Top of the World

So often albums released shortly after the death of an artist arenít very good, getting by on sentiment rather than content, and cobbled together from incomplete recordings that would otherwise never have seen the light of day. No such problems with Ali Farka TourÈís swansong. Once he knew he was dying, he was determined to leave a fitting final testament. When he finished, just a few weeks before he died, he knew that he had recorded his magnum opus.
In many ways Savane is the most traditional record he ever made; at the same time itís also his most different. Thatís apparent from the first track ñ ëErdií ñ which opens with the scratchy sound of a couple of ngonis (plucked lute) and the one-string njarka (fiddle) before the wailing blues harp of Little George Surreff takes up the theme. Ali then picks out a hypnotic guitar riff and begins to rap a deep-throated vocal of defiant power and conviction.
Savane is as pure and deep an expression of the blues as you will ever hear ñ up there with the unearthly recordings of Robert Johnson or early Muddy Waters. Yet it is also an album of wonderfully contrasting sounds and textures. ëBetoí features the smouldering tenor sax of Pee Wee Ellis to devastating effect. Listen to the reggae lilt of the title-track and youíll be convinced that the rhythms of Jamaica also originated in Africa. The rustic-sounding ëPenda Yoroí finds the ngoni pickers to the fore again, and you can hear where the Appalachian banjo has its roots.
And thatís the most extraordinary thing about this remarkable recording. It seems to tap into some rich, deep and unfathomable spiritual source from which, in the distant mists of time, all music must originally have flowed. Right now, Savane genuinely does sound like the best album Iíve ever heard.
Nigel Williamson

Creole-bred Nathan Williams, here mostly showcasing his original material, manages to sound distinctive and compelling, while highlighting the spectrum of influences youíd expect to have rubbed off on a now middle-aged African-American in Louisiana. What helps differentiate Williams from many zydeco exponents, who lose hold of their roots in their eagerness to embrace pop forms and audiences, are his strong songwriting skills, his sincerity, and his incredible facility on the triple-row and piano accordions. The latter virtue is best experienced on the infectious ëOld Manís Darlingí which opens the set, with Williams pumping out polyrhythms energetically enabled by his rhythm section, including Nathan Jr. on keyboards. The accordion gets a rousing workout later on the Clifton Chenier instrumental which may have inspired the groupís name, ëZydeco Cha Chaí. Williamsí own ëDonít Worry ëBout the Muleí also reimagines the sound of Chenierís ítraditionalí zydeco, but with a lyric atypical of the late King, addressing the harvesting of sugar cane on which Williams worked as a boy.
There are universal lessons in Williamsí lyrics (ëYour Love Lasts As Long As Your Moneyí and ëDo It Nowí) that are rare in zydeco. Elsewhere on the album, the music hints at blues, New Orleans barrelhouse, Cajun chank-a-chank and soul ñ or some combination thereof ñ with Williamsí accordion chuckling like a Saturday night reveler, or buzzing like an ornery wasp. His able sidemen, several of them kin, can be heard proclaiming their pleasure on several tracks, and youíll want to join them, and to dance to it all.
Jeff Kaliss

Itís been fascinating to watch Trilok Gurtuís development in recent years. First, the percussionist/composer shed his jazz skin and reclaimed his Indian roots on the splendid 1998 album Kathak. Then he broadened his horizons further to fuse Asian and African forms on African Fantasy and The Beat Of Love, before returning once again to India on 2004ís Remembrance. In the process heís become a significant figure in world music fusion and Farakala finds him back in Africa ñ specifically in the bush of southern Mali this time. There he recorded with the Frikyiwa family, the loose collective of African musicians known for their work with the French producer FrÈdÈric Galliano.
Although itís Gurtuís name that appears in bigger lettering on the cover, in many ways Farakala really belongs to the West Africans: the enchanting voice of Guineaís Hadja KouyatÈ, the mesmerising acoustic strings of Senegalese kora (harp-lute) player Ali Boulo Santo and the more earthy sounds of the kamelengoni (lute) played by Maliís Filifin take centre stage. Produced by Galliano and recorded without overdubs, Gurtu for once puts his tablas aside in favour of calabashes and other African-styled percussion, but still injects the subtlest of Indian rhythmic influences. In the past he has fallen prey to the classic jazzerís pitfall of over-elaboration and a tendency to fill the available space with too many notes. The beauty of Farakala lies in its sheer simplicity. Itís not so much a fusion as an immersion.
Nigel Williamson

Belfast is renowned for its traditional music sessions, and now two of its most able sons (albeit one by adoption) have released an album of sparkling musical interplay, imaginative arrangements and, above all, the joie de vivre that lies at the core of the landís music. John McSherry is an uilleann piper and whistler from one of the cityís most illustrious musical clans ñ heís an erstwhile member of Tamalin, L?nasa and DÛnal Lunnyís Coolfin, and a long-time collaborator with Mike McGoldrick. Violinist/keyboards player DÛnal OíConnor is the Louth-born son of fiddler Gerry OíConnor and the late singer Eithne NÌ Uallach·in, and is a long-time Belfast resident. A clutch of able accompanists includes guitarists Tony Byrne, Gilles LeBigot, Ruben Boda and Paul McSherry (Johnís brother), plus Francis McIlduff on bodhr·n.
John McSherry has probably never played better in his life. For evidence, turn to the opening track, kick-started by the sonorous march ëRose in the Gapí, and to the w¸nderkind set of reels ëSe·n Maguireísí. Itís not just the precision of his playing, but its powers of sheer invigoration which confirms McSherry as one of Irelandís foremost pipers. And DÛnal matches the piper note-for-note, via some captivating fiddle work. Alongside some of Irelandís most pulsating jigs and reels, youíll find two gorgeous 5/8 signature Castilian dances, a driving Asturian jig and several delightful self-compositions, including the dazzling slow air ëBoth GhÈí. With its crystal clear production, if thereís a better Irish album released in 2006 Iíll willingly dance naked in Trafalgar Square with a ferret on my head. But only if Tripswitch is playing in the background.
Geoff Wallis

Como me Gustas (How I like it) is a gem distinguished by the freshness of its sparkling sounds. Led by Cuban trËs guitarist Oscar Riquenes, the country style voices of blind singer-guitarist Rodalvaldo Suarez and singer Armando Suarez are truly infectious. There is a bewitching pace to everything performed here, bringing to mind both Carlos Pueblo and Polo MontaÒez. Like the Buena Vista Social Club, the groupís genesis has a miracle quotient: in Havana on holiday, Serbian-French couturier Bob Petrovitch was hooked by the sound of trio Los Astros and a blind street musician, and decided to help them. Turning them into the MalecÛn Social Club, and turning himself into an impresario, from a repertoire of 60 songs came this disc from Havanaís EGREM studios and, in 2005, sell-out gigs to audiences of over 2000 at Parisí atmospheric Bataclan and Barrio Latino clubs.
The enchanting bit comes as much with their original versions of what have become standard tourist fare, washing ëLagrimas Negrasí, ëVeinte AÒosí, ëDos Gardeniasí and ëYolandaí clean of clichÈ. Talent and passion, sincerity and humbleness go a long way in successful entrancing people. Having spent a large amount of my life in Cuba recently I expect to be satiated by Cuban music. Then along comes something like this which cleans the palate, reviving oneís enthusiasm all over again.
Jan Fairley

ëHeimoí, the fourth track of Lunghorn Twist, begins with an accordion repeating a phrase; behind, like a watercolour wash, some thin chords stretch. Another accordion comes in with the same phrase, then ñ some way off ñ another. Suddenly they all arrive at the same point, thick basses heaving in unison before moving apart again. The five accordionists play with and over one another. Thereís a sudden stop, and off they go another way, like children chasing a ball. The melody emerges and immediately someone improvises around it like a Balkan clarinet player. Trills create a chilly atmosphere: bellowing bass builds suspense, which, never resolved, dies away. Itís over in less than five minutes have passed, but ëHeimoí is a considerable musical journey, and by the end, the listener has gained some understanding of this remarkable band.
Accordion Tribe is a collective of five of the worldís finest and most interesting squeezebox players. Bratko Bibic is Slovenian, Lars Hollmer is Swedish, Maria Kalaniemi is Finnish, Guy Klucevsek is an American of Slovenian descent and Otto Lechner is Austrian. Each is a celebrated musician. They work in theatre, radio, multi-media projects and dance, as well as folk, jazz and contemporary music groups. Each player brings along material that they work on together.
The tribe first assembled a decade ago, and they have gathered occasionally since. Lunghorn Twist is their third album. But listening to the intricacies of their playing together, their exploration of ideas and traditions, one feels Accordion Tribe gathers for its own sake, and that we are privileged to overhear.
Julian May

With the current popularity of Gypsy music, youíd be forgiven for thinking that nothing recorded outside of Eastern Europe is worth shaking your tambourine to. However, Roma and Gypsies are to be found as far out as the Middle East, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq and Egypt. This new album highlights music from the latter, specifically from the Luxor region. The group was initially ëdiscoveredí in 1975 at the Chateauvallon Festival in France, and the line-up has changed little over the past 30 years. Two original members, Mustafa Abdel Aziz and Youssef Alik Bakash, sadly passed away recently and this album, their final recording, is dedicated to them.
The metallic clatter of the dumbek drum marks the music out as obviously Arabic, but the presence of the rabab fiddle (constructed from horsehair, coconut shell and fish-skin) and the arghul (double pipe) gives the music a specific and unique character. The opener, ëSir Bina Ya Qitarí, like many of the nine tracks here, uses rich metaphors to describe a lost or yearned-for lover, underpinned by mournful singing and rabab playing, and driven ever forward by frenetic percussion. ëWa Ana Mali, Ya Qalbií has a Coltranesque meditative quality it shares with the arghul solo ëTaksim Al-Hawaí which features a drone reminiscent of the bagpipes. The mid-tempo ëAbou Zeid al-Hilalií carries almost majestic overtones.
Overall, the CD successfully captures the ferocity and passion of The Musicians Of The Nile. That this music is becoming increasingly rare makes this excellent recording doubly important.
Chris Menist

Tropic·lia is most often associated with Gilberto Gil and Caetano Veloso but when the movement began in the late 60s it was Tom ZÈ who was considered its great intellectual. In an interview with Brazilís …poca magazine ZÈ complained of having being ëburiedí deliberately by his fellow Tropicalistas and by the press. ëI was the Trotsky of the movement,í he stated. By the mid-70s ZÈ was forgotten.
Then in 1986 David Byrne chanced upon Estudando O Samba in a S„o Paulo music store and fell in love with the album. He asked Caetano Veloso who ZÈ was. Caetano apparently confused him with another singer, TuzÈ de Abreu. But Byrne tracked ZÈ down nonetheless, recording him and resurrecting his career. Now, at the ripe old age of 70, ZÈ has released a companion to Estudando O Samba. And itís a masterpiece.
The CD is a dramatic exploration ñ in the form of a rock operetta ñ of the most popular form of samba in Brazil, pagode. ZÈ plays with pagode rhythms from their earliest incarnations, as associated with artists like Bezerra da Silva, to their more modern, as typified by bands like Harmonia do Samba. He intertwines these with jilting Zappaesque rock complexity, classical choruses, sound effect interludes, soliloquies and lyrical bossa nova reflections.
Pagode is house party music of the kind played at home around the barbecue. It lies at the heart of Brazilian society. ZÈ exploits this, cutting a cross-section through macho attitudes towards women in Brazilian popular culture, society and by extension the world at large. The result is a magnificent avant garde tour de force as profound and experimental as Carla Bleyís Escalator Over the Hill or Beefheartís Safe As Milk, yet resolutely Brazilian.
Alex Robinson

The success of Tinariwen seems to have sent world music talent scouts camel-waggoning across the Sahara in search of further earthy exponents of the nomadic desert blues and Phil Stanton and World Music Network have found a gem of a band in Etran Finatawa. Hailing from Niger, the group comprises both Touareg and Wodaabe people and although the two cultures are allegedly very different their debut album suggests that, musically at least, thereís far more that unites them than divides them. Recorded in France in summer 2005, the album features only half of the band (whose name translates as ëthe stars of traditioní), but the six who were corralled into the studio make a mighty sound indeed. The electric guitars of Ghalitane KhamidounÈ and Alhousseini Mohamed Anivolla are less dominant than in Tinariwen but the rhythms are similar. The set of songs concerns healing, herding cattle and even camel racing. Some are disarmingly simple, consisting of little more than hypnotic patterns beaten out on calabashes underpinning some thrilling call-and-response vocals. Others are more developed with snaking, bluesy guitar lines, such as ëSurbajoí, a cracking pop tune that is basically a desert chat-up song (ëHello miss, how are you today? Ö You are so beautiful, your hair grows like a young branchí) and ëAlissí, a song in which a manís enemies threaten to cut off his member. The subject matter may be painful to listen to, but the song is magnificent.
Nigel Williamson

To many observers, Vilayat Khan was the sitar player who had it all. From profound expression to dazzling sprints, his range had no equal in the 20th century. In some ways he complemented Ravi Shankar, even down to the tailor-made instruments. Where the latter developed sonorous deep timbres, Vilayat Khan removed the low-pitched strings, thus also giving himself space for the sideways movement of a string that was one of his innovations. You hear a single pluck generate entire phrases, eloquently rising and falling as the tone died away, and helping to build the patient introductory alap improvisations that were the towering features of his later years.
The half-hour of alap that opens this disc ñ recorded at one of his last London concerts, in 2002 ñ is a searching, spacious instance that takes all the time that it needs. He even talks over it, demonstrating the lateral pulls in some detail (a pity there is no translation) without for a moment breaking the flow. Vilayatís son Hidayat Khan is on stage too, echoing the earlier phrases but keeping respectfully out of the way when his father is in full flow. This performance of ëRaga Darbari Kanadaí then jumps straight to a pair of gats joined by the vigorous and subtle if no longer athletic tabla of Kishan Maharaj. In the second, Vilayat sings some of the compositions before the music accelerates. It doesnít attempt the flamboyance of his younger days, but the end is thrilling enough. A short version of ëRaga Bhairavií, one of his favourites, makes a substantial encore-style bonus.
Although the DVD is pretty austere, with three main camera angles, the long shots catch the performersí serenity and the close-ups introduce a quite disarming intimacy. You can see for yourself how closely the style is modelled on vocal traditions: Vilayatís whole body seems to caress the music on to the instrument, while the explanations are as good as a master-class. Every follower of Indian classical music needs to have seen him at least once, and this is a classic embodiment of what he meant to the genre.
Robert Maycock