#aboogi

Belle soirée 🆕️🔥🎸💙

Bonne matinée 🆕️🐪💙

(City Slang)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

With their third album Aboogi, Imarhan took a step back to take multiple steps forward. The Tuareg band had becoming increasingly global in scope. If 2018′s Temet sported loose themes of “connection” following tours around the world with Songhoy Blues and Kurt Vile, Aboogi sees them honing in on home. Instead of recording abroad like many of their musical forebears, Imarhan decided to build a professional studio in Tamanrasset, the only of its kind in the Southern Algerian city. They named the studio Aboogi, in reference to temporary structures built by their nomadic ancestors, in hopes of leaving a permanent effect on the city’s cultural landscape. What results may ironically be more universal in feel. The resulting album is not just a gentle ode to the colors and sounds of Imarhan’s home city but to the resilience of all culture in the face of poisoning colonialism and government corruption. It’s on Aboogi where Imarhan then use their experience to make greater statements of solidarity across the world.

Indeed, it wasn’t just on Temet; Imarhan have always emphasized that their music is not just for citizens of Tamanrasset, not just for Africans, but for everyone. It’s easy to see such a sentiment continuing on Aboogi opener “Achinkad”, an allegory of a gazelle who flees her home and family in order to save her own life, the type of story that resonates in any oppressed community. Band leader and vocalist Iyad Moussa Ben Abderahmane, aka Sadam, has grown into a phenomenal vocalist, relatable in his soft mourning. At first consisting of his singing over gorgeous guitar picking and hand drums, the song quiets to a stop before giving way to blissful riffing, handclaps (that prove to be ever-present), and celebratory vocal trilling. Such is the contradiction of Imarhan all in one song, jubilation despite the impossibility of survival.

It also seems at this point that Imarhan is realizing they can explicitly embrace Tinariwen’s influence on them while still making a name for themselves. The late Mohamed At Itale, aka Japonais, Tinariwen’s great poet, contributes vocals on “Tamiditin”, the roughness of his voice beautifully contrasting the rounded edges of the band’s guitar chords. Abdallah Ag Alhousseyni, also from Tinariwen, guests on “Tindjatan”, a story of a pre-colonial wartime defeat of the Tuareg people that almost serves to emphasize that though colonialism exacerbates violence and oppression, war is too often embedded in the history of most nations. Aboogi seems like it could be a passing of the torch moment in the world of Assouf, or desert blues. Like Tinariwen, Imarhan continues to collaborate with musicians around the world; what’s unique is that Imarhan seems to inspire their collaborators, too, to look inward. Sudanese singer Sulfa Elyas sings a lovelorn verse in Arabic on “Taghadart”, while Super Furry Animals’ Gruff Rhys sings in his native Welsh on “Adar Newlan”. In both songs, Sadam sings, too; the combination of languages underscores the idea of a musical understanding besting linguistic barriers.

On Aboogi, for every song about romantic betrayal or frustrations with economic inequality or the selfishness of wealthy society, there’s indeed a sense of cultural pride, like on the jaunty, incredibly layered “Derhan”. The chemistry of the band itself, from the guitarists to the percussionists to the chorus of voices, is just as powerful as the band’s ability to collaborate. “Please, safeguard my trust, from now until the end of time,” Sadam sings on “Taghadart”. It may be in the context of love on that song, but the encouragement of openness and togetherness, musical or otherwise, is all-encompassing in spirit, exemplary of the triumphant nature of Aboogi.