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CONAKRY STAR

Katharina Lobeck witnesses the triumphant return of Sekouba Bambino, Guinea's favourite son.

Every land needs its heroes, those idols of patriotic sentiment who carry national pride and hope on broad shoulders. Football and music are particularly fertile grounds for the growth of luminaries. Britain's got Beckham and The Beatles, Senegal has El Haji Diouf and Youssou N'Dour. Guinea's Eleven has been barred from all international competitions, which leaves music as the only realm for defending the honour of the state. During the '70s and '80s, Guinea used to be one of most radiant stars in the musical galaxy. The country is still nostalgically remembered as the cradle of the great orchestras and dance troupes, the likes of Bembeya Jazz and Les Ballets Africains, who hailed the name of the newborn nation throughout the first decades after its 1958 independence.

But as Guinea slipped deeper into economic and political crisis, the glamour of the bands faded along with the bright colours of Conakry's prestigious Palais du Peuple. Today, neighbouring Mali and Senegal have claimed Guinea's former prime spot in West African music. But a storm is brewing within the country's borders as it prepares a suave return to the world music charts. Guinea's 'son of Siguiri' Sekouba Bambino Diabate has produced his third solo album, Sinikan, designed to focus the spotlight once again on his homeland.

Early March in Conakry. Guinea is at the height of the dry season, and its capital is gripped by Bambino fever. It's only five days until the release of Sinikan, and the town prepares for the official dedicace show in the national stadium. The concert has already been declared event of the year. Girls flog to tailor's boutiques to order new outfits for the occasion, army and police get ready for their security tasks, the radio broadcasts daily updates on the feverish preparations while Bambino's image smiles solemnly from every wall.

Cassette launches are always celebrated large in Guinea, but no dedicace is as eagerly anticipated as Bambino's. He is a 'national treasure', an artist the entire country identifies with. He is received with presidential honours, is allowed to speed through the notorious nightly police roadblocks - a privilege reserved for only a small Guinean elite - and no longer enters public nightclubs for fear of being hijacked by admiring fans. "I am scared of crowds", he admits, still shaking from the latest onslaught of public admiration. His landrover had come to a stop in the road, and was within seconds surrounded by screaming youngsters, who forced the car doors open and leapt upon their idol in riotous celebration.

Bambino has been Guinea's number one star throughout most of his three-decade career. He started his incessant climb to fame in the mid-'70s, when he joined Bembeya Jazz as the band's youngest ever singer. "I was the smallest in the group", he remembers, "and since we had already Sekou le grand [guitarist Sekouba 'Diamondfingers' Diabate], I became Sekou le petit, the bambino of the ensemble." The name stuck and curiously still fits his youthful persona 27 years later.

As soon as he had become Bembeya's lead vocalist, his inimitable voice was the talk of town. It remained a constant presence on the airwaves long after he had left the group and embarked on a trailblazing solo career. So far, he has released five cassettes on the local market, breaking new ground and old sales records with each successive work. With the 1997 CD Kassa, he established himself as Guinea's most experimental composer, unafraid to tweak and twist classic Mande rhythms and melodies. His latest release gives further proof of his ingenuity.

Sinikan means 'words of tomorrow', and the album was clearly incepted with eyes fixed on the future. "With Sinikan, I took a completely different approach", explains Bambino. "I had the ambition to show another dimension of myself. I was looking to add something to Guinean music that the occident is not used to hearing from my country." Sinikan is at once a logical continuation and radical departure from his previous work. It opens with gently rolling rhythms and sinuous melodies that bring the Guinean atmosphere so close you can almost taste the mango-sweet, petrol-fumed, sea-salted aroma of urban Conakry. As the CD progresses, new flavours mingle with the Guinea air as Bambino explores fresh musical terrain. There are subtle acoustic songs such as Famou, the lilting blues Djoungouya Amani and the hip hop adventure Promesse, featuring Diziz La Peste. And then the album climaxes in a spectacular tribute to James Brown - a dramatic version of It's A Man's World. Every piece leads to the next like the chapters of a well-told story, held together by a gripping sense of grandeur. The epic character of the record is as much due to Bambino's soaring voice as to Francois Breant's glitzy production.

Breant is a producer who knows how to create a work of historical stature. He is the man behind Salif Keita's legendary Soro, and was called upon to push Bambino into his deserved place next to the great Salif. Though Keita is Malian and Bambino Guinean, they are both of Mande origin. Their hometowns may be separated by a national border, but are only a few miles apart. Thanks to this geographical and cultural proximity, Salif is dearly loved by the Guinean audience, who hope that Breant's magic touch will allow Bambino to share Salif's limelight. To Bambino's fans, the name Breant equals an unfailing road to international fame, and so they revere the producer almost as much as the singer. "Francois Breant in my shop!" exclaims the cloth trader on Conakry's market excitedly, instantly attracting a sizeable crowd of curious onlookers. "He is the greatest producer there is. This man does not just work with anybody, he is expensive", he explains excitedly to bystanders, instantly spoiling Francois' chances of negotiating a good deal.

Breant clearly enjoys this rare move from shielded studio walls into the public eye, and shows relief at the enthusiastic reception of Sinikan. "It's sometimes worrying to produce music from another culture", he admits. "You just don't know how far you can push your ideas and stay within what's acceptable to the Guinean public." Bambino was equally worried about the response to his new work. "When you compose music, you do it for yourself, but also for your people. A change of artistic style is a bit like a change of clothes. The first time you wear them, you might feel a little uncomfortable, but once you get used to them you wear them with pride. I know that people are not used to hearing Bambino like that, but I hope that they will accept it. A good reaction from the public is the most important thing for me."

Any worries the two may have had are instantly dispelled at the dedicace. The stadium is cracking full hours before the show, and from his bodyguarded entrance to the final note, Bambino has the audience at his feet. The next morning, the first loads of cassettes are delivered to the stores, only to sell out in an instant. Conakry will never sound the same again - life passes now to the permanent soundtrack of Sinikan. The Mande-zouk remix of Famou spills from shops and transistor radios, blasts from car stereos and turns in every club. "What have I done?" exclaims Breant laughingly, as he zouks through another rewind of the catchy tune.

A few months after my Guinea expedition I take another trip to Paris where I'm once again greeted by Bambino posters that invite to his album launch at the central FNAC. It'll be a less glamorous affair than the dedicace in Conakry, but will hopefully make the desired impact.

Bambino's worldwide recognition is long overdue and Sinikan is a weighty work that might just turn him into a household name. Bambino is acutely aware that his country's eyes are fixed on him, awaiting the great breakthrough of their 'ambassador of Guinean music'. "I love my country", avows Bambino patriotically. "Whatever I sing at home, I want to sing to the whole world. But I'll always remain the Bambino of Guinea. Our land has rich cultural treasures which I want to develop in my own way and take as far as God will allow me."

Article is copright 2001 Southern Rag/fROOTS, ans is used by permission
No reproduction is allowed wiothout the specific permission of the publishers.

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