World Music

Seductive - with a marrow

Rokia Traoré Barbican, London EC2

Rokia Traore's gig last Thursday night clashed with Omara Portuondo - of Buena Vista Social Club fame - at the Royal Festival Hall. When I met Traoré the day before, she was quietly hoping the odd punter would turn up. 'Even if there are only 10 people, I will be happy to perform,' she says, in the soft husk of a voice that everyone remembered from last year's Womad (she arrived late, lost her main-stage billing, had to go on against veteran show-off Papa Wemba, and still got great reviews). After that, Traoré left Emmylou Harris, Rubén González, Norma Waterson and Youssou N'Dour trailing in her mellifluous wake to win best roots album of 2000 in a national critics poll with Wanita (Indigo).

In the event, the Barbican was packed (though, to be fair, some had come along to witness the astonishing first-half antics of Kimmo Pohjonen, Finland's answer to Jimi Hendrix, only on the accordion). Traoré is already hailed as the new queen of African music, a title that usually denotes 'venerable' and 'large', except that Mali's latest export is a reed-like 27-year-old who lives near Paris and did Later With Jools Holland two nights earlier (between Frank Skinner and the Black Crowes) in a see-through skirt.

Traoré deploys more vocal force live than on either the seductive Wanita or her acclaimed 1998 debut, Mouneissa: long, plaintive notes thrown out; a bit of lisp and warble; bridled feeling. Things began quietly, Traoré alone on stage with her guitar before being joined by two guys on n'goni (half banjo, half marrow); balafon (big, buzzy xylophone); two backing singers; one clattering, hard-bellied calabash; plus flute player Malik Mezzadri, who added a spacey new dimension to the stand-out 'Wanita'.

The daughter of a diplomat, Traoré grew up in Algeria, Saudi Arabia and Belgium as well as Mali, and was inspired as much by Tina Turner on video as Mali's griot singers. She gave up a sociology degree in Brussels to return to Mali and music. Her lyrics are about respecting ancestors and women's rights; she has also written a lullaby for children of divorced parents. Back in Mali, they're proud that she's taking their culture abroad, but tell her they can't understand why she doesn't use 'modern instruments' (like compatriots Oumou Sangare and Baaba Maal), 'why I sing in Bamanan [her first language], with a village accent'.

In English, Traoré dedicates 'Laidu' to old lovers ('I admire you') and young lovers ('I wish you good luck'). The pace is whipped up with a talking drum, Finally, the shoes come off, she lets loose those long graceful limbs, kicks up her skirt with a huge smile; everybody's out of their seat.

Traoré parents had hoped she'd get an office job: 'They said to me, it's true that when you sing for us at home it's sweet, but we're not sure other people will like it.'

Today's best video

Today in pictures