Perhaps the most amazing thing about Malian kora player Mamadou Diabate is the range of kora styles he has mastered. These twelve tracks span the fiery, flashy breathlessness of the Gambian style (associated with kora legends like Al Hadji Bai Konte), the sound of the seven-stringed simbi (ancient Mande hunter’s harp), the serene classics of the Malian Mande repertoire, and the lilting folklore of Guinea. What’s more, Mamadou is a formidable composer in his own right, contributing four songs here.
Whether interpreting traditions or creating on his own, Mamadou plays with a highly individual voice. His technique is crisp and sprightly, loaded with ideas. He pivots effortlessly between rhythms, layering in blinding riffs on the high strings, and then pumping in bass melodies as if his hands made up an entire orchestra. Inevitably listeners will compare Mamadou with his famous cousin, Toumani Diabate, who also released a superb solo album this year. But this comparison is not rightly one of who is better, but rather one of personal style. It’s a little like comparing the elegant understatement of Bill Evans (Toumani) with the exuberance and fire of McCoy Tyner or Art Tatum (Mamadou). Each of these Malian masters has extended the language of the kora in different ways. For Mamadou, the experience of living in the United States and collaborating with musicians outside his tradition, especially jazz musicians, has undoubtedly expanded his vocabulary. Just the same, Mamadou operates within the great history of his instrument, a tradition he has studied deeply and mastered to the point where he can exert personal style with ease. A more deft and spontaneous improviser would be hard to find in any tradition.
Full disclosure. I wrote the sleeve notes for this release. Mostly, this means I’ve been listening to it for a few months longer than most people. The experience only gets richer with time.