Azam Ali's voice is pure, clear, lilting as it ebbs and flows through the graceful arches, elegant phrases and achingly poignant melodies of her fifth album. Essentially a collection of lullabies she collected and created after the birth of her son, From Night draws from and builds on traditional songs of Ali's native Iran and elsewhere in the Middle East, setting them to swelling strings, dramatic zithers and the occasional electro beat. The album is gorgeous, eerie and yet somehow comforting -- everything a good lullaby should be.
Think you know Afro-pop? Sia Tolno begs to differ, and she'll convince you in just four tracks. My Life bursts open with the belching saxes of "Blamah Blamah," full of rippling marimbas and uncontainable joy. Then "Odju Watcha" throws on some ringing, sunnily politicized classic Afro-pop. Then "Di Ya Leh" makes you think with its quiet interlocking guitars and soulful grace. Finally, the title track breaks your heart and puts it back together with a wistful accordion and Tolno's swooping, hopeful sob. The rest of this Guinean singer's autobiographical album is, if not as gut-grabbing, just as delightful.
Merrill Garbus treats every instrument, including her voice, like a treasure she eagerly excavated from a junkyard -- one man's drums, sax and ukulele are another woman's means to experiment. The core of tUnE-yArDs, Garbus is nearly impossible to pinpoint; her influences run from hip-hop to funk to R&B to free jazz to Nina Simone. One minute she's yelling out intriguing philosophies, the next she's sweetly chirping like a bird at sunrise, the next she's a "don't take sh*t from you" kind of woman. She articulates it all with a keen pop sense even as beats tumble, horns rumble and chaos erupts.
Talk about 50 and fabulous. Amr Diab has been a huge pop star for decades now, and he's not showing any signs of slowing down. Banadeek Ta'ala is packed full of vibrant, vivacious tracks in a staggering array of pop styles. From shimmering, house-inflected dance-pop to hip-swaying Latin (the Ricky Martin-invoking "Yareet Senk"), from bits of Spanish guitar to the straight-up old-school disco of "Aghla Min Omry," Diab kills just about every one, claiming ownership of each with oud licks, mournful Middle Eastern melody lines and sexy, youthful vigor. Just think of him as the Egyptian Madonna.
Fans of Manu Chao (or Amadou & Mariam, whose son is in SMOD) will find plenty to love on SMOD's first international release, which has both the literal and aesthetic stamp of those global pop greats written all over it. Produced by Chao and written on A&M's terrace, SMOD trades in glistening, folk-infused Afropop. At times it's difficult to distinguish their gorgeous, rippling guitars, kora-inspired rhythms and strong, soft lyricism from the work of their predecessors. But the group sets itself apart by incorporating a gentle hip-hop aesthetic.
Nation Beat is a bit of a misnomer for a band that's all about tracing unusual connections across geopolitical boundaries. Or, to put it another way, what this Brazilian-American outfit does is create a nation of beats that encompasses Brazilian urban and country music, musics of the American southwest (like Western swing and country) and New Orleans jazz and brass bands. Sound like a crazy, chaotic party in your ears? It is, but it works. Cuts like "Hook and Sling" (a blues-rock breakdown with a zydeco heart and samba soul) and jazz gumbo "Sumiço Do Urucu" feel both groundbreaking and homey.
Senegal's Cheikh Lo has always assembled his Afro-pop from the crisscrossing cultural circuitry in Western Africa. But after two albums that didn't quite measure up to his acclaimed debut, Jamm finally gets back to Lo's core talent: swirling that heady mix into a cohesive sound that's palatable and, in his own soft-hewn way, polished and passionate. The rolling drums of mbalax intermingle with guest Pee Wee Ellis' warm sax, driving Afrobeat, the occasional dose of dub and soukous, and other Afro-Cuban strains -- "Seyni," the first song Lo ever performed in public, is particularly pleasant.
Swirling currents of often unexpected sound (subtle horns here, surf rock licks there). Vintagey guitars and dubby, scratched-out beats. A globe-trotting aesthetic that jets from Afro-pop to Manu Chao. And nary a synth! Garifuna music has never sounded so ... hip -- or so unlike Garifuna music. It would be easy to assume this "cooling" is the doings of Sub Pop, which released Laru Beya as the second-ever album on their world imprint. But in Martinez's masterful hands, it sounds more like an evolution -- the heralding of a new, exciting era for the distinctive, diasporic Garifuna tradition.
Fela Kuti is the household name, but Nigeria wasn't the only African funk scene going in the 1960s. In Benin, El Rego et ses Commandos instigated their own funk movement, called "jerk," but their recordings were mostly lost to all but the most diligent crate-diggers -- until now. This comp repositions the band at a crossroads where global politics, American soul and African pop intermingled in a heady, heavy brew. You'll hear echoes of JB (grunts and all) but also plenty of African elements, like the Orisha-haunted bell pattern of "Vive Le Renouveau" and the close harmonies of "Kpon Fi La."
The kid who inherited Dad's legendary band at 14 is grown up and finally blazing his own trail. Or, rather, slashing and burning his trail. Gone are the meandering grooves of his debut; From Africa With Fury (that title alone should win an award) jumps in and starts blowing things up with the fierce "African Soldier." And every cut after that ignites a similarly pointed fire stoked by Africa 80's always-radiant sound, each sax burst like a knife, the bass curling each lyric into a snarl. Taking on corruption at local and global levels, Kuti's critiques are piercing and furiously funky.
Mamani Keita used to sing backup for Salif Keita, and their musical compatibility is apparent in Mamani's reedy, clear voice, a kind of shimmer that coats much of her second solo album, aong with a penchant for experimentalism. Backed by French producer Nicolas Repac, Gagner employs sounds both expected on an Afro-pop album--waterfalling koras, chugging electric guitars--and not so expected, like a Chinese erhu or a Klezmer clarinet. Mamani's strong, smooth, even-keel voice is unwavering (if ever-so-slightly one-dimensional), whatever the stylistic scenario. The title track is captivating.
Mali Denhou is a densely layered cross-cultural conversation that draws diasporic connections between harmonicas and balafons, between country-blues licks and Mandingo folk traditions. Also very present are Traore's legendary masterful musicianship, innovative spirit and desire both to preserve and to create African musical traditions What more should we expect from this self-taught musician who created his own African folk-blues hybrid? Don't miss the rolling, sweltering title track.
Dedicated to (and named in honor of) guitarist Brent Hinds' brother, who died of a heart attack while on a hunting trip in December 2010, The Hunter is the Atlanta-based prog metal band's fifth record, and their first since 2002's Remission that is not a concept album. Featuring stolid, mid-tempo riffs and the careening seaworthy rhythms that made Leviathan an all-encompassing experience, The Hunter finds Mastodon returning to the simpler structures and all-out heaviness of their beginnings.
Sidi Toure comes from an upper-class Songhai family about whom songs have been written, but against whom he had to rebel in order to play music. His Sahel Folk, thus, is both introspective and thoughtfully critical, rebellious in its own quiet way. With lyrics that offer succinct social critique and bright, crisp, skilled guitar work, the album showcases a hushed, sparsely textured, melodically intricate griot style. Don't miss Toure's elegant meditations on the blues, like "Djarii Ber."
A full 24 albums in, the Queen of Turkish Pop delivers a tour de force. Thick with emotion and densely layered, Öptüm pairs bits of Turkish folk with sensual dance beats culled from flamenco, Arabesque and Euro-pop. She cozies haunted ballads up to rollicking choruses ready for a stadium or a wedding. She delivers politics and pathos with equal passion, couched in perfect pop confections with Turkish classical centers. Even adult contemporary is listenable in her warm, complicated baklava of a voice. Aksu's other nickname is the Turkish Madonna, but Madge needs to take notes. Do NOT miss the last track.
Lilting Arabic melodies, Gypsy-Spanish-Jewish flamenco-pop, Latin dance beats and rapping --and that's just the first track of Nuriya's fascinating debut! Tanita is the product of this child of Middle Eastern Jewish exiles to Mexico who raised her there and in the U.S. But it's both Nuriya's intimate connection to seemingly disparate genres and her indelible talent that allows her to layer them all together in ways that feel organic yet novel. Her commanding presence makes experiments like Mexican regional flamenco-&-B not only workable, but captivating.
In a year owned by bombastic, globe-trotting dance beats, Portugal's Buraka Som Sistema know how to set themselves apart: skin-scorching energy that clips along to a syncopated, kuduro-laced shuffle; soul-shaking beats culled from Euro-dance, Afro-pop, baile funk and more; and mood-setting guest vocalists, most thrillingly Bomba Estéreo and Cape Verdean singer Sara Tavares, who coaxes "Voodoo Love" around her little finger. A little heavier on the electro and lighter on the "ethno" than their debut, Komba is exhilarating, Pop-Rocks fun that will get all sorts of fans wiggling.
"I'm just too young," croons 25-year-old Zach Condon, conceding his inexperience amid arrangements bursting with sophistication. As Beirut, Condon has mined traditional sounds from Eastern Europe, France and Mexico. And while these elements are still present here, his third album is less distinct in its aural origins, more a Pangaea of the band's rich horns-uke-accordion-piano amalgam. The mood varies too, from the plucky bounce of "Santa Fe" to the melancholy keys of "Goshen," from the funereal march of "East Harlem" and "The Rip Tide" to the celebratory spirit of "Port of Call."
Bombino's solo debut doesn't punch you in the gut with the same kind of keening, rock 'n' roll pathos as some desert blues artists, but Agadez is just as moving. The specialty of this Tuareg singer-songwriter (leader of Group Bombino) is more subtle, comprising incredibly skillful guitar work and quiet craftsmanship that dances in and out of American and African blues, rock and folk. As he explores all the nuances, nooks and crannies between them (see "Tenere"'s country blues), he also pays loving tribute to his homeland, Agadez, an important city in the Tuareg struggle against persecution.
On its boldest (and darkest) effort yet, Dengue Fever expands its tour of psychedelia further beyond Cambodian pop than ever before. Heavy doses of surf rock, paisley-flecked Britpop, Afrobeat, even Gypsy brass are swirled in, then set up to chase each other's tails on cuts like the slinky, awesomely titled "Durian Dowry." Just when you think your head will explode, however, the band gives you a focus point: the meditative flute on the meandering "Uku," for instance, or "2012"'s disillusioned political critique. If you really feel lost, home in on Chhom Nimol's warm, enveloping wail.
Several decades into his career, one of the world's best-known Afropop stars has released… a reggae album. N'Dour has long been praised (and criticized) for his crossover moves, but Dakar-Kingston feels more fluid and less forced than a mere crass attempt to reach the widest audience. Reggae and Afropop are, of course, musical relatives. With a few clunkier exceptions (like heavy-handed opener "Marley"), N'Dour gracefully sketches that family tree, carefully layering reggae's dubby beats and chunky guitars with delicate marimbas, rolling drums and bits of Afrobeat funk.
Like an Appalachian opium den or a rollicking Irish bar in the middle of Mongolia, Travels pulses with intense, incongruous and, yes, intoxicating energy. On album two, the Beijing-Mongolian folk-punk outfit expands their experiment to folk-rock realms around the world, yet still manage to make all their far-flung influences sound like drinking buddies. Ominous electric guitars throw down with galloping acoustic strings, mournful dirges like "Hairan Hairan" alternate with Central Asian hoedowns like "Zhang Dan," and everywhere you'll find the rockingest throat singing this side of Yat-Kha.
This Beninese dance band began in the '60s, was beloved in West Africa by the '70s, endured a fallow period in the '80s (due to deaths in the band and economic hardship in Benin), then saw their classic records devoured by global fans in the early 2000s. Now they've released their first new album in decades, which finds the Orchestre doing what they've always done best: breathe fire into funk-fused sounds from Afrobeat to soukous, psychedelic rock to, um, funk. You'll lose yourself in the thick, salty layers of dance-crazed sound: Just ask Angelique Kidjo, who gets down on "Gbeti Madjro."
Tinariwen's fifth album is both its boldest and its most pared down. The Touareg band is joined by unlikely guests, a move that could feel forced. Instead, Nels Cline's guitar adds the subtlest layer and TV on the Radio's doo-wop-through-the-looking-glass crooning folds into the mournful vocal texture. The Dirty Dozen Brass Band's weary funereal horns feel almost organic on the meditative groove of "Ya Messingah." Alone, Tinariwen gets more intimate than ever, abandoning amplification and ululation for the solo vocals and the hushed acoustic instrumentation of Tamashek folk music.
Tell us if you've heard this one: Backpackers walk into a Cambodian bar, fall in love with pre-Khmer Rouge psychedelic pop and form a band with a winsome-voiced Khmer singer. OK, Cambodian Space Project's premise is Dengue Fever redux (sub in Aussie backpackers) with plenty of sonic overlap (both love their vintage covers). But where Dengue favors slinky, surf-y trips, the Project goes on a raging acid-fueled bender. 2011 offers a chaotic take steeped in blues (down to the harmonica), classic rock (down to the Khmer "Venus" cover) and the political history of Cambodian pop (see "Mean Visa Kmean Bai").
Positioning herself at the crossroads of concept album, research project and work of art, Sevara Nazarkhan abandoned the sleek beats of her debut to delve deeply into Central Asian traditional music. The Uzbek singer assembled renowned master musicians to help mentor and accompany her on traditional instruments like the doutar lute. With her honeyed voice, Nazarkhan embodies the yearning of the Sufi ballads and love songs here, whether she's dancing close with a haunting nai flute or accompanied only by a clinking saucer ("Yovvoi Tanovar") or a rumbling train ("Qarghalar"). Exquisite stuff.
Balkan Brass Battle hinges on a pretty genius concept: pit the day's leading Gypsy bands against each other, onstage. That's what Serbia's Markovic Orchestra and Romania's Fanfare Ciocarlia have been touring Europe doing, and now we have the recorded version. The "fight" is fierce: the father/son-led Markovics swagger through their poppier fare, while Ciocarlia's strategy is more focused on disorienting the "enemy" with dizzying runs ("Dances from the Monastery Hills" makes "Flight of the Bumblebee" sound like a middle-aged moth). When it comes to kitsch, the sides are equally matched.
Paying homage to the whole of the African diaspora and the musical paths it's cut across Latin America is an ambitious endeavor. But Susana Baca is up to the challenge. She's already the grande dame of Afro-Peruvian music, the rhythms and percussion of which structure Baca's shimmies into a rich range of sounds: Andean folk, flamenco, forro. And her subtle, velvety caress of a voice blends fluidly in even the strangest crowds, like the Calle 13(!)-featuring "Plena y Bomba." The only time the experiment gets a little awkward is on the jazz-blues-hip-hop hybrid "Hey Pocky Way."
In his attempt to escape the long shadow of deified Brazilian guitarists, Lucas Santtana seemingly offers the forefathers of bossa nova a discursive back of the hand. Not the least bit nostalgic, this 2009 release caught smart Brazilian ears with high-tech splices, digital samples and songs that weave in enough reggaeton swagger to make a cocktail-sipping Jobim obsessive nervous. In its delayed U.S. release two years later, it still sounds restless and refreshingly schizophrenic.
