by ERIN MACLEOD
The track begins with the noise of a crackling fire, there’s a soft sound of a mobile phone—but rather than being anachronistic, it seems to make sense. The song begins. Eerie and mysterious, yet oddly familiar, chanting voices are combined with notes that seem to jerk and stammer out of electric guitars. It all sounds swept in from the desert—and it is. This is the music of Tinariwen.
It’s tough not to get poetic when talking about Tinariwen, a group of musicians from the north of Mali. The name of the group means “deserts” or “open spaces” in Tamashek, the language of the Tuareg people. This is a fitting name for a group that does not just make music, but also brings to light a culture and a history of a desert people little known to the rest of the world.
“We are a people who have been forgotten,” says Abdallah Ag Alhousseyni, guitarist and songwriter. “There are many children in the desert who die of thirst and other diseases every year. Perhaps people could see the Tuareg if they could visit the desert, but I think that the music can explain a lot.”
The first thing one notices when listening to Tinariwen is that although there seems to be something recognizable, it at the same time doesn’t seem to sound like anything else. Certainly, their music does draw on the tradition of the late Malian guitarist Ali Farka Touré and invites comparisons to the blues, but it still defies clear definition.
In Tamashek, the word used for this type of music is assouf. “Assouf is the name for music you might call blues,” explains Alhousseyni. “It’s the name we’ve given to Tuareg music. There’s some blues in it, there’s rock ’n’ roll, there are other things.”
Rebel rockers
There are many “other things” that have informed Tinariwen’s sound, providing an explanation of how it seems to resist any simple categorization. It’s a rebellious music, true rock ’n’ roll, and it comes from a rebellious people. The Tuareg are historically nomadic and have lived in the deserts of northern Mali and Niger as well as in the south of Algeria since the time of the Greeks, if not longer.
Droughts, political unrest, government oppression and civil strife in the 1970s and early 1980s led to an exile of Tuareg people into both Algeria and Libya. Colonel Gaddafi’s government set up rebel training camps to lure a generation of young Tuareg men into a liberation struggle that was borne not out of Gaddafi’s concern for a Tuareg homeland, but rather his own imperial ambitions. It was in these camps that Tinariwen was born. Committed to presenting the plight of the Tuareg, the group’s members and instruments changed over time—from a few people to upwards of 20, from a rusty makeshift guitar to electric equipment initially provided by the Mouvement Populaire de l’Azawad, a revolutionary Tuareg organization.
From the beginning, Tinariwen provided a powerful channel for the expression of a people. “With music like Tinariwen’s, you talk to the people, educate the people,” says Alhousseyni. “It’s through music that we create a community. Through music, the Tuareg people understand their problems. Nowadays, everyone understands the struggle and it is through the music that this has happened. The music has provided a voice for the people.”
From the watering hole to the world
That voice was and remains powerful. Leading up to the Tuareg rebellion in 1990, Tinariwen’s music was banned. “From 1985 to 1987, the government became aware that our music would sensitize the population to what was happening. At this time, possessing a cassette of our music was prohibited. We all were in Libya, but people would hide cassettes for when they returned to Mali.” These cassettes, however, circulated throughout the Tuareg community until, in the absence of any Tamashek media, Tinariwen became the defacto messengers.
In 1990, Tuareg in Mali and Niger demanded an independent state. Tinariwen’s music, as well as some of its members, aided in this struggle. Outbreaks of fighting between government forces and Tuareg fighters continued until peace agreements were reached in the mid-’90s. However, as recently as this year, clashes have been reported.
A chance meeting with French band Lo’Jo led to tour dates in France and the first Festival in the Desert, a yearly celebration of music in Essakane, Mali. They’ve since amassed fans in Thom Yorke, Santana, Bono and Robert Plant, awards such as the BBC World Music Prize and positions in more Top 10 lists than you can shake a stick at. Most significantly, perhaps, is how, album after album, more and more listeners are enchanted by their mystical and, based on the difficult history of the group, strangely uplifting brand of rock ’n’ roll.
Though the haunting songs are intriguing and engaging on their own, to understand Tinariwen, listeners must understand this story behind the sound. “The context is very important,” insists Alhousseyni. “It’s like the definition of the music. Without the context, you have something incomplete. If you don’t know the context, you can’t really know the music. You need to know the roots—they are as important as the music itself.
“The lyrics are poetry, and poetry is the origin of all of our music. In a nomadic community like ours, there used to be few instruments, very few technicians, nothing. But in this state, there was still poetry.”
On Aman Iman: Water Is Life, their most recent and third album, produced by Robert Plant’s guitarist Justin Adams, all lyrics are in Tamashek. Though a translation is provided, Tamashek will always be the language of Tinariwen. “The Tuareg language is made for poetry, truly,” explains Alhousseyni. “So for us, it is very important to use Tamashek in our songs. I could write in Arabic or French, but I write all my songs in Tamashek.”
The songs deal with issues in Tuareg history and culture—one particularly striking piece presents a portrait of a Tuareg man named Mano Dayak. Known for his role in the Tuareg rebellion in Niger, Alhousseyni wrote a song about him for a different reason. “He was the first Tuareg I had ever seen using a satellite phone. I was surprised. I had never seen these types of things in the desert. He had something that could communicate from the desert to Europeans, Americans, anywhere in the world.”
Studio in the sands
It would seem that Tinariwen can do the very same thing. And Tinariwen wishes to continue by acting as a voice, and by aiding others to have their voices heard. Alhousseyni describes how the group remains an open space. “We are open to all young Tuareg people who would like to get involved. What is essential is that they are part of the same story and are interested in telling it.” To make this possible, in between sessions for a fourth album, Tinariwen are working on building a studio in the desert. “But we are also working to record at home. The closest studio to us is in Bamako, and that is 1600 kilometres away. We need a place where the artists can come and record.”
Working with Terakaft, another band from the region, a non-profit organization, Taghreft Tinariwen (meaning “development of the deserts”) has been established in the interest of developing the studio as well as other cultural outlets for the Tuareg. This January, the third edition of the Saharan Nights of Essouk festival will be held. A cultural centre is already in the works, and there are plans to build a visitor’s centre. It’s a good thing because increasing numbers of people, affected by Tinariwen’s incredible sound, do want to see and understand more.
Alhousseyni explains the strength of the music: “Many people, when they see a concert or hear our music, they come and ask us, how can I get to the desert? We explain to them how, we invite them. When they come, we take care of them. I have taken people into my home, I have explained and shown them the history of my people, our group. It is the music that brings the people there, you see?”
With Mamadou Diabate at Club Soda on
Friday, Nov. 23, 7:30 p.m., $27.50, all ages |
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