Tag Archives: tuareg

Kader Tarhanine and Group Afous D’Afous

Tarhanine Tegla

Tarhanine Tegla

Kader Tarhanine is the musician that you don’t know about, but should. The “you” in question is the presumed readership of the blog, which with the wide reach and randomness of the internet could be really anyone, but would assume to exclude most Tuareg’s themselves – one of the contradictions in working across cultures, but alas.

Group Afous D’Afous is a six person guitar group from Tamanrasset, Algeria. The group is led by Kader Tarhanine, perhaps the most famous and preferred guitarist throughout the Tuareg diaspora over the past 5 years. His song “Tarhanine Tegla” (en: “My Love is Gone”) was one of those “viral” successes of the Bluetooth/Cellphone/Mp3 network of music trading (even Youtube, where the video has over one million views). The song, where he got his name, has a programed drum with a heavy bass kick that loops throughout, with a call and response lyrics dancing with an infectious electric guitar riff. The lyrics owe much to it’s popularity: Kader is heralded as a both a musician and a poet amongst Tuareg fans, where the past years have seen a blight of covers and embarrassingly poorly written songs (infuriating older guitarists, one who recently told me “our music was meant to convey a message, today the musicians barely know Tamashek, just know a few words like “tenere,” and make a song out of it”).

Kader Tarhanine and Afous D’Afous have become stars at home, and are by far the most famous Tuareg band in Algeria. They’ve recorded an album in 2015 that went on to fill all the cellphones from Sebha to Timbouctou, and have recorded several videos with quite high production value.

Which is all the more curious that in the current Western fascination of Tuareg music, where new albums seem to come out every week on record labels, the band seems to have been passed over – missed by (Western) labels*, curators, and just about every music journalist. On a personal note, we (being the larger “Sahel Sounds family that includes just about every musician we work with) kept waiting for this to be picked up by a Western label, and it wasn’t, so we contacted the band. Hopefully this release will help rectify this glossing oversite and set the record straight, as it were.

The single “Tarhanine Tegla” is now available on limited 7″. On the flip is the autotuned Maghrebi influenced “Tarhanam Toussasi.” The records are special old school offset printed fold over. The 7″ is available through the shop, through bandcamp, and just about every other digital platform.

*update: the band was produced in 2015 by the Algerian project Imzad, further identifying the group previously known as Kader Tarhanine as “Group Afous D’Afous”

tuareg autotune

Abdoul Kader (Tanoutetanoute)

Abdoul Kader (Tanoutetanoute)

Abdoul Kader – Alhadi

Autotune, the notorious pitch correcting vocal effect, has seemingly found its way into every perceivable genre and style of music in every corner of the world. In the genre of Tuareg guitar however, the wanton use is confined to Niger where modern Tuareg compositions have nudged up against the slickly produced autotuned Hausa pop music in a near seamless melding. This is as much geographic as it is cultural. Hausa culture lies on both sides of the Niger/Nigeria border and Agadez, Niger’s capital of Tuareg guitar is majority Hausa speaking. Northern Nigeria’s film industry Kannywood dominates the VCD market throughout Niger even among non-Native Hausa speakers.

For many years, the influence of Hausa music in Tuareg guitar was a pragmatic concern. Nigeria has a plethora of studios with well trained engineers, and a destination for Tuareg guitarists looking to record an album. Such was the case with the two first instances of tuareg autotune – Mdou Moctar in Sokoto, and Abdoul Kader in Kano. Today Agadez hosts a number of studios. Modeled on the Nigeria, these new studios are largely electronic, relying on computer based composition and arrangement and leaning away from live instruments.

Moussa Tchingou, Zone Tuareg

Moussa Tchingou, Zone Tuareg

Moussa Tchingou – Zone Tuareg

While the first incidents of this Hausa pop/Tuareg guitar cultural exchange were largely accidental – Mdou’s autotuned Anar was recorded in 2008 – the resulting style of music is emerging as a definitive trend. I just received some of the new album of Agadez youth outfit Zone Tuareg, and they seem to be only continuing in this vein. It’s not yet a genre and there is no designation for these studio productions, but the number of music recorded with this particular melding of Tuareg and Hausa pop is expanding. As the genre of Tuareg folk guitar further twists in new directions, it’s a challenge to a hegemonic definition of the ishumar guitar sound, and a glimpse at a diversified future.

two sides of illighadad

11183_JKT

The new record of Fatou Seidi Ghali and Alamnou Akrouni – “Les Filles de Illighadad” – might be called “traditional music,” for lack of a better word. It’s that music that fills the day to day aspect, a constant familiar sound. It’s hard to talk about, because its corollarly so clearly does not exist in the industrial centers or the so-called “Western” world. It’s rural music. It’s village music. It’s music for when you don’t have electricity, immediate Youtube access to every recorded sound. It’s music that exists when performance trumps playback. The term village music or rural music might be better, as any claims to it’s authenticity or “traditionalist” elements would be work apart. In any case, every small village its performers, sometimes traveling about for local festivities (incidentally, I met Alamnou years prior, and only realized it when assembling the record). Such is the case with “Les Filles de Illighadad.”

Fatou and Alamnou live in the aforementioned village, a tiny assemblance of mud houses thrown together in the scrubby Sahel of central Niger. I visit in the rainy season (previously), when the countryside is innaudated with still pools of water. Ghostly white egrets perch on half submerged trees, while in the distance tall camels slough there way through the muck. The latter, slow moving and giant, have something almost prehistoric about them in this context. I’m not used to seeing camels in a swamp. The desert is vibrant and green at this time of year, after the rains have parched the otherwise thirsty landscape. The desert here is cyclical, and follows a predictable schedule.

Fatou plays an old blue guitar, chipped and dried, slightly bent. The extremes of weather are not easy on musical instruments. She plays a long session, moving seamlessly from one song to another, many covers of of Etran Finatawa whose music is renowned in this part of Niger. Fatou’s guitar playing is measured and calm, and while we record outside under the trees, it is music transformed by context and place. From the vantage of far away, from a computer screen, it is easy to imagine a singular Niger, even a singular Tuareg identity. But there are many lives and many ways of living. The village of Illighadad is a world apart from Agadez, from Niamey – both major cities in their own right, dense with people, noise, and the trappings of modernity. Fatou’s guitar speaks to a different pace. The days in Illighadad are long, and time is not measured by hours, meetings, or even by the muezzins prayer call – but by the suns passage, the movement of the animals, and the sound of the crickets.

photo by Marcus Milckephoto by Marcus Milcke

Fatou insists that she doesn’t just play guitar, but plays and performs tende as well (“better!”) with her cousin Alamnou, a renowned vocalist. So at night, they assemble in the village. The “tende” is named for the drum, where two woman sit on pestles flanking a mortar, stretched with an animal skin. In a place with the absence of sound, no hum of electricity, no cars, no white noise, and no physical impediments, the tende travels far. As the village plays, people begin to come. You can see them in the distance, little lights dancing in the darkness, growing in intensity, from every direction, like fireflies drawn in from the night. Singers exchange the lead, backed by the chorus of Illighadad echoing in polyphonic harmonies, with staccato clapping, led by a deep and continuous thumping. We stay listening for hours, until the voices are weary of singing and the hands grow tired of the drums, and the crowd disperses through the darkness to find some sort of peace.

While we had some original concept to meet Fatou and record her guitar, every night was accompanied by tende. In the end, we produced a recording with two sides – each unbroken sessions, representing the two sides of the music: the mellow guitar and personal expression of Fatou, and the cooperative and constant village music of the tende. Fatou’s guitar music is remarkable in some way because of identity. As one of only two Tuareg female guitarists in what is a male dominated genre, this was indeed my initial interest in coming to Illighadad. But Fatou exists far away from genre classifications. While she plays the guitar in the day, it is the tende at night – a reminder of the village music that inspired the guitar, and continues to do so. It reads to me as a suggestion that the two musics can and do exist simultaneously. And that different worlds may as well.

The new record from Les Filles de Illighadad is available from the shop on vinyl and via bandcamp.

hama, electronic keyboard wizard

hama

Recently in Niamey, I met up with Hama, keyboardist and electronic music composer (previously, more previously) A few months ago we released an EP of Hama’s recordings, a collaboration with Boomarm Nation. Recorded locally at Flow Wolf Studio “Imidiwan N’Assouf” was remixed by Portland based Gulls and Istanbul’s El Mahdy Jr.

We meet up to talk about future directions and exchange musics. We trade our respective remixes and other media. Hama plays me one track he’s been working on. In the track, a rapper spits some mediocre bars over a custom instrumental. “This is a rap that comes in Fruityloops,” he explains to me. “I put it on to see how my beat paris with the voice, and when it sounds good, I take out the rap.”

Hama’s music continues to standout in Niger, primarily for this reason. His music is electronic but strictly instrumental. While there are certainly electronic musics happening in the Sahel, most of these are elements in larger compositions: the hi-energy backing instrumental of a hip hop track or coupé décalé inspired dance remixes. Instrumental electronic music in Niger is rare. Following in the vein of Mamman Sani Abdoulaye (the two have met, but never collaborated), Hama is the proverbial next generation, ideally one who will get more attention than his predecessor from the Niger public.

Composing in Fruityloops, his computer compositions aren’t arranged. I’ve downloaded Ableton onto his Macbook and brought a small midi controller, to facilitate the painstaking work of composing melodies with a mouse. For the time being, his electronic compositions have a similar live element to them. Layers are unmuted with a mouse click over the bars, slowly building to a crashing momentum. One exception with some minimal arrangement is titled “Baoura” – a work in progress:

Hama – Baoura

In the meantime, until the electronic avant garde expands in Niamey, Hama continues to play his signature Yamaha PSR-64 in weddings. With such a wide distribution across cellphones, his compositions are firmly established in the music repertoire of Niger, albeit outside of the official means. “They love my music, there is something about it. Especially the old people, it makes them travel far in their minds.”

abba’s home recordings, or how whatsapp is changing everything (pt 1)

The sand in Mauritania always carries the scent of the sea. You can tell you’re far from the iron rich dust of Timbouctou. Sitting under a tent in a wide empty space of sand and brush, dominated by hulking concrete half finished mansions, I meet with Tuareg guitarist and longtime collaborator Abba Gargando.

I first met Abba after hearing a grainy cassette playing outside of Bassikinou. Over the years we have met various times, though always near his home. This time, we are in Nouakchott, Mauritania. Abba had been here for over two years now, living between here and refugee camps in the east. Ex military, he now works as a guardian, moving his family and tent outside the houses as they are being built to scare away would be thieves.

While we are talking about “what to do next” he plays me some songs he has recorded on his cellphone. A drum machine clicks out a rhythm, while he strikes out the notes in mechanical time, singly softly. “I recorded this on my cellphone in the camps,” he explains. “It was night so I had to play quietly.”

We decide to piece together an album. The recordings are lofi – but so is Abba’s entire oeuvre; he is known today because of his music on cellphones, playing through the tiny speakers. The album could be a sort of homage to the cellphones recordings and listening, recorded by Abba. Unfortunately, he only has a few recordings on his phone, so he suggests to regroup all the youth from Timbouctou.

That night, he organizes a small gathering. We collect songs from the cellphones of Nouakchott’s Gargando-in-exile. There are hundreds of mp3s – recorded in festivals in Timbouctou, weddings in Nouakchott, or small informal sessions like tonight. Abba rewards the group with a few hours of guitar. When he starts playing, they switch on their phones, start recording, and throw them onto the floor.

I have no chance to listen to all the music until later, on the other side of the world. I make a selection and check with Abba. Five years prior this would have been arduous task – playing the songs over the phone connection, waiting for an SMS with the correct spelling, repeat. But times had changed. I send him the files over WhatsApp, to which he replies, identifying the songs and altering the tracklist to his choosing.

His final record hints and what will likely be the next phase of artists control over their own work, as it translates into the West. The role of record label/blog/writing about “the other” is as mediator between cultures, but rife with problematic issues of representation and exoticism. Holding to task the most exotic ethnography and offensive ‘world music’, it may be simplistic to think we can cut through decades of misappropriation with technology. But it does suggest the increasing role that artists may have in their creation and representation abroad – the Western mediators saying less, because it’s already being said.