit to not understanding a lot of what's happening, despite being in the middle of it!

Instrument-wise, the kora is a twenty-one-stringed harp with two rows of strings (see pic below).  The n'goni is a four-stringed lute and a probable ancestor of the American banjo (see pic).  Modern n'gonis can have as many as eight strings, depending on the player.  I'll spend some time laying out each instrument in detail in some later posts.  For the moment, I'll just say that as a banjo player, the n'goni makes a lot more sense to me than the kora, but I'm trying to learn both.

Kélémonson Diabaté and his n'goni

Toumani Kouyaté

A frontal view of the kora

My Fulbright project is to study two different playing regional styles of the n'goni, those of Kita and Ségou.  I'm most familiar with that of Kita since my first n'goni teacher, Cheick Hamala Diabaté, is from there.  However, the Ségou style is also pretty interesting (lots of pentatonic songs, for one thing), and much less well-known than the Kita style.  So, hopefully I can make some useful comparisons and bring back some knowledge that no one outside of W. Africa has figured out yet.  

In the meantime, there's plenty of work to do.  Kélémonson will be in the neighboring country of Guinea for the next week or so, so I'll have time to work on the stuff I've learned so far and maybe transfer some of it to the banjo, as well.  I've also organized all of my old field recordings (I have thirty hours' worth or so) by song, so I'm going to sit down and try to drill myself on which accompaniments and melodies go with which song.  Next week, I'll post a recording of Toumani playing variations on a traditional Malian melody.  Stay tuned!

The masters face off

Questions, comments may be sent to waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com.

The Plan

Welcome to my blog! If you're here, it's probably because I know you in some form or fashion; if not, you're welcome still. This blog will chronicle my explorations of music and culture in Mali, West Africa, during my time there as a Fulbright grantee. That period will probably be from October 3, 2011-July 4, 2012 but, given the inevitable corruption of best-laid plans in Mali, that could certainly change.

I'll try to update this once a week, though we'll see how that goes. I also realize that a lot of blogs quickly turn into long, mawkish descriptions of the everyday or passionate, yet intensely boring, rants. I'm going to try my best to avoid all that, and there will be lots of pictures, field recordings, and hopefully some videos once I get to Mali.

My plan is to study the playing techniques, repertoire, and lore of the Malian n'goni, a 4-string lute.  I got started playing it in 2002 or so with a Malian griot (an oral historian/musician/all-around cultural negotiator) named Cheick Hamala Diabaté who lives in the Washington D.C. area.  Cheick is from Kita, in Western Mali, a famous griot town that has produced such fabled musicians as Toumani Diabaté and Kélétigui Diabaté, and a whole host of lesser-known musicians.  The Manden griot music centered in Kita is probably the best-known Malian musical tradition outside of Mali.  That said, there are many other musical traditions, notably Bambara music, centered on Ségu, in central Mali.  Bambara music tends to include more pentatonic melodies, and has historically had a different repertoire and playing style.  This is all changing due to the fact that many professional musicians have moved to the Mali's capital, Bamako, and are actively swapping tunes and playing styles.

Hopefully, I will be able to study the Kita and Ségu n'gonis with two acknowledged masters: Kélémonson Diabaté of Kita, who has played with several of Mali's national griot troupes, and Bassékou Kouyaté of Ségu, who with his group N'goni Ba is a rising star on the World Music scene.   Both live in Bamako, which will make it easier to meet with them, but both also tour internationally, so I may be forced to find some supplementary teachers as well.  We'll see!

Questions and comments can be sent to waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com.  Next week in Mali!