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Tinariwen (Tamasheq language: ⵜⵏⵔⵓⵏ, plural of ténéré "desert") is a band of Tuareg-Berber musicians from the Sahara Desert region of northern Mali. The band's fifth album Tassili, released in 2011, won the Award for Best World Music Album at the 54th Grammy Awards.
Formed in 1982, in strikingly unusual circumstances for a musical ensemble, Tinariwen blend ancient musical traditions with radical contemporary politics. Despite severe natural and man-made hardships Read Full BioTinariwen (Tamasheq language: ⵜⵏⵔⵓⵏ, plural of ténéré "desert") is a band of Tuareg-Berber musicians from the Sahara Desert region of northern Mali. The band's fifth album Tassili, released in 2011, won the Award for Best World Music Album at the 54th Grammy Awards.
Formed in 1982, in strikingly unusual circumstances for a musical ensemble, Tinariwen blend ancient musical traditions with radical contemporary politics. Despite severe natural and man-made hardships, young Kel Tamashek exiles continued performing the traditional music of their Tuareg forebears in the southern Sahara while simultaneously fighting against the government of Mali.
Forced to seek an alternative to starvation and repression in drought-stricken Mali, many of these young nomads hoped to attain a better life by striking up what proved to be an uneasy alliance with Libya. The hoped-for aid in their struggle with the Mali government failed to materialize, but in the meantime some of the rebels had evolved a form of music that kept alive the music of their forefathers while simultaneously communicating radical political messages. This music is known as tishoumaren, music of the ishumar (the unemployed). Usually performed by groups of 30 and more instrumentalists and singers, tishoumaren acknowledges contemporary western music, especially rock, as well as other music forms prevalent in the Middle East, while never losing touch with the original ancient form. In some instances, players not only adapt traditional forms but also substitute modern instruments for the traditional lutes, flutes and one-string violins. The electric guitar in particular has become popular, even though circumstances demand the availability of portable generators.
The name chosen by this band, Tinariwen, means empty places, thus maintaining a further link to the vast desert regions of the southern Sahara. The musicians include Said Ag Ayad, Alhassane Ag Touhami, Eyadou Ag Leche, Ibrahim Ag Alhabib, Abdallah Ag Lamida, Abdallah Ag Alhousseyni and Bassa Walet Abdoumou.
The music itself is spare and haunting, an aural reflection of those same open spaces. The lyrics of their songs, perhaps more accurately termed sung poetry, carry outspoken political thought that draws attention not only to repression in Mali, but also to the enforced exile of many and the continuing struggle for self-determination of the Tuareg nomads. Song structures are many and varied and include elemental call-and-response patterns as well as (to western ears) discordant notes that call to mind the blue notes favoured by western blues and jazz players overlaid upon a solid four-beat rhythmic foundation that is itself uncommon to the region although compatible with much western popular music.
Tinariwen's first recordings were to cassette, sales and even possession of which carried harsh penalties in Mali and Algeria. In the early 00s, availability of albums encouraged more widespread awareness of the music and its underlying political messages.
Formed in 1982, in strikingly unusual circumstances for a musical ensemble, Tinariwen blend ancient musical traditions with radical contemporary politics. Despite severe natural and man-made hardships Read Full BioTinariwen (Tamasheq language: ⵜⵏⵔⵓⵏ, plural of ténéré "desert") is a band of Tuareg-Berber musicians from the Sahara Desert region of northern Mali. The band's fifth album Tassili, released in 2011, won the Award for Best World Music Album at the 54th Grammy Awards.
Formed in 1982, in strikingly unusual circumstances for a musical ensemble, Tinariwen blend ancient musical traditions with radical contemporary politics. Despite severe natural and man-made hardships, young Kel Tamashek exiles continued performing the traditional music of their Tuareg forebears in the southern Sahara while simultaneously fighting against the government of Mali.
Forced to seek an alternative to starvation and repression in drought-stricken Mali, many of these young nomads hoped to attain a better life by striking up what proved to be an uneasy alliance with Libya. The hoped-for aid in their struggle with the Mali government failed to materialize, but in the meantime some of the rebels had evolved a form of music that kept alive the music of their forefathers while simultaneously communicating radical political messages. This music is known as tishoumaren, music of the ishumar (the unemployed). Usually performed by groups of 30 and more instrumentalists and singers, tishoumaren acknowledges contemporary western music, especially rock, as well as other music forms prevalent in the Middle East, while never losing touch with the original ancient form. In some instances, players not only adapt traditional forms but also substitute modern instruments for the traditional lutes, flutes and one-string violins. The electric guitar in particular has become popular, even though circumstances demand the availability of portable generators.
The name chosen by this band, Tinariwen, means empty places, thus maintaining a further link to the vast desert regions of the southern Sahara. The musicians include Said Ag Ayad, Alhassane Ag Touhami, Eyadou Ag Leche, Ibrahim Ag Alhabib, Abdallah Ag Lamida, Abdallah Ag Alhousseyni and Bassa Walet Abdoumou.
The music itself is spare and haunting, an aural reflection of those same open spaces. The lyrics of their songs, perhaps more accurately termed sung poetry, carry outspoken political thought that draws attention not only to repression in Mali, but also to the enforced exile of many and the continuing struggle for self-determination of the Tuareg nomads. Song structures are many and varied and include elemental call-and-response patterns as well as (to western ears) discordant notes that call to mind the blue notes favoured by western blues and jazz players overlaid upon a solid four-beat rhythmic foundation that is itself uncommon to the region although compatible with much western popular music.
Tinariwen's first recordings were to cassette, sales and even possession of which carried harsh penalties in Mali and Algeria. In the early 00s, availability of albums encouraged more widespread awareness of the music and its underlying political messages.
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Imazeghen N Adagh
by Tinariwen
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
Broken glass everywhere
People pissing on the stairs, you know they just don't care
I can't take the smell, can't take the noise
Got no money to move out, I guess, I got no choice
Rats in the front room, roaches in the back
Junkies in the alley with a baseball bat
I tried to get away, but I couldn't get far
Cause the man with the tow-truck repossessed my car
Don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
Standing on the front stoop, hangin out the window
Watching all the cars go by, roaring as the breezes blow
A crazy lady, livin in a bag
Eating out of garbage piles, used to be a fag-hag
Said, she danced the tango, skipped the light fandango
Was circon princess, seemed to lost her senses
Down at the peepshow, watching all the creeps
So she can tell the stories to the girls back home
She went to the city and got Social Security
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
Don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
My brothers doin' bad, stole my mothers t.v.
Says, she watches to much, is just not healthy
"All my children" in the daytime, "Dallas" at night
Can't even see the game or the Sugar Ray fight
The bill collectors, they ring my phone
And scare my wife, when I'm not home
Got a bum education, double-digit inflation
Can't take the train to the job, there's a strike at the station
Neon king kong standin' on my back
Can't stop to turn around, broke my sacroiliac
A midrange migraine, cancered membrane
Sometimes I think I'm going insane, I swear I might hijack a plane!
Don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
My son said, "daddy, I don't wanna go to school
Cause the teacher's a jerk, he must think, I'm a fool
And all the kids smoke reefer, I think it'd be cheaper
If I just got a job, learned to be a street sweeper
I dance to the beat, shuffle my feet
Wear a shirt and tie and run with the creeps"
Cause it's all about money, ain't a damn thing funny
You got to have a con in this land of milk and honey
They pushed that girl in front of the train
Took her to the doctor, sewed the arm on again
Stabbed that man right in his heart
Gave him a transplant for a brand new start
I can't walk through the park, cause it's crazy after the dark
Keep my hand on the gun, cause they got me on the run
I feel like an outlaw, broke my last glass jaw
Hear them say you want some more, livin on a seesaw
Don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
A child is born, with no state of mind
Blind to the ways of mankind
God is smiling on you, but he's frowning too
Because only God knows, what you go through
You grow in the ghetto, living second rate
And your eyes will sing a song of deep hate
The place, that you play and where you stay
Looks like one great big alley way
You'll admire all the number book takers
Thugs, pimps and pushers and the big money makers
Driving big cars, spending twenties and tens
And you wanna grow up to be just like them
Smugglers, scramblers, burglars, gamblers
Pickpockets, peddlers and even pan-handlers
You say I'm cool, I'm no fool
But then you wind up dropping out of high school
Now you're unemployed, all null 'n void
Walking 'round like you're pretty boy floyd
Turned stickup kid, look what you done did
Got send up for a eight year bid
Now your manhood is took and you're a may tag
Spend the next two years as an undercover fag
Being used and abused and served like hell
Till one day you was found hung dead in a cell
It was plain to see that your life was lost
You was cold and your body swung back and forth
But now your eyes sing the sad sad song
Of how you lived so fast and died so young
So, don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
Writer(s): Abdallah Ag Lamida
Contributed by Jordan D. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
by Tinariwen
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
Broken glass everywhere
People pissing on the stairs, you know they just don't care
I can't take the smell, can't take the noise
Got no money to move out, I guess, I got no choice
Rats in the front room, roaches in the back
Junkies in the alley with a baseball bat
I tried to get away, but I couldn't get far
Cause the man with the tow-truck repossessed my car
Don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
Standing on the front stoop, hangin out the window
Watching all the cars go by, roaring as the breezes blow
A crazy lady, livin in a bag
Eating out of garbage piles, used to be a fag-hag
Said, she danced the tango, skipped the light fandango
Was circon princess, seemed to lost her senses
Down at the peepshow, watching all the creeps
So she can tell the stories to the girls back home
She went to the city and got Social Security
She had to get a pimp, she couldn't make it on her own
Don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
My brothers doin' bad, stole my mothers t.v.
Says, she watches to much, is just not healthy
"All my children" in the daytime, "Dallas" at night
Can't even see the game or the Sugar Ray fight
The bill collectors, they ring my phone
And scare my wife, when I'm not home
Got a bum education, double-digit inflation
Can't take the train to the job, there's a strike at the station
Neon king kong standin' on my back
Can't stop to turn around, broke my sacroiliac
A midrange migraine, cancered membrane
Sometimes I think I'm going insane, I swear I might hijack a plane!
Don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
My son said, "daddy, I don't wanna go to school
Cause the teacher's a jerk, he must think, I'm a fool
And all the kids smoke reefer, I think it'd be cheaper
If I just got a job, learned to be a street sweeper
I dance to the beat, shuffle my feet
Wear a shirt and tie and run with the creeps"
Cause it's all about money, ain't a damn thing funny
You got to have a con in this land of milk and honey
They pushed that girl in front of the train
Took her to the doctor, sewed the arm on again
Stabbed that man right in his heart
Gave him a transplant for a brand new start
I can't walk through the park, cause it's crazy after the dark
Keep my hand on the gun, cause they got me on the run
I feel like an outlaw, broke my last glass jaw
Hear them say you want some more, livin on a seesaw
Don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
A child is born, with no state of mind
Blind to the ways of mankind
God is smiling on you, but he's frowning too
Because only God knows, what you go through
You grow in the ghetto, living second rate
And your eyes will sing a song of deep hate
The place, that you play and where you stay
Looks like one great big alley way
You'll admire all the number book takers
Thugs, pimps and pushers and the big money makers
Driving big cars, spending twenties and tens
And you wanna grow up to be just like them
Smugglers, scramblers, burglars, gamblers
Pickpockets, peddlers and even pan-handlers
You say I'm cool, I'm no fool
But then you wind up dropping out of high school
Now you're unemployed, all null 'n void
Walking 'round like you're pretty boy floyd
Turned stickup kid, look what you done did
Got send up for a eight year bid
Now your manhood is took and you're a may tag
Spend the next two years as an undercover fag
Being used and abused and served like hell
Till one day you was found hung dead in a cell
It was plain to see that your life was lost
You was cold and your body swung back and forth
But now your eyes sing the sad sad song
Of how you lived so fast and died so young
So, don't push me,
cause I'm close to the edge
I'm trying
not to lose my head
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
It's like a jungle sometimes, it makes me wonder
How I keep from going under
Writer(s): Abdallah Ag Lamida
Contributed by Jordan D. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
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