Review: TINARIWEN Warms at The Imperial

There are a few reasons why a nomadic ethnic minority from the Western Sahara has become the poster child of world music in the 21st century. In truth, no one can really put his or her finger on Tinariwen definitively, because they are the living, pure sound of a people, a place, and a time so authentically exotic. To categorize Tinariwen in predefined musical genres is as elusive as believing in a mirage.

Outside The Imperial an eclectic grouping of Canadian audiophiles formed a line in the bleeding heart of Vancouver. On the edge of fly-bitten Chinatown, third-world reminiscences of East Hastings besieged local world music lovers, who arrived from all walks of life, albeit representing a privileged class of concertgoers. A shirtless, hard-luck Canadian man peddled clothing in a manner that could very well have occurred simultaneously in Lagos, Cairo and Timbuktu.

A private venue, befitted with a stunning, modern architectural aesthetic, and all with a dimly lit Chinese air as replicas of the Terracotta Army stood guard on ceiling-high platforms. A smoky indigo blush cast throughout the room as people met, ordered drinks, and waited.

The latest album from the Grammy award-winning troupe, Emaar, was displayed in vinyl and disc at the venue entrance, along with all of the usual merchandise. Fans anticipated the uncanny rhythmic minimalism of the Sahara, with Tuareg vocal harmonies reverberating against the cool electric spiraling of guitar from one of the humblest musical presences and yet perhaps the most badass of sounds out there today.

Tinariwen walked through the crowd, as one of the people, donned in full Malian folk regalia, the characteristic long-flowing garb from one of the remotest of African landscapes. The iconic visage of founder Ibrahim Ag Alhabib vanished like a mirage before the onlookers, as everyone realized he would be missed.

Led by one of the originals from the 1980s, when Tinariwen first formed, Abdallah Ag Alhousseyni clapped, rapped and plucked the audience into shape, transporting everyone from the volcanic Pacific city to the heart-warming pulse of endless dunes against a cloudless moonlit sky. Everyone sings. The music is communal, and so embodies the strength of a people, as united, listening to one another on the path to collective freedom in music.

Guitarist and singer Elaga Ag Hamid stood in for Alhabib as a centerpiece, as the only one onstage with his headscarf lifted for devout listeners to see just how placid the face of a musician can become when bathed in the echoes of ancestral song.

The type of music known under one of the vaguest of subgenres "world" is rife with contradiction, puzzlement and misappropriation. There are three distinct artists who fit the bill. World musicians are people who either play to a global audience, or perform in non-Western musical styles. Secondly, they are the multigenerational and first-generation immigrants of Western nations who preserve ancestral musical heritage. Then, there are the folk, indigenous and minority peoples of the globe, so few of whom have graced the main stage spotlight of musical culture in the West.

Tinariwen has not only fallen into the latter identity, they have created it for the entire contemporary world.

The reflective, long-flowing garb of Tuareg men are topped off with head coverings to shield fragile human skin from the sting of sandstorm homelands. Ostentatious clothing in a Western city is contextually dissimilar to the extremely harsh natural environment in which Tuareg people have lived for centuries.

The endless dunes of Mali and Niger are worlds apart from downtown east side Vancouver, where The Imperial saw the celebrated African troupe walk humbly onstage beneath Chinese sculpture. They stood above an upright crowd representative of the socially diverse, though economically privileged Canadian audiophiles

Despite having released their first album in 2001, later winning a Grammy and establishing an enviable online presence, so many in the audience had never seen Tinariwen live, a cause for celebration in and of itself. The band has been denied entry into Canada in the past at the discretion of immigration authorities.

Tinariwen formed in exile. In Africa, music is a weapon. The late, great Fela Kuti said as much, and still today this truth rings tragically clear. In Niger, for example, the guitar is outlawed, and Tuareg people are incriminated if they're caught playing one.

The genius of Tinariwen is the African desert blues sound of the electric guitar, the highly listenable blend of minimalist melodies and simple downbeats that create a diverse range, from dance hall vibes to café soundscapes. Richly multilayered vocal harmonies in Tuareg language are echoed by the cool, blithely evocative electric. It's a perfect marriage of Western and African, of indigenous and global.

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