Sahara Soul review – the true spirit of the desert

Barbican, London
Some of West Africa’s top musical talent throw an easy-going desert party, while headliner Aziza Brahim paid moving tribute to the region’s troubles

                 Cool, stately and soulful … Aziza Brahim. Photograph: Philip Ryalls/Redferns

 This concert – a celebration of west African music – is a good reminder of the troubled Sahara region’s diverse and inspiring talent. Last year’s inaugural event concentrated on Mali, but this intriguing event was broader in scope and attracted an impressive crowd, even though few of the musicians are known to British audiences.

Born in in the desolate Sahrawi refugee camps in Algeria and now based in Barcelona, headliner Aziza Brahim uses her songs to bring attention to one of Africa’s forgotten tragedies. Playing hand drums and backed by a band dominated by Spanish acoustic guitarists, who brought a flamenco and jazz edge to her Sahrawi rhythms, she gave a cool, stately and soulful set that began with Gdeim Izik, an angry protest about disputed Western Sahara.
From further south, in Mauritania, there was an impressive appearance from Noura Mint Seymali. She comes from a celebrated griot family, and played the ardine harp, typically reserved by female musicians. She has shaken up traditional styles with help from her husband, Jeiche Ould Chighaly, who accompanied her with furious and bluesy improvised electric guitar. There was another rousing British debut from Nabil Baly Othmani, a Tuareg from southern Algeria who plays the oud, and whose laid-back songs often rose to a furious crescendo.
The concert opened with an historic Tuareg supergroup, as the Malian Tartit band were joined by Othmani and members of Tamikrest, Terakaft and Tinariwen. The result was like an easy-going party in the desert, with female drummers and singers joined by slinky instrumental work from the male guitarists, and the session ending with some furious dancing. This was the true spirit of the Sahara, so it was unfortunate that the show ran long, meaning they didn’t return for the expected grand finale.

 Robin Denselow

 The Guardian, Monday 29 September 2014 15.25 BST

Remember London

Foto: Dejavu Rock Photographers

Aziza Brahim, Queen Elizabeth Hall, London 

  By Stefan Simanowitz 

“I live the life of a modern-day nomad” jokes Aziza Brahim reflecting on how she has moved from the deserts of the Sahara, to Cuba and is now based in Spain.
“But I am a Saharawi. Being nomadic is in my blood.” Her music too has something of the nomad about it as it wanders the globe picking-up Latin rhythms, bluesy rock guitar rifts and influences from Africa and Europe. But like Brahim, her music never strays too far from its roots and remains steeped in Saharawi/Hassania traditions fusing traditional rhythms and melodies with other musical genres.
She starts her set standing alone, spotlighted on the large dark stage. Accompanying herself on the t'bal (a large animal skin drum) she sings a Mulana, a gentle religious song, which allows her to give full reign to her rich and resonant voice. She is then joined on stage by five other musicians: three guitars and three drums giving raw accompaniment to Brahim’s soaring vocals.


Brahim was born in exile in a refugee camp in Algeria, her mother having carried her across the border from Western Sahara in her womb as she fled the advance of Moroccan occupying armies in 1976. Like tens of thousands of Saharawi refugees they left behind not only theirs homes but also members of their extended and immediate families. ”I never got the chance to meet my father before he died” says Brahim who’s father remained in Western Sahara. “The pain of this is carved into my spine”. She still has brothers in the so-call ‘occupied zone’ with whom the only contact she has had has been by telephone. This experience of loss, exile and separation is distilled in her music. In one moving song, Hijo de les Nubes (Song of the Clouds), she sings about the 1500 mile fortified barrier that divides Western Sahara. Known as “the Wall” it was built by the Moroccans to keep the Saharawi’s from returning to their native land and it has meant that families have been kept separate for generations.


“The songs I write are based on my own suffering” explains Brahim, “but they are also a reflection of the suffering of my people. Those living in the refugee camps, under occupation or in exile.” La tierra derrama lágrimas (The earth spills heartache) is a goose-bump inducing incantation which builds to an intense ululating climax. Another song speaks of the need for freedom of expression, both political and cultural. Indeed, Brahim has a strong sense of the importance of preserving Saharawi traditions. “Although we may all be the same under the skin, without different cultures our world would be a very torpid place.”


Despite the seriousness of her subject matter, Brahim’s music is not at all sombre. Instead, the rippling rhythms and catchy hooks are warm and uplifting. The variety and synthesis of styles (including a solitary Reggae song) is beguiling and although few in audience understand the Hassania lyrics, their power is nevertheless communicated through the music.


Earlier in the day free Western Sahara campaigners outside the concert hall had organised a pantomime camel race along the South Bank and distributed free glasses of sweet Saharawi tea to passers-by. Brahim is heartened by activities such as this and by the fact that people around the world are concerned her people’s forgotten struggle. “We didn’t deserve such injustice but I still have faith and I still have hope” she says. Greatest among Aziza Brahim’s hopes is to set foot in her homeland for the first time.

The Independent , 21-IX-2009
 

CRÓNICAS DESDE LOS CONCIERTOS: UN SAHARAUI DE PURA CEPA

Por Jose el Bidani

Gran el concierto el que se vivió anoche en Santa María del Páramo. El Sahara Occidental, África, volvieron a estar cerca del concurrido público que disfrutó en un marco íntimo a la vez que fresco. Pero el que más vivió el concierto fue, sin duda, Salama. Como él mismo se presenta, un saharaui de pura cepa, y único compratiota de Aziza viviendo y trabajando en la localidad. Regente de su propio trabajo, Salama es originario del Aaiún ocupado. Después de mucho tiempo allá, y tras haber terminado sus estudios universitarios, logró llegar a los campamentos de la RASD en Tindouf e ingresar en el ELPS (Ejército de Liberación del Pueblo Saharui). Tras el servicio en las zonas liberadas del Sahara Occidental, trabajó también en los campamentos, y como muchos otros, se vio obligado a formar parte de la diáspora saharaui.

Dentro de lo que le permitió el trabajo, que por cierto, tuvimos la suerte que estuviera al lado de la plaza, Salama nos acompañó en gran parte del concierto, en el que vibró emocionado. La bandera saharaui, delante de todo el grupo, presidió el evento. Salama escuchaba profundamente las canciones de Aziza, las poesías de su abuela, Ljadra, y al mismo tiempo, contemplaba la bandera. Aziza recorrió en su concierto todos los registros en los que fusiona, experimenta, y recrea la música saharaui. La rumba de Ali Nahuah, el reggeae de Anhelo, el blues de Mohamed Yeslem, el rock contundente de La sensación del tanque, la psicodelia africana de Ard Salam...

Arropada por su banda Gulili Mankoo, con Gonzalo a la guitarra, Segis a la darbuka y tablas, Badra en los coros y al djembeé, Carlos al bajo, Marcos a la guitarra y Richard a la batería, Aziza cantó a la situación de África, a la falta de libertad en las zonas Ocupadas del Sahara Occidental, a los paisajes de su tierra así como el carácter indómito de sus pobladores, a las gestas de los combatientes saharauis...

Cuando terminó la última canción Hamid Rabi, Salama soñó en voz alta:
- Me gustaría subir a besar la bandera.
- ¿Quién te lo impide? - le repliqué yo. Y Salama saltó hasta la bandera, la cual sintió como si estuviera tocando las arenas de su querida playa en el Aaiún, o atravesando el Tiris, o la wilaya de Smara en el refugio... Los vecinos del pueblo, conscientes de lo que eso significaba para Salama, aplaudieron con más fuerza.
- Esto es algo impagable... - y aún siendolo así para Salama, compró su CD y recibió como presente de Aziza y la banda, la bandera firmada por todo el equipo, en dedicatoria a Salama, un saharui de pura cepa.