Taximen, Jeff

That horn is mariachi and I am poolside with a daiquiri. The tempo transports me to a dance club in Havana. The guitar is sharp and clean. Maybe I'm in the American south. Or maybe it's the melodic tune that has me on a beach in the Caribbean. The language is familiar but can't be placed. The world of music is cool.

Anyone a Mind of a Chef fan? The album reminds me of a great episode with Chef Sean Brock that focuses on his interest in southern foods that have flavors rooted in West Africa. Brought over during the slave trade, over time these dishes and flavors have been overlooked or forgotten about. Representation of southern cuisine has become little more than fatty, salty, and fried indulgences, while heirloom rice varieties have been replaced with your budget-friendly and ever dependable pal, "Uncle Ben." Similarly, trusty Wikipedia tells me that the Dioula language is a possible linguistic source of the, not nearly celebrated enough, slave-descendent Gullah-Geechee communities of the American southeastern coastal plains (Gullah Gullah Island, y'all!). Listening to the album, I am curious how these familiar sounds are connected, and I am assuming that at least some of these sounds can be traced back.  

It would certainly be better if I knew what the hell I was talking about before providing my presumptions of how the West African slave trade has infiltrated modern(ish) music, food, and language. Regardless, I think it is evident and pretty cool that when listening to Amadou Balaké you can hear the influence that West Africa (and less cool colonizing Spain) have had on the sounds we connect to the western hemisphere.

As for the music, I found it bright and refreshing. It would pair well with a cocktail of your choosing and a warm Caribbean or West African sea breeze. Which is interesting given the landlocked Burkina Faso doesn't give off the island vibe, appears to have a pretty turbulent history, and continues to face the many challenges of a developing country. I imagine the music and dance clubs are a refuge to the hardships. The exception being a nicely placed and beautiful ballad in "Migoussia," which highlights Amadou's vocal range and talent in what, I am assuming, is a more somber affair.