Ali Farka Touré, Afel Bocoum
Warfield Theater, San Francisco, July 26
To Western ears, the subtleties of world music are probably akin to the idiosyncrasies of the English language to someone not from these shores: hard to fathom. The polytonal musical palette exercised by these two Malian guitarists, in which there are twice as many notes per key than most Western chordings, may be more sophisticated than that of your average Stratocaster master, but the effect is often an impenetrable, hypnotic drone. Opener Afel Bocoum, like his revered mentor and 30-year-old employer Ali Farka Touré, is a farmer from the desert town of Niafunke on the Niger River in Central Mali and conjured a sound that might be termed an opium dream: narcotic. Drawing from his addictive 1998 World Circuit/Nonesuch debut Alkibar (meaning “Messenger of the Great River” and also the name of his six-piece backing band), Bocoum’s minor-key acoustic picking underscored his group’s sonorous chants, which were in turn punctuated by their leader’s high, piercing tenor. Early in Bocoum’s otherworldly 45-minute set, a dancer suddenly appeared among the proto-soccer-uniform-clad band — bass, djembe/calabash drummer, njarka (one-string violin), njurkle (monochord guitar), and two singers. Clad in a deep maroon robe, his face covered by a scarf and sunglasses, head wrapped in a headdress, the dancer started gyrating in a minimalist rhythm similar to Bocoum’s music. As the groove swirled deeper and deeper, so too did the dancer’s movements, the ghostly figure entreating the 1,500 people present to clap and cheer. When throat calls started emanting from the enthusiastic throng, suddenly, Toto, you knew you weren’t in Kansas anymore. The set’s last tune, employing bluesy “I’m a Man” breaks, brought the audience back to familiar territory. Touré, whose instrumentation was the same as Bocoum’s save for an added conga player, picked up where his opener left off, his electric guitar, broad smile, and gimme cap using the blues as a springboard. In between his French stage patter (“Merci, merci, merci — je suis très hereuse”) and the group’s mesmerizing chants, Touré’s razor-sharp guitar lines cut through the din like a sitar played through a Les Paul. It sliced straight through you. If the drum thumped your chest, Toure’s guitar stabbed at your temples. “Are you happy?” he asked continually. “I too am happy.” Playing a song from his commercial breakthrough, the wondrous 1994 Ry Cooder collaboration Talking Timbuktu, Touré made everyone très, très hereuse. And things just got happier and happier throughout his 75-minute set. It was all in one key, mind you, but in the manner of John Lee Hooker’s entire career — that one primordial note was the only key necessary.This article appears in August 4 • 2000.
