Savane

“Bismillah”. The first word of this historic album rings with eerie power as Ali Farka Touré returns from his grave to offer us one final glimpse of his unique talent. “Bismillah” is an Arabic word with a powerful resonance for all Muslim followers. It literally translates as “with the guidance of The Divine”. Ali Farka Touré spins the word out with a degree of resonance and strength that belied the advanced illness dogging him throughout the making of this final testimony.

Surrounding the word is the confident fusion between the Malian’s blues guitar and the high lines of Bassekou Kouyate’s small ngoni. It reflects Ali Farka Touré’s ability to gell the two worlds he was immersed in at all levels of his life. The 13 tracks on “Savane” crystallise a mission he had set for himself which music critic Damian Rafferty summed up with the following words: “Carefully, meticulously and imaginatively Ali reclaims the entire African diaspora music for the people of Africa and in doing so he plants his flag on the entire 20th Century music catalogue.”

Stark desert sounds haunt “Savane” yet never has Touré’s music seemed so intimate and warm. Backed by the ngoni, the one-string njarka fiddle and Yacouba Moumouni’s trance-like Songhai flute, he takes us on a voyage into the Songhai and Fulani roots that watered his upbringing in northern Mali. “I know this is my best album ever,” he is quoted as saying, “It has the most power and is the most different.” Its power derives in the shimmering rhythmic melodies and the uncompromising statement of cultural and social convictions he picked up in his 67 years.

Touré knew he was dying when he began work on “Savane” in late 2003. Yet no tremors can be detected in the powerful singing of songs like “Yer Bounda Fara”, “Soko” or the moving title track. The latter has an unusual ska-like undercurrent that reflects the universal chord Touré strikes in just about every one of these songs. Yet “Savane” is a very specific request for the West to revise their ruinous attitude towards Africa. “Stop sending us arms, we need agricultural tools,” is the plea from the continent’s most famous farmer (Touré gave up his touring career to devote himself to the plots of his native Niafunké).

For the rest, the lyrics touch on the loneliness of exile, the resilience needed to live abroad, the desertification and destruction of Africa’s savanna, the praising of fallen heroes, love songs, and a call for self-enhancement. They are a mixture of original songs and those composed from traditional Songhai and Peul tunes. Many were undoubtedly reshaped in Bamako’s Studio Bogolan and the Mandé Hotel where the album was recorded. Yet they also seem to hark back to the beginning of Touré’s career when, as a child he played music at spirit ceremonies, wielding his one-string ngoni (the djerkel) with precocious ease.

Touré is helped along the way by a specially assembled rootsy ngoni band, but not only. Producer Nick Gold persuaded a few top blues artists to share in these final recording moments with the eccentric yet much-loved giant. Along came the tenor sax of ex-James Brown sidekick Pee Wee Ellis, the njarka violin playing of veteran Fanga and a wailing harmonica by British musician Little George Sueref (superb on my favourite track “Penda Yoro”). They all lend new depth to these permutations between electrified instruments and their traditional ancestors.

And floating above it all is the Voice, Touré’s swansong which seems richer and deeper than any of his previous recordings. It might be the sentimentality of ears that are still mourning his departure - yet are these not final defiant notes from a man who had pride written all over his existence? Here is an album that eschewed the spontaneity Touré was noted for. “Savane” is a recording carefully prepared by 30 months of graft and several demo tapes. It reflects the craftsmanship behind this final enterprise that took him right up to his last days on earth. At the end, Touré stands alone on the album cover, accompanied only by his guitar and the subtitle “King of the Desert Blues Singers”. An appropriate stance for a man who will be long remembered as the embodiment of African dignity.

Daniel Brown
July 2006

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