"Debe"

Ali Farka Toure points out in a heartfelt sleeve note that it is rare to find musicians from such different cultures collaborating in Mali.  This is especially true of the northern desert traditions Ali has devoted his musical life to, and the sometimes exclusive world of Mande griots in which Toumani was nurtured.  On top of that, there is the grandeur of these particular figures:  Ali, the quintessential “African bluesman,” legendary champion of northern music, and worldwide icon of African guitar; and Toumani, commonly acclaimed by those in the know as the greatest living player of the demanding, 21-string West African harp, the kora.  Ali and Toumani inhabit the top tier of Mali’s musical pantheon, and yet there is an endearing father/son dynamic at play between them, with Ali having entered music in part under the tutelage of Toumani’s father Sidiki, and having known Toumani literally since the kora maestro’s infancy.  Ali writes that Sidiki taught him the classic Mande repertoire back in the 1950s and 60s, and the songs of that era dominate here.  Indeed, thought this is not the genre Ali is best known for, classic Made fare was the music that first inspired him to pick up a guitar back in 1956.  Add to this compelling story line the lush, rich sound recording achieved by World Circuit’s secret weapon—engineer Jerry Boys—and this release is automatically one for the history books. 

The opening track, “Debe,” is slow, magisterially elegant and blooming with the cultural pride that graces the best Malian music.  It establishes a serene, respectful mood and in many ways encapsulates the entire encounter.  What follows is not so much development as recapitulation.  The seduction of Ali’s warmly clanging, steel-string guitar accompaniments and Toumani’s carefully restrained bursts of virtuoso kora riffing works its magic and you simply linger in their sonic spell for the remainder of an hour.  “Naweye Toro” breaks form slightly with a 12/8 triplet lope, and “Kadi Kadi” amps up the energy level with the only quick tempo in the set.  For the most part, though, we get relaxed, 2-chord, Mande vamps with Toumani taking almost all the solos, and the two musicians basking in each others’ resplendent auras.

The story goes that the artists’ lives served as rehearsal for their one-of-a-kind encounter.  Nothing was discussed or arranged.  “I never rehearse when it comes to music,” says Ali in his note.  This is both the recording’s charm and its shortcoming.  The embrace of spirit and sound here is powerful, and for many listeners, probably more than enough.  But those familiar with the full body of these artists’ work will be forgiven for wanting more.  At the end of the CD, there is one Songhai number, “Gomni,” and a sweet, Dogon song, “Hawa Dolo,” both standards in Ali’s repertoire.  But what a thrill it would have been to hear these two tackle some of the dark, bluesy material that is the emotional core of Ali’s art.  What if Toumani had been forced to retune his kora to deal with unfamiliar, northern modes?  What if Ali had worked up a real solo on one or two of the Mande numbers, so that we could savor his voice as an improviser?  And what if he had in fact sung in that silvery, world-weary rasp of his, as he does just once, tepidly, on the Cuban tinged “Ai Ga Bani?”  As it is, ease—not stretching—is the order of the day, and history is made on that basis:  two musical kings in a friendly, back-porch jam for the ages. 

Finally, if there is any production flaw here, it is the utterly unnecessary addition of keyboard, guitar, percussion and bass overdubs, some by Ry Cooder and his son Joachim.  These are at best harmless, and at worst distracting and muddying.  The encounter should have been left to stand as it was, honest and unadorned.  Happily, these afterthoughts are for the most part, easily ignored.