"Baay Faal"

Senegal’s preeminent superstar Youssou N’Dour excels as a singer, a bandleader, a performer and a businessman, but his latest international release suggests that his greatest skill may be as a songwriter.  Each of these eleven tracks has seductive melodic power that takes fierce hold on the inner ear, and only grows stronger with repeated listening.  The album is N’Dour’s homage to the north, the border region of Senegal, Mali and Mauritania—where he believes the African roots of blues, reggae, hip hop and more reside.  This is new ground for a singer much inclined to adventure, and the album’s spare, largely acoustic soundscape is a natural fit with this down home, folksy take on life at the edge of the Sahara Desert.  But for all there is to admire in the concept, themes and textures on this masterful recording, in the end, it is those melodies that count most.  Whether he’s digging into Islam’s history in Africa, the frenzy of modern life in Dakar, or the lore of the desert campfire, N’Dour is a pop music machine with an unerring fix on that tune you just can’t shake.

It starts right out with “4-4-44,” a gently galloping celebration of Senegal’s 44^th anniversary on April 4, 2004.  The original version of this song—released only in Senegal—was strikingly different, very electric, and far less focused.  Here, working from an oscillating keyboard hook to a full-on brass section finale, N’Dour turns patriotism and math into melodious magic.  “Pullo Àrdo (The Shepherd)” and “Sama Gàmmu (My Rival)” dig deep into the northern fare, the latter featuring the Baaba Maal-like voice of Ousmane Gangue, and xalam (ngoni) from Malian maestro Basekou Kouyate.  “Baaye Faal,” N’Dour’s defense of the Rasta-like, Sufi brotherhood, is also a standout, a joyfully rollicking string jam with N’Dour singing in full gut-cry splendor. 

For the most part, we don’t get the dance band pump of N’Dour’s splendid band Super Etoile on these pared down numbers, but the classic sound of Dakar on a weekend night does come through strongly on the mbalax throwback number “Bàjjan (The Father’s Sister).”  The song celebrates the cultural role of a certain kind of woman in West African families.  N’Dour’s near-falsetto vocal here recalls his earliest recordings while still a teenager, singing with the Etoile Band.  It’s nothing short of astounding that he can still sing this way at fourty-eight.  “Sportif”—a song about the mystical side of wrestling and the rules of good sportsmanship—also cranks with a funky, dancehall feel.

There is not a weak track here.  Even “Wake Up (It’s Africa Calling),” N’Dour’s reunion with Neneh Cherry—who collaborated twelve years ago on the highly successful “Seven Seconds”—exceeds expectations.  Where N’Dour veered towards plodding R&B balladry the first time, Cherry brings rap ambiance to this funky, mbalax-tinged anthem on behalf of Africa.  The album’s title translates “Give and Take,” and having explored the musical DNA the world has taken from West Africa, N’Dour and Cherry end with an irresistible plea for the world to give something back.