Baaba Maal @ Concert Hall, Glasgow 21/1/08 (live review)
Although African music has been astounding audiences in the UK since the 1960s, it has never really escaped the World Music ghetto and troubled the mainstream charts. Even events like Live 8, which had an explicit political connection with Africa, failed to showcase much music from the Southern Hemisphere.
This is a shame heading towards a disgrace, because Baaba Maal’s set at Celtic Connections could have taught most bands about flamboyant showmanship, how to integrate virtuosity into relentless funk and turn a staid concert hall on a cold Glaswegian Monday into a jubilant celebration.
This being Celtic Connections, however, the evening began gently. Jenna Cumming’s four-piece trio (sic) presents serviceable versions of Gaelic songs. At their most transcendent when reduced to unaccompanied voice, her songs are weakened by some predictable mandolin and dobro backing, which only mire the shining word-poetry. Cumming- and fellow vocalist/harpist Mary Ann Kennedy- never quite slip into twee clichés, filling the large hall with mouth music and waulking (sic) songs’ marvellous intricacies. However, more interesting arrangements might break them out of the folk circuit.
Baaba Maal starts slow- three mostly acoustic numbers, sinuous blues and winding melodies. Dressed like a king, he drapes psychedelic pastoralism in softy, silky grooves. Four drummers keep a restrained beat, the lead guitarists stands to pick out a staccato solo, while Baaba sits, moans, keens and whispers. Then he disappears.
The band reconvene. The drummers pick up funky bass and choppy guitars. A full kit thumps out a solid four beat and a talking drum rattles and punches polyrhythm. Baaba Maal rushes back on stage, his golden gown now a loose golden suit, followed by two dancers and begins a show that James Brown would have envied. He funks hard. He rocks out. Weird synthesizer noises swap melodies with hardcore, pounding drums. Maal’s voice rises above it all, swooping, howling, cajoling, seducing. Rows of seated folk fans are swaying so hard they sweat.
The Concert Hall is a terrible place for Baaba Maal: no space to dance, although the aisles soon pack out and the crowd eventually invade the stage. Samba Sene, an Edinburgh based Senegalese musician joins the band and sings along. The dancers wind up the musicians, the audience, even Baaba Maal himself with provocative, playful posturing. This is explosive, inclusive, experimental, relentless, repetitious total entertainment. Baaba Maal retains an exoticism, a strangeness to his music, but can play the crowd like a corporate stadium-filler. In other words, he can do everything rock’n’roll claims to do, without resorting to the stereotypical chords and love songs that pass for punk these days. Once again, an unfamiliar music calls for a revolution that will remain unheard.
By Gareth Vile
This is a shame heading towards a disgrace, because Baaba Maal’s set at Celtic Connections could have taught most bands about flamboyant showmanship, how to integrate virtuosity into relentless funk and turn a staid concert hall on a cold Glaswegian Monday into a jubilant celebration.
This being Celtic Connections, however, the evening began gently. Jenna Cumming’s four-piece trio (sic) presents serviceable versions of Gaelic songs. At their most transcendent when reduced to unaccompanied voice, her songs are weakened by some predictable mandolin and dobro backing, which only mire the shining word-poetry. Cumming- and fellow vocalist/harpist Mary Ann Kennedy- never quite slip into twee clichés, filling the large hall with mouth music and waulking (sic) songs’ marvellous intricacies. However, more interesting arrangements might break them out of the folk circuit.
Baaba Maal starts slow- three mostly acoustic numbers, sinuous blues and winding melodies. Dressed like a king, he drapes psychedelic pastoralism in softy, silky grooves. Four drummers keep a restrained beat, the lead guitarists stands to pick out a staccato solo, while Baaba sits, moans, keens and whispers. Then he disappears.
The band reconvene. The drummers pick up funky bass and choppy guitars. A full kit thumps out a solid four beat and a talking drum rattles and punches polyrhythm. Baaba Maal rushes back on stage, his golden gown now a loose golden suit, followed by two dancers and begins a show that James Brown would have envied. He funks hard. He rocks out. Weird synthesizer noises swap melodies with hardcore, pounding drums. Maal’s voice rises above it all, swooping, howling, cajoling, seducing. Rows of seated folk fans are swaying so hard they sweat.
The Concert Hall is a terrible place for Baaba Maal: no space to dance, although the aisles soon pack out and the crowd eventually invade the stage. Samba Sene, an Edinburgh based Senegalese musician joins the band and sings along. The dancers wind up the musicians, the audience, even Baaba Maal himself with provocative, playful posturing. This is explosive, inclusive, experimental, relentless, repetitious total entertainment. Baaba Maal retains an exoticism, a strangeness to his music, but can play the crowd like a corporate stadium-filler. In other words, he can do everything rock’n’roll claims to do, without resorting to the stereotypical chords and love songs that pass for punk these days. Once again, an unfamiliar music calls for a revolution that will remain unheard.
By Gareth Vile
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