Tinariwen’s identity as a band is tightly bound up in the Sahara. They are named for the vast empty spaces traversed by the Kel Tamashek (aka Tuareg), traditional nomads for whom modern borders have been problematic. The band formed in Libya while in exile from Mali, and has always made music that passionately evokes its home; their last album was recorded in the open air of that desert. Such an arrangement was not possible this time. The political situation in Mali made returning to the northern desert untenable, and though they’ve been driven from power in most places, the specter of Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb—an organization ideologically opposed to music—still looms across a large swath of the Sahara.
The band instead set up a studio at a house in California’s Mojave desert near Joshua Tree National Park. Time in the Mojave hasn’t removed the Sahara from them, though—this music still moves like a sandstorm. Even at slow tempos it swirls with motion, and nearly all of its forward drive comes from the guitars and bass, with percussionist Said Ag Ayad able to frame the beat rather than having to provide all of it. The group trades off lead vocals and sings in unison, and the four guitarists seem more capable and versatile than ever. There are phrases and rhythms here that wouldn’t have been heard in their music previously.
That growth extends to their album-making craft as well. They’ve become excellent at balancing feels and flow. “Toumast Tincha” opens the album with this sort of hovering feel that only this band can really do, guitars scattering like dust devils while Saul Williams provides a strange, understated spoken word intro. The album then kicks into a higher gear for “Chaghaybou,” and it’s just the first example of how well-paced it is. A few other Americans drop in. Chavez’ Matt Sweeney and the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Josh Klinghoffer melt right into the guitarscape, but Nashville session fiddler Fats Kaplin lights up “Imdiwanin ahi Tifhamam” with a fiery performance that brings hints of his hometown to melodies from Al-Andaluse.
It is in some respects hard to be a band like Tinariwen, releasing albums in a Western marketplace where the initial attention you received had a great deal to do with the novelty of your sound. Remaining true to your identity while also evolving and keeping an audience that’s always a moving target interested in you is a tough gig. On Emmaar, Tinariwen are up to the task.
