A year on from the release of ‘Funeral for Justice’, a record that might be remembered as his masterpiece, Nigerien guitarist and bandleader Mdou Moctar is back with an acoustic take on the very same material.
Here its psychedelic rock power is recast as weaving desert rock, all circular drums and campfire chanting that is closer to the Tishoumaren sound of the Maghreb than his previous Van Halen-inspired offerings. But it still lands very handsomely, the raw political energy replaced with a kind of star-struck campfire mysticism.
One of the standouts is Imajighen, a folksy desert dirge that swings around under cover of hand drums and modal strumming. The word — meaning ‘free men’ in Berber — is one of the album’s many references to colonialism and political corruption in Moctar’s region of Northwest Africa.
Here, it is presented amid the sound of beautiful, solemn wisdom that never drifts into mawkish misery. It is a hypnotic and complementary counterpoint to the electric version of the previous album.
A more direct track is Modern Slaves, here opening with gorgeous acoustic noodling that spins and spins before the band sings in unison. Now it is time to be more mournful. Translated to English from Tamasheq, a language Moctar is fiercely protective of, its lyrics contain the question: “Oh world, why be so selective about human beings?”
The language is unfamiliar but so, perhaps, is the message. Much modern music seems obsessed with the self — the intricacies of individual emotion and expression. When you do eventually hear this kind of philosophical messaging in music, it’s often wrapped in cloying religiosity. Moctar’s music feels strikingly uncommon.
That said, it feels wrong to go crazy about ‘Tears of Injustice’ because, ultimately, it’s not quite new material. The songs sound different to those on ‘Funeral for Justice’, but not quite as original as their electric counterparts.
It moves Moctar’s work away from his unique sound and towards a musical movement that has been inhabited so thoroughly to Western ears by Tinariwen and, to an extent, the father of desert blues, Ali Farka Touré. But it’s a terrific listen and one can’t help but think that more artists should revisit their material like this more often, pushing the songs in different directions while finding new truths in the work.
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