Round Three

Hello, friends.  I'm back in Mali for a third round of kora/Mandé music studies.  I'll be here for five months this time, studying mostly kora, but also n'goni and balafon with a variety of masters.  I'll also be attending (and possibly performing at?) the Festival sur le Niger, in Ségou.  In the meantime, I've been building my core repertoire of traditional Mandé songs, both as recordings and as songs I can actually play.  I've got field recordings of about 60 songs so far, and have probably another 15 or so through commercial recordings of other musicians.  I've also cross-referenced my field recordings against my commercially-recorded Mandé music library and grouped different recordings of the same song together.  My hope is that, by comparing different musicians' versions of the same song, I can arrive at some idea of the core song itself, i.e. its characteristic melody/ies, accompaniment pattern, and traditional lyrics.  This musical reference library is pretty much the only advantage I have on Malian Mandé musicians, most of whom have been playing kora since childhood!  Nothing like getting your tuckus kicked by a 16 year-old to keep you humble...

The first week of intensive kora playing is always the toughest, as you can tell!

Stay tuned for some audio next post.  Comments/questions/whatever: waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com

Ali Farka Touré

Ali Farka Touré was one of Mali's best-known musicians, and rightly so.  A dedicated musician with a unique, instantly-identifiable sound, Touré put out numerous solo albums, as well as collaborative works with American bluesmen Ry Cooder and Corey Harris, guest tracks for singer Boubacar "Kar Kar" Traoré and balafon-player Kélétigui Diabaté, and two excellent duo albums with Mali's own kora virtuoso Toumani Diabaté, both Grammy Award winners.  A polyglot, Touré spoke Fula, Songhai, Bambara, French and (I would imagine) at least some Tamashek.  He also amazed the world music crowd when he backed Toumani Diabaté on their two collaborations, playing dozens of traditional Mandé melodies from an entirely different musical tradition than his own.  Among Malian musicians, notorious for their mutual "treachery" (janfaya in Bambara), Touré left behind an impeccable reputation as a kind and gracious individual, generous with his praise of other musicians.  Finally, in the last part of his life Touré owned Mali K7, the country's foremost legal CD production facility and was named mayor of his hometown of Niafunké.  

This week, I'm profiling two of Touré's best albums, Radio Mali and Niafunké.  Both appeared on the excellent Nonesuch/World Circuit label in the late '90s, and they showcase Touré's range, from solo songs to full band numbers, acoustic to electric.  Touré accompanies himself on both albums with guitar and n'jarka single-stringed violin.  The songs on Radio Mali are culled from recordings made at the Office de Radiodiffusion et Télédiffusion du Mali, Mali's national radio and television station in Bamako, the capital, from 1975-1980.  They tend to be spare and acoustic, often understated duets between guitar and n'jarka, in perfect counterpoint to Touré's dry, even hieratic voice.  Niafunké, in contrast, is plugged in and immediate, uncompromising in its groove.  Hand-claps, djembe drums and electric bass all revolve around Touré's wailing electric guitar.  There are some slower, and sweeter moments to Niafunké, though; the sentimental "Cousins" (about Mali's ethnic Tuaregs) and the n'jarka/djembe rocker "Jangali Famata" highlight Touré's acoustic chops.  

For the dedicated Ali-phile, there are plenty of other albums to be enjoyed (notably Ali and Toumani and his early Yer Sabou Yerkoy), but for newcomers to his music, these albums are highly recommended.  Whether you understand a word of what he's singing or not, Touré's music is infectious, instantly drawing the listener into a new, welcoming sonic world.

A final note: there's some wonderful free recordings of Touré accompanying the famous Timbuktu singer Khaira Arby available on the blog of Music Time in Africa, a long-running radio show on Voice of America.  Check it out.

Some thoughts on the Golden 70's of W. African pop

Hello once more from Virginia.  I'm playing more oldtime than Mandé music lately, but I can never go too long without listening to some 1970's Mandé electric pop.  Today, I'd like to share some of the biggest names and hottest songs from that special era of W. African popular music.

Guinea, located on the coast of W. Africa south-west of Mali, is the other powerhouse of Mandé music.   Kankan and the capital, Conakry, are both hubs of traditional and electric Mandé music, the equals of Kita and Bamako in Mali.  Several of the greatest singers of the modern recording era are Guinean, including Sory Kandia Kouyaté, the most powerful singer of his time, and Sékouba Bambino, Guinea's answer to Salif Keita.  While Mali is associated mainly with the n'goni, the four- to eight-stringed lute, Guinea is known for its peerless balafon players (a sort of wooden marimba).  There is speculation in Charry's Mandé Music that the Guinean electric guitar tradition is based on balafon accompaniment patterns and Mali's on n'goni melodies.  I think there could be something to this theory; certainly, there is a distinctive Guinean electric guitar sound.  Among the many great Guinean guitarists are Sékou "Bembeya" Diabaté (lead guitarist for the peerless Bembeya Jazz National), Kanté Manfila (a longtime collaborator of Salif Keita, and a well-known Afropop artist in his own right), Sékou "Docteur" Diabaté (lead guitarist for Balla et ses Balladins), and others.

I'm not going to get too deep into the historical background of this music since it's been written about so eloquently elsewhere (see below for links).  Suffice it to say write that Guinea's president from independence in 1958 to his death in 1984 was Sékou Touré, a noted anti-colonialist.  Touré promoted a policy of "authenticité," wherein "authentic" Guinean musicians were supported financially and foreign music was marginalized.  Guinea's best musicians became government bureaucrats, "functionnaires," to use the ubiquitous W. African term.  In practical terms, the musicians had a fixed income, in some cases government housing, state-provided instruments, and venues in which to play.  In return, they were expected to transform regional folk songs into danceable electric pop, practice every day together, and perform nightly at special government nightclubs.  They also regularly recorded albums on Guinea's national label, Syliphone, not only for internal consumption, but also as a cultural export showcasing Guinea's unique musical culture.  This whole cultural/beaurocratic idea proved wildly successful, producing some of the most classic African music ever recorded.

Having spent a fair amount of time now in the Malian contemporary music scene, I can say that a steady paycheck (even a modest one), help with housing, instruments, and venues to play in are very, very important to most street level musicians, many of whom live concert to concert.  The most important innovation of the authenticité program, though, was the enforced practice time.  In Guinea, as in Mali, the core Mandé songs (Kaira, Lamban, Duga, Alpha Yiayia, etc.) are known to all decent musicians, who have been playing them since childhood.  As such, it's easy to throw a band together, since everyone knows the songs already.  This shared repertoire, coupled with the lack of funds to pay for practice space, gas money for the band, snacks, etc., means that bands in Mali rarely practice together in the way the Guinean bands of the 70's did, which is to say, every day for several hours.  The only bands I've known in Mali that practice to that extent are Habib Koité's band, Bamada, and Bassekou Kouyaté's N'goni Ba.  Otherwise, the general rule is to practice intensively before recording a new album, and on the road, if the band tours.  To my ears, the immense amount of time the Guinean (and, to a certain extent, Malian) bands of the 70's spent together practicing really comes through on their albums.  There's no hesitation, no missed notes, excellent instrumentation, and the whole band works together as a unit, with each solo blending naturally into the next.  I'll leave it to your ears to decide, but for my money, these bands set the standard for musical excellence in W. African pop, and one that has rarely been equaled in later years.

I'm going to go into more detail about some of my favorite Guinean and Malian 70's bands next week, but in the meantime, here's two of my favorite tracks, Pivi et les Balladin's "Samba" and Bembeya Jazz National's "Armée Guinéenne."

Finally, here's one of my favorite Malian tracks of that era, L'Orchestre National "A"'s "Janfa," led by the late, great Kélétigui Diabaté on lead guitar.

Graeme Counsel has done more than any other non-African to bring this music to the world's attention (though a close second might be Leo Sarkisian, the legendary Music Time in Africa producer).  Counsel's site is well worth checking out if you enjoy any of this music and want to learn more about its context.  He has also more or less single-handedly digitized the entirety of the Syliphone catalog and Radio Télévision Guinée archives, which are now available at the British Library.  

I'll close this week's post with a thought: when organization and a steady stream of money come together in African music, remarkable things can happen.  Food for thought... See you next week!

Clifftop

I'm mostly recovered from a week's worth of overstimulation, sleep deprivation and general partying at Clifftop, a.k.a the Appalachian String Band Festival.  Clifftop is the biggest oldtime music festival in the world, with some 3600 attendees this year.  Many people come for a week or more, camping under the trees up in the West Virginian mountains and playing music for hours every day.  Great musicians come from all over the U.S. and beyond to play there, so even if you just wander around listening, it's hard to get bored.

Clifftop also has one of the largest oldtime banjo contests, and many of the best players (Walt Koken, Reed Martin, Adam Hurt, Paul Brown, etc.) regularly compete there.  There were some 40+ contestants this year, each of whom played one tune to qualify for the finals.  Once in the finals, the top 5 players each get the chance to play an additional two tunes for their chance at ultimate oldtime banjo glory (such as it is).

This was my first year in the finals, and I ended up getting third place.  My campmate Andy Fitzgibbon got 2nd, and Tim Bing (a melodic clawhammer player) got 1st.  I've wanted to be in the finals since I first came to Clifftop at 13 years old, so I was pretty excited.

I've posted the audio of my two songs for the finals: hope you enjoy them.  I'll be back next week with another Malian music-related post.  And big thanks to Pete Marshall (of WTJU and Mando Mafia fame) for passing along the recordings he made!  Thanks, Pete!

A brief analysis of a traditional Mandé song

As a follow-up to my last post, here's my analysis of a song by the Mandé supergroup, Djelika.  Djelika (also the name of their sole album) was composed of Toumani Diabaté on kora, Kélétigui Diabaté on balafon, and Bassekou Kouyaté on n'goni.  These are the three traditional melody instruments of Mandé jeliw, played with great skill by some of Mali's greatest musicians and recorded for this album with perfect fidelity.  The musical interplay amongst the three is careful and subtle, but perfectly comprehensible with a little explanation and some careful listening.  I've linked to a youtube video of the track below, but if you enjoy the music, I strongly recommend buying the full album which, in addition to seven group tracks, also includes the excellent solo kora track "Cheikh Oumar Bah" (actually the traditional Mandé tune "Lamban" played in an alternate key).

"Kandjoura" is a version of the well-known Mandé song "Tonya Le" or "It's the truth!" in Mandékan, the dominant language in and around Kita (the hometown of both Toumani Diabaté and Kélétigui Diabaté).  The song begins with an introduction, in this case a call and response melody involving all three instruments.  It's also common for just a single instrument to play the introduction.  The introduction (in my experience) is often written by the musician(s) playing it.  This gives a chance to the musicians to put their own spin on a song by adding an entirely new melody; essentially, it's another way to show off musical skill.  

Around 0:12, the song begins to take shape.  Keletigui takes the lead, playing a strong accompaniment pattern that shows the basic melody of the song, while Toumani and Bassekou play minimalist backup that accents Keletigui's playing without being true accompaniments.

Around 0:31, Keletigui effortlessly lifts himself out of the accompaniment pattern he had been playing and begins a short improvised solo, while Toumani and Bassekou support him with the same minimalist accompaniments.  By 0:36 he's already back within the accompaniment, though he changes the pattern slightly, though the song remains recognizably the same.  

At 0:43, Toumani begins adding short bursts of melody with his kora, accenting Keletigui's strong balafon accompaniment.  These are fragments of kora accompaniment patterns, very recognizable around 0:57, which interlock perfectly with Keletigui's playing.  By 1:25, he's back within the accompaniment, and Bassekou has his turn to do an improvised solo at 1:30.  As he plays, Keletigui provides the accompaniment, while Toumani essentially just strums the kora to add sonic interest.  

There's no break between solos as Bassekou smoothly steps back into the accompaniment at 2:22 and Keletigui takes his first long solo.  He's done by 2:53, and he and Toumani immediately begin mixing and matching different accompaniment patterns, giving both listeners and musicians a short break before Bassekou takes another solo at 3:30.

The song continues in this vein, with the musicians passing the solo "spotlight" amongst themselves and playing a variety of interlocking accompaniment patterns.  As you can see, too, there are also short breaks where essentially the whole trio is playing nothing but accompaniment patterns.  The overall feeling of the song is very organic, as opposed to the comparative rigidity of bluegrass or oldtime music, where one part follows another in lockstep.  Since Mandé music usually has just one part, endlessly repeated, it flows quite differently and, as I hope I've shown, the logic is somewhat different, as well.  

I'm off to Clifftop (the biggest oldtime festival) for a week; I'll be back next Monday with a post.  Any questions or comments may be sent to waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com.  Thanks for reading!

How I think about playing Mandé music (pt. 1)

For this and next week's post, I thought I'd talk about the practical mechanics of traditional Mandé music as I understand them from a player's perspective.

A fruitful way to analyze Mandé music is through the interaction of back-up and solo musicians.  Many types of music around the world (jazz, bluegrass, certain types of rock, etc.) have a tradition of solos, i.e. a single instrumentalist playing a sort of song-within-a-song, many times improvised, while the other musicians of the band play some sort of backing.  In bluegrass, for example, backing musicians try to provide a solid rhythmic base for the soloist, as well as playing chords to let the audience know where in the song they are.  Mandé music is similar in some ways: only one musician takes a solo at one time, and the other musicians back him (the vast majority of Mandé instrumentalists are male) up.

In the Gambia, there are specific Maninka language terms for kora solos and backup; kumbengo (an accompaniment pattern) and birimintingo (a fast, improvised solo), but in Mali the French terms accompaniment and solo seem pretty universal.  I asked all of my teachers which words they used, and solo and accompaniment were the only answers I ever got.  As those are the terms I'm familiar with, those are the one's I'll use here.

Solos in Mali (and throughout the Mandé music-playing region) serve pretty much the same purpose as everywhere else: they break up the song and spike audience interest, and they give skilled musicians the chance to show off.  Generally, all of the members of the group will play their instrument-specific version of the accompaniment while one member takes a solo; if there's a singer, solos are taken between verses.  If there's a particularly skilled player, he may be given more, or even all, of the solos.  However, it's more common to rotate between all the competent players and give solos to each in turn.  There's a strong current of egalitarianism and respect for each member of any group in Malian society, and this applies to the musical community as well.

Accompaniments, however, work a bit differently in Mandé music than other genres.  Whereas the basis of Western music is often the chord structure, Mandé music is based more upon melody and counterpoint.  This is not to say that there isn't a chord structure to Mandé music, or that Mandé musicians never play chords (they often do, at least on guitar and keyboard).  However, since both the n'goni and the kora tend not to use chords, and since Mandé music in general is more interested in counterpoint (the interplay between multiple melodies) than harmony (the sounding of multiple notes together in a single melody), chords aren't the best way to think about Mandé music in most cases.

A quick word here about Mandé song structure.  While Mandé songs tend to be long (often in excess of 15 minutes when played at a wedding or public event), the underlying melodic structure (essentially the accompaniment) tends to be short, sometimes as short as a few bars of music.  Thus, the same (often simple) melodic cycle is repeated again and again.  Much of the genius of Mandé music is in keeping the audience from becoming bored by the repetition of a short melodic line.

This is accomplished in several ways.  First, each Mandé musician knows several (generally at least three) accompaniments for any traditional song that are unique to his instrument.  Skilled musicians will also know several more, and will often have devised their own accompaniments over the course of their musical career.  The best musicians can even come up with improvised accompaniments on the fly.  In a common ensemble with kora, n'goni, guitar, and balafon (or bass) and drums, each musician will start with one accompaniment, then switch to another when the time feels right.  The group can practice beforehand and decide when to switch the pattern, or, more commonly, the musicians will simply change the accompaniment based on what the other members of the band are doing.  In other words, in the best ensembles, each musician is listening to all the others, and changes his accompaniment to fit what everyone else (both back-up musicians and soloist) are doing.  Accompaniment patterns fit together and mutually complement each other, which is a great part of Mandé music's incredible catchiness.  Each accompaniment is, in itself, a catchy, usually two-part call-and response melody.  When three or four or more of these accompaniments are played together, the groove can be unspeakably good.

In some ways, Mandé music can be a little like modern jazz, in which each musician knows the underlying chord structure, but often substitutes other chords for the original ones to make the song more interesting.  Everyone knows what the original chord/chord structure is, but no one actually plays it.  In Mandé music, the basic melody of the song is known to all the musicians, but each approaches it in his own way.  The overall spirit of the song is carried forward, but the song mutates over time as the musicians change their accompaniments, thus creating interest in a song that might otherwise become boring after two or three minutes.

Some good audio examples of this interplay between solo and accompaniment can be found on the albums Djelika (Toumani Diabaté, Kélétigui Diabaté and Bassekou Kouyaté), the ensemble album Kulanjan (Toumani Diabaté and Taj Mahal) and pretty much anything from the Rail Band or Les Ambassadeurs du Motel.  A more in-depth and scholarly discussion of this interplay can be found in Charry's Mandé Music.

There's a tendency among the latest generation (maybe generations?) of Malian Mandé musicians to focus more on hot solos than solid accompaniments.  The older musicians that I played with disapproved of this pretty strongly, and even made fun of musicians who couldn't step aside musically and back up someone else's solo or singing.  When I first started studying this music seriously, I constantly pestered my teachers for solo techniques.  The universal response was, "practice the accompaniments, and the solos will come on their own."  This has turned out to be mostly true in my case, although it could be incredibly frustrating playing the same simple patterns over and over again while listening to my kora teacher noodle like a rock god.  Still and all, accompaniments are the heart of Mandé music.

This is a lot of material to cover in one post; next week, I'll analyze a Mandé song (or several, if I'm ambitious) and try to show some of what I've explained in action.  Questions/comments can be sent to waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com

Some solo kora to start the week off right

Greetings all.  It's wet and dreary in Virginia and I'm thinking of sunnier days in Mali.  Here's a solo kora track off my new demo CD, recorded one hot night in January.

Also, I've been doing more and more contemporary African music radio shows on WTJU of late.  My last show (of W. African electric epics) was on Radio Tropicale on Wed. 26 June.  If that sounds interesting to you, feel free to check out the Tape Vault (WTJU.net/vault) where you can listen to old shows, free of charge, for up to two weeks.  You can also stream shows live as they're happening; I'll try to figure out a widget to put up on this blog to let you know when my next show is.

Have a great week.

Album Review: Amadou & Mariam, Sou ni Tilé

This is the first of an occasional series of African CD reviews.

Amadou Bagayoko and Mariam Doumbia, better known as Amadou & Mariam or "The Blind Couple of Mali," are two of Mali's best and best-known musicians.  They rose to international prominence with their Manu Chao-produced 2005 album "Dimanche à Bamako," and have since released several commercially successful crossover albums, most recently 2012's "Folila," which featured such varied artists as Bassekou Kouyate, TV on the Radio, and Jake Shears of the Scissor Sisters.  

Commercially, the duo has never done better, but aesthetically, they're continuing to drift further and further from what I think of as their core sound.  Frankly, I'm not a fan of A&M's post-"Dimanche" albums, so I've decided to go back to the roots of their career with a review of their first album.  

"Sou Ni Tilé" ("Night and Day" in Bambara) was Amadou & Mariam's first international album, released in 1998.  It's a big album; more than an hour long, and filled with A&M's musical influences, both Malian and Western.  Amadou's understated, solid accompaniment and solo guitar is supported by drums and flutes of every variety, brass, harmonica and Hammond B3 organ.  This is a studio album par excellence, with a host of supporting musicians including "Mr. Matu" aka François Matuszenski, the current keyboard player for perennial French New Wave rockers Indochine, and the classically trained Hindi violinist Johar Ali Khan.  

The sound presages that of later A&M albums like "Tje Ni Mousso" (Men and Women) and "Wati" (Time), but hits harder than either.  The duo's distinctive sound, built on Amadou's pentatonic call-and-response electric guitar melodies and Mariam's piercing, nasal voice (which sounds much better than my description!) is even present on the heavily-produced "Dimanche à Bamako," certainly their best-known album.  But to my ears, "Sou Ni Tilé" is the purest mix of A&M's songwriting and aesthetic with Western artists.  There are love songs ("Je pense a toi," "Mon amour ma cherie," "On se donne la main"), songs exhorting the listener to work ("Baara"), songs about the necessity of courage and solidarity in the face of life's difficulty ("Combattants," the refrain of which translates as "Life is a fight, and we're the fighters" and "C'est la vie"), and praise-songs for groups as diverse as the Dogon ethnic group ("Dogons") and employees of the national radio station, ORTM ("A radio mogo").  Rounding out the album are a few all-Bambara language tracks and the excellent "Pauvre type" (Poor guy), a minor rocker (in French) detailing the preparations of a penniless Bamakois for a weekend party with his buddies.  

Having honed their chops and written new material in Ivory Coast (see the Sonodisc release "Se Te Djon Ye"), A&M were if anything over-prepared for their first international album.  Of the pre-"Dimanche" albums, "Sou ni Tile" is by far the strongest.  The first track, "Je pense à toi," remains one of their most durable hits both in Mali and abroad, along with the classic (and thematically similar) "Mon amour ma chérie " (My love my dear).  Another song I heard a lot on ORTM (Mali's national radio station) was "A Chacun son Problème" (To each his problem), which twists a traditional Bambara proverb to ask the rhetorical question "Be kunun kunan t'i ka sogoma da wa?" (Whenever you wake up, isn't that your morning?).  The mix of Western elements, including the electric guitar, organ, and harmonica, and Malian elements, like A&M's constant use of proverbs, call and response guitar phrases, combine to produce a universal album on such themes as love, human responsibilities, and the necessity of struggling against a difficult world.  Amadou & Mariam are at the pinnacle of Malian rock right now, along with Bassekou Kouyaté, and for anyone who's been seduced by their pentatonic grooves, "Sou ni Tilé" is a must-have album.  Highly recommended.  

Endless Rounds of Tea

Greetings once more from the States.  The blog's been down for a bit while I readjusted to life in America, but I'm back now, and the plan is to post at least once a week from now on, and with more varied content.  I feel I've arrived at a level of understanding of Malian music such that I can explain some of its basic mechanics and aesthetic, so there will be some analysis posts, as well as CD and concert reviews.  On that note, stay tuned for a review later this week of one of my favorite Malian albums, Amadou & Mariam's "Sou ni Tilé."  In the meantime, enjoy the video below of my kora teacher, Toumani Kouyaté, recorded at his house in Bamako.

Funteni Wati

It's March in Mali, and things are heating up.  Daytime temperatures are routinely in the 90's, and even at night rarely dip into the 60's.  Up North, French, Chadian, and Malian troops are slowly grinding down the terrorists, who have holed up in the caves and gullies of the mountainous Adrar des Ifoghas, north of Kidal.  The Chadian government claims to have killed two of the major terrorist leaders, Mokhtar belMokhtar and Abou Zeid, while rumors are rife that Iyad ag-Ghali, the last of the triumvirate, was killed somewhere between Timbuktu and Gao.  Certainly, it's been a bad month for the terrorists.  

Here in Bamako, outward signs of the troubles in the North are few.  Security at the embassies has been beefed up, and the French Cultural Center, one of the major cultural hubs of Bamako, is closed "for renovations."  We hear the planes though, at all hours of the day and night.  The roar of French jets, the dull throbbing of C130's and other big transport planes, and the occasional Air France or Air Maroc flight are part of the audial background.  Other than that, it's back to business as usual in Bamako, though with nothing near the frenetic energy of last year.  With the loss of aid money and tourism, Mali is just a lot slower these days, in the streets, in the clubs, in the markets.  Still, with any luck the worst is over, and elections can take place in July as interim President Traoré has indicated.  With all the foreign troops here, another coup d'état would be tricky to pull off, though even last year's seemed impossible right up until it happened.  If the elections come off without any major problems, the aid money will begin to flow again, and everyone will breathe a little easier.

On the musical front, I've been delving into some of the more obscure pockets of Mandé music, learning songs which have rarely, or never, appeared on CD or LP.  Many of these songs come from my kora master, Toumani Kouyaté, though I've also gotten some from the archives of Mali's national radio station, l'Office de Radiodiffusion et Télédiffusion du Mali (ORTM).  My favorite find so far has been the unreleased recordings of Djelimory "N'fa" Diabaté, one of the greatest kora players of the previous generation.  Pretty much his only recording which is findable in the West is the classic "Cordes Anciennes," which also feature Sidiki Diabaté and Batourou Sékou Kouyaté, the other two master kora players of that generation of Malian musicians.  However, Djelimory also did at least one recording session at ORTM, as far as I can tell in the 70's or 80's, and some of his tracks are gorgeous, particularly "Duga," "Macky," and "Guede."  His playing is very reminiscent of Batourou Sékou Kouyaté, though slightly more florid.    

So far I've personally recorded 53 songs which I would consider part of the Mandé canon.  Many of these are standards (i.e. "Kaira," "Lamban," "Mali Sadjo"), but some are less popular ("Amadou Bamba," "Gansana") and some I've never run across on any recording, like "Sama Donna Nyo-tula" ("The elephant has entered the millet field," which is an awesome title).  All of these songs are constantly being recycled, reworked, revitalized and played again on stage and on CDs.  It's been one of my great pleasures, as I enter more and more deeply into Mandé music, to hear variations on the same songs by many different musicians, not just from kora players but n'goni, balafon, and guitar players, not to mention singers, who have the dual creative possibilities of changing/adding to both the text and the sung melody.  When you add together half a dozen professional musicians, all of whom are working extra hard ("ka djija" in Bambara, a word I hear a dozen times a day as an apprentice musician) to put their special touch upon these songs, it's easy to understand why a canon of maybe 100 songs, as best I can tell, can be perpetually renewed without growing stale.  

This is a very different musical paradigm than the American traditional music I've played which, although possessing some sort of canon of songs, is and as far as I can tell, was much more open to the creation of new songs and less "tight" organizationally than the Bamako music scene, where everyone knows everyone.  "Traditional" Malian music is in a constant state of flux, with new instruments (guitar, keyboard, kamelen n'goni, Autotune) being added all the time, and new variations upon the old griot instruments constantly surfacing, like the additional strings of the Kita-style djeli-n'goni, the increasingly popular bass n'goni, or using two balafons to get all the notes of the chromatic scale.  

The musical scene in Bamako, the only place where a Malian musician can hope to make a decent living, can be incestuous.  The inevitable steam-roller of globalization/capitalism/modernism/whatever you want to call it is in the progress of mashing lots of the less virile strains of Malian music, but the flip side is that there's a lot of cross-pollination happening in Malian music right now.  To site just a few examples, there's a huge craze for Senefo-style balafon now in the Bamako street parties called sumus, despite the fact that the music played there is usually of Mandé, i.e. non-Senefo, origin.  The two musics have little to do with one another, but the Senefo stuff makes everyone dance, so that's being incorporated into the mix.  I've also run across several n'goni players who can play multiple styles of n'goni, including Peul, Bambara, and Mandé, as well as modern, Bassekou Kouyaté-style electric shredding.  Of these, I consider Barou Kouyaté, formerly of Bassekou Kouyaté's group N'goni Ba, to be the supreme example, though there's certainly others, notably Kandiafa, reggae superstar Tiken Jah Fakoly's n'goni player.  The facility, dynamism, and imagination of this up-and-coming generation of n'goni players is one of the things that gives me hope for Malian music in the 21st century; with players this good, the world will come knocking.  

All of which is to say, as I've mentioned previously, that traditional Malian music is by no means static and, at least in terms of technical ability, Malian musicians are actually improving.  Heady stuff.

As always, comments, questions and the like can be directed to waraden.diabate [at] gmail.com.  Have a nice weekend!

Vive la France!

Such seems to be the public sentiment here in Bamako.  French flags flutter from moped handlebars, and are draped across the fronts of verandas and the backs of cars and trucks.  France now has 1,400 troops on the ground, and the first 100 non-Malian African troops (out of a projected 3,300) arrived yesterday.  It seems the latent threat of neocolonialism is less pressing than the very real threat of a terrorist takeover of the country.  In any event, but official and public sentiment here is very much pro-French.

I'm not going to attempt to recap the situation in Mali; if you're interested, the English-language website of France 24 is good for in-depth reporting, and the BBC for accurate summaries of the latest news.  Bamako is rife with rumors of suicide-bombers and terrorist sleeper-cells, but that's nothing new, and none of the major international media have picked up on anything.  So, either everyone's being hysterical, or the authorities are hushing things up, or the news hasn't made it out of the country yet, or a combination of all those things.  There's lots of police checkpoints now, though I haven't been hassled.

Thanks to all those who sent letters of concern or encouragement.  I feel safe in Bamako, and have no plans to leave in the immediate future, either for another city or region within Mali, or for elsewhere in the world.  My studies of traditional Malian music continue apace, to the extent that I've recorded myself playing a traditional song, Apollo, on the kora.  My timing and tone could definitely use some work, but that's what practice is for, and I'm happy with the ornaments and solos I've come up with on my own.  Essentially, my teacher taught me the basics of this song (its chord progression and basic melody) and I came up with all the rest.  I've still got a ways to go, but I'm starting to get a pretty good feel for the technical side of being a kora player.  I'll be curious to see what you all think...



Other than that, not much to report.  I'm doing well, and plan to be back in the States in May.  Questions, concerns, greetings, and gossip can all be sent to me at waraden.diabate@gmail.com.  Have a nice weekend!

La Saison des Fêtes

Wandering outside early this morning, I was once more the only person in a t-shirt in a crowd of Malians in parkas, sweaters, and overcoats.  The temperature drops into the low 60's F this time of year, which is polar to Malian sensibilities.  I remember being in a village once in January, and awaking to find my host dressed in a full-length green felted wool overcoat, military style with a double row of brass buttons and epaulets.  Nothing like material culture to bring home the realities of globalization.  He really liked the jacket, though; not only was it warm, but he'd also found 20 euros in an inner pocket, which confirmed it for all time as his lucky jacket.  

I've received several emails expressing concern about the political situation here in Mali, so I thought I'd say (write) a few words about that.  This latest intrusion of the military into civilian politics was greeted with indifference among the Malians with whom I've spoken (admittedly, not a statistically rigorous sample size).  Cheick Modibo Diarra (hereafter CMD) did an equally poor job managing public opinion and his relations with the other 2 members of Mali's ruling triumvirate, interim President Dioncounda Traoré and Capt. Amadou Haya Sanogo.  Rumors were rife of problems between the 3, and CMD gained a reputation as spendthrift after Malian journalists reported that he and his revenue stayed at the Ritz Carlton in NYC when he spoke at the UN.  This was particularly corrosive, as it added to the preferred narrative of the career politician class, i.e. that CMD was completely out of touch with the realities of life for the average Malian.  From the beginning, CMD has universally been known in the Malian press as "space man" and "interplanetary navigator."  Even those who found the rumors ridiculous realized their power; The Prince would probably be a boring read for most Malians, who grow up with the firm belief that your reputation is based partially on your actions, but mostly on whatever people say about you.  Malians are nothing if not political realists, and CMD was, in the general view, ineffective.  Even if the rumors weren't true, in the grand scheme of things, many Malians believed them, and that effectively sapped his popular support base, as evidenced by the complete lack of rallies, demonstrations or boycotts, even by nominally opposition political parties.  The interim president appointed a new prime minister within 24 hours, and that was that.

So much for the latest political turmoil.  Bamako continues as before, grinding away slowly, the cold weather and lack of money slowing everything down.  Everyone is gearing up for "le 31," New Year's Eve, a major Malian holiday (or at least a major Bamako one).  Chicken, pigeon, and Guinea hen prices are already on the rise, and the neighborhood streets resound with the whistles, screeches and sudden explosions of fireworks as children clear out last year's stock before rearming later this month.  It has certainly added a certain piquancy to the daily aural background of children's laughter, the hawking of ambulatory street-merchants, passing scooters, and endless chatter at my teacher's compound.  No doubt in another 2 weeks the sight of a dignified Malian man of 40 years old visibly flinching when a pétard goes off 3 feet behind him, then turning and haranguing the group of wildly laughing children will grow old, but it hasn't yet.  Respecting personal dignity is incredibly important in Malian social relations, and it's always interesting to see who can get away with what.  Foreigners, children and crazy people have a lot more leeway than typical Malians.  Still, as in any culture, people are always testing the limits of social permissibility, and much time is spent over tea discussing just who has offended whom during the last week.  

On a less theoretical note, I've been playing kora as frequently and quickly as possible (the latter aided by large quantities of Malian tea), and my fingers are definitely getting faster and stronger.  I've posted some pictures of my new kora below.  It's not perfect, but it sounds better than it looks, and it plays well.  If any of you need a professional-level kora, let me know; I know a guy.  

See you next week.  

The master checking his handiwork

  

My kora is on the right, Toumani's is on the left

Pictured with optional carrying strap

Hand-carved posts and extra-thick rawhide tuning rings

The Cool Season

Greetings from Bamako.  The weather's getting cooler here, people are settling in for the dry cool season, and the wind blows all night long, sometimes.  Good kora-playing weather!

I'm settled back into my old schedule of study with my kora master, Toumani Kouyaté.  In my absence, he's made me a custom kora similar to his own.  An extra-thick gourd and cow-hide, well-fitted tuning rings, geni wood (the preferred of all Malian kora makers) and super-strong American nylon strings from an anglers' supply store, courtesy of Mr. Chapman Ballard (thanks, Bootie!)… I'm really happy to have a professional-quality instrument.  I'm not sure I'm a good enough kora player to merit it yet, but I'll grow into it, and I'm unfortunately way too used to nice instruments by this point in my musical career.  I'll post a picture when I get the chance.  

I've been studying for two days with Toumani, then resting for one.  This schedule seems to be working well; I'm not getting burnt out, despite the intense amount of playing.  In another week or two I'm going to start diversifying, adding in some n'goni lessons and jamming more on the banjo.  For the moment, though, my technical abilities are coming along as quickly as I'd hoped. 

Sadly, the general situation in which Mali finds itself is considerably less rosy than my specific one.  Public confidence in the government is at a low.  Today's the second day of a general transit strike protesting increasing cost of living expenses.  The police have also been particularly bad of late: I've been stopped much more often in taxis during the last two weeks than on the previous trip.  Lots of political infighting: bulletins and flyers posted everywhere downtown, and nothing in the news but posturing amongst the various political parties, rebel and terrorist factions, not to mention the Malian military…  The musical situation is also pretty grim since the departure of les blancs: some of the clubs have kept their doors open, but a lot of the club-goers are gone and don't seem like they're coming back anytime soon.  On the other hand, I was happy to hear the familiar sound of marriage corteges last Sunday; marriages, street parties, and baby naming ceremonies are at least keeping some musicians from starving.  

All in all, Mali's as fascinating as I remembered, as poignant, ridiculous and real as it was the last time I was here.  As always, waraden.diabate@gmail.com's the way to reach me.

Round Two

Hello, faithful readers and new ones!  I'm starting up this blog once more in preparation for my next trip to Mali.  I'll be leaving tomorrow for another six-month stint of intensive, mostly one-on-one instruction in traditional Mandé music in Bamako, Mali's capital.  I'm better prepared this time around, I think: my car is finally in-country and through customs, so theoretically I should be able to drive myself around, I have my own apartment, and I should be able to study with all my old teachers, so the essentials are set.  I've also got a new kora waiting for me that, I'm promised, is of the finest quality.  Mostly, though, I have a much better practical understanding of Mandé music than I had last year, and I'm hopeful that I'll be able to improvise in the Malian style before the end of this trip.  Plus, I've upgraded my field-recording gear with a stand and a windscreen, so there should be some higher-quality recordings up on the blog later this year.

I might try to post some video, as well.  I've stayed away from recording video in the past since Malians, no less than anyone else, act entirely differently when they're being filmed.  Given that I've spent a lot of time and energy trying to become more Malian or Malian-seeming (learning Bambara, entering into a traditional master/apprentice relationship, spending endless hours drinking tea and discussing world politics), I'm leery of anything that will label me as an outsider.  As I said, we'll see; video can be a powerful explanatory and documentary tool, but I'm not sure it's worth the time and loss of intimacy, particularly as I'm not in Mali for anything other than personal study, not as a grad student or ethnomusicologist.

Many people I've spoken with who know about this return trip have been concerned about my safety, vis a vis Mali's current political situation.  I can respond to this in a couple of ways.  First, I'm not particularly thrill-seeking: if I thought there was a good chance that I would be in physical danger in Mali, I wouldn't be going.  I know and speak with many Malians, both in Mali and without, and read a lot of analysis, both in the world media and on Malian news-aggregator sites.  My considered opinion is that, provided that I stick to Bamako and the south of Mali (including Kita and Sikasso, the only other two cities I'm considering visiting), I should be in no more danger than I ever have been in Mali.  Second, while it is shocking to see the huge territorial gains that Islamists and Tuareg separatists have made in Northern Mali, it's important to remember that this area is sparsely populated, and its inhabitants (those that are left, at least) are widely separated and at the mercy of small, well-organised armed groups like those occupying the region right now.  Bamako alone has more than 2 million inhabitants, or about 1000 inhabitants for each militant by most of the estimates I've read.  Mali's main army base at Kati is only 15 kilometers away, while the "front," if you want to call it that, is over 480 kilometers from Bamako, so if I'm going to be in Mali, I think I'm in the safest place I can be.

I realize that none of this may be overly comforting for some of you reading this, but we're just going to have to see what happens together.  Hopefully you'll all continue to learn about my adventures through this blog, and not through CNN breaking news...

Finally, I should mention that I'm not undertaking this trip under the aegis of the U.S. State Department or the Fulbright program, but on my own.  Mali has temporarily been removed as a Fulbright grant location, so I've been working all this summer to get together the necessary funds for this second trip.  That said, I'll be doing essentially the same activities I did while I was a Fulbright Student, just better, hopefully!

Oh, I've also been going through the 80+ hours of field recordings I made last trip, and I'll try to post one next time so there will be more music and less blather.  Excelsior!

See you in November!

Belated greetings from Virginia.  This blog's been semi-dormant for a few months now, and will be for the next few months, too, I'm sorry to report.  Sadly, Mali's current political situation is in many ways as poor as it was when I left a month and a half ago.  The North of the country, including the regions of Kidal, Gao, and Timbuktu, are all in the hands of either Tuareg separatists or Islamists, who alternately skirmish and forge short-lived alliances.  Hundreds of thousands of the North's inhabitants have fled, either South into government-controlled territory, or into neighboring Niger, Burkina Faso, or Mauritania.  In Bamako, the political situation is still confused.  Many soldiers still seem loyal to Capt. Sanogo, who headed the March 22 coup d'état and has, despite his numerous protestations to the contrary, yet to give up his significant political power.  The ostensible head of state, interim-President Dioncounda Traoré, is still recovering in Paris from wounds received in Bamako at the hands of angry protestors in a move seen by many international observers as orchestrated by Capt. Sanogo.  Some cynical political observers have suggested that Traore is seeking to wait out the ongoing political crisis in the comfort and safety of his hotel room.  The highest-ranking civilian official in Mali is thus Prime Minister Cheick Modibo Diarra, a former NASA employee and former presidential candidate (as was Dioncounda Traore).  Mr. Diarra has had little success as yet in reigning in the excesses of Capt. Sanogo and his men, nor in dealing with the crisis in the North.  Given the political crisis, the local regional power broker, ECOWAS (the Economic Community of West African States), has been threatening with increasing vigor to send in a 3000-member military intervention force to deal with both the Northern and Bamako problems en même temps.  The backdrop to this tragedy is the ongoing Sahel drought, variously projected to leave 10, 15, or 20 million in need of food aid.  Many aid organizations have been forced to pull back from the North of the country due to banditry and the outright theft of goods, not to mention the danger of kidnapping and extortion.

As for me, it seems unlikely that I will be returning to Mali under the auspices of the Fulbright Program.    The State Department is understandably cagey about sending U.S. citizens into such an unstable situation and at this point I don't think that funding will be made available for me before the end of this year, when the funding will be cut for my year's group of Fulbright students permanently.  As such, I'll probably be returning to Mali on my own dime, something I hope to do in early November.  Obviously, I won't be going back if there's civil unrest in Bamako itself at that time.  However, I had always planned to return to Mali to continue my musical studies even after the full 9 months of my Fulbright term; having only been there a little more than 6 months, a return trip is even more crucial to me now.

So, there you have it.  As always, my thoughts are with all my Malian friends, musicians and otherwise, who are living with this uncertainty on a daily basis.  I can only hope that Mali's crises are resolved as quickly as possible.  In the meantime, I'm listening to and playing Malian music every day, and I have every intention of returning to Mali this Fall and spending another 6 months.  The blog will be in hibernation until then.  As always, I can be contacted at waraden.diabate@gmail.com.  Have a great Summer!

Back in the USA

Three flights and 30 hours later, I'm back home in Virginia.  I'll post some thoughts on the ongoing coup and Mali's music scene tomorrow.  Right now, I'm going to go sleep off the jet lag.

Thanks for all the kind wishes and comments.  -Seth

A Bana (it's finished)

...and thus ends, at least temporarily, a noble experiment in cross-cultural relations.  After repeated calls from staff at the U.S. Embassy here in Mali, I've decided to leave the country.  Possibly I'll be finishing my grant in the Gambia, or else I'll be heading home to the States.  Things are calm in Bamako for the moment, but Mali's borders with its major trading partners (Senegal, Ivory Coast, and Burkina Faso) have all been sealed to commerce and fuel since yesterday.  This hasn't caused any problems yet, aside from a rise in food prices, but the end result could be catastrophic.  It's unclear how much of a fuel reserve Mali has, but the taxi drivers I spoke with today thought about three days at the outside (the most optimistic report had it at a week).  Another problem is that the majority of Bamako's electricity production is dependent upon diesel-powered plants, which will also run out of fuel, barring the re-opening of the borders.  Mali has also been isolated from the rest of the FCFA community, meaning that little to no money is flowing into Mali, at least through the banks.  I managed to find a working ATM today, but they're becoming scarcer and scarcer.

In short, the refusal of Captain Amadou Haya Sanogo to relinquish power and reinstate civil authority in Mali means a continuation of the embargo on Mali, not only by the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), but also by the U.S., which has cut all military aid, and France, which has cut all of its aid, including humanitarian projects.  The French, English, German, and Canadian Embassies have already advised their respective citizens resident in Mali to leave the country; to my knowledge, the U.S. is the last major foreign power here to do so (aside from China?).  This was apparently triggered by Capt. Sanogo's announcement today on the national television station, ORTM, that he would not relinquish power until he had tried the former president, Amadou Toumani Touré (ATT), for "financial misconduct."  In other words, no time soon, if he has his way.

It's unclear (there's that word again) how long it will take for Capt. Sanogo to leave; it could be tomorrow, or a month from now.  Unless he does so within the next few days, or unless some junior officers take it upon themselves to remove him as he removed ATT, who in turn removed Moussa Traoré in 1991, I will be leaving Mali.  I've had a wonderful time here, met dozens of proud, skillful musicians, and heard (and played) a lot of great music, but it's time to go.  I hope to return later in the year, even if Fulbright funding isn't available, provided Mali can find some solutions to the ongoing rebellion in the North, the coup d'état in the South, and the rampant corruption everywhere.

I had not entertained serious thoughts of leaving Mali until today, and it's with great sadness that I've decided to do so.  Having spoken with many Malians over the past five months, I've heard first-hand how frustrating the corruption in almost every aspect of Malian society has become.  For many people I've spoken with, the rebellion in the north was the straw that broke the camel's back.  The coup was welcomed by many people I spoke with, at least at first; anything that could break the cycle of corruption was seen as as positive, even something as dramatic as a coup.  Now, however, we're starting to see some sad results.      The musicians I've worked with, in particular, will be hard hit in the months to come: with the vast majority of the expat community departing Mali, and the political upheaval and overall money problems of the country, their major sources of income have pretty well dried up.  The Malian music scene has survived tougher times than this, but it's still painful to see so many professional, highly-trained, dedicated musicians deprived of any chance of regular income.

My thoughts and sympathies are with the Malian people tonight, and particularly its musicians.  I can only hope that better times will soon come.

Waiting Around

Hi.  Not much to report from Bamako.  The city has resumed much of its daily activities, though there's still a lot of tension.  Yesterday, wedding parties on mopeds were out driving on the streets, blaring their horns like normal.  Unfortunately, though the participants were ready, the neighborhood mayors' offices were closed, leading to much confusion.  To my mind, this is a good example of where Bamako is emotionally right now; most people want to get on with their daily lives, but there's mass confusion among the political/elite class.  It's entirely unclear how this coup d'état is going to work itself out.  There are several demonstrations planned today, the 26 March, in remembrance of the day 21 years ago when Amadou Toumani Touré, the Malian president just overthrown by the coup, staged a coup of his own and overthrew Mali's dictator, Moussa Traoré!  The irony is not lost on Malians...

At this point, I'm just waiting around to see what happens.  I had been planning to go out today and begin kora and n'goni lessons again, but what with the demonstrations, I'm going to wait until tomorrow.  Several of my Fulbright colleagues have decided to leave the country, while several others have decided to stay and see if the situation worsens.  I'll also be staying, for the time being.

Exciting times!

Oh, and a quick political postscript.  There's been a fair amount of analysis in the world media of Mali's coup, and I've found much of it superficial, in that most commentators have universally condemned a coup against a "functioning democracy" that was less than two months away from presidential elections.

The problem is, many Malians didn't see the regime of ATT as a "functioning democracy."  The systemic corruption which has plagued Mali since the time of Moussa Traoré, but particularly during the last ten years, has been extremely frustrating to Malians of all walks of life.  Everyone from my host parents (members of Bamako's growing upper middle class) to my music teachers (who, if not at the poverty line, are not incredibly far from it), to my friend the Sotrama driver, to all the unemployed young guys who hang around my kora teacher's neighborhood, have increasingly complained about corruption since I've been here.  International commentators who see the military coup as purely related to the mismanagement of Mali's war against Touareg rebels in the North are seriously missing the point: this coup was the apotheosis of years and years of frustration.  The all-inclusive, nobody's-at-fault politics of ATT's presidency have, at least in the eyes of many of the Malians I've spoken to, seriously undermined the political and societal institutions of the state.  The poor performance of the Malian Army in the North during this latest Tuareg rebellion are a symptom of Mali's problems as a whole, a microcosm of the macrocosm of Mali's universal corruption.

I could go on in this vein, but my friend and fellow Mali Fulbright Scholar, Bruce Whitehouse, has already written an excellent analysis of what I think is the underpinnings of the coup.  You can read it here:

http://bamakobruce.wordpress.com/2012/03/25/good-riddance-att/

Another Unscheduled Interruption: Coup d'état edition

As many of you are no doubt aware, Mali is in the midst of a coup d'état.  Low-ranking soldiers from the nearby military base of Kati, incensed by the poor management of the ongoing fighting in the north of Mali between government forces and Touareg rebels, have seized control of the national radio and television stations, occupied the presidential palace, declared martial law, suspended the constitution, and instituted a nationwide curfew.  All government offices are closed, as are the gas stations and most banks.  The putschists have stated that they will return power to a democratically-elected president after the rebellion in the north has been put down.  They have been condemned by the international community, including the American, French, and Algerian governments, and the Economic Community of West African States, an influential coalition of regional governments.

The (former?) president, Amadou Toumani Touré, is reported to be in a loyalist military camp here in Bamako, purportedly under the protection of the elite "Red Berets" of the Presidential Guard.  There has been intermittent gunfire and looting since yesterday evening, as well as the theft of cars by rogue military, police, and gendarmes.  Mali's borders, including the Bamako Sénou Airport, have been closed.  That said, the situation is relatively calm in the streets for a coup; there's a lot less traffic than normal, and almost no gasoline to be found, so most people seem to be sticking close to home.

This just in: my host father's sister is married to the Malian Minister of Economy and Finance, whose house has apparently just been ransacked.  The Minister is in hiding, and my host father, his sister, and her children have taken shelter in a neighboring compound.  Rogue soldiers, firing shots in the air, emptied the house of inhabitants before looting everything inside and breaking windows and doors.  Also, this morning my host mother was apparently at the house of the General Amidou Sissoko, the second in command after the Malian Chef d'état Majeur, essentially the chief Malian military commander, when it, too, was ransacked.  Her cousin, the general's wife, managed to convince the soldiers not to "requisition" her car, as it wasn't government property.  The general is also in hiding.

From what I can tell, low-level soldiers (by far the majority of the soldiers behind the coup) are taking advantage of the chaos to make up for their chronic low pay and settle scores with higher-ranking government officials and officers.  I've heard of the looting of half a dozen houses of ministers, deputies (i.e. members of the Malian House of Representatives), generals, and the like.  So far, this doesn't seem to have spread to the general population.

I'm safe at my host family's house in Bako Djikoroni, some distance from the center of town, the American Embassy, and the military base where ATT is currently hiding.  I'm not overly worried about looters; the house is buried in the middle of a neighborhood, and my host family isn't connected to the government or military.  So, no worries!

More news as it comes.

Theme song for the week: tie between "Kele Magni De" (Fighting is bad) and the Sunjata epic fragment "Kele ye Mande ci" (War has brought down the Mande).

Unscheduled Interruption

Hi!  We're back after an unscheduled interruption due to malaria.  This was my first experience with that most ubiquitous of African maladies and, as advertised, it was unpleasant.  Thankfully, my host mother is a doctor, so she was able to recommend her favorite anti-malarial, write a quick prescription, and send someone off to the pharmacy in short order.  Three days later, I was feeling much better and ready to face Mali's increasingly-hot hot season once more.  In fact, I'm going to leave off talking about the weather in future posts (it's both miserable, and sadly predictable); feel free to assume that it will continue unbelievably hot here until at least the end of May.

On the other hand, I had a fascinating Saturday visiting one of the living legends of Malian music, Djelimory "N'fa" Diabaté.  N'fa is the last living member of what I think of as Mali's "Big Four" kora players of the last generation.  Owners of the exquisite, highly-recommended kora CD "Mali: Cordes Anciennes" will be familiar with this group, which includes Batrou Sékou Kouyaté, Sidiki Diabaté, Djelimady Sissoko, and the aforementioned N'fa.  I've spent a lot of time listening to this CD since I arrived in Mali with my kora teacher, Toumani Kouyaté, and it's still breathtaking 40-some years after it was recorded.  I've managed to track down additional recordings from two of the four, Batrou Sékou and Sidiki, but Djelimady' and N'fa's recordings have been a little harder to find.  I plan on making a run on ORTM (L'Office de Radiodiffusion et Télédiffusion de Mali) later this week, and I now know that N'fa made at least ten, and maybe a dozen, solo kora recordings, which should be in their archives.  Paying for copies of recordings at ORTM is a long-established, if legally dubious, practice.  Unfortunately, it's also the only way to get certain recordings, which I've been unable to find in America, on the internet, or on Mali's legal and black CD/tape markets.  Stay tuned for more exciting dusty archives updates!

Anyway, it's been my pleasure to explore "Cordes Anciennes" with my kora teacher, who has demonstrated quite conclusively (to me, at least) the ways in which these pioneering four kora players, arguably the first "great" Malian kora-ists, influenced the following generations.  Certainly their children have carried on the tradition: Sidiki Diabaté's son, Toumani, is the best-known kora player in the world (and to my mind the finest), and Djelimady's son, Ballaké, is among Mali's top kora players.  The sons, Toumani and Ballaké, even recorded a tribute album to their fathers called "Nouvelles Chordes Anciennes" ("New Ancient Strings," after their fathers' "Ancient Strings") which is also highly recommended.  Both Toumani and Ballaké have introduced the kora into the World Music scene with cross-overs with international musicians (Taj Mahal, Béla Fleck, and the flamenco band Ketama for Toumani, and the French cellist Vincent Segal for Ballaké), in addition to their own well-received work.

Meanwhile, N'fa's son, Mamadou "Djelikejan" Diabaté, has lived in the U.S. for over a decade now, and won a Grammy award for his kora playing in 2010.  Mamadou is one of the best kora players in the U.S., and tours regularly; I've seen him perform several times with my old n'goni master, Cheick Hamala Diabaté, at the late, great Prism Coffee House.  Another son of N'fa, Djibril, was also a professional kora player and close friend to my kora master, Toumani Kouyaté, but sadly passed away last year.

Batrou Sékou Kouyaté did not leave any professional kora-playing offspring, but his eldest son, Balla, is a well-known kora maker and artist of vibrant, colorful kora paintings and village scenes.  He also built my first kora, which was shipped back to America in a custom-made wooden case strongly reminiscent of a child's coffin.   Oddly enough, I later learned that another of my traditional music teachers, the late Mike Seeger, also used to carry around his instruments in a wooden coffin-case...

Uh, that's a little off-topic, but I can definitely recommend Balla as a maker of high-quality koras.  He also still lives in the compound in the Hippodrome neighborhood where Batrou Sékou once lived, which is pretty cool to visit as a kora nerd...  Coincidentally, Batrou Sékou's youngest son, Drra, is also studying kora and often visits my teacher, Toumani, for lessons.  Bamako's a small town...

However, the influence of the "Big Four" past kora masters hasn't been limited simply to their offspring.  They helped shape the Malian kora repertoire with their versions of classic Malian songs like "Kulanjan," "Mamadou Bitiki," "Ala l'a Ke," and "Kaira," all of which remain standards.  Even more importantly, their individual playing styles were, and remain, sources of inspiration for all kora players.  Of particular interest are the blistering, perfectly placed "roulement"-style improvised solos of Sidiki Diabaté and the pioneering work of Batrou Sékou Kouyaté in playing solos and an accompaniment pattern at the same time.  Sidiki wasn't the first to feature quick, downward scalar runs in his playing, but both his skill and the frequency with which he used them elevated them to a new level.  Likewise, Batrou Sékou wasn't the first to play a solo over an accompaniment pattern on the kora, but his skill in doing so laid the groundwork for future generations of kora players (notably, his are the only solo kora tracks on "Cordes Anciennes;" the others are duets).  The perfected versions of both of these techniques can be heard in the playing of Mali's best kora players, notably Toumani Diabaté, Ballaké Sissoko, and my own master, Toumani Kouyaté.

On a personal note, it has been one of the great pleasures of my time here in Mali to dissect and analyze the playing of Mali's greatest kora-folaw (Bm. "kora-players") and understand, for example, the enormous effort that went into the making of the complete package with which the world was presented in Toumani Diabaté's seminal CD, "Kaira."  The savage, youthful-yet-restrained beauty of "Kaira," to my mind the greatest solo kora album ever, was the product of years of practice combined with the brilliant synthesis of many kora techniques, all filtered through the mind of a remarkable, driven, musician.  For years, I approached each the five tracks on "Kaira" as finished, indivisible, unanalyzable.  Now, after five months' worth of intensive kora study, I can at least understand how "Grand Toumani" (Toumani-ba) constructed his style, even if I can't imitate it.  Kora music, evidently, isn't magic, just lots and lots of work and practice!

So, to wrap up this week's blog post, a few anecdotes from the last remaining "Old Master" of the Malian Kora, N'fa Diabaté.  Batrou Sékou Kouyaté, the eldest of the Big Four, apparently learned kora from a Gambian named "Alou" (last name unknown), providing more evidence for what I had long suspected, that the kora is relatively new to Mali (more on the history of the Malian kora in a later post).  Second, the first Malian National Orchestras of the 1960's (The Orchestre National "A," "B," "C," and the Ensemble Instrumentale), while prestigious, really didn't pay very well.  Lastly, "all kora players are hugely egotistical" in N'fa's opinion.

And on that note, see you next week!