When Damon Albarn travelled in Mali with Oxfam in the summer of 2000 he took two sound engineers with him and, after jamming with everyone from local Bamako legend Toumani Diabate to street players, he returned to London with over 40 hours of tape.
Once the sounds were collected in his home studio, he forged the backbone of the forthcoming album 'Mali Music' and then sent the tapes to Afel Bocoum in Mali. Singer and guitarist Bocoum layered more of the sounds of Mali back into the work and the final mix was then perfected in London.
Which brings us to this evening's debut performance of 'Mali Music' for the chin-stroking patrons of London's labyrinthine Barbican complex. If ever a man has set himself up for a fall, then Albarn - who admits that, against the backdrop of his Malian friends' technical expertise, he becomes something of a "musical odd-job man" - is that man. After all, his musically carrion nature has something of a history of irking the grumbling conservatives that carry the weight of the rock establishment on their shoulders.
Still, he's cocky enough not to give a shit about them and for that we should be thankful. Sensibly tonight he shares billing with Bocoum and chooses to avoid the centre stage shirt-off posturing that has revealed lesser African interpolators to be astonishingly insensitive to the musical culture they've sought to absorb.
Selections from Albarn's 'Mali Music' album are interspersed with traditional Malian improvisation - illuminating the fundamental structural differences between the Blur frontman's leftist rock and dub and the circular no-beginning-no-end structure of African music. At times the conflict between these inherently different forms drags the free improvisational flight of Afel Bocoum and his players down amidst the stoned rhythmic lurch of Albarn's dub rhythms. At others, the balance is struck beautifully to the obvious delight of all onstage.
With prompts from Albarn and musical director Mike Smith, 'Bamako City' becomes an ecstatic rush of group vocals set against the balafon (xylophone) and drums and anchored by a pulsing dub bassline. 'Niger' pulls pure West African sunshine from the skipping folk rhythms of Mali and, closing with 'Sunset Coming On', these musical worlds fall into a harmony greater than the sum of both their parts. The closing section of the song is dragged out for minutes as both bands fall into a hypnotic groove that holds for as long as it can until naturally letting go - one beat tumbling after another. Albarn's drummer does a heroic job - worthy of Can's legendary Jaki Leibezeit - holding the frantic circular drum patterns until the splitters begin to fly from his sticks.
It's a perfect close to proceedings: vindicating Albarn's ambition to find the new amidst the world's musical traditions, illustrating his knack for mining the experimental and the popular side-by-side - from further afield than a friend's self-consciously fashionable record collection. Tonight was an unmitigated triumph, hopefully this will not be the last time these musicians play together on the same stage.
