Top of the World

Count Dubulah’s Damascene conversion

Followers of Nick Page, former frontman of Transglobal Underground and serial musical collaborator, might be surprised by his latest project. After the crowd-pleasing and thoroughly stomping Dub Colossus, here is a much more pared-down foray into Middle Eastern fusion music. Page’s project, recorded in Damascus, is an attempt to step away from this negative one-sided relationship and build a genuine dialogue between West and East through the marriage of Arabic vocals and instrumentation with double bass, surf guitar and occasional programmed beats. Road to Damascus floats along to some beautiful vocals from Lubana Al Quntar, stirring violins from the Pan Arab Strings of Damascus and rippling scales courtesy of Syrian qanun (zither) player Abdullah Chhadeh. But Syriana is a fluid project and the group that performed at WOMAD in July featured artists from Palestine and Algeria (Chhadeh was reluctant to tour).

The album is stripped-down and almost exclusively instrumental, at times feeling like a film soundtrack, as Arabic strings combine with sinister electric guitar. Highlights include the eerie, panoramic ‘Road to Damascus’, which at live gigs is set to some wonderfully captured images of Damascus’ ancient souk from Italian Nico Piazza, and ‘Al Araby’, featuring Al Quntar’s swooning vocals. But it’s the uptempo ‘A Black Zil’ that is perhaps the stand-out track, set to rollicking darbuka (goblet drum) and qanun before Talvin Singh-like beats break in halfway through. A beautiful, surprising album, it is fittingly dedicated to a man who did more to promote East-West musical understanding than most, the sorely missed Charlie Gillett.

Ed Stocker

Songlines’ award winners pull off that tricky second album

How can you top a debut album that has spent over 100 weeks in the Portuguese charts, powered by the rare ability to put an entire nation in front of the mirror and make them smile at themselves without embarrassment, and laugh without scorn? You just can’t. And Deolinda, obviously, couldn’t either. But they did the next best thing and delivered the greatest inferior album of all time – which went straight to number one in the Portuguese charts. But what’s so great about a second-best album, you might ask? Well, this one works like a mirage – it’s the initial feeling you get when listening to Dois Selos e um Carimbo if you were madly in love with Canção ao Lado. It lacks the surprise factor, it doesn’t catch you off-guard, but gradually that feeling disappears and you fall in love with it just as badly as you did with the first album.

Somehow, Dois Selos e um Carimbo works like the long-lost twin that charms his way into the last episode of every Mexican soap opera. Production-wise, the album shows a more resourceful band, fine-tuning the tiny details that make a huge song. The reassuring part is that Deolinda haven’t forgotten how to remind the Portuguese people of their idiosyncrasies (the disorientation we feel when we don’t have anything to whine about, or the way Spain is our favourite scapegoat for every problem) and they still manage to make irresistible pop songs about rural Portuguese life and traditions. It doesn’t quite hit the bull’s-eye but it comes very close.

Gonçalo Frota

Roots-rock return for East LA’s finest

Arising out of east Los Angeles, Los Lobos first came together to play Mexican corridos (narrative ballads sung in Spanish), slowly blending in rock and soul influences until they were recognised as one of the US’s finest bands. Appropriate then that Los Lobos briefly won global fame with their 1987 hit ‘La Bamba’, taken from a hit movie about pioneering 1950s chicano rocker Ritchie Valens. Refusing to attempt to replicate ‘La Bamba’, Los Lobos next recorded La Pistola y El Corazon, an album of acoustic Mexican corridos – this is a band who play by their own rules. Tin Can Trust is the band’s 14th studio album and one of their very best. Having played together for 35 years, Los Lobos convey a loose-limbed groove that gives even their toughest rockers a supple R&B flavour. The band’s willingness to experiment in the studio is again demonstrated as they convey a rich sonic palate, building and blending sounds, and never sounding generic in the way so many bands end up doing: a makeover of the Grateful Dead’s ‘West LA Freeway’ recalls War’s primal LA street funk more than it does Jerry Garcia’s band.

In keeping with both their musical and cultural heritage, the album includes two new Spanish-language songs, ‘Yo Canto’ (a rocking cumbia tune), and ‘Mujer Ingrata’ (a stomping norteño). On these tracks, Los Lobos revert to their roots and break out the accordion, fiddle, bajo sexto (large string bass), guitarrón (a large, deep-bodied Mexican guitar) and jarana huasteca (small five-stringed guitar) alongside electric guitar and drums (à la Valens). As the summer heats up, I’m yet to find another new release that matches Tin Can Trust at creating a fabulously humid atmosphere.

Garth Cartwright

Ecstatic trance fusion from the Parisian suburbs

The opening number, ‘Sidi Yahia-bnef Paris’, effortlessly mixes elements of Gnawa trance with a low-slung growling rock riff that The Clash’s Mick Jones would have been proud of, and a simple swinging hip-hop rhythm. It’s not the first time we’ve heard this kind of fusion of rai, rock and hip-hop, but it’s rare to hear it executed with the kind of apparently effortless swagger that only a band with real chemistry can pull off. Then it’s straight into ‘Chkoun’, a rather more generic ska number that could have been performed by any number of bands from St Ives to St Petersburg. But then ‘No No No’ has the breezy laissez-faire spring in its step of those Marseille gentlemen Moussu T, and ‘Chorfa’ takes the solid rock-steady path. And so on.

But it’s an indication that this ten-piece from the Barbès district of Paris are at the top of their game because they can dabble in a dozen different styles, yet still have their own distinct sound which is recognisable after only a few bars. Having been fairly quiet for almost ten years, they returned in 2008 with the confident and high-spirited Alik and Rendez-vous Barbès consolidates that return with its jaunty, agreeably rough-round-the-edges rowdiness. Long may they continue to mix Middle Eastern and African grooves with Parisian panache and bravado. It’s rare for music to be this fun without for one moment becoming superficial. Fans of both Rachid Taha and Les Negresses Vertes should investigate.

Howard Male   

School’s out; former pupils graduate straight

As anyone who likes hand-crafted folk music, dramatic pop songs and excellent musicianship is in for a special treat. The Old Dance School are seven friends who studied at the Birmingham Conservatoire and who brought their tunes and songs together in the grounds of a dance school, from where they get their name. Forecast is the band’s second album, recorded in Snowdonia earlier this year, and produced with a characteristic mix of rough and smooth by Calum Malcolm, who helped Lau and Capercaillie achieve their recording success. The songs are largely originals, written by the band members, who bring personal tales of growing up on the moors of the Peak District or the coast of Wales to songs that are both likeable and unpredictable.

Among a seemingly faultless set of tunes, ‘The Enlli Light’ stands out, with its swinging fiddles, muted horns, and an edgy rhythm section helping to tell the story of a night on a choppy sea. Also notable is the gently dancing ‘Passage to Spike Island’, a merry waltz of a tune that shimmers and wallows in nostalgia. Of the songs, the modern traditional ‘John Ball’ showcases this band’s exceptional vocal strengths. ‘The Real Thing’ is a dramatic, folky pop song whose ascent to the climax involves a curious reggae beat played on plucked violin and guitar, softened by a magical tumble of strings. This is truly exciting, awe-inspiring music, from a band who can only be headed to the top floor.

Rose Skelton

An ancient yet modern Maori mix

It’s taken New Zealand Maori outfit Wai a full ten years to record a follow-up album to their groundbreaking 2000 debut 100%, but it’s been worth the wait. A self-sufficient Wellington duo, made up of singer Mina Ripia (pictured) and her tech-minded partner Maaka (Phat) McGregor, the pair handle most of the music themselves, including production, bringing in guests as needed.

Sung entirely in Te Reo (Maori language), the album is a strong reflection of the cultural pride and revitalisation that has been occurring in Aotearoa in recent years. Ora means ‘life’ and many of the topics addressed reflect the title: there are songs acknowledging ancestors, traditional sea rights, stars and planets, as well as karakia (prayers) to the goddesses of rain, food, childbirth and other life-giving properties. There are also references to the traditional crafts of carving and weaving.

McGregor’s imaginative production employs programmed beats and basslines that are thoroughly 21st century, but rooted in traditional poi rhythms that mimic breathing and heartbeat. Mina’s vocals are pristine and powerful, evoking the eloquent cadence of formal Maori oratory, with flawless harmonising from several featured vocalists. Fat Freddy’s Drop keyboardist Iain Gordon adds extra synth layers on several tracks, while ex-Drop saxman Warren (Little Bushman) Maxwell lends vocals on the gorgeous ‘He Tapu Koe’. The closing ‘Faifai Malie’ melds Maori and Samoan lyrics, featuring the deep Pacific voice of Pati Umaga. While many musicians attempt to unite indigenous traditions with modern technologies, few succeed at it as well as Wai. Truly exceptional.

Seth Jordan

Return of the real Sammy

Here is the long awaited return of one of Madagascar’s most loved musicians, valiha (bamboo zither) master and multi-instrumentalist Samoela Andriamalalaharijaona – thankfully best known just as Sammy. He formed the original Tarika Sammy (Sammy’s Group) in 1983 which blazed a trail across the world until they split up ten years later, reforming without him as Tarika, under singer Hanitra. Sammy’s group name on this album, Samy Izy, is a play on words in Malagasy with two different meanings: ‘the real Sammy’ and ‘just as good’.

Sammy is a highly talented singer-songwriter who designs and builds his own musical instruments, and he plays no less than 13 different instruments on this disc. Sammy has always put together interesting groups; this time he has two stunning vocalists, with Bosco who comes from the east and Amizou, a female singer from Fianarantsoa. The rhythm section is covered by Petit, who grew up with the street drummers of Antananarivo. Guest musicians include Médicis, who comes from the south-west and is, unusually, a left-handed accordionist who turns the instrument upside-down to play. Two trumpet players from Hira Gasy troupes provide a horn section on ‘Omaly’, sodina (flute) master Rageorge features on two tracks and there is even an appearance from the Tana Gospel Choir. Tsara Madagasikara showcases an older and wiser Sammy with an album that exudes energy, originality and wisdom. Powerful performances from the four corners of Madagascar make this a really great album that leaves you wanting more.

Paddy Bush

A rebirth of sorts for the Lunasans

Lá Nua is Lúnasa’s first foray into the studio since 2006’s Sé. It’s also the powerhouse quintet’s first recording since Paul Meehan replaced original guitarist Donagh Hennessy, and the debut offering on the band’s own eponymous label. It arrives appropriately named, the Irish translating as ‘New Day’. Recorded in the Cooley Mountains home of Brian and Eithne Vallely, parents of Lúnasa’s crack uilleann piper Cillian and towering traditional music figures of County Armagh, it’s an accomplished and auspicious beginning for the new venture.

Lá Nua seamlessly places traditional and new material alongside processional marches and dances from Galicia and Breton, reels from Scotland and Canada, and carries itself with more than a nod towards East Europe in ‘Connacht Heifers’. It sounds fresh and revitalised, with Trevor Hutchinson’s signature bass to the fore, Kevin Crawford’s flute bright and agile, and Seán Smyth’s fiddle almost ecstatically lithe and free. Of the new material, it’s Crawford’s which steals the thunder, his nostalgic flute-led ‘Island Lake’ bewitchingly supple, while his ‘New Day March’ is a perfect, anthemic showcase for a band firing on all cylinders. Vallely’s medley ‘Doc Holliday’s’ is a brightly varied jamboree boasting a light and sunny three-stroke reel, ‘Timmy’s Place’, at its centre. Guest appearances on viola and fiddle by Máire Breatnach, Gerry O’Beirne on ukulele and steel guitar, and from electric guitarist Staffan Astner, add texture and tone of their own to what is – even by Lúnasa’s own high standards – an impeccable album.

Michael Quinn

Free-range Tim refuses to stay cooped up

The 13th studio album from one of contemporary America’s most prolific, adventurous and adaptable folk/country musicians, Chicken & Egg is a sweeping, reflective piece of work inspired by scenes from the author’s life. It begins with a jauntily unlikely take on original sin, moves through love, down-and-out periods, the tribulations of the working family man, and ends on meditations on death, showcasing some stunning musicians along the way. Most of the songs come from the vast array of unrecorded music that O’Brien has knocking about in his head. Now it’s crowing to come out, hence the wide range of subjects and styles and the autobiographical nature of things. ‘Sinner’, with its thumping, playful bass and mellifluous vocal harmonies, tells the story of the album’s nameless protagonist trying to get back on the straight and narrow, helped along by a flighty fiddle and the dance of banjo and mandolin. ‘Workin’ is a rocking and rolling track about hard graft, and ‘Letter in the Mail’ is a tender country track remembering O’Brien’s father, where the instruments seem to follow in sympathetic suit of the voice.

Tim O’Brien is one of those musicians no one tries to pigeonhole, because most of what he does has a gentle touch of ingenuity and originality. So while he moves from swing through country and bluegrass to Irish and Scottish-toned ballads, there is always the unmistakable stamp of its author, which ultimately makes you want to love it.

Rose Skelton

The Persian mystic would have been very flattered

The world outside of Iran has been comparatively late in coming to recognise Ali Reza Ghorbani as part of the line of great Iranian voices. But he has already created some stir in France with this album. Being in the same league as the likes of Mohammed Reza and Homayoun Shajarian, Ghorbani will doubtlessly soon be a better known name. The current Iranian regime has an ambiguous policy regarding Rumi, as many of his thoughts are not in line with the views of the most ardent clerics. However, Ghorbani, although having been raised himself in a strict religious family, has now recorded several albums dedicated to the Persian poet and philosopher.

For this album he composed the music himself. Part of it is in line with the Persian classical tradition, but he adds sections with a melodic and rhythmic freshness of his own. The rhythmic patterns of classical Persian music can sound almost like a modern trance-pop groove, and in some tracks it is as if Ghorbani is making maximum use of this common ground. Ghorbani is a master of the tahrir, the coloratura style of Persian chant, and when he uses it, the effect is spine-chilling. In other pieces he subtly descends to low registers. Incidentally he does not mind briefly adding unconventional technical effects, like multi-tracking his own voice.

Around him he has gathered instrumentalists who ingenuously explore a striking variety of the tone colours of the traditional Iranian ensemble. The ney (flute) and the saz (lute) player go to the furthest stylistic extreme, and Ghorbani’s vocals are at their most emotive and moving in two duets with these instruments, the excellent production and sound quality revealing every detail.

Neil van der Linden