Issue 76 / April 2017

REVIEWS
“The whole set
builds in intensity,
a killer riff in Talyat
is pure southern
swamp”
Tinariwen (Aaron McManus / ampix.co.uk)
Tinariwen
Harvest Sun and Africa Oyé
@ Invisible Wind Factory - 07/03
The Invisible Wind Factory kicks off another mouthwatering
season of live performances with one of only three UK
appearances by Tuareg ‘desert blues’ pioneers TINARIWEN.
Nomads of the Saharan region of northern Mali and southern
Algeria they have found themselves forced to live a nomadic
existence of an entirely different kind, in on-off exile for the better
part of four decades due to almost constant political upheaval in
their homelands. They have held both Kalashnikov and Telecaster,
fighting in desert wadis and recording their music in Palm
Springs – quite the contrast, to put it mildly. As online politico/
cultural magazine Slate put it, Tinariwen are “rock ‘n’ roll rebels
whose rebellion, for once, isn’t just metaphorical”.
Before tonight’s show I asked them how being in exile had
affected the recording of their latest album, Elwan, and they
came back with a down-to-earth but positive take. “Tinariwen
were born in exile. The situation is not shocking: the new songs
are about today’s issues and problems. Also, it gave us the
opportunity to go to the Moroccan Sahara where we had a very
good recording session. It was very inspirational, like the Adrar
des Ifoghas [mountain range] in the north of Mali, the Azawad
region which is our home.” If Morocco provided something of a
home from home, then recording parts of the album some two
years earlier in California has added, according to critics, another
layer to their traditional sound. I ask them about the contributions
made by guests on the album – Kurt Vile and Mark Lanegan
on the California sessions, a group of Berber gnawa trance
musicians on the Moroccan sessions – but they say only that they
“appreciated their humble participation”, which I guess means
nobody rocked up with a rock star attitude, but rather with a love
of the band’s music and a genuine desire to contribute to it. Apart
from Lanegan’s short English vocal on Nànnuflày I couldn’t readily
identify the guests playing, the contributions blend seamlessly
into the mix. The album provides a heady brew of polyrhythmic,
propulsive, percussion, weaving guitar lines and delicious vocal
harmonies and, for a music so trance-like, the tracks on Elwan are
relatively short, with only three tracks over the four-minute mark.
Would they stick to that punchy template live or would things
spiral off into noodling territory?
They walk on stage in their now familiar robes and
tagelmusts. Beautiful shades of blue and gold shimmer in the
spotlights as a guitar drone floats out across a sea of expectant
faces and a handclap accompaniment is picked up immediately
by the crowd. They move quickly into Nizzagh Ijbal from Elwan:
a slow, pattering percussion, a repeated guitar motif, bassline
walking slowly, inexorably like a camel crossing the Sahara,
exquisitely chanted vocals that have echoed the hopes and fears
of a people down through the centuries; it’s a gentle introduction
to the groove that will quickly, magically, cast its spell over the
audience and hold them entranced for the rest of the evening.
Two percussionists play, by hand, a stripped down,
accessorised drum kit and a variety of gourds, toms and shakers,
which provide plenty of variety and depth to the rhythm. Eyadou
Ag Leche’s bass playing is lithe and persistent; Abdallah Ag
Alhousseyni and founder member Ibrahim Ag Alhabib take turns
on lead vocal and lead guitar duties and, despite the obvious
language barrier, you can feel their longing for the homeland
from which they are exiled, coupled with joyful evocations of the
land they miss. When I asked them about the current problems in
Mali they again manage to put a positive spin on things, stating
that “despite the problems of journeying through the Sahara, the
situation is a big source of inspiration, there are so many subjects
to address in this tough reality.” A line in Nànnuflày sums this
up beautifully: “Pursuing memories built on a dune that’s always
moving”.
They address that reality in a set balanced between tracks
from the new album and plenty of older material and they do
indeed keep to the punchy template of Elwan in a 20-song set.
(A Guardian review of the band’s Brixton show comments on
the fact that many of the latest album tracks celebrate female
strength and it is perhaps a shame that tonight’s line-up, unlike
many of its predecessors, doesn’t include the counterpoint of
female voices). As the night develops, Leche proves to be a
flamboyant and funky bassist and Elaga Ag Hamid’s rhythm
playing is a joy throughout. He seems to be filtering Mississippi
hill blues, John Lee Hooker, Bo Diddley and a fair dose of fuzzy
psych into a hypnotic, rolling groove that meshes perfectly with
the fluid, bluesy little rills spiralling from Ibrahim and Abdallah’s
guitars. Kel Tinawen ups the ante again with its snaking rhythm,
the crowd smiling and constantly moving, and there’s a fair
bit of head shaking awe at the end of each track. They have a
wonderful way of fading their songs out, the groove continuing,
quieter, quieter, until barely audible, before a burst of wild
applause from an increasingly transfixed crowd.
The whole set builds in intensity, a killer riff in Talyat is pure
southern swamp, a funky bass solo sees the crowd clapping
along once again. They leave to tumultuous applause and
demands for an encore which sees Abdallah return on his own,
acoustic guitar in hand, to deliver a simply breathtaking solo
version of Curshan, beautiful flamenco inflections and bluesy
picking underscore an achingly evocative vocal which floats out
over a rapt, utterly silent crowd amid a fog of dry ice pierced by
blue and green lighting. The rest of the band wander back on
stage and blow away the swirling dry ice with the dervish-like,
rolling Chaghaybou.
I asked them if, in their enforced exile, they were able to
enjoy their time on the road? “Yes, we enjoy it, especially for
what it represents for our country. It is really tiring but it gives
us an enormous pleasure to do all these tours, we really enjoy to
live this life.” That enjoyment has proved to be utterly infectious.
Sometimes you go to a gig and everything falls into place, there’s
a certain vibe in the room that everyone gets, a shared feeling
of togetherness and community hard to find at any other type of
cultural gathering. Tonight, Tinariwen blow the invisible winds
of the Sahara a little further north than usual, mesmerizingly
enabling us to share those feelings. !
Glyn Akroyd / @glynakroyd
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