ali farka: death and the tamasheq blues

a late eulogy for the late farka toure, prompted by Tinariwen live @ NYC.

I cannot say that I’m not petrified at the thought of a silent Continent. I shudder to think that Africa’s constant sonic blast could be reduced to an impenetrable hum. Not even to a divine, primordial “ohm”, but to pure white noise, our very opposites, Sure enough, history & diaspora have proven such a thing happening to be as possible as dividing 800 million people by 0 (an asymptote that goes on forever). Remember that: “we ain’t nobodies” is the plural negative form of “I am somebody.”

But I couldn’t help but feel a moment of silence descend on the Continent two months ago, when the great Farka Toure rode a flying camel up above to say “I’m back, Maker” in tamasheq, songhai, bambara or one his many song tongues.

Ali Farka Toure dead? He of the primordial Mali blues? He of Talkin’ Timbuktu with the white slide Ry wizard? He the father of modern mali musicians? He the mersmerizing master of the djerkel? He the farmer of Niafunke?

Yes indeed, Ali Farka Toure died. And he’ll remain as dead as say, Bob Marley. Which is to say, he ain’t!

We say our thanks, we pour our libations, we hum to “Heygana” or “Diaraby” one more time because even though some of us don’t know the words, we understand them. But Ali Farka Toure’s passing in the land mass that is Mali leaves in its wake an ethno-national musical legacy in the Continent perhaps only matched by those of the Congolese crucible and the South African townships. I’m talkin’ Oumou Sangare, Toumani Diabate, Salif Keita, Cheikh Lo, Rokia Traore, and of course the present great Tinariwen.

You would understand this if you’ve ever seen or heard the great band Tinariwen, ‘the edification of the lands’, birthed from the Touareg rebel underground to become sonic heroes of the Ishoumar generation, Tinariwen’s tamasheq blues is all electric. And a basic truism: electricity is always alive.