Salif Keita

Nemo propheta in patria. Salif Keïta must have long dwelled on the meaning behind that Latin maxim. Cursed by malinkè culture for being albino, and thus seen as a bearer of misfortune, and opposed by his father, who didn't want his son to become a musician given the family's prestige as heirs to an imperial dynasty that ruled various territories of West Africa from 1235 to 1610, the young Salif Keita found himself forced to emigrate in the mid-1970s, despite a first taste of coveted success, to Ivory Coast, given also the political instability in Mali, and then in 1984 to France.

Here he would slowly discover a new way of making music, following, almost in parallel, the vision of another giant, King Sunny Adé, who at the start of the Eighties had already embraced Western instrumentation for his “Juju Music”.

It was in Paris that the thirty-five-year-old Salif finally found the ideal refuge to shape his most futuristic vision of mande music, helped also by funding from Senegalese record producer Ibrahima Sylla and by the support of Kante Manfila (guitar) and many of the musicians he had met in groups such as the Ambassadeurs and the Rail Band, including Cheick Tidiane Seck (keyboards).

“Soro” thus springs from the sensibility of a prophet, indeed, one who longs for a triumphant homecoming. A return as a conquering hero that would come to pass not long after, given the success of the cassettes produced by Syllart Productions in Africa (the album was meanwhile distributed by Mango in the United States and by EMI in France).

Behind the scenes of “Soro” are the arrangements of Jean-Philippe Rykiel and François Bréant, who split the spoils, each playing on three different songs. These are two towering musicians, to be clear: Rykiel has played for Jon Hassell, Youssou N’Dour and Cyrille Verdaux, while Bréant was for many years the keyboardist for French singer-songwriter Bernard Lavilliers.

While built on structures and melodies typical of mande culture's music (the ethno-linguistic family that includes the malinkè), “Soro” shows distinctly Western arrangements and technology. And this is the first great miracle of one of the masterpieces of afro-pop and of music as a whole.

“Soro” would prove to be a trailblazing record for a future vision, one that would leave its mark on other landmark works, albeit less internationally known, such as Abdoulaye Diabaté's “Kassikoun”, as well as on more radical ones, above all Moussa Poussy & Saadou Bori's magnificent “Niamey Twice”.

Made up of “only” six songs, its arrangements weave together conga, kora, horns, keyboards, drums, choirs, bass, guitars. Its spirit, meanwhile, carries the warmth of the Sahara's northern wind and the fire of the southern Sudanese savannah that grip Mali. And there's the harmonic radiance of the malinkè tribes.

It begins with the ordinary turning extraordinary. “Wamba” is the incipit of a feeling that first and foremost spells a break. Because Keïta composes it far from home, and feels an inexorable urge to proclaim the achievement of a clear evolution, his being a free spirit while remaining eternally faithful to his home walls. “I am what I am. This is my style. Be true to yourself, and not just for a while”: words that echo amid a chorus of mostly female voices (Djene Doumbouya, Douglas Mbida, Georges Seba, Marilou, Nayanka Bell and Yves N’Djock) and a funky bassline that radiates solar energy with every note, while at its center bright percussion breaks and epic, celebratory trumpets burst through.

It's only the beginning of a devilishly virtuosic album. The title track hinges on more intricate solutions, set within a zigzag of sounds, polyrhythms and melodies that seem to have sprung from an Eden planted along the banks of the Niger River. The second part speeds up, while the third settles (so to speak) amid bouncing choirs and proud, soaring trumpets straight out of a jazz combo, before everything comes to an abrupt end. What genre is it? One could say, without exaggeration, afro-progressive.

The lyrics express hope, a desire to stay united and erase the borders penciled in by Westerners. Keïta proclaims: “He who does not honor brotherhood shall be struck dead by the hunter's potion. He who does not respect his neighbor shall lie dead and cold. Sacred is the law of universal brotherhood. Sacred is the law of peaceful coexistence.”

The song is a true manifesto of his new philosophy, and it's no coincidence that it introduces the figure of the hunter. Keïta distances himself from fadenya, the competitive ideal often promoted by the griots (itinerant musicians and singers, regarded as custodians of West African culture), setting against it badenya, the sincere and selfless solidarity that unites the children of the same mother within polygamous families. This concept, seen as the ideal of social cohesion, is for him the solution to the problems of modern Africa.

The reference to the hunter's moral authority is particularly significant: in mande culture, hunters not only protect the community but also preserve justice and social order through their integrity and spiritual knowledge. The magic potion (soro) evoked in the song symbolizes the moral order and secret knowledge passed down by hunters. It works both as a spell and as a remedy capable of curing society's ills and punishing those who destabilize it, such as thieves and tyrants. The brotherhood of hunters transcends ethnicity, race and social class. They swear loyalty to a mythical mother and recognize one another as brothers, regardless of order of initiation, thus preserving an unbreakable unity in their mission as guardians of knowledge and order.

More choirs immediately open “Souareba”, an emphatic ballad, lofty but not overly so. Keïta invokes the mythical figure of Souareba, a woman who instills courage and sensuality in equal measure. It's a socially and politically significant manifesto, written, not by chance, in Paris, a city that stands as a symbol of every revolution.

Also special is the following dedication to his father, “Sina”, in which the artist dances before his own memory to express not only his triumph, but also a newfound awareness of his human and artistic virtues.

“True nobility is wisdom”, sings Salif as he dances among his fellow guests. Keïta proclaims the distance between himself and his family. However, rather than openly criticizing his father, he draws on the fasa genre (a song of praise). While celebrating his father's lineage, Keïta refuses to be associated with it and redefines the very concept of nobility, arguing that it lies in moral integrity and the ability to adapt to the times. He challenges the static view of tradition, singing: “C'est fou, tout change”, underscoring the value of change and modernity.

The groove is irresistible, as are the shifts in tempo, buoyed by the ever-present chorus and sparkling horns. Musically, it's also the most “electric” track of the bunch, and it oddly anticipates the more bucolic one that follows: “Cono”.

This time Keïta wonders what would happen if physical appearance were valued more than inner beauty, and how sad the poet's fate would be if his worth were dismissed because of his physical difference:

The world is upside down,

money makes you attractive, while poverty brings only contempt.

If you're poor, no one will love you,

even if your words are wise,

even when your heart is good,

even if you retreat into silence.

I am the bird perched on the tall cailcedrat tree,

from the mountaintop

I reach into distant mysteries,

I bring joy to the world.

Ride the wave of great music

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15/10/2023