Tamikrest at Howard Assembly Room

Our mystery Bradfordian correspondent, Walter Grumpius, went to see Tamikrest at the Howard Assembly Room …

Since reopening four years ago the Howard Assembly Room has established itself as a prime venue for those who enjoy listening to music from Africa. Amongst other stars from the continent to have performed there recently, there has been the Malian ngoni player Bassakou Kouyate with his band Ngoni Ba, the Congolese street musicians Staff Benda Bilili, the peerless kora player Toumani Diabate, and Tuareg guitar rockers Inerane. On Friday night another group of Saharan bluesmen landed on stage at the HAR.

This was Tamikrest, a seven-piece band – six Malians (though they might wish to challenge the designation) and a Frenchman – comprising three guitarists, three percussionists – who as well as the standard drum kit also attack calabashes and djembes – and female singer Wonou Walat Sidati, who shares vocals with lead guitarist and the group’s songwriter, Ousmane Ag Mossa. That Wonou was once a member of the pioneering Tuareg band Tinariwen should help to triangulate the sound that Tamikrest makes, though the presence of a French rhythm guitarist Paul Salvagnac does seem to bring something fresh to the party, a sort of funkier, rockier underlay, moving the genre (as someone –I forget who – has suggested) from “desert blues” towards “desert rhythm and blues”. The drummer in particular seemed excited by this trajectory and really went to work on the last song before the encore, the tongue-entanglingly entitled Achaka Achail Aynaian Dagchilan, in what became a rather tiresomely protracted high speed jam.

That apart, it was an enjoyable evening. The imperatives of work meant that I missed the support act, Tarq Bowen (sorry, Tarq) but had first go at the interval bar where, needless to say, what was on offer was lager, albeit the Leeds Brewery’s not entirely unpalatable Leodis. To go into rant mode: note to bar managers at music venues – some music lovers also love good beer!

But back to the music. Most of the tunes were familiar from Tamikrest’s recently released CD, Chatma. The title translates as “Sisters” and as I think Ousmane explained – in French, so my comprehension was limited – the songs were inspired by the strength women bring to the hard struggle for life in the desert, whether it be the daily mundanities or the harsher exigencies of war and surviving as a refugee. It is the women who hold the community together. I think that’s what he said anyway. On the only other occasion during the concert when Ousmane attempted a lengthy introduction to a song, he wisely employed one of his percussionists who had a smattering of English to translate. When songwriters take the trouble to explain the suffering that informs a song one is almost obliged to contemplate the disjuncture between their anxieties and privations and the comfortable Friday evening relaxation of an audience enjoying some undemanding music. And in a sense there is a double distance because of the barrier of not understanding a word of the Tamashek language.

The importance of lyrics to the appreciation of music has often been debated. Is it the voice as musical instrument that is the important thing? I don’t think I could enjoy, say, Leonard Cohen if his lyrics were in Tamashek. Strong as his melodies are and the excellence of his band of musicians is, something would be irreparably lost if the words were incomprehensible. And yet the joy one derives from listening to great African bands such as OK Jazz, Les Wanyika, The Rail Band, Bembeya Jazz, Star Band de Dakar and many others occurs in spite of the impenetrability of the lyrics; there is something in the soulfulness of the voices that creates its own meaning.

Also, whilst it is plain wrong to talk of African music as though it is an homogeneous genre, if there is one thing that identifies most of it – whatever emotion it is conveying – it is that it is primarily and pre-eminently intended to get you on your feet. It is rarely a ‘sit down and listen politely’ kind of music. This leads me to my one criticism of the Howard Assembly Room as a venue. It is a handsome space, has great acoustics and an enviably varied and imaginative programme. But when you have a high-energy African act, please remove at least some of the seats. The seating is compact. It is difficult to stand up and dance on the spot as well as disruptive to the view of folk sat behind; it is inconvenient to clamber over people to get to the side aisles and, once sat down, a self-conscious person is usually disinclined to be the first person to get up to dance. So encourage dancing from the outset by reducing the number of seats. For the Tamikrest gig I followed my own advice and stood in one of the side aisles from the start and though I wouldn’t wish to do violence to the language by describing my foot tapping and hip swaying as dancing, nonetheless I felt a lot more comfortable than if I had been confined to a seat.

There was much to relish about the concert. One of my favourite vocal motifs is call and response and Tamikrest do this well with Ousmane’s lead occasionally vulnerable and tremulous as perhaps befits the lyrical content whilst the response, with Wonan’s voice strong and dominant, is utterly compelling and then when the guitars take off with irresistible gusto and nano-second timing, the capacity of music to conduct and radiate pure joy is manifested by Wonan’s thrilled and thrilling ululation. Nor was it all about high-speed electric guitars. On a couple of songs, these were eschewed for acoustic instruments and although these added shading and variegation, they were not their strongest performances. If you would like to hear them, the current CD, which is well-worth the trouble and is likely to be available at Jumbo’s, is called Chatma and was released by the Glitterbeat label (GBCD 007).