Orchestra Baobab - Tribute to Ndiouga Dieng

The Guardian 80

(World Circuit)

When Latin styles crossed to West Africa in the 1970s, a beautiful hybrid was born. Senegal’s Orchestra Baobab distilled Afro-Cubana to perfection on 1982’s Pirate’s Choice, though it was 20 years before the west discovered their genius and they reformed. Producer Nick Gold, of Buena Vista fame, doesn’t fix what ain’t broke; this first album in a decade purrs along, a sumptuous matrix of slinky rhythms, soaring voices and tooting saxophones. Foulo and Caravana exemplify Baobab’s languid appeal, and there are spirited guest appearances from singers Thione Seck and Cheikh Lô, though the dancing guitar work of Barthélémy Attisso is absent. Old-school Africa at its finest.

The Guardian 80

(World Circuit)

Orchestra Baobab have enjoyed an extraordinary career. In the 1970s they shook up the music scene in Senegal with their unique, lilting blend of traditional African influences and Afro-Cuban dance styles. Then they broke up for 16 years, before returning in 2001 to be hailed as cult heroes. This is only the third new studio album they have released since then, and their first in a decade, following a series of personnel changes. Guitarist Barthélemy Attisso has left to concentrate on law (once again), and the lineup now includes their first kora player, Abdoulaye Cissoko. But they sound fresh and distinctive as ever, as the opening track, Foulo, proves with its gently rhythmic blend of percussion, brass and male voices. Elsewhere, they interrupt the laid-back dance songs for a sturdy treatment of the Manding classic, Mariama, with powerful vocals from Balla Sidibé. A charming and classy return.

Pitchfork 75

When a new nightclub opened in Dakar, Senegal in 1970, its owners had prudence in naming the spot Baobab Club, after one of the world’s longest living trees. Members of the country’s famous Star Band broke off and settled in as the new club’s house band, and much like their namesake, Orchestra Baobab has enjoyed a similar longevity, now nearing the half-century mark. Percussionists Balla Sidibe and Mountaga Koite, bassist Charlie Ndiaye, and saxophonist Issa Cissoko have kept the core of the group intact ever since. (Though the group disbanded from 1987-2001 and only reunited at the instance of fellow Senegalese superstar Youssou N’Dour and World Circuit producer Nick Gold.)

Masters of Senegalese pop and mbalax, Cuban rhumbas, American jazz, and more during their heyday, their return in the 21^st century was a welcome one. They were lauded as heroes, having the likes of Youssou N’Dour and Buena Vista All-Stars’ Ibrahim Ferrer lend their voices to the group’s comeback album—not to mention Dave Matthews and Trey Anastasio making a documentary about their pilgrimage to Africa to jam with them. Ten years after their last album, 2007’s Made in Dakar, Baobab returns with a tribute to the group’s longtime griot Ndiouga Dieng, who passed away late last year.

Opener “Foulo” shows the legendary group’s prowess in a manner that sounds effortless and unfussy. A rhumba beat gets bolstered with horn lines that gently lilt upwards and then corkscrew down with purpose, thanks to the two saxophones of Cissoko and Thierno Koite. Amid the group’s longtime movements, newly added kora player Abdouleye Cissoko nimbly matches the group’s balance, being buoyant and rhythmically durable at once. His kora—brought in to occupy the space left by guitarist Barthelemy Attisso, who is now a lawyer in Togo—then takes the lead on “Fayinkounko,” dovetailing with the timbales and bright guitar lines. On “Alekouma,” the kora opens with a blinding run, before slowing to provide a gentle shimmer to a ballad about fallen warriors, the lines a poetic nod to the passing of Dieng.

In 1979, potent Baobab vocalist Thione Seck left the fold of the group for superstardom of his own. Some 35 years later, Seck rejoins his old bandmates here, lending his telltale growl and plea to the slinking groove of “Sey.” In just a few reverberant notes, Benin guitarist Rene Sowatche (another new addition to the group) finds enough wiggle room amid the percussion and brass to suggest vast cosmic space.

Deep into their career, Dieng at times reveals the advanced stage of its players. The songs are taken a step slower, the rhumbas show a consideration for the pulse as well as the spaces between them, and the themes in some manner or another touch upon mortality. The easeful meter of “Caravana” gets punctuated by Balla Sidibe’s mournful lines, which are about an unmarried village woman whose death means a burial without ceremony in the bush. As the song draws towards its conclusion, Sidibe reminds us of a truth no matter our tongue or country: “Beauty cannot stop you dying/Success cannot stop you dying/Nobody knows their destiny/Death doesn't warn us.” But rather than wallow in such morass, it makes the rhythms of the group feel even airier in their joyful acceptance and defiance.