Yamäya’s debut album, recorded in collaboration with Senegalese singer Khadim Sarr, is an absolute behemoth that fuses afrobeat, griot, ethiopiques, soul and jazz. It is a massive, exultant sound that is guaranteed to get you moving. Louder Than War’s Gordon Rutherford reviews.
Senegal is a big album with a big sound. Actually, that’s something of an understatement. Senegal is a colossus; it’s a behemoth. It is bigger than Godzilla and King Kong bound together. Frankly, it is the biggest sound I have heard this decade and it is utterly joyous. A veritable fiesta. Musically speaking, that is. As we shall see, not all of the subject material is quite so celebratory (I’m looking at you, Farawané and African Politician). However, given the fact that almost all of the lyrics are sung in a beautiful language called Wolof, one could be forgiven for not immediately picking up on that.
It goes without saying that if you want to create a big sound, it helps to have a big band. Fortunately, the band behind the creation of Senegal are pretty big – an eleven-piece, no less. Yamäya are a collective of London and Brighton-based musicians who came together over a shared love for Fela Kuti and they have augmented their ranks for this album by collaborating with the Senegalese singer, Khadim Sarr, who delivers his lyrics in the language of his homeland.
United, Yamäya and Sarr have created something special here; a debut that sounds as though it is the work of a long-established combo. I’ve already referred to the fact that it’s big. The component ingredients include, primarily, afrobeat, griot and ethiopiques, but there are clearly detectable flavours of dub, hip hop, soul and jazz woven throughout. So, we’ve got a truckload of influences and a large cast list. There is one other critical factor that shapes the Yamäya sound on Senegal and that is that the album was effectively recorded live, with minimal overdubbing. Each and every one of those musicians were in the studio together, interacting and sparking off each other. The decision to record in this way has resulted in a sound that feels incredibly immediate and fresh. And big.
Senegal is a collection that has immediate impact. Within seconds of the needle dropping onto the groove, the first bars of the Fela-like Farawané, propelled by horns bigger than Kilimanjaro, leap out of the speakers and give you an almighty shake. Yamäya’s five-piece horn section play such an integral part in defining Senegal. They are the dynamo that supercharges the now-trademark Yamäya sound. Like a gang, they hunt in packs between the grooves and impose themselves at every opportunity. Working in tandem are the guitars of Luke Rattenbury and Jarvis Daniel; chopping out chords furiously, telling the musical story of this sad tale of dishonesty and two-faced behaviour.
Equally gargantuan is the instrumental, Fraggle. Fraggle rock, more like. This tune is just as big as Farawané, but is elevated by its incredibly infectious melody that surfs atop the rhythmic maelstrom. Teasingly, enticingly, it builds momentum with each passing beat and when the respective tenor and baritone saxes of Dan Cartwright and Greg Sinclair step into the spotlight, we are carried to the celestial heavens. As those sparring saxes collapse over what we imagine to be the finishing line, the drums and percussion of John Sam and Tom Camidge pick up the torch and carry it homeward in a euphoric crescendo.
Fraggle is jaw-droppingly magnificent, but if I were to single out just one track from Senegal as a highlight it would have to be Simple Baye Fall. Yamäya pull back on the throttle on this deep, soulful groove, which gives Sarr’s voice more space to soar. He doesn’t miss the opportunity and from the emotional intonation of his voice, it is evident that this ode to the Baye Fall of Senegal is deeply personal. The Baye Fall are a group of Sufi Muslims whose teachings emphasise the virtues of hard work and good manners and, apparently, when they gather to sing after evening prayer their voices gently resonate through the evening’s shadows. That’s a beautiful image and in Simple Baye Fall, Sarr and Yamäya have captured that spirit perfectly.
The year before the pandemic, Yamäya reached the final eight bands out of more than five thousand entries in the Glastonbury Emerging Talent Competition. That is no mean feat and it is easy to see why when you listen to Simple Baye Fall. However, Senegal is an album that is full of songs that even the harshest judges would be impressed by. Take the title track, for example, which is driven by Sam and Camidge’s Afro-inspired rhythms. Joyfully, Sarr sings out a welcome to his homeland. African Politician takes a slightly darker path. It is led in by Rattenbury and Daniel’s superb guitar work before that horn section comes viscerally careering in again. Unusually, Sarr delivers sections of this one in English, I imagine to emphasise his disdain for the opportunist politicians who have taken advantage in West Africa.
This political stance, the controlled anger, is not typical of this collection as a whole. Generally speaking the themes – and the general vibe – are extremely joyous. The urgency of Nudem is the perfect contrast to African Politician. It sways and sashays and it’s impossible not to feel the desire to get off the sofa to this fable of respect, hard work and organisation. Similarly, the uplifting Karma is nothing short of a rhythmic groove machine. The album’s closing track, Hair Of The Dog, is an instrumental funky workout that cuts to the core. Once again, those guitars dazzle, particularly the blistering, jazzy solo that scorches from the speakers almost halfway in.
In composing and creating this album, Yamäya were influenced by Sarr’s Sufi Baye Fall background, where music is utilised as meditation. Initially, that information seemed completely at odds with the music on this record. When thinking of music as a meditative device it is commonplace to conjure up thoughts of ambient music and Senegal is about as far from ambient as you can go. Notwithstanding that, when you truly immerse yourself in Senegal, you become aware of its almost trance-like feel that is created by those hypnotic rhythms. It is an album that can, and will, take you places with careful listening.
There’s no doubt that Yamäya are an extremely talented collection of musicians and the collaboration with Khadim Sarr has been incredibly productive. Together they have created an album that will get you out of your armchair. It’s fresh, exciting and original. It’s a big album by a big band and, crucially, in these challenging times, it will bring a massive ray of sunlight into your life.
All words by Gordon Rutherford. More writing by Gordon can be found in his archive.
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