Tinariwen: Mali Rebel Rock and Roll

Ibrahim Ag Alhabib

Is Tinariwen’s whole desert-warrior aesthetic just an act?

Alhousseyni thinks and pauses. “From the beginning, we weren’t a traditional group,” he finally says in French, with Repnau translating. That much is certain. Their press materials boast that Tinariwen is the first Tuareg band to ever employ electric guitars. Tinariwen is a small army of six-string players; traditional Tuareg music doesn’t even involve guitars. There’s no name for the genre the band fits in. They call it, simply, “guitar music.” It’s become more popular recently, with other groups like Toumast riding a surge of attention devoted to west African blues that was arguably sparked by Ali Farka Toure in the mid-’90s.

“They’re celebrities,” says Dr. Susan Rasmussen, an anthropologist who’s studied the Tuareg for twenty-five years and has met Tinariwen in their hometown of Kidal, Mali. “They’ve served an interesting role, as unofficial ambassadors between the government and the rebels,” she adds. “[But] they also serve as an inspiration to the local youth. Because of all the problems in Mali, a lot of the youth are unemployed. Tinariwen serves as a role model.”

The band’s themes reflect the shift in emphasis. Early on, frontman Alhabib’s songs directly spoke of war and famine, pointing fingers at the government. The songs on Aman Iman (World Village, 2007) are more positive, speaking to general themes of peace and education.

Lyrics aside, the guitars behind them have grown more aggressive and hard-edged. On a dressing room counter next to Alhousseyni, Repnau rummages through her purse looking for a business card. She pulls out a CD: Nirvana, Nevermind. She let the band hear it for the first time yesterday.

No doubt, the shifts in Tinariwen’s music reflect their ever-expanding tour schedule and exposure to different styles. Since their first international tour eight years ago, Tinariwen has perhaps traveled more than most Americans. Yet their songs still tell the stories of their home—bleak tales of survival and cautious hope, desperation and escapism. On “Tenere Dafeo Nikchan” (“I’m in a Desert with a Wood Fire”), frontman Ag Alhabib intones, “My heart oppressed and tight / And I feel the thirst of my soul / Then I hear some music / Sounds, the wind / Some music which takes me far, far away”. On “Arawan,” another song from their 2004 release Amassakoul, Alhousseyni sings, “Nobody cares about / The people of the desert who are suffering from thirst.”

And the struggle continues. The day after Tinariwen’s Santa Fe gig, two journalists, Moussa Kaka and Ibrahim Manzo Diallo, were jailed for reporting about the Tuareg resistance in Niger. The Nigerien government had been tapping Kaka’s phone conversations for months, and is now seeking life imprisonment. This will likely increase hostilities between the two sides, which renewed military campaigns against each other in mid-2007. Niger claims the rebels are trafficking drugs and arms. The rebels say the government is trying to squeeze them out of profits made from uranium, which is found throughout the Tuaregs’ homeland.

The Bush Administration has supported the Malian and Nigerien governments, claiming they’re vital in assisting with the war on terror. Mali’s army spokesman has branded the Tuareg rebels as terrorists. U.S. Special Forces have been in the region. This leaves Tinariwen in the awkward position of traveling through a country that has sided with their enemy.

So I ask Alhousseyni: what’s Tinariwen doing to support the rebellion?

He looks directly at my notebook while answering, and responds after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. “We play a lot of free shows back home.”

That’s rock ‘n’ roll, baby.

-Mark Sanders

Tinariwen: www.tinariwen.com