“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

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. 

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.  

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.

Kel Assouf

Kel Assouf — which means “from nostalgia” in Tamasheq — is a project founded by Anana Harouna, a Nigerian Tuareg living out his exile in Brussels. 

Kel Assouf - Photo © Maël G. Lagadec

How does the older generation of Tamasheq musicians influence your own style and sound?

AH ─ Older generations of musicians like Tinariwen who are pioneers of Tamasheq blues very much inspired me in my youth, because it is a style of music that carries a strong message. Today, it contributes to raising awareness of socio-political issues of the Tamasheq people, and it brought the culture of our people to the world. I’d say that I am between the two generations, the first, and the one today that is younger than me. It’s just that I bring back a touch of current modern music (rock, electro, pop), while keeping my roots of desert blues.

What distinguishes the Tuareg guitarist from the American blues guitarist? 

AH ─ The word blues translates to “assouf” in Tamasheq: a mix of melancholy, sadness, suffering, and a thirst for freedom. There is no difference between the blues in the United States and the blues in Africa, simply because those who played this style of music imported it from Africa during the time of slavery, to relieve their suffering and nostalgia for their home countries. The assouf style that Tinariwen created in the 80s also comes from a similar history of great suffering and marginalisation of the Tuareg during that time. 

What are some of the changes you’d like to see in terms of how the global music industry, especially record labels in the West, can create a more equitable ecosystem for these artists?

AH ─ The change I would like to see in the industry would be to see more honest people─people who think about artists and who love music first before their love of business. I find that some people exploit artists who come from Africa by saying that we don’t know our rights. Even I was a victim of this. I never signed off on my last album, Black Tenere. My former manager, Michael Wolteche, signed it on my behalf with the record company, without my consent. All the royalties go to the manager, not the artist. To date, I haven’t touched a penny from that album. I know for sure that I am not the only one being exploited. That’s not to say that everyone in the music industry is rotten. There are honest and dignified people who deserve respect. Injustice shouldn’t be a taboo subject if we want to live in a just and fair world.  

Tartit

Formed during the Tuareg uprising against the Malian government in the 1990s and originating from Timbuktu, Tartit is one of the only female-fronted Tamasheq bands. Led by Fadimata “Disco” Walet Oumar, the band features four female singers and five male instrumentalists; it’s the men who are veiled, while the women play tende drums.

Tichoumaren dominates Tamasheq music, so much so that this guitar style — which is played by male musicians — has become synonymous with Tamasheq music. Tende, as the counterpart to tichoumaren, is characterised by protest songs by women against internal patriarchal structures and external political stresses.

How have you seen the popularity of tende music grow over the last two decades, and how has it helped to increase the profile of Tamasheq musicians?

FWO ─ Tuareg music was originally carried by the women. The tende songs were really the main element of Tuareg music. During camel races, which are moments of celebration and joy among the Tuareg people, the tende is played and women sing songs as accompaniment. To announce a marriage, it’s the tende that’s played. The world should know that Tuareg music is mainly carried by the tende; it was only in the 80s that the guitar was introduced. 

In recent years, the use of the tende has really decreased because of the guitar. Firstly because it is the men who carry the guitar, and also because they have more possibilities of touring with only four people. Managers, who are more like entrepreneurs, take the smallest group because they can tour more easily. With groups like Tartit, it takes at least eight people to form a band, and that’s not easy to tour. And with the banning of tende music by radicals, the women are also veiled. Tartit is not only Tuareg in our music, but also in our clothing, dances, and clapping. This is all very rare at present. Beautiful music like this has a tendency to disappear.

Bombino

Omara “Bombino” Moctar’s contribution to Tuareg music has been rewarded with a meteoric rise to concert venues across the world. Raised in an encampment in Northern Niger, Moctar grew up playing guitar in the style well established by the previous generation’s music. A confluence of his dedication to expanding the traditional music of his people, and fortunate happenstances in the mid-to-late 2000s, culminated in his pursuit of a career in music. In 2006, he accompanied the band Tidawt to California and wound up recording a cover of “Hey Negrita” by The Rolling Stones─alongside Keith Richards and Charlie Watts. During Angelia Jolie’s weeklong trip to the Niger in 2008, Moctar served as her cultural guide, introducing the actor to the music of the Tuareg. But his entrance into the recording booth for his first album, Agadez, came in 2009 when filmmaker and producer, Ron Wyman, tracked Moctor down in Burkina Faso after a yearlong search since first hearing news of Bombino’s irresistible sound. Despite the international appeal that both responds to and inspires his guitar style, his evolution continues to binge towards music for an African audience: music that tells African stories and searches for new realisations of pan-African continental identities. His latest release, Sahel — released September 2023 — borrows its title from a pan-African region of the same name, stretching from the western-most coasts of Mauritania to the eastern face of the Sudan, overlooking the Red Sea.

Bombino by Richard Dumas (top left) and Alice Durigatto (Bottom)

A new generation of audiences are discovering giants of Tamasheq music like Tinariwen and Tartit for the first time through the newer generation of musicians like yourself. What inspires you the most about this generation of Tamasheq musicians that precede, and how does their legacy continue to influence your own style and sound?

OM ─ First, it must be said that I would not be here as an artist if it were not for the legendary Tuareg artists like Tinariwen that came before me. I grew up idolising Tinariwen. I would teach myself all of their songs on the guitar. My own style was very influenced by them as well as artists from the West like Jimi Hendrix, Carlos Santana, and Dire Straits. Tinariwen were the ones who blazed the path that artists like me can now walk in our own careers. They proved that Tuareg music can be appreciated all around the world, and that it is a great way to bring attention and appreciation to the Tuareg and our culture. I will always consider them my musical parents.

What distinguishes the Tuareg guitarist from the blues guitarist? 

OM ─ I am not an expert on the American blues, but I can say from my own impressions that there are many differences between our music and American blues. I think the connection starts with the notes we play. We use the same notes, the same musical language. But our traditional rhythms are very different. That is what makes it ‘desert blues’ in my opinion, using the Tuareg rhythms and combining them with American blues scales. The spirit and the style of the genres are also closely connected, like cousins. And of course the American blues and our traditional music both spring from the same source, here in Africa.

A huge component of your live concert performance is the dissolution of the separation between performer and audience. A Bombino concert feels like a collaborative experience with the audience. How does it feel for you when the audience collectively responds to that energy on stage?

OM ─ Yes, you are exactly right. A concert is a collaboration between me, the band, and the audience. The energy that the audience gives to us is the fuel that we use to give a dynamic performance. As a performer, you are always hoping to feel a strong energy from the crowd to inspire you. Often we are very tired from lots of travelling and little sleep while we are on tour, so we depend on the energy from the audience to give us the energy we need.

How can the record labels in the West create a more equitable ecosystem for Tuareg artists?

OM ─ For me, the issue is not about what happens in the West─it’s about what does not happen back home in Africa. I do not want to criticise those in the West who decide to work with African artists; usually these are people who are honest and reliable and want the best for the artists with whom they work. For me the big problem facing African artists is that we do not have the resources back home to have a good career without going to Europe or the United States. We do not have a good studio in Niger, for example. We do not have many options for local labels or agents to help us. I think this is what creates the biggest disadvantage for artists from Africa.

Tinariwen

The perpetually confounding feature of Tinariwen’s output over the last 40 years is how they manage to keep up with the experimental edge of the new generations of Tuareg musicians that they themselves inspired decades ago. For Tinariwen’s founder, Ibrahim Ag Alhabib, the guitar is as intimate as the Tamasheq language, and a natural expression of the rebellious streak in his lyrics. He made his first guitar — out of oil cans, sticks, and bicycle brake wires — after seeing a cowboy play the instrument in a makeshift cinema. Thus began the evolution of the mastery of the instrument that would earn him recognition as the father of tichoumaren. The band’s latest release, Amatssou (“beyond the fear”), was recorded mostly in Algeria and Mauritania, after an initial invitation by Jack White (The White Stripes) to record at his Nashville studio was thwarted by pandemic travel restrictions. Heading towards a different kind of blue, Ag Alhabib and the rest of his crew wanted to try something new by borrowing idioms from American bluegrass and folk traditions. Despite these new musical flavours, Amatssou never loses sight of the homesickness of the Tuareg people.

Tinariwen

The release of Amatssou meets a new generation of audiences who are discovering Tinariwen for the first time, through younger Tuareg musicians who were themselves inspired by Tinariwen. What excites you in this new generation of artists?

IAA ─ It’s great to see this younger generation of talented Tuareg musicians make records and tour all over the world. They are really important for our community because we need to keep promoting Tuareg music and poetry and stay connected with the world.

How do you conceive of the assouf style?

IAA ─ Assouf is not specific to our guitar style of playing, which has several influences, including American blues, Timbuktu’s guitar style — not only Ali Farka Touré, but also the Imzad (the traditional Tuareg violin played by women) — and the Arabian lute. It’s more about the nostalgia that comes with exile, because that’s how this music was born.

You bought your first guitar in 1979. Do you still have it?

IAA ─ No I don’t. They tend to get worn out faster in the Sahara because of the sand, the sun, and the extreme changes of temperatures.

There are far more Tuareg musicians, and musicians from the broader Sub-Sahara, now than when you created Tinariwen. What are some of the changes you’d like to see in terms of how the global music industry, especially record labels in the West, can create a more equitable ecosystem for these artists?

IAA ─ We have been lucky to get some support from the West in order to make records and tour internationally, and not many African bands have had that opportunity. With current technology, African artists are, in a way, less dependent on the West, because recording and sharing music is much more accessible, and the African music industry is developing. However, most of the money is still in the West, so it is hard to make it without going there. The recording industry is becoming more and more competitive worldwide, and it is more and more difficult for a young band to survive in this context. I think this is more a problem of global capitalism than the music industry. The big needs to share more with the small.

What advice do you have for young African artists coming up now on how to maintain the integrity of their musical tradition as they combine it with other musical traditions?

IAA ─ Combining your music with others means moving away from tradition, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing, and it won’t make you lose your integrity as an artist. On the other hand, it’s our responsibility to keep singing the old songs, recording them, and teaching them to the kids in order to preserve our musical tradition.