Since coming to the attention of Western listeners in the 2000s, the Tuareg artists in Tinariwen have managed to keep their “desert blues” sound intact, while varying some elements of songwriting craft. The largely acoustic aesthetic of 2011’s Tassili saw input from American indie talents, like TV on the Radio’s Kyp Malone and Wilco’s Nels Cline. On 2014’s Emmaar, Tinariwen reveled in some funkier arrangements.
Elwan offers another solid collection of tunes that merge West African styles and guitar riffs inspired by American folk forms. The album can swing quickly across a wide range of moods, moving dramatically between feverish group workouts and more personal, acoustic laments. And the continued political turmoil in their native northern Mali—including the targeting of the band’s members by Islamist militants—has provided these songwriters with no shortage of inspiration for world-weary lyrics.
This time around, Tinariwen’s collaborations work more ideally than on previous outings. Sometime Queens of the Stone Age member Alain Johannes brings his “cigar box guitar” to the grooving, communal song “Talyat.” And on the uptempo opener, “Tiwàyyen,” guest guitarist Kurt Vile merges fully with the other members of the ensemble. During this first appearance, there’s little sense that he’s interested in calling attention to himself. (The song’s real stars are the spirited backing vocalists, who swarm during the choruses.)
On bassist Eyadou Ag Leche’s “Nànnuflày,” though, Vile’s reverb-heavy guitar tone is more easily recognized. The romanticized sense of reverie in his playing—familiar from albums like 2013’s Wakin on a Pretty Daze—seems to exert a strong influence over the entire band’s performance, thereby giving Tinariwen a new vibe to inhabit. Ibrahim Ag Alhabib, one of the group’s principal singer-guitarists, makes the most of this opportunity, turning in a chilled-out performance that is threaded with less vocal ornamentation than usual. The final minute’s vocals are turned over to Mark Lanegan’s coolheaded baritone: a choice that risks merely gilding the lily, but just plain works.
Naturally, this core group of players doesn’t really need any help when it comes to fashioning sublime performances. On “Assàwt,” acoustic arpeggios are sometimes joined by darts of electric-guitar filigree—a mirroring of the way the song’s solo vocalist routinely welcomes a chorus of companions by his side. Elsewhere, the propulsive rock energy of “Sastanàqqàm” leavens the mood for a spell, while the mantra of “Ittus” reflects a seriousness of intent. (The latter song’s lyric reads, in its entirety: “I ask you, what is our goal/It is the unity of our nation/And to carry our standard high.”)
It can be tempting, at this point, to take all the strengths of Tinariwen for granted. Once again, all their music is crisply played, and smartly sequenced. Yet while Elwan may not herald any grand stylistic breakthrough, it does manage to synthesize some of the group’s most recent experiments in a way that helps distinguish it within their overall catalog. English translations for the lyrics are available on their label’s website, but the spirit of each song is generally discernible from the performance choices. The purpose of Tinariwen’s music doesn’t undergo radical redefinition—and it doesn’t need to do so. From their beginnings in a refugee camp to their latest iteration as a world-touring entity, they can provide exultation and encouragement like few other ensembles, on any continent.
