Tinariwen
Amassakoul
World Village
2004

In light of economic and political changes in the Sahara, the nomadic Tuareg people who have criss-crossed the desert for a seeming eternity have found their “epic golden age” coming to an end. Recent conflicts with land owners and governments may have subsided, but the Tuareg way of life is facing major changes. The old ways must change for these people to coexist with their neighbors, and this comes as painful news to those who value the traditions which must be left behind.

Some of these themes came to the eyes and ears of the world via the recent CD and DVD documentation of the 2003 Festival in the Desert, which brought Tuaregs together with musicians from the south of Mali (as well as Europe and North America). This musical summit of sorts in northern Mali prominently featured the Tuareg group known as Tinariwen, whose name translates in the Tamashek language to “deserts.”

It may come as a shock to the uninitiated to hear Tuareg music performed on electric guitars, but to this group the instrument is but a tool to most effectively deliver a message. Most of these pieces consist of multiple guitars with percussion, hand claps, and overlaid vocals. Almost immediately the similarities with American blues forms become apparent in pentatonic riffing, shuffling rhythms, and what can only be described as “the cry.” The rhythms are straightforward enough, but they also carry an understated funky energy.

For listeners familiar with Ali Farka Touré, Boubacar Traoré, and other like-minded musicians from Mali, this spontaneous, flowing blues spirit will be vaguely reminiscent but still full of unexpected surprises. (Musicologists will be quick to point out that American blues forms arose long after West African musicians had been mining a similar vein.) Whatever the roots, they run deep, and the point of this music is the message, not any sort of virtuosity or dramatic innovation.

Speaking of message, most of these songs are seriously dark. The tempo may be fast and sure or slow and ponderous, but the lyrics speak of thirsty souls, loneliness, pain, fire, separation, and memory. (They're printed in their entirety in the booklet, along with accompanying photos.) The penultimate piece, an off-kilter midtempo procession, speaks of the power of God to heal, which is the only truly uplifting note of the set.

But beyond all this, the music carries a lot of weight on Amassakoul, too. Best to turn this one up, find a comfortable place, and allow your mind to drift free on the winds of trance. This is intensely spiritual music, performed with sensitivity and focus, which has an uncanny way of seeping into your consciousness and leaving warm echoes in its wake.