At5 — Desert Blues

WEST AFRICA | What makes the music of the Tuareg so blue?

WORDS BY MICHAEL ZARATHUS-COOK

“The Tuareg wear flowing robes so bright and rich with blue that over time the dye has seeped into their skin, literally blueing it. They are desert nomads who were famously unwilling to be converted to Islam: thus their name. [...] It should be noted that the Tuareg do not call themselves Tuareg. Nor do they call themselves the blue people, they call themselves Imohag, which means ‘free men’.” From Bluets, Maggie Nelson

Kel Assouf - Photo by Maël G. Lagadec

When Maggie Nelson’s Bluets was published in 2009, and a swath of readers were introduced to the Tuareg for the first time, there was a rush towards the novelty shrouding these mysteriously “blue people of the desert.” But in the 14 years since Nelson’s seminal meditation on the colour blue, much has unfolded in our public consciousness of these nomadic peoples of the Western Sahara, particularly as relates to their music. To be sure, Nelson’s passing reference isn’t responsible for this consciousness — Tuareg bands like Tinariwen have been garnering international attention since the 80s — but her reference to them serves as a snapshot of the wider Western attitude regarding the cultural commodification of the “world music” genre. 

The appetite of this attitude is ravenous. As soon as news arrives of a nascent and uncontaminated rhythm emanating from somewhere within the African continent, well-meaning producers and managers from LA’s forgotten boulevards descend on these musicians by the boatload. They come with promises of international touring circuits, equitable royalties, and direct-to-consumer access to Western ears that don’t mind — or perhaps even enjoy — the language barrier. But the fascination soon tires as so many of these artists return back to their local scene with little financial benefit to show for their global renown. The producers eventually lose interest and return back to their studios to await news of another batch of fresh green world musicians. The history of cultural and economic exploitation of African musicians by the global music industry has been well documented, and the industry has developed an appropriate sensitivity to the otherisation that is fostered by this lazily-defined genre. 

Tinariwen

It is against this historical backdrop that the present crop of Tuareg artists, spread across three generations, are looking to build a sustainable audience within Africa. Over the last two decades, bands like Tinariwen, Tartit, Toumast, Tamikrest, Tidawt, and Mdou Moctar have been able to make the transition to a new generation of listeners with broad musical appetites fed by algorithmically-driven streaming platforms. Relatively newer projects like Bombino, Kel Assouf, Imarhan, and Atri N’Assouf are pushing the extent to which their Tamasheq language and traditional rhythms can amalgamate with rock and electric blues music from the West. 

The primary instrument of Tuareg music is the guitar, on which a style known as assouf is played with rhapsodic flourish, and typically over an athletic self-perpetuating drum beat. This rapidly evolving style, pioneered in large part by Tinariwen, constantly churns out some of the most inventive guitarists on the planet. Assouf — also known as tichoumaren (“the unemployed”) — is often referred to on the global scene as the “desert blues.” This moniker is a nod to its similarity to the longingness that characterises the American blues tradition. However, the artists we interviewed here — Kel Assouf, Tartit, Bombino, and Tinariwen — believe it’s the other way around, that the blues were first exported to America, returning now to Africa with a vengeance. 

Tinariwen

 Why are the Tuareg so blue? It’s not so much the dye in their robes as their distance and displacement from home. After French colonial powers carved traditional Tuareg territory into regions that encompass present-day Mali, Burkina Faso, Northern Mali, and Niger, the post-colonial political aftermath was one of persecution and conflict with neighbouring countries. Various Tuareg uprisings since the 1960s, against the Malian and Nigerien governments, have cultivated a fervent cultural resistance, and a peculiarly nostalgic homesickness, that continues to trickle down into their music.