Afropop Worldwide's Banning Eyre met with Habib Koite in New York in July, 2001. Habib was in town to do press interviews and to play a special solo concert at the Museum of African Art. Here's their conversation.

BANNING EYRE: How was the show at the Museum of African Art the other night?

HABIB KOITE: Everything happened so fast! We came straight from the airport, and I was not ready to play the new songs alone. I had not prepared for that. But it went well in the end.

BE: That's certainly what I heard. So what's new in Bamako these days?

HK: In Bamako, everything is good. They're in the process of making good roads. They're redoing the central market, Dabanani. They want the sidewalks that are occupied by all the vendors to be cleared. They want them to leave. And they're clearing the place in downtown where there are all the transport vehicles--the duru-durunis and Sotramas. They want to move them out of downtown, and this has been a big problem. Government made the decision with the organizers of the Africa Cub [which takes place in Mali in 2002]. The commissioners came to find out, "Can we hold our grand meeting here?" And their biggest demand was to clear out certain roadways. All the banana and kola nut vendors. Gone! Nothing. It's done. There has been all kinds of stuff on the television. They've made a new place with lots of light, parking. It will be there now. There was no choice. It had to happen. Now they're working on Dabanani. I expect on my return to Bamako to find a big open space there.

BE: That's serious. A lot of people worked there. What about local music? What's new there?

HK: What's new? I haven't been around for awhile. But Oumou Sangare released her album in March. She got the biggest sales yet in Bamako. She sold more than 100,000 cassettes. "Yala" is a big, big success. Mali K7 gave her a gold cassette. Then I released my cassette. It wasn't quite the same thing. But we had a great party. I invited the group Tartit from the north, and another group from the Mianka ethnic group in the south. They play cow horns. They are many and each one plays one note. Then there are percussionists. Afterwards, they leave all the horns and sing together, lots of men's voices. It's beautiful, and it was an example I wanted to show, to demonstrate that we have so many different kinds of music in Mali. It was a beautiful night such as we have never seen. All the ministers came, over 700 people.

BE: Let's talk about the new record, your third release. What was the central idea this time?

HK: The philosophy of this record is in the title. The title is "Baro." In Bambara, that means to sit down and talk. It's not an argument. It's a calm discussion. In terms of baro, there are certain expressions, like sanankouya [the tradition of "joking cousins" that allows members of certain families to abuse each other verbally]. There are the griots. There are the musicians. Since long ago, the griots have sung and said that the night is made for discussion, and that the sound of the ngoni makes the discussion more agreeable. That's what I wanted to sing about. If we sit down in the night to talk and there is someone who plays an instrument, that brings more peace and tranquility to our talk. And if among the public, there are two people who are kidding around with each other, and laughing, don't worry. These are joking cousins--sanankou. They are enjoying the same friendship that their ancestors created long ago. They know that their ancestors were friends, and although it's been centuries, they have the same friendship and they joke the day that they meet. I say that this is something that exists only in Mali. It's something very, very beautiful. Someone who does not know who their joking cousin is can ask a griot who knows the genealogy and the history. He will explain. If you are a Kouyate, you can joke with all the Keitas. That goes back to the beginning of the Manding Empire. So to be a griot, to practice the art of a griot is also something very beautiful among us and that one does not find everywhere.

BE: Does everyone have a joking cousin?

HK: Everyone. That exists everywhere. It's very interesting. Even among ethnic groups. Between the Dogon and the Songhai, there are many jokes. There were some people who wanted to make a film about this. I don't know if they are doing it. Like I always say, we must evolve, but there are things we must keep with us as we evolve, and not lose in order to evolve.

BE: Tell me about the song "Batoumambe," a very beautiful song.

HK: Yes, We did this for the Africando project: African songs in Latin music. I decided to try that for myself. The song is an old song of Segou, from the Bozo, the fisherman. It's a song that says not every love can finish in marriage. One can love, but not force someone to marry. It's a simple song, but very beautiful, and it's lasted a long time. So we tried to play this with music a little bit Latino. It came easily, and everyone liked it. Batoumambe is the name of a girl.

BE: You also redid "Cigarette Abana" with a Latin feeling.

HK: Yes, yes. I wanted to do it big Latin musicians, but it was too difficult. We didn't have time. So I said, "Okay, we'll listen ourselves to Latin records and find a good rhythm." We had to find a good Latin song where there were trap drums, because often there is only congas and other percussion. We put the sound of the piano on the balafon. And me, I did not have a tres or a quarto, so I borrowed a 12-string guitar, the sound you hear at the beginning. For the words, I had someone help me to put the same words in Spanish. I didn't change much. The refrain did not change. We just put the French verse into Spanish. Near the end, we leave the Latino and come back to the original feeling a little, to mix it up. So those are the two foreign rhythms we use here.

BE: Okay, we'll come back to the Malian rhythms. When Afropop came to Mali in 2000, we heard you practicing one song that ended up on this record. Tell us about "Sin Djen Djen."

HK: Yes. This is a song I love very much. It's a song from my region, the Kasonke. I've done takamba, and lots of other Malian music, but not my own region. I took this old song and I added other words. It's a song that talks about a bird and its eggs. The bird loves its eggs and protects them all the time, but one day the eggs disappear and turn into other birds who will live other lives. They leave and go to another tree and make other eggs. So, it's a song of hope. One day, the eggs will hatch and make other birds who will go on and make other eggs. So when I talk about ORTM [Malian state television], I say, "ORTM, you work very hard and one day you will be compensated for your work." And I say to Keletigui Diabate, also, "You have played for a very long time. One day, you will win something for that." I say this then to all Malian musicians. I address this song to them and to Malian television.

BE: So the original words talk about this bird, and the words you added talk about musicians and ORTM.

HK: Yes, and then musically, I tried to make some bridges. I put a little of the dansa rhythm from the Kayes region, to make a little bridge so that I could play the solo. [LAUGHS] It was really fast!

BE: What about "Sambara"? There's some wassoulou music in that one, eh?

HK: Ah, "Sambara." That one is a big big success in Bamako now. Here in America, no. In Europe, noone talks about it. But in Mali, all the children want to wear blue shoes. I got a call from a friend two days ago and said, "You're tiring me out because my son, two-and-a-half years old, has been bugging me day and night to buy him a pair of blue shoes. It's because of that song!"

BE: Where does that idea come from of the blue shoes?

HK: A long time ago someone once told me the story of Elvis Presley's song "Blue Suede Shoes." This was a long time back. He told me that Elvis didn't want any one to step on his blue shoes. One day, I thought about that, and I said, I'm going to write a song about that. It's my private thing. You can't touch it. So the blue shoes that I searched everywhere for--I found them and they were so beautiful. I looked in the markets of Mopti and everywhere, but I found them only the grand market of Bamako--nowhere else. So I have my blue shoes. I love them so much. I wear them in the neighborhood, and everyone wants to borrow them from me. But I won't give them to anyone. They can stay with their black and white shoes. I have my blue ones. They are for me, and I won't loan them. In Bambara, we say, "Sambara mi tigi," the owner of the small shoes. When you say that in Bambara, it means that you are a reporter. You come with someone, it's to watch and to go and tell someone what you saw. The shoes come with you and leave with you. So that's the bad sense of it. It's someone's work to go and tell secrets on the outside. If you see that person coming, you must close your door quickly. He will tell all he finds out about you. So my blue shoes, I don't give them to anyone and I say that there are lots of people around with little shoes. When they come into a family, they can break the family, come between couples. You must be careful. There are lots of examples of that. So you have to watch out for those small shoes. But my blue shoes, they are for me. It's a bit comic, but there's some truth in it. So it's a popular song.

BE: The music is great too.

HK: I did it with kamele ngoni, calabash, and piano. It's interesting.

BE: So do you know the Elvis song?

HK: No. I've never, never heard it.

BE: Oh, you must. It's a classic. So what about the song "Tere"?

HK: "Tere" is a song where I mix many things. I've played the music of hunters for a long time with my guitar. So this is a song very popular with the hunters. So I tried to play that, and then I tried to add chords, make some changes. [SINGS] Then I return to the line. You know, in hunter's music, they don't change the chords. They just play the same thing and it's the words that count. Then I added a violin line that comes from the Peul people, the tounguerê rhythm. [SINGS] The tamtam plays a solo because it's almost the same rhythm as the hunter's. They can play together. With the guitar, I play off the violin. [SINGS] Right to the end. It's a kind of trance music--the same, right to the end.

That's the music. Then the words talk about bad signs. Bad signs are always attributed to women. Among us, we say that if you want to marry a woman you must look carefully to see that there are no bad signs. How is her neck? Her mouth? Her legs? Her feet? They say that if the neck is leaning forward, it's a woman who is always looking for her husband's grave. [LAUGHS] Or they say that if a woman's foot has no arch, that too is not a good sign. So I say in this song, don't men too have bad signs? How can it be that all the bad signs come with the woman? I tell the story of a young man who is in love with a young woman. She too loves him. Everything is good, but when they go to get married, an old person says, "Ah, she has bad sings." And the young man is troubled. "I love her and we are happy together, but now I must think about whether she will bring bad luck. In a few years, I may die." So he is very disturbed. His life is turned upside down. Must he say no to his parents or to the girl? He doesn't know. That's what I sing.

BE: Any other songs you want to talk about?

HK: There's the song "Wari," which talks about money. It says that being rich is not just about being bourgeois anymore. It is becoming a necessity. There are those who can't even afford aspirin for a headache. So now, I find that money is becoming important, not just to be big in society. You need it to have even the minimum comforts in life. Everyone has a right to these things. So now, everyone has a right to money. I was thinking about the creators of AIDS medicines, and the labs in South Africa who have made copies of these medicines to sell more cheaply. The fact that the South African lab won was a big victory for social equality. I was very happy about that. We have to share.

BE: What's new for you on this album from a guitar point of view?

HK: Well, there are two things, I suppose. I'm doing a lot of double-stop solos, two notes together, the same note, but high and low--octaves. It's not something new really. Then there's a song called "Woulaba," where I try to imitate the simbi [Manding hunter's harp, with seven metal strings]. For that, I tune my high E string up to F and B up to C. Then I try to get the movement that simbi players do. They play two notes together and one doesn't change. So I found I had to tune that way to do this easily and stay in their mode. I don't have a particular technique. I just play by my ear. If what I play sounds good with the group, I keep it. So if you want a technical explanation, don't count on me! I did go to the institute; I studied music. But what I play now was not taught there.

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