Since moving to France in the 80s, Khaled has collaborated with reggae legends in Jamaica and with Grammy-winning producer Don Was in LA, made songs with a Bollywood star and rock legend Carlos Santana, and—controversially for some—with Algerian Jewish artists. After all this adventuring, Khaled’s returns to form with a rocking rai session recorded live in the studio. Liberté was produced by Martin Meissonnier, who first heard Khaled’s stunningly powerful baritone voice on cassette in 1984 and promptly hopped on a plane to meet this wedding singer from Oran in person. Meissonnier wound up producing Khaled’s international breakout release, Kutche—and the rest is history.
The brilliance of Liberté is the way it takes Khaled back to basics: the song, the voice, the band. Some of these songs, like the ebullient title track, go way back in Khaled’s career. On one level, this is a roots rai session, but with a difference. Whereas Khaled made his first recordings with just a violin, a keyboard and a percussionist, his band is enormous these days. Enough of the players double on string instruments that the sound can veer from taut pop rai to lush, orchestral passages. Meissonnier emphasizes that sonic richness by including a number of “Intro” tracks that set up full-band songs with instrumental or vocal free play. Strings usher in the opener “Hiya Ansadou,” a song about escaping an atmosphere that has become too oppressive. A violin tails Khaled’s improvising voice—so big and warm!—at the top of “Raikoum (Your Law, Your Opinion).” The song is a rai anthem, often associated with the genre’s grande dame Cheikha Rimitti. But it has never been rendered with more effect than Khaled and his musicians do here. And so it goes, song after song.
The one new area Khaled breaches on Liberté is Moroccan Gnawa music, which Khaled has adored since his youth. On “Gnawi” and “Ya Mimoun,” Khaled moves into the territory of trance, to great effect. There’s no mistaking Khaled’s investment in these songs. Meissionnier does a masterful job, not of directing Khaled, but simply freeing him to be who he is. And that’s a beautiful thing. Long live Liberté!