Khaled, "Kenza"

Khaled
"Kenza"
Universal Records(1999)
1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die

Raï is a music style that originated on the Algerian coast, best defined as a melding of all the cultures that reached the Algerian coast. There's the Arabic influence of the Muslim majority, the rich variety of North African music and Spain right across the sea. Looking at Khaled, the biggest name in the genre's history, you must also consider the atmosphere of 1999: Africa's biggest music market was France, so artists like Khaled could score by aiming for that audience. France wasn't removed from Western pop music, so even African artists reached into that grab bag to grab listeners. It's understandable why Khaled's "Kenza" is such a blend, for better or for worse. There are 15 tracks on the album, and the first five exemplify the distinct flavors.

Nos. 2 through 4 demonstrate Khaled reaching out to his international audience. "C'est La Nuit," the single most active in the charts, is a French ballad. A little sappy, but cool. "El Harba Wine," another single, is Bollywood all the way. If you couldn't tell from the Indian percussion and wall of strings, vocalist Amar joins in with the high, nasal style popular in the classical style of the Subcontinent. Khaled's own vocals are similar to Mahmoud Ahmed, jumping pace as emotion calls for. "Imagine" is the only Americanized song here, and yes, it's a John Lennon cover. In Khaled's defense, duetting with Israeli vocalist Noa makes Lennon's lyrics especially poignant, even if the lyrics are English.

For my money, Khaled is best when he sticks to what he grew up with. Opener "Aalach Tloumouni" blends pop sensibility into great Arabic music. There's a blend of traditional percussion with a Western drum set. Thumping bass notes add a hip-hop vibe to the pentatonic strings, combining two forms that both inspire dancing. It works because nothing gets watered down.

The same can't be said for every track on "Kenza." Track five, "Trigue Lycée" and follow-up "E'Dir E'Sseba" display an uncomfortable homage to the '80s. Khaled's roots music hangs around, but synthesizers, programmed rhythms and awkward background vocals are awkward throwbacks to R&B from a decade before.

The album continues for nine more songs following the five I've described. Most of it is less international by nature, but these songs better display Khaled's other talent: the accordion. The instrument finds a home in most of the album's latter tracks, but Khaled accupunks (what? It's not really "shredding" if it's an accordion. So I thought of a more appropriate motion and came up with the act of doing acupuncture. Boom. Now official) a solo on "Melha."

Ultimately, at 15 tracks and more than 78 minutes, "Kenza" is too long. It's tough to choose three more songs to remove aside from the first two I criticized, but when only five songs are less than five minutes, some cutting needs to be done. Raï may not be straight pop, but Khaled had popular success before "Kenza," so he knew what he was dealing with. Tom Moon recommended a different album from the artist's earlier years to check out, so let's look forward to that instead.

INTERESTING FACT: Khaled was born in Oran, the capitol of Raï. The form was heavily heavily by conservative, religious types, but the city has a long history with "debauchery." Oran was invaded by the Spanish during the 16th Century, and they reputedly kept a large number of concubines there to entertain its forces.

Bembeya Jazz National, "The Syliphone Years"

Bembeya Jazz National
"The Syliphone Years"
Sterns (2004)
1000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

More often than not, music plays a role in the development of a new nation. Here's an early "interesting fact" for you: Brits refer to Americans as "yanks" because the colonists frequently marched to "Yankee Doodle Dandy." Fast forward a couple hundred years and the world's newest countries are still paying attention to music when they form a state. During the Cuban Revolution, the rebel government banned brass instruments as a symbol of the lingering European presence. The Taliban got rid of non-sacred music when it assumed control of Afghanistan in the '90s. Basically, governments look to mold the nation's music scene into what seems ideal.

For the most part, musicians don't like being instructed what style to play. In Guinea however, the Bembeya Jazz National fit right into the officials' plans. Guinea won its independence from France in 1958 and politicians looked to install official state bands that would encourage Guinean culture more so than French. It would be unkind to suggest that the National was a puppet act for an overarching government, but official sponsorship (and having the government distributing its records) didn't hurt. Just take a look at the track listing on "The Syliphone Years" and tell me if you see any patriotic themes: "Republique Guinee," "Armée Guinéenne," "Air Guinee" and "Guinée Hety Harémoun." The album also includes a song titled "Beyla," after its hometown, but it's clear pride is on the menu.

Regardless of its intentions, the band's musicians are pretty good. The group, consisting of multiple guitarists, trumpeters, saxophonists and percussionists, focuses much of its work around Calypso, a Trinidadian music form that is derived from West African influences anyway. The guitarists, led by Sékou "Diamond Fingers" Diabaté, are reminiscent of King Sunny Ade and Billy Beane in their silk-smooth approaches. Diabaté impresses with single-string solos on tracks like "Sabor de guajira," and experiments with his picking style on the bluesier "Sou." The horns get occasional action during longer, drawn-out jams, but tend to stick with call-and-response blasts that correlate with the vocals. And of course, it wouldn't be West African music without polyrhythms from the percussionists.

French isn't my best language so I'm loathe to translate any of the messages here for you. I imagine that they aren't anything special, probably just the patriotic praises that the government was paying them to put out. It's of no matter however. The true joy here is in the instrumentals, and at least you can ignore the outside political noise on "The Syliphone Years," unlike with most English music. Who knows. In 40 years, we might look at a musician's collective from South Sudan, the world's newest nation, from the same perspective.

INTERESTING FACT: Syliphone, the label that released this album, translates to "Elephant's ear" in French.

Waldemar Bastos, "Pretaluz"

Waldemar Bastos
"Pretaluz"
Luaka Bop (1997)
1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die

Afropop is a genre almost as ambiguous as the "world music" label it sits within. Already, we've seen it represented in the Ethiopian R&B of Mahmoud Ahmed, the Nigerian Juju style of King Sunny Adé, and the funky rhythms of Fela Kuti. All you can really take from Afropop is that it borrows elements of traditional African music and incorporates modern touches, such as electric instruments. At first listen, it may be tough to find the "African-ness" in "Pretaluz," by Angolan musician Waldemar Bastos.

The other artists I mentioned are more easily distinguished as African. Ahmed sings in Amharic, the official language of his home nation. Adé features the Nigerian "singing drums" in his music, and Kuti was a proponent of West African chant in his lyrics. Upon first listen, it's easy to assume that Bastos has borrowed every aspect of his music from cultures outside of Africa, which reflects a misunderstanding of musical history. The congas and bongos featured in most tracks are specifically Cuban. However, their invention and usage was developed by Africans who ended up in the "New World." The polyrhythms and percussion popular in Cuban music is an African invention, and its presence in "Pretaluz" is entirely African. In a sense, the rhythm that travelled across the Atlantic has come home in this recording.

That being said, Bastos did draw some inspiration from outside his native Angola when he fled to Portugal during a brutal civil war. The genre of Fado, the Portuguese equivalent of the blues, plays a key role in Bastos' songwriting style. His lyrics, in Fado tradition, are typically on mournful topics: The war ravaging his homeland on "Sofrimento" ("Suffering") and "Quentide Angola" (Beloved Angola), or a deceased heroine on "Rainha Ginga" (Queen Ginga).

Bastos' guitar strumming is more in the style of the classical guitar playing typical of Fado, as opposed to the American blues style, which would develop into rock 'n' roll. One thing that American and Portuguese blues have in common is their dependence on rhythm, and therefore both styles can be great for dancing, no matter how severe their inspiration. Bastos takes this to heart on "Kuribota" ("Evil Tongue"), and after two minutes of solemn guitar, the percussion jumps in and makes the next five worth stomping your foot to.

The blues is certainly a worldwide phenomenon. People from American, Portugal and Angola all get it. The key is to make it yours, as Bastos has done here.

INTERESTING FACT: The song "Muxima" refers to Our Lady of Muxima, a shrine in the Angolan town of the same name. According to legend, if you go to the shrine to pray with bad intentions for others, you'll drown in the river on the way. So maybe think twice before praying that Lebron James breaks his ankle.

Fela Kuti and The Afrika 70, "Zombie"

Fela Kuti and The Afrika 70
"Zombie"
Coconut Records (1976)
1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die

Preaching a message that flies in the face of government control is relatively easy in a first-world country where freedom of speech is guaranteed. A band like Rage Against the Machine, which we looked at earlier, might have packed a radical message, but its safety was rarely in question as a result. Fela Kuti, a Nigerian musical icon, suffered mightily for his messages.

In 1976-77, Kuti and his band, The Afrika 70, released 18 albums. The number is difficult to come to grips with, regardless of how many songs were on each. The most relevant of these, and perhaps the most relevant of Kuti’s career, was “Zombie.” The title track was a reference to the military of Nigeria, which Kuti referred to as acting brainlessly, following the whims of the government that Kuti disapproved of. The military did not appreciate the commentary, razing the commune that Kuti founded, beating the vocalist and throwing his mother out a window, causing injuries she would eventually succumb to. When those are the potential consequences, an artist can be described as “sticking his neck out” for commenting on social ills.

Kuti is also credited as being one of the founders of afrobeat, a genre taking traditional African musical elements (in this case, percussion and the ethnic vocal accents of Kuti and his background singers) and combining them with more Western fare.

Kuti became a sensation with those in the music business and musicians themselves, but he never caught on in mainstream American radio play. Of course, Kuti’s tracks tended to be nearly ten minutes too long for pop radio, with the two tracks on “Zombie” both more than 12 minutes in length. The song “Zombie” begins with a nearly five-and-a-half minute instrumental introduction. Kuti would play piano and saxophone live with the band, but whether he is one of the sax players at the beginnings of “Zombie” or “Mister Follow Follow” is something I’m not sure of. The presence of saxophone can be associated with Kuti’s key theme of African separation from European influence. The saxophone may be a European instrument, but in 1976, the names Coltrane and Davis were still revered. They, more than anyone, defined jazz as primarily a black form of music. Kuti was more than happy to expand upon the thought.

Perhaps the most impressive thing about “Zombie” is that Kuti did not take his foot off of the gas as a result of his punishing by the Nigerian military. The events only solidified his status as a people’s hero in Africa and increased his appeal to an awed Western audience.

INTERESTING FACT: Those not interested strictly in Kuti’s musical and historical significance should know that he was a ladies man, who was married to up to 27 women at one time.

"Zombie" (note: this version is about two minutes short, but you should get the point)

Mahmoud Ahmed, "Éthiopiques, Vol. 7: Erè Mèla Mèla"

Mahmoud Ahmed
"Éthiopiques, Vol. 7: Erè Mèla Mèla"
Crammed Discs (1975)
1000 Recordings to Hear before You Die

Afropop is among the most ambiguous varieties of music, as we learned when looking at King Sunny Ade. It’s essentially what Westerners would consider pop music, but with more African influence, naturally. Mahmoud Ahmed, an Ethiopian contributor to this overarching category, is another example of this formula in motion.

The obvious difference between this and American pop is the language barrier. Ahmed’s use of the Ethiopian Amharic language automatically earns him the title “world music” in Moon’s book, an especially lame use of the already lame term “world music,” considering the alternative language is all that separates him from his American and European counterparts.

If I were to compare Ahmed to any Western star, at least lyrically, I would argue he mirrors Roy Orbison is his approach. Like Orbison, his pop is sad and sympathetic, often reflecting the emotions of a rightful man who has been wrongfully scorned (see tracks like “Ere Mela Mela (I’m looking for a solution)” and “Atawurulign lela (Don’t talk to me about it again)”). Also like Orbison, Ahmed is excellent at reflecting emotion with his voice; it often trembles as he hits what I can only imagine are particularly sad moments in the song. Naturally, he has his high moments too, as seen in songs such as “Abbay mado (Beyond the Nile).”

I should be careful about saying that Ahmed’s voice is the only foreign thing about this recording. His band, the Ibex Band, certainly has African qualities, but its music would’ve worked just fine with American acts. The African-style percussion adds to the skillful rhythm of the band’s music (which I suppose is inherently African in nature). Although the rhythms have an R&B feel, the bands’ horns are at the forefront, making the instrumentals equally jazzy. The horns also help illustrate Ahmed’s mood to those who can’t translate his emotions because of the language barrier. When he’s happy, they’re hopping, and when he’s sad, they are too.

I admit, you have to listen closely to pick up on the best parts of the band’s music. At first listen, Ahmed sounds like he’d be at home within the carpeted walls of a Vegas lounge. But, focus on the instrumentals underneath Ahmed's voice, and it will change the experience for the better.

INTERESTING FACT: Ahmed is a member of Ethiopia's Gurage minority, a group historians believe is left over from the abandoned military settlements of the Aksumite empire. I guess that means Ahmed is a Gurage rocker, huh? No? Sorry. Couldn't resist.

King Sunny Adé, "The Best of The Classic Years"

King Sunny Adé
"The Best of The Classic Years"
Shanachie (2003)
1000 Recordings to Hear Before You Die

Many African countries have their own variants of Afropop, which (as it sounds) is distinctly African popular music. The Nigerian version is Juju, music incorporating the “talking drum,” a percussive instrument with cords that can be stretched to regulate its pitch (hence the “talking”) as well as electric guitar to lend modern “pop” sensibility to the music. King Sunny Adé is the foremost of the genre’s performers.

Despite the emphasis placed on the talking drums, Adé operated as the guitarist and bandleader. During the “classic years” referenced in the album’s title, Adé had up to 15 people accompanying him as vocalists, guitarists and supplying percussion. As with any form of African music, improvisation is essential, and in a way the drummers are truly talking to each other with their instruments (Juju means "to throw," as in the instrumentalists throw rhythms and lines back and forth).

Historically, the Juju genre came from music played at parties for wealthy benefactors, with the bandleader devising lyrics to praise the host for his payment. I don’t know if Adé’s lyrics are odes or not because I don’t understand the Yoruba language, but it was easy to understand how his band would be perfect for a wedding or other celebration. The first five tracks on the album run together, and it would be near impossible to figure out where one began and the other ended without a firm grasp on the language or keeping an eye on iTunes. In a social situation, a band like this would play for hours, only shifting gears at vocal cues from its leader.

Understanding the number of instrumentalists involved in recording, the producers who operated the session deserve credit for their masterful incorporation of balance. This album is best experienced with speakers spread far apart so the listener can appreciate the back and forth nature of the guitars and drums, and pick up on the “conversation” happening between them.

Adé didn’t invent the genre, but he certainly brought it to international attention (it helps that Island Records looked for him to be the new world music star after Bob Marley’s death.) He would continue to revolutionize it by incorporating synthesizers later (check out the album “Juju Music” for that approach), but this album still makes for a great balance between neo and traditional Nigerian music.

INTERESTING FACT: Adé avearged an output of three albums a year between 1967 and 2007. Yes, that DOES come out to 123 albums of original content. The track "Synchro System" on "The Best of The Classic Years" was actually an entire album by itself when it was released in 1973.

Dimi Mint Abba and Khalifa Ould Eide: "Moorish Music From Mauritania"

Dimi Mint Abba and Khalifa Ould Eide
"Moorish Music from Mauritania"
World Circuit (1990)
1,000 Recordings To Hear Before You Die

I looked forward to listening to this album for two reasons. One, I’ve recently become interested in the music of North Africa thanks to the neo-traditional music of Tinariwen out of Mali (Mauritania shares some Arabic roots with Mali). Two, this album was difficult to get my hands on.

One of the best treats is listening to the evolution of Mauritanian music as the album progresses. I would separate the 11 tracks into three chapters: traditional, modern and neo-traditional.

The first five tracks are what I would consider to be traditional. Abba handles most of the vocals, singing in surprisingly powerful Hassiniya Arabic, while also playing the ardin, a 14-string calabash harp. Eide, her husband, plays the tidinit, a four-string plucked instrument. The duo’s daughters provide background vocals and percussion. The strings impressed me most. Abba and Eide play rapid, intertwining parts that defy traditional Western time signatures on their respective instruments. The lyrics anchor themselves in traditional Muslim religious praise, such as “The Tortoise’s Song,” which details just how God blessed the tortoise with his shell. An interesting trend I noticed in these songs is that the percussion and background vocals always kick in just around the two-minute mark.

Tracks 6-10 travel towards modernity in two ways. First, Eide replaces the tidinit with an electric guitar. His licks are far from that of Tinariwen, but the difference within the album is easy to detect. Secondly, the tracks diverge from praise and into modern politics. “Independence” speaks of Mauritania’s relatively recent split from France and the meaning of “Oh Lord Bring Apartheid Crashing Down” is obvious. When this album was released in 1990, Nelson Mandela’s imprisonment was very much a big deal, and this song demonstrates the solidarity of two African nations that are physically and culturally thousands of miles apart.

The final track brings it all together into what I would label “neo-traditionalism.” The lyrics go back to a traditional religious theme, but Eide incorporates the electric guitar for a modern take. The traditional music of Mauritania is great, but it’s exciting to see two eras melded into something bigger.

INTERESTING FACT: Abba's father actually penned the Mauritanian national anthem.

"The Tortoise's Song"