afrobeat, afrofunk, afrojazz, afrorock, african boogie, african hiphop …: Songhoy Blues
It’s impossible to separate Songhoy Blues and
politics. Formed in 2012 as a direct result of being forced from their
homes, after rebel jihadists took control of northern Mali and outlawed
all music, the band were refugees in their own land when they attempted
to start new lives in the capital city of Bamako, down in the south.
They took their name from the centuries-old ethnic group they belonged
to, just as their music was conceived as a desert blues celebration of a
displaced culture.
A guest slot on Maison Des Jeunes, from Damon Albarn’s Africa Express, led to their aptly titled 2015 debut, Music In Exile, which coincided with an appearance in They Will Have To Kill Us First,
an award-winning documentary about Malian musicians’ struggle to be
heard during the crisis. Amid fluctuating levels of civil war, Résistance followed two years later. The arrival of Optimisme comes in the wake of an insurgent summer, when a military coup seized power from President Keita.
As the title implies, Optimisme finds Songhoy Blues
tackling adversity and national unrest with a generous dollop of
positivity. The anger may be palpable, but they don’t go in for bitter
polemic. Instead the quartet – frontman Aliou Touré, guitarist Garba Touré, bass player Oumar Touré (none of whom are related, incidentally) and new drummer Drissa Koné – choose to spread the message via impossibly infectious grooves and an exhilarating sense of forward motion.
This is partly down to producer Matt Sweeney, leader of math-rockers Chavez and sometime Bonnie “Prince” Billy
collaborator. Reprising his role from last year’s “Meet Me In The City”
EP, Sweeney urged the band to replicate the dynamic intensity of their
live shows, recording the album over the course of a week in Brooklyn,
at the back end of a US tour.
Stylistically, Optimisme is a bubbling conflux of West African polyrhythms and elastic guitar rock. A more concentrated vision than Résistance,
which found space for R&B and fanfares of brass, at times it hits
harder and heavier than anything they’ve attempted before. “Badala”
(rough translation: ‘We Don’t Give A Shit’) certainly fulfils its
intention, hurtling along like something from late-’70s Thin Lizzy.
“Korfo” (‘Chains’) comes at it from a different angle, all blended
vocals and an ear-bending melody, before transforming itself into an
unstoppable rock beast. As the son of Ali Farka Touré’s old
percussionist Oumar Touré, Garba Touré lives up to his
musical pedigree with some vigour, either locking into a trebly vamp or,
as on “Worry” or “Dournia” (‘Life’), a seriously shreddy solo.
Other songs feel more distinctly Malian in form. “Assadja” and “Fey
Fey”, for instance, are each carried by liquid grooves that beg you to
shake a hip, further animated by surging beats and Aliou Touré’s
agile vocals. Most of these tunes are delivered in Songhai, though
there’s the odd excursion into colonial French and, for the first time,
English, in the shape of “Worry”. The song is aimed at the younger
generation in Mali, in particular the need to keep self-possessed and
hopeful amid so much civil turbulence. “There is a long way to go/There
is a long journey,” sings Aliou Touré, more in encouragement than despair. “Keep fighting today.”
The more ingrained aspects of cultural tradition are addressed on
several songs about women’s rights. “Gabi” (‘Strength’) calls for an end
to arranged marriages, told from the viewpoint of a reluctant
bride-to-be trying to reason with her parents: “Let me tell you that our
generation is different from yours… Let me choose the one I want.”
Similarly, the thunderous noise of “Badala” reflects its protagonist’s
decision to break free from the patriarchy and shape her own future.
These themes feed into wider questions of national identity. The
warrior meaning behind “Assadja” relates to a person’s willingness to
contribute to society. “Fey Fey” (‘Division’) recognises the various
factions looking to separate Mali, but urges ethnic communities to stick
together, just as they have done for centuries: “Even at the cost of
our blood or our soul/We are not going to give in to the division of
Mali.” By the same token, “Barre” (‘Change’) finds Songhoy Blues
concluding that the key to their country’s future lies with its youth.
Corruption and injustice may have become the norm, but “change is
essential for development”. Over loose funk licks and percussive
harmonies, the band’s mission is unequivocal: “Youth! Let’s rise for
this change!” As protest music goes, Songhoy Blues are intent on mobilising hearts and minds in their own inimitable way, through force of will and sheer exuberance.
– – – –
An exciting blend of Malian rhythms and rock‘n’roll, Optimisme is a
reminder of music’s power to transcend both national and linguistic
boundaries. It boasts searing guitar licks, powerhouse percussion and
multiple languages, But Songhoy Blues are political to the marrow.
The record opens with a bang, thanks to the ferocious ‘Badala’, a
healthy dose of hard rock that screams of a desire to break free from
the constraints of oppression. The theme of striving for freedom is
ingrained within the group, comprised of refugees from a country divided
by war and ideology. It sets the stage for a record that embraces the
high energy of live rock. The blues-inspired chord progressions are
combined with infectious guitar solos, modernising the sounds of classic
rock with a unique global influence. Every layer is tightly controlled,
yet feels carefree in its enthralling exploration of a kind of modern
punk.
Optimisme offers some moments of mild solace between its
hardest-hitters, bringing together elements of psychedelic funk and
desert blues. ‘Worry’, the only English track on the record, offers a
message of hope – an important note, in a world that’s been consumed by
existential anxiety. The vocals – showcasing a distinctly African style
of singing, involving an astounding level of voice control – are
entrancing no matter what language the lyrics are being sung in. The
voice becomes yet another instrument within the band’s marvellously
layered collection of eclectic sounds. Above all else, Optimisme feels
urgent. Songhoy Blues’ unique desert blues herald a new future beyond
the sonic constraints of the classics.
– – – – –
If you come to the third Songhoy Blues
record thinking this is going to be more of that instantly recognisable
granola/Birkenstocks/family friendly ‘World Music’ you think you know
from Paul Simon
or the WOMAD festival, you might want to take a seat and strap in,
because things are about to get really unstable really quickly:
Optimisme is more Garageland than Graceland in its approach.
The aggressive drums that herald opening track Badala allude to Dave Grohl’s killer intro on Nirvana’s Stay Away, while the guitar riffs, steeped in the Western blues tradition of Led Zeppelin’s back catalogue, lash out with a malevolence reticent of teenage favourites like Rage Against The Machine and Papa Roach.
It’s not until the vocals come in, sung and screamed as they are in
the group’s native Songhai, that you remember this quartet of young rock
warriors hail from the scorched landscape of war stricken Mali, not the
dank factories and garages of Detroit or Chicago. That exposure to
conflict, impoverishment and discontent means the optimism the Timbuktu
outfit infer in the title doesn’t appear to be present initially,
especially in the song’s chorus, which roughly translates, as “We don’t
give a shit”.
Their flammable classic debut five years ago was produced by Nick Zinner; he of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and to keep that indie rock light alive, they’ve recruited the dexterous hand of Chavez’s
Matt Sweeney for this effort. It is the sound of turmoil and
transitional surroundings. On tracks like Assadja, Sweeney has wrapped
their signature urgent but elusively filigree guitar work around the
foregrounded drums, letting them take root, rather than have them
bouncing off one another.
Both the funk stomper Bon Bon and the highlife inspired Fey Fey
feature jumpy guitar signatures that John Frusciante would be proud of,
and the tracks Bare and Korfo foam and twist like dust storms carried
across the breeze. Worry, the albums sole track sung in the English
language, begins with the near saccharine positivity of early Beatles quickly giving way to a coda reminiscent of late ’70s John Lennon,
a man at his most politically defiant, with the lyric morphing from
“don’t worry, you’re going to be happy” to a pleading chorus of “Keep
fighting today”.
It can be draining having to fight all the time and on Pour Toi and
the album closer Kouma, the closest you’ll probably ever get to an
acoustic number from Songhoy Blues, you start to see signs of them
pursuing a little calm into their world, and all that frustration and
exuberance that’s become their trademark, live and on record, is
replaced with tiny sparks of hopefulness.
