49 f
the orchestra of Senegal’s National The- atre. “I was playing music from a young age. Because from when I was born I heard my brothers and sisters playing kora and singing,” recalls Diabel. “So as I grew up, I picked it up from them. My family is like a school for music. From Monday to Friday we rehearse in the house, not just kora, my brothers play djembe, balafon, ngoni and sabar.”
I wondered if he got to hear other types of music as he was growing up? “Yes, of course. Because Senegal has a lot of different ethnic groups and all of these have their own culture, their own music and rhythms. I heard Western music too. I have found that if you hear any kind of music and listen properly, you might hear a melody from your past.”
Diabel cut his musical teeth in Ban- naya, the family band, who play local cere- monies and parties. From there he became a ‘kora for hire’ working for all kinds of well-known local names, including Baaba Maal, staying with him from 2001 to ’05. He’s also added his kora to the music of Youssou N’Dour, Cheikh Lô, Omar Pene, Fatoumata Diawara, Femi Kuti and Manu Dibango, amongst many other household names in fRootsworld.
In 2005, he came to London. “It was music that brought me here. It was my destiny. I had a friend in London, Kevin Haynes.” He’d first encountered Haynes when performing at the Barbican with Cheikh Lô: Kevin H was playing on the free stage in the foyer before the concert and a friendship was struck up. Diabel can be heard on Haynes’ 2008 album Ajo Se Po Unity.
Since 2005, he’s divided his time between the UK and Senegal. “To keep the communication, keep the culture and keep the different sounds, from here and Africa”. Following the album with Ramon, Diabel felt a strong urge to explore his own musical path, which ulti- mately resulted in Kanabory Siyama. Recorded partly at Studio Blue in Dakar and partly at London’s Geancuz Studios, the album features 13 original composi- tions. “I wrote all the songs,” Diabel tells me. “Some of them are based on tradi- tional sources, but the melodies are all mine. The song Allah Lako is about God, because I’m a Muslim and whatever hap- pens to me, I just feel like God decided it.” The title track is concerned with eth- nicity and identity. “It’s saying don’t run from your ethnicity. There are lots of dif- ferent cultures in Senegal and so, in the past, you’d hear people say ‘I don’t want my family to be with his family because they’re from a different culture’ Which made people scared to show themselves, to show who they really are. They’re hid- ing themselves, so I’m just telling people ‘Whatever happens, be who you are!’”
Senegal-Mali is dedicated to his par- ents (his mother from the former, his father the latter). It’s also a statement of the cultural unity of West Africa, which, after all, was only carved up into different countries as a result of colonialism. This affirmation of Diabel’s roots is followed by Miniyamba which is all about adventure. “It’s telling whoever goes on an adventure to play music and work, be good and come back safely,” Diabel explains. Dialiya is about griot culture. According to the lyrics, griots are everywhere! ‘Wherever you go in the world there are people who are doing the griot’s role without even realising it. Like translators, messengers
and advocates’. Xalabi translates as ‘Chil- dren’. “As I travel, what I’m seeing all over the world is children suffering. We should be supporting them, so that they can grow up and look after us.”
So the lyrics are in the great tradition of griot poetry, full of social observation and down-to-earth wisdom, political with a small ‘p’. “Yes,” Diabel agrees. “Because as griots, we’re always there for the truth. We’re not there to support anyone. In the past and even now, the griot role is very important, because only the griot is allowed to tell the king ‘You’re wrong!’ No-one else is allowed to say this, but the king will respect the griot because he knows who the king is, where he comes from… the king can’t tell himself these things, the griot is there for all of that.”
H
Live, Diabel is backed by a right-on- the-money band, who also feature on part of the album. “Some of them I met in my home town. I used to play with them before moving here. Then when we came to the UK, we played together again. They didn’t come over here with me but, just like me, it was their destiny to come to London and perform.” Oth- ers, such as French guitarist Antoine Valy, he hooked up with in the UK. The record- ings made back in Senegal meanwhile, feature Diabel letting rip with family and friends. So the album gives us a bit of the best of both worlds.
ow did he find his way to the London based World Village label? “I have a friend called Justin Adams and we were working together on a project
in Senegal.” On the album’s sleevenotes, Justin evocatively describes his experience of witnessing Diabel perform with his family on their home turf. “In a sandy side street lit by bright sunlight was a band overflowing from the compound. Drums of every shape and size, a whole kora sec- tion, balafons, ngonis and guitars plugged into a makeshift PA, a beautifully dressed backing chorus and formidable lead singers of poise and power… The music on this album represents what was so moving about that visit.”
“When I came back to the UK,” Diabel tells me, “I played the album to Justin and asked him to suggest a good label. He said World Village, so I sent them a copy and they got back to me saying they’d like to work with me. So thanks to God… and thanks to Justin!”
Diabel continues to collaborate with Ramon Goose (they gave a duo perfor- mance at St Ethelburgas the following night). “I’m concentrating on this project at the moment,” he explains. “Because I want to take a little bit of time to devel- op what we’re doing with this album. But that’s not going to stop me working with anybody.”
It must be an interesting time for
West African musicians as, for better or worse, the region is in the news a lot at the moment. “It’s true, because West Africa is one of the parts of Africa that is well-known musically. So you see at the moment, people are dying, people can’t do music… people can’t do anything! In my heart, I wish in all of the place for peace to be back there. But we have to bring it from the music side more. We have to do everything we can to make peace for that place.”
www.diabelcissokho.com F ELIZABETH LAPRELLE from Page 45
“I don’t have to venture outside of family or my hometown to work with folks with versatility, years of experience, great ideas. I think a lot of people share my fear that ‘local culture’ is a dying thing. My goal is to always have a creative connec- tion with people I see every day, my family, my neighbours, my friends. Old-time music is traditionally a culture where generosity is valued, and beginners are treasured and encouraged. I love that!”
Another intriguing creative collabo- ration involves writer, storyteller, fiddler Anna Roberts-Gevalt with whom she shares ideals about music making – choosing small, intimate venues over big ones, spending time with children and old people, using music as a “jumping-off point for other art.” Together they use all the creative tools at their disposal: storytelling, research, fiddle, banjo, gui- tar, ballads, puppets, poetry to perform multi-media shows with moving scrolls called ‘crankies’ (reminiscent of magic lantern shows.)
And when she’s not doing that, Eliza- beth also teaches about unaccompanied Appalachian singing, or a bit about the history of the music, sings with her mum, Sandy (“sometimes in public!”) and co- hosts and co-authors a monthly radio show, from Floyd Virginia, with Anna. “It’s a bit of a throwback to old-timey variety shows on the air, with lots of skits, sound effects, fake ads, and local musi- cians. It’s not on the radio yet, but it streams live on the internet the first Sat- urday of every month.”
She has also travelled to the Republic of Georgia to study the traditional music of the Caucasus Mountains… but maybe that’s another chapter.
www.elizabethlaprelle.com The Floyd Radio Show airs at
www.floydcountrystore.com F
Photo: Mike Melnyk
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