Meg Reilly Mus 593R: African Pop Music Concert Review April 16, 2010 Realizing a New World:

A Live Performance by Rokia Traore Some of the best live music has the ability to transport us beyond the walls of a venue and into a world that maybe exists nowhere else. In smoky, dimly lit clubs we realize for an hour or two a place in which self-consciousness leaves us, the cold can't reach us, our landlords can't hassle us, and our e-mail in-boxes can't steal away time from us. On the East Coast, the clubs are no longer smoky and the modern indie pop scene has bred a culture based on self-consciousness, where half the time people are glued to their I-pods and doing more than bobbing your head pegs you as some kind of freak. But on th the evening of April 14 , 2010, an unlikely venue, the massive UMass Fine Arts Center, became exactly the kind of dim, intimate, and worry free entertainment space that is so hard to find these days. As the fog machines fumed and the lights faded, the unassumingly petite Rokia Traore and her band took the stage, and for awhile we were transported to another place that, as she would make clear later, may not exist now but which she genuinely believes we will see in our lifetime. Traore's unique blend of traditional Malian music with American blues and rock was far more than a fusion of international styles, but a genuine realization of a new genre of music that speaks to a worldwide audience. The West African and American sounds blended so seamlessly, that it seems almost inappropriate to discuss the various continental differences individually. The sound-scape was decidedly worldly in its approach, without it being stuck on a record shelf entitled World Music. Rather than

emphasizing the unique ethnic elements of her sound, she turned every song into a piece that would most likely speak to a large part of the globe. In doing so, Traore transported us to a place that was culturally rich without being culturally divided. That being said, it is interesting to note the makeup of her band. The white members, most likely from France where Traore now lives, generally stuck to European instruments such as the electric guitar, electric bass, and drum kit. The black members used instruments of Africa, including the ngoni, shakers, and even an mbira at one point. But while Traore's vocals had a decidedly African flavor, her instrument of choice was an electric guitar. In this way, Traore became the visible representation of the bridge her music was creating between the two worlds. Similarly, the instruments were all used in such a variety of ways, that the racial divide was almost instantly erased. The ngoni player (whose last name I couldn't help but notice was Diabate like those of the Jeli musical caste) would at times apply pedals, making the instrument sound exactly like an electric guitar, while at other times opting for its more natural sound which was slightly less sustained and more percussive. Likewise, the guitar player would sometimes shift into a damping technique that made his instrument sound more organic and similar to the ngoni, or, perhaps more closely, the mbira which appeared in the second song. A great deal of the songs incorporated interlocking parts, with layered percussion, and almost all were based around ostinato patterns, which, as they only varied when Traore stopped singing, served to complement her voice. And what a voice it was. Traore's vocals stole the show and hearts of the audience. And while all but one song were sung in languages other than English (though I was able to understand some of the

handful of French songs), the meaning or intent never felt lost on us. The range of colors she was able to manipulate were unlike any other vocalist I'd seen live. From high, crystal clear notes to a low growl that carried genuine, visceral weight, to words sung so fast that it sounded like hip-hop, her voice traversed the entire vocal spectrum. Her style was typically more melismatic, reminiscent of Arabic vocals, but it was not always so. And when she did come to rest on a sustained note, the control of her vibrato was stunning: it could be rapid fire and almost harsh, more spaced and natural sounding, or she could remove it altogether for real clarity. The expressive capabilities of such a unique voice went far beyond anything her words could convey. The words, however, were clearly significant. The band never covered her, when she was singing praises of the band and the audience she seemed to enunciate even more clearly, and when she became more impassioned the words left her mouth with such speed that clearly she had something to say. The one song in English was perhaps the most traditionally American, a fairly straightforward blues piece. But the simple lyrics spoke volumes about African life. The song was decrying a person's drug habit as a form of escapism. The fact that it was sung in such a direct way, as though the subject were listening, struck me as very similar to many African lyrics which often direct issues right at a person when seeking change, rather than approaching it as an indirect story with the subject in the third person. At one point she also sang Running away will not make you a man and I was again struck by the similarity to other African songs which often have strict ideas of gender identities. And, though certainly a generalization, very few American pop songs ever discourage drug use, thus her song was clearly speaking to an audience that goes beyond our borders.

With such an expressive singing voice, I was surprised that her spoken voice could be just as powerful. Her voice gentle and soft, she spoke of paying homage to Miriam Makeba of South Africa and the end of apartheid, she profusely thanked the audience (though in the encore she teased us about our unwillingness to get out of our seats), and she told us of her very personal dream that one day there will no longer be a need for migration around the world, that some day we will all have places we can call home and know that we won't have to leave. The most striking thing about this final statement, was not that she had the courage to say it to a foreign audience who in many cases probably often dream of getting away from home, but that she genuinely believes she will see it in her lifetime. For her it is not a vague hope. When she and the band started performing again immediately after that statement, the captivating music, the smoky atmosphere and the dim, jewel-toned lights took on a new meaning. Though we as an audience had been transported for an hour and a half to a magical place free of fear and stress, her unique music with its universal appeal is seeking to transport the entire world to that same place for good. Here's hoping she and others like her make it happen.