#amatssou

As always, three guitarists make up the band’s core, Ibrahim Ag Alhabib, Abdallah Ag Alhousseyni and Alhassane Ag Touhami. Two other musicians—Eyodou Ag Leche and Elaga Ag Hamid—also play guitar, at least some of the time (Ag Leche also plays bass), and Daniel Lanois sits in on pedal steel on a couple of tracks. It is, as you might expect, a very guitar-heavy sound, with long-arcing tones and quick flurries of picking, beat-centric slashes and achingly introspective fills. There are always at least two or three different things going on, guitar-wise, and yet the sound never gets fussy or over decorated. It’s a primal aesthetic. Its drumbeats rumble on, like the slow progress of a caravan. Its sung melodies linger and dream and spread to the distance.

“Arajghiyine,” for instance, rocks gently on its handclapped, hand-drummed rhythm, as bright, trebly guitar flourishes erupt from the crevices. Ibrahim Ag Alhabib sings a dusky lead, met in response by a multi-voiced chorus, a simple but powerful narrative about men who betray their people and destroy their homelands. Daniel Lanois, who also produced Amatssou, plays a ghostly subtle pedal steel here. past Tinariwen albums have sometimes let Western guests play a disruptive role, but Lanois knows how to slip into the shadows.

“Arajghiyine” (or “Traitors”) is a dark one. “Kek Alghalm,” which opens the album, is more buoyant and joyful. Abdallah Ag Alhousseyni sings with a lilt and handclaps punctuate the upbeats. Though the subject matter is again quite serious—the calls the Tuareg people to arms—its melody has a little dance in it.

The sound of Amatssou will be no real surprise to long-time fans, but there are a couple of interesting departures. A one-minute interlude called “Imzad” features a rough kind of bowed stringed instrument, like a cello but woodier. “Tidjit” contraposes a bass-y staccato cadence with locomotive guitar riffs. And “Tinde,” at the end, floats a woman’s ululating tones over bare, echoing percussion. But mostly, Amatssou sounds exactly like you expect Tinariwen to sound, like its drifting to you over acres of sand, like it’s moving your bare feet to dance, and that is a very good thing.