The Place of Live Recordings - Songlines Soapbox

First published in Songlines Magazine issue 133, December 2017.



On April 7, 1968 at the Westbury Music Fair in New York, Nina Simone performed a new song called ‘Why? (The King of Love is Dead)’. Written by bassist Gene Taylor and taught to the band just that afternoon, the song was a response to the assassination of Martin Luther King, which occurred just three days earlier. It is a 13-minute exploration of sadness, anger and solidarity, performed by the immaculate Dr Simone. It pulsates with emotion and power. The song was never recorded in a studio; it didn’t need to be. The show was recorded live and this first rendition was perfect. It has become known as one of Simone’s greatest pieces.

I have been playing that song almost daily over the last few weeks, so of course it’s right at the top of my mind. But I’ve also been listening to some not-so-good concert albums lately too, and these joint experiences have got me thinking about the place that live albums occupy in our record collections.

There have been amazing live albums through the years that have become essential additions to any collection; some concert-recorded versions of pieces have even become definitive over those from the studio – Bob Marley’s ‘No Woman No Cry’ is a prime example. But when you think about it, the live recording is a rather strange phenomenon.

It’s because the quality of live albums can hardly ever stack up to that of studio albums. First of all, the musicianship on display at a gig is rarely at the same standard. In a studio, an artist can spend days recording the same pieces over and over again and that will necessarily yield near-perfect performances, but if you have just the one chance and one take to record a concert, then the rough edges of a performance will be there to hear forever. And then there’s the sound quality: until recently, live recordings have usually sounded far inferior to those made in-studio. An exciting stage presence and a large, unpadded room makes setting up microphones a less precise science than in the controlled environment of a recording studio. It means that the end results are often noisy or muddy-sounding, instruments don’t sound as sparkly as they should do, and lyrics are harder to discern. That’s not even mentioning the dreaded feedback that still manages to find its way onto albums now and then.

Nevertheless, we love them. The live recording has an enduring popularity. Many artists release live material at some point, whether as an album, as bonus tracks or as special downloads. If they never get released, there are always bootlegs floating about. So…why?

Watching an amazing concert is one of the pinnacles of being a music fan. When everything lines up just right – the music is excellent, the crowd is up for it and the chemistry between the artist and their audience is flowing – it is simply a sublime experience. It’s the reason why the received wisdom is that most bands have to be seen live to fully understand their music. It is natural, then, that both artists and fans want to capture and relive this feeling in some way. But surely reliving only works when the listener went to that specific concert (or at the very least, the same tour). What about everyone else?

It may well be something deeper than our conscious opinions on the quality of art. Maybe live recordings trigger a more instinctive reflex of our animal brains; a subliminal reaction to the unnaturalness of multi-tracked recordings. Perhaps our brains recognise the ‘uncanny valley’ aspect of a piece of music made by musicians who do not occupy the same physical or temporal space as one another. The live album is a reaction against that: music as it was meant to be made ‘naturally’, a group of people communicating communally with each other through sound and song. It is, as humans tend to strive towards, an authentic (as opposed to synthetic) experience.

And humans love to be part of something. It’s one of the thrills of being at a great gig. Audience and artists all experiencing the same moment together, collectively and socially, and that’s a special thing. Live albums can’t replicate it thoroughly (you can’t get that unique heat or smell of a close crowd, especially if they’re in dance mode), but it does let you imbibe some of that same feeling, receiving an amount of that same connection to the artist in their most heartfelt moments. It tells some quiet part in the back of your brain that you are part of this very special group who understands this music in a very special way.

For all their flaws, it could be that we just like it that way. It’s those imperfections that make it sound natural and communal to us. The latest album of a shall-remain-unnamed West African artist was stitched together from material from several dates of a tour. Listening to it, I realised that something about it seemed not quite right. I’d heard all of the pieces before and I felt I knew these versions. These were live recordings, but the sound quality was so good, the audience so quiet in the mix and obviously the best takes used that it didn’t have the live vibe at all. The tracks just sounded like re-recordings of those I already knew.

It seems to me like we crave that imperfection. To err is human, after all. When we hear that not every note is spot-on, when the sound is a bit off and there is a slight bubble of crowd noise in the background, it reassures us that the musicians are real people, and that our emotional connection to them and their music is well-placed.

So, basically: live recordings have to be bad to be good. Within reason, obviously. But so what? Let’s revel the bizarreness of our human brains and enjoy good music, bad or otherwise! After all, some of it may be the best recordings ever made.


Photo: Nina Simone, by Victor Pineda. Used under licence CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Toko Telo - Toy Raha Toy

First published in Songlines Magazine issue 133, December 2017.

Toko Telo
Toy Raha Toy
Anio Records (36 mins)

Toko Telo means ‘Group of Three’ in Malagasy, and indeed, the band is a super-trio of Madagascar’s top-level musical stars: D’Gary, Monika Njava and Régis Gizavo. With three of the country’s most well-known artists on one record, the high level of musicianship on display is no surprise.

The interplay between D’Gary’s choppy, valiha-like guitar and Gizavo’s thoughtful accordion is tight but relaxed, and with the soulful voice of Monika Njava and the group’s gentle three-part harmonies, they sound much bigger than a trio while still keeping an intimate atmosphere. The title track gives the best example, with each musician shining on their own as part of the whole.

The music on offer here isn’t quite as dancey as a lot of Malagasy music; there are quite a few laid-back pieces across the album. The sun shines through on every track though, whether the subject is raunchy or rueful.

Sadly, Gizavo never got to see the release of this album, as he passed away in July. This lends the album a bittersweet edge, but Toy Raha Toy nevertheless serves as a great memorial for the veteran musician. Toko Telo have promised continue in 2018, keeping Gizavo’s legacy alive.

Oumou Sangaré - WOMEX 17 Artist Award

First published in the WOMEX – World Music Expo 2017 delegate guide.



It’s a special artist that can stand out from the crowd in a country with as many musical heroes as Mali. It’s an extra special artist that can be a superstar in both their own culture and around the world. That’s exactly what Oumou Sangaré does. When she performed at WOMEX 1995, we called her ‘one of the few true stars to come out of the world music movement’. More than 20 years later, our movement has had more global stars but Oumou has remained bright among them.

Oumou Sangaré takes a special aura wherever she goes. Even if she’s working silently in a corner, her presence fills the room and everyone seems to orbit around her. She is regal, and when she opens her mouth to sing, everything makes sense. Her voice shimmers and soars above the audience, showering them with emotions and taking on many shapes and colours. One moment delicate and gentle, the next roaring and fizzing with electricity.

Oumou’s grandmother was a famous singer in the Wassoulou region of southern Mali, and that baton passed to Oumou’s mother when she moved to the capital city Bamako. Of course, Oumou was never far behind, kindling her interest: “I was always there with my mother when I was little. I sang at weddings, baptisms, I was learning all the time. That’s when I fell in love with music.” Even though she was small, her voice was big. When she was only six years old, she won a country-wide singing competition in front of 3,000 people in Bamako Stadium, dressing up and performing as her hero Coumba Sidibe.

Her transformation from child singer to next-big-thing did not take long. Her voice made her the main breadwinner of the family by the time she was twelve. After being persuaded to record a tape, it sold more than 250,000 copies, was picked up by World Circuit Records and released worldwide in 1991, catapulting her into international fame – all by the time Oumou was just 22. She has since released four more albums and a critically-acclaimed retrospective. The rest of her time is spent touring the globe, tending to business concerns, organising festivals and undertaking community projects.

Oumou’s music itself is very special. Throughout the years, her sound has encompassed every form of Wassoulou pop, and pushed boundaries too. Her range stretches from down-to-earth styles using only traditional instruments, to fully funked-up renditions with synthesisers, drum kits and full horn and string sections. It’s part of how she has been able to command such huge and diverse fanbases. “We’ve got a culture that is very rich and can adapt to all cultures of the world,” she says, “Mali has a super rhythm, and I have always kept the origins of that rhythm, I always keep the traditional instruments. When I collaborate with people, they will bring their own music. But I never take anything away from my music. Always the kamalengoni (harp), always the karignan (scraper), always the djabara (shaker).”

Oumou’s power comes not just from her amazing music, but the messages she uses it to convey. As a child, watching her mother suffer in a polygamous marriage, surrounded by jealousy and distrust, Oumou vowed to make a change in any way she could. That way was through song: her lyrics are unceasing with their support for women’s rights and fierce criticism of abuses wherever she sees them. Topics she explores include polygamous and forced marriage, the place of women within the home and family, and female sexuality and sensuality. Scandalous stuff in a conservative society, but these points are the core of her work. “I am the most proud that I have been able to denounce injustice, that I have got strong values. I have been able to stand up for Malian women and street children. I am proud to speak on behalf of African women. I take my energy from that.”

At the beginning, she was not universally loved. Older men in particular were annoyed by her; she was upsetting societal rules that had stood for hundreds of years. But the women got it, and agreed, and the young men soon came around too. Now Oumou’s concerts are full of both women and men who love her music and support her message. Although she sings primarily in Bamana, her words reach far beyond Mali. They are heard throughout Africa and the world. Attached to her irresistible voice and supreme musicality, her messages and lyrics have been translated widely. “When I release an album, it is a big occasion for women in Africa. Not just in Mali – the whole of Africa! Of course not just the women are happy, but the men too.” Her ability to touch hearts and minds even surprises herself sometimes: once, arriving at a Mexican airport, she was greeted by a delegation of 400 women. “I said, ‘Why are you here? You don’t know who I am!’, but they all knew my songs and the meanings of my lyrics, and they were very important to them.”

Oumou is tireless in her actions to improve society: she owns the first hotel in Bamako to cater specifically to people from Wassoulou; she runs a farm where she grows her own-brand ‘Oumou Sangaré Rice’; she was even the first to import decent, affordable cars into the country, known as ‘Oum Sang’ cars. All of these have the aim to make life better for Malian people. In 2016, she founded the first international festival in Wassoulou, to promote the region’s music within Mali and abroad.

It is the theme throughout her life: she uses any tools she can – extraordinary music, international connections, business acumen – to improve lives both short- and long-term. To honour her dedication to activism and advocacy for the underprivileged in Mali and beyond, her exciting and innovative developments in Wassoulou music and her longevity as an internationally-beloved star, we present the WOMEX 17 Artist Award to Oumou Sangaré.

Special thanks to Jenny Adlington for translating the interview.

Photo: Oumou Sangaré receives the WOMEX 17 Artist Award, by Yannis Psathas.

Petr Dorůžka - WOMEX 17 Professional Excellence Award

First published in the WOMEX – World Music Expo 2017 delegate guide.



It is common that some of the best journalists escape notice. Their writing works to channel their subjects in such a captivating way that it makes a direct contact with the audience. It’s an important skill, but it often renders the work of the journalist as part of the background. But arts journalism, in particular, is not just an invisible, honed skill for the entertainment of its audience; it is also one of the integral gears in our machine, opening our eyes and ears to music and culture that would otherwise have never reached us. For this reason, it is important that we honour journalists for their crucial work. Petr Dorůžka is a shining example of the role that great journalists play.

When Petr was growing up, his father was already celebrated in the Czech music scene as the country’s premier jazz expert. Lubomír Dorůžka’s career in journalism started clandestinely during the Nazi occupation, publishing illicit magazines with the latest news from the jazz world. Being brought up in that environment, it is little surprise that the young Petr gained the same enthusiasm for music. His father was that early influence, “especially in realising the importance of music,” Petr says. “When I was a teenager, I remember he had to leave our skiing vacation and return to Prague to stage a concert with Ella Fitzgerald.”

Such influence notwithstanding, Petr’s tastes were different. His personal musical journey started with Frank Zappa, Bob Dylan, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Velvet Underground. The sort of bands you would imagine for someone coming of age in the 1960s. The difference was that most of these artists, world-famous as they were, had not yet managed to reach many ears in what was then communist Czechoslovakia. That urge to tell people and talk about exciting bands eventually led to the start of his journalism. His first experiences of writing were about off-kilter, less well-known rock artists. Like many of his generation, Petr came to ‘world music’ (before such an idea existed) through the Beatles, or, more specifically, George Harrison, through the film of his 1971 Concert for Bangladesh, which featured North Indian classical music: “I remember watching [Indian sarod player] Ali Akbar Khan. To play classical music and smile on stage – that was such a sweet shock 50 years ago.”

From that spark a passion ignited and the direction of his work reflected it. Now he is well-known for his world music programmes on Czech national radio, as well as writing for many publications and maintaining his own website full of material. His work is always meticulously researched – no fake news here! – and with clear passion and knowledge. It is obvious why he is regarded as the leading expert in world music within the Czech Republic. His expertise and reputation have led to him becoming a member of many important panels in world music – he has been a part of the World Music Charts Europe almost since its inception (he came on board in 1992), has served in fRoots Magazine’s critics’ poll since 2001, and several times on the jury of the Sayan Ring festival in Siberia…as well as serving as one of WOMEX’s 7 Samurai in 2007.

Petr doesn’t see the journalists’ place in the musical party as in their own bubble, observing the various happenings but never deigning to interfere. Instead he sees them as part of a wider group, bound by a common cause. Into this group he puts eclectic radio DJs such as John Peel and Charlie Gillett, as well as researchers/producers such as Francis Falceto and David Lewiston: “In general, [journalists are] people who build bridges between as yet unknown music and the adventurous audience. We should also include artists like Sam Lee. When he sings old travellers' songs, in between the lines we read: here are the values that should be respected!”

At the core of journalism is a delight in giving people new information – whether to excite and tantalise or to expand world-views and pose interesting questions. With this outlook, it is natural that Petr is also an educator. He approaches this role with that same delight as his journalism, bringing new aural and cerebral experiences to his students. He developed the course entitled ‘World Music for Non-Musicians’ at Univerzita Karlova in Prague. “I wanted to offer a kind of ‘cultural vocabulary’, explain how specific genres function in the original context, and offer a key how to understand them. David Lewiston once said: "I think of an ethnomusicologist as someone who takes wonderful music and analyses it until all the joy has been lost." In my lectures I wanted to issue a warning against this method, and present the music in a more friendly way.” And the passing on of musical knowledge is not just Petr’s job, it is his life. He is now the middle rung of a celebrated musical family. While he and his father found their acclaim in the journalistic spheres, Petr’s son David Dorůžka is considered one of the Czech Republic’s foremost jazz guitarists – in fact he will be performing at WOMEX 17 with Marta Topferova & Milokraj.

Petr is a well-known and well-loved face in the world music community. In honouring the journalists in our own branch of the music world, his name can never be far from the lips. The high esteem in which he is held across the scene is both hard-earned and much deserved, yet he retains a profound and genuine modesty. In that way, he represents those deeply committed but often little-noticed communicators that open ears around the world. It is for all these reasons that Petr Dorůžka is an ideal recipient of the WOMEX 17 Professional Excellence Award.


Photo: Petr Dorůžka receives the WOMEX 17 Professional Excellence Award, by Yannis Psathas.

Fanfan - Séga Ravanne

First published in Songlines Magazine issue 132, November 2017.

Fanfan
Séga Ravanne
Ocora Radio France (58 mins)

This is the latest re-release from Ocora’s wonderful and extensive catalogue of field recordings from around the world, stretching back 60 years. Séga Ravanne was originally released in 1999. When it was made, this was Fanfan’s very first recording, made in his own living room in 1998. The production of the album is typical of Ocora’s style: it’s simple and down-to-earth, as if you are there in the room, Fanfan singing directly to you.

His style is sega, developed hundreds of years ago in Mauritius by African slaves as a way to keep their culture intact and spread news as well as to forget their cares. Although the style became creolised – it’s now sung mainly in local French – it still holds much importance to Afro-Mauritians as a symbol of resistance.

Fanfan’s songs reflect sega’s origins: there is social commentary, political reportage and gossip, as well as folk stories, advice and morality tales. These he sings in his sweet, old voice, accompanied only by himself on his homemade ravanne, a large, low-pitched circular frame drum that bringing to mind the drums of the Arabian Peninsula.

Séga Ravanne is a lovely album of traditional music as it has been played for perhaps centuries, performed by a master.

Cory Seznec - Backroad Carnival

First published in Songlines Magazine issue 132, November 2017.

Cory Seznec
Backroad Carnival
Captain Pouch Records (42 mins)

Cory Seznec first made waves as part of the wonky American roots group Groanbox and has since cropped up in many bands including the recent Ethiopian-Malian fusion group Damakase. After living in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia for the last three years, creating and fermenting his musical ideas, Backroad Carnival sees him jump back into his solo work.

The album features a grab-bag of styles and influences from his own roots and travels. Blues and country music are the prevailing sounds, but the style shifts on every track, from the Tom Waitsian opening number, to country pop and Scottish folk flavours later on.

Most of the songs take inspiration from Seznec’s experiences in Ethiopia and his journeys throughout Africa, but there is surprisingly little musical influence from these cultures in the music. There are only little ripples of Congolese guitar here, the occasional West African percussion there, and none of the recognisable scales or rhythms of his adopted home of Ethiopia. The music is really at its best when the rootsy blues is the main focus of the song, such as the piece ‘Sell You My Soul’, which also includes some tasty blues harpistry from David Chalumeau.

Ramon Goose - Long Road to Tiznit

First published in Songlines Magazine issue 132, November 2017.

Ramon Goose
Long Road to Tiznit
Riverboat Records (37 mins)

Blues guitarist and serial collaborator Ramon Goose, most recently heard with the West African Blues Project, is back with a solo album. As the title suggests, this was formulated on his journey from Marrakech to Tiznit, building upon his experiments with Senegalese blues by adding Moroccan influences. Not that he’s left the collabs behind. Guest slots here feature guitarist Justin Adams and British-Indian singer Najma Akhtar, as well as local Moroccan musicians.

A theme of travel threads through the album, its songs tracing journeys across the Sahara and the Sahel. Goose bends his guitar around several styles from the region along the way, from Berber and Tuareg sounds from the north to mbalax in Senegal, via Songhai blues and Mauritanian tones too.

The album works best when the African elements – be they Moroccan or Senegalese – come closer to the fore, as in the track ‘Futa’, featuring the Wolof vocals of Abdoulaye Samb, but too often they drift into a piece only to drift out again. There are interesting sounds and combinations here – the mix of Baroque folk and Yazid Fentazi’s Algerian oud on ‘Marrakech Sunset’, for example – but they don’t quite reach the mark on every occasion.