"Nafiya"

On the one hand, Mory Kanté is the quintessential West African griot musician of the independence era. Born in Guinea in 1950, he grew up in a traditional music family, playing balafon, percussion and guitar, and singing the lineages and tales of the core Mande repertoire. He went on to sing in one of the region's premier roots dance bands, The Rail Band of Bamako, and ultimately struck out on his own, first in Abidjan and then Paris, to pursue his own crossover, Afropop career. But for all these familiar career markers, Kanté is utterly unique in his constant need to extend, distinguish and reinvent himself as an individual.

Kanté learned his signature instrument, the 21-string kora only later in life, when he was living in Bamako. And he didn't study with masters; instead, he developed his own way of playing it. At the fulcrum moment of his career in Paris, Kanté made the kora's delicate melodies the central sound in his full-bore, high-tech dance band, an unprecedented achievement. His 1984 version of "Yeke Yeke" took Mande music to its highest octane level to date. It became a legendary hit on the French pop charts, and made griots and koras known to a huge audience that had never before heard of either.

Sabou, Kanté's eighth international release, follows the trend of ultra-modern Afropop musicians going acoustic, but as always, Kanté does it his way, and distinguishes himself from the crowd. There's variety here, but these 10 tracks are unified by a distinctive ensemble sound that bears the strong stamp of Guinea throughout, from the dynamic flute of the Fula people, to the Mande balafon and kora, a little guitar--but very little--and lots of rich percussion. Doun-douns, tamas, and djembes percolate, especially on the up-tempo tracks, and the metal scraper (caragnan) of the Wassoulou hunters "ka-chings" brightly through a number of tracks.

"Nafiya" lays the groundwork with a clean flute intro leading into a rich tangle of kora, balafon and percussion. The tune packs a rhythmic punch reminiscent of Kanté's most aggressive electric work, but everything is now drawn in softer, acoustic tones, from the deep "toom" of bolon bass, to the lively patter of talking drum, a brisk, visceral kora solo, and of course, Kanté's razor sharp voice, his unmistakable stamp. "Djou" is an elegant, African waltz that pairs that incomparable voice with a lush, female backing chorus. "Diananko," a sensuous meditation on fidelity in love, showcases balafon, and "Kènkan" cranks with the boogieing 12/8 of Wassoulou music.

At least one track, "Möko," hews to the decidedly Latin lilt found in so much Guinean pop, but with such finely wrought arrangements, familiar ideas never feel rote or automatic here. Kanté's attention to detail has always been a mark of his work, and this album is his masterstroke to date. He reserves his most over-the-top vocal performance for the slow, griot song "Laniya" ("Knowledge"), and concludes with a joyful balafon-and-percussion number that evokes the exuberance of a village dance. Kanté seems comfortable in this sound scape. Nothing has been sacrifice or subdued. Let's hope this is the start of a trend in his work, rather than a happy diversion.

Contributed by: Banning Eyre for www.afropop.org