Yassine Nana

Can you imagine a film that embodies all the hallmarks of the French New Wave – complete with jump cuts and sharp dialogue – but starring an African actor? If the answer is no, you needn’t bother: it already exists. It’s called 'Soleil Ô' and was directed by the Mauritanian filmmaker Med Hondo. Shot between 1967 and 1969 and presented at Cannes the following year, it tells the difficult integration of a fellow countryman who has landed in Marseille, amidst barely veiled prejudices and situations bordering on the grotesque. Watching it again fifty years on, it all feels sadly relevant.
If the protagonist is a mirror of his country, Mauritania confirms itself as a one-of-a-kind land: neither Maghreb nor Sahel, with a contradictory history dominated by the figure of Moktar Ould Daddah, the Islamic Republic remains one of the continent's most peculiar states. The music follows: one need look no further than an outsider like Ahmedou Ahmed Lowla, with his cosmic-synthetic reinterpretation of traditional wedding music.

Nouakchott, however, was also the birthplace of a band as underrated as it is seminal: Ahl Nana, so aware of their own importance that they renamed themselves 'L'Orchestre National Mauritanien' (not to be confused with L'Orchestre National de Mauritanie, more institutional but equally innovative). The first band to bring the electric guitar to the sands of the Sahara, predating Ali Farka Touré by at least five years, they paved the way for the glorious Tishoumaren saga, which finds a new, future-oriented peak in Tinariwen's latest masterpiece.
As the name suggests, it was a family-run business: the father was the band leader, the daughters were backing singers, the older brother (Ali) was the guitarist, and the younger brother (Yassine) was the lead singer. The real talent of the group is the latter, whose solo career would leave an indelible mark on the region's pop scene: listen for yourself to this anthology from the Bongo Joe/Sofa Records joint venture, the seventh instalment in the Maghreb K7 Club series.

Fried in a fragrant electronic breading, singing by turns in classical Arabic and the local Hassaniya dialect, his blend of disco-funk, reggae and desert vibes takes no prisoners. Tracks such as "Boustan Al Achar", "Fatma" and "Samraa" are urban caravan anthems, chanted with great personality by a master of postmodern melisma. Needless to say, the whole family comes to his aid, carving out their own space in the hallucinatory psychedelia of "Telephone".
These eight tracks certainly won't be enough to shed light on the Mauritanian enigma, but if you're looking for "modern pop" with an Arabic twist, you simply have to hit the dance floor.

06/05/2026