Rokia Traoré, Cargo - music review

The voice of Mali is now a confident, powerful force at the centre of a band mixing Western and African musicians
Rokia Traore
EPA/Esteban Martinena
Simon Broughton30 May 2013

Rokia Traoré is a sculptural presence on stage — with her shaved head, figure-hugging dress and low-slung Gretsch electric guitar. She is one of the most intriguing and distinctive singers in Africa and will open the Glastonbury Festival on the Pyramid Stage next month as it pays homage to Mali, that most musical of African countries, in its times of distress.

I remember Rokia’s first London performance at Soho’s Pizza Express in 1999 and it was clear that she was going to become a star. Then her gentle, breathy voice was exquisite but vulnerable singing Mouneïssa. Although still a slight figure, she is now a confident, powerful force at the centre of a powerful band mixing Western and African musicians.

Last night was a crowded and intimate gig — a sort of album launch — before her Glastonbury performance and a much bigger London show later in the year. Her new album, Beautiful Africa, is produced by John Parish, producer of PJ Harvey, and is much rockier than anything she’s done before with four-to-the-floor drumming and lots of electric guitar.

But alongside her on stage is her formidable ngoni (desert lute) player Mamah Diabaté who dons instruments of different sizes and does some funky solos. The song Beautiful Africa is a Malian rock song referencing the problems in Mali and elsewhere in Africa. It has an anthemic power which gets the crowd responding.

The energy moves up considerably when Rokia puts her guitar aside and can move freely on stage. She’s a great mover and flings her limbs around as if electrically charged.

At the end, Rokia does a wonderful Malian-style praise song in which she name-checks and introduces the band members by name — as well as reciting what sounds like much of their family lineages! It brings the show to a tumultuous conclusion at maximum energy.

Her encore, Gloomy Sunday, made famous by Billie Holiday, brought things to a bitter-sweet close. A rare opportunity to see a star at close quarters.

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