Oumou Sangare

Oumou Sangare performed to a sold-out house at NYC's Symphony Space on Sunday, November 16. One of Mali's most prestigious pop artists, she is among a growing number of Africans who tackle political and social problems through their music. Her lyrics challenge gender oppression in an extremely traditional Islamic society even though she is an observant Muslim herself.

Her band performs in the Wassoulou style of Mali, but incorporates the sort of international influences that have been shaping African popular music for the past half-century. Guitar and bass players lay down a steady pattern of Santana-like riffs, yet adhere to a local five-note scale with a distinctively Arabic feeling. Mali's musical traditions, as well as her Islamic faith, were imports of successive waves of northern conquerors over the ages. The other string player is a master of the kamalengoni, a six-string traditional "hunter's harp" with a dry and percussive sound that defines the Wassoulou sound. It is a much of a signature for this style of music as the accordion is for Cajun music, or the castanets are for flamenco. A conga player keeps up a steady Latin beat (Afro-Cuban music has been a strong influence on African music since the 1950s) while two female backup singers help to keep rhythm with calabashes. A flute player rounds out the ensemble.

Sangare's magnificent voice soared above the band's powerful ostinato, Arabic-inflected beat. The statuesquely beautiful vocalist developed a powerful rapport with the audience almost immediately. The 27 year old singer has been performing on-stage since the age of six and exudes supreme self-confidence. Her first professional gig was with the prestigious National Ensemble of Mali, a training ground for many of Mali's greatest artists. Shortly afterward in 1986 she decided to start her own band as a vehicle for the Wassoulou style.

The Wassoulou region in the south of Mali suffered from a globalization-related economic crisis in the 1980s. People began to express their discontent through music. Malian music, like much of the music of Islamic West Africa, had devoted itself in the past largely to obsequious praise of traditional elders and religious figures, not unlike court music in feudal Western Europe. Wassoulou artists rejected this tradition entirely and regional elders regarded them as subversive upstarts.

Sangare's latest CD "Worotan" appeared this year on the Nonesuch label. A worotan is the bride-price of 10 kola nuts given by a groom's parents to parents of the bride. The irony-laden song challenges the traditional submissive role of the wife in Malian society:

"Young brides, be careful when you first go to your husband's house For everywhere there are traps to test you Dear young wives, once you are living with your husband's family Do not touch the money that you see under the mattress when you are doing housework It's there to test you My Dear Little Sister, once you are living with your husband Do not touch the milk at the back of the village hut without permission All of this is there to test you In your husband's house, do not eat the meat from the cooking pot without permission It's there to test you Marriage is a test of endurance because The bride price of a mere 10 kola nuts turns the bride into a slave Your parents will tell you that once you live with your husband Treat your parents in law as if they were your own For it will show your good upbringing."

The Malian members of the Symphony Space audience responded heartily to Sangare's songs, especially the women who probably were calling out something like "preach sister!" in Bamana, Mali's main language. The band invited the audience to come up to the stage and dance with them. At first only Malians accepted the invitation, but eventually white New Yorkers joined them in an awkward rendition of the didadi. This is a high-stepping Wassoulou dance usually performed with a scarf in each hand. Many audience members, both black and white, showed their respect by scattering money at the feet of the musicians.

Since Sangare spoke in French, the English-speaking members of the audience unfortunately could not understand the pointed remarks that preceded each song as a running narrative on Mali's joys and sadness. French colonization of Mali was characteristically brutal and exploitative. Its "gift" to the country was a smattering of French culture, including the language. Although Mali is today one of the poorest countries in the world today, it once was home to the Mandinka empire. It ruled most of West Africa in the 1400's through the leverage afforded by control of vital gold trade routes to the north. It was during this period that Mali's most famous city Timbuktu became a center of wealth and learning. The Moroccan scholar Ibn Batuta, who had travelled in China and India, described Timbuktu as "one of the most beautiful and best constructed cities in the world." In a work directed to an Italian audience in the early 16th century, Leo Africanus wrote, "Here in Timbuktu there is a big market for manuscript books from the Berber countries, and more profit is made from sale of these books than from any other merchandise."

In the 15th century Mali fell to the Songhai peoples from the Niger region to her East. They ruled until the end of the 16th century, when their empire weakened under internal pressures and finally succumbed to Moroccan invaders. The end of the Songhai empire also marked the conclusion of Mali's strategic role as a trading center and the end of one of West Africa's great civilizations. Centuries later when France set up a colonial prison-house in the West Africa, it met bloody resistance. Very few traditional elders would step forward to act as puppets, so France attempted to smash traditional social institutions and rule directly. Smoldering resentment persisted through the 20th century until France had to grant formal freedom to the African territories.

Mali today is a desperately poor nation. The World Bank ranks it 18th lowest in basic socioeconomic indicators, just above Haiti and below Nigeria. The per capita income was $550 per year in 1995, the life expectancy rate was a mere 50 years and 69 percent of the population was illiterate.

Not only is it poor, it is undemocratic. Artists such as Sangare have to worry about stepping beyond the bounds of accepted political discourse. Another famous Malian artist, Salif Keita, is a severe critic of the government. His desire is for a return to the traditional ways. In an interview he said, "If you want to see the African people, you have to walk the traditional way. You see Africa, but what is it? It's the people. That's why I met the hunter's society and they are good people. They don't care about money. Everything comes from their hearts."

Sangare's Wassoulou style celebrates this vision of life as well. The kamalengoni symbolizes the rural life of hunting and farming. Unfortunately, globalization has destroyed the objective conditions for such a life, just as French colonialism did a generation ago. It would be expecting too much of Mali's great musicians to come up with a solution to these problems, when the socialist and radical movement internationally has failed to do so as well. All we can expect from them is to follow Oumou Sangare's example, an artist of uncommon integrity, power and beauty.

Louis Proyect