#90's malagasy music

[randomvarious]

Tarika Rakoto Frah - “Zanak’iza” A World Out of Time, Volume 3: Music of Madagascar 1996 Sodina Music / Malagasy Music / World Music

I’m going to do something a bit different with today’s post and write about music that hardly any of us are ever exposed to. For whatever reasons, African music doesn’t get much attention in North America or Europe and that’s really just a total shame. But over the years, there have been two American men, both accomplished guitarists and ethnomusicologists, Henry Kaiser and David Lindley, who have been able to successfully bring African music to American shores. And one of the greatest focuses of their long-running project has been the wide variety of music from the island nation of Madagascar

.Resting in the Indian Ocean and located off of Africa’s southeast coast, Madagascar can probably claim itself as the continent’s most unique country. Because of a culture that mixes Indian, Middle Eastern, Polynesian, and South African traditions, the Malagasy people have consistently managed to generate some of the world’s most extraordinary and inimitable music. And up until 1991(!), nearly all of America remained completely oblivious to that fact. But that began to change when Kaiser and Lindley returned from Madagascar with about six CDs worth of recorded material. The result was a series called A World Out of Time, named after a photo-book by the same name that depicts Madagascar’s beauty.

One of the musicians that Lindley and Kaiser had the pleasure of meeting and recording was perhaps Madagascar's most famous: Rakoto Frah. In his 60s at the time, Rakoto Frah had already lived quite the life. He had risen to national fame decades earlier as a master of the sodina (a native flute made of bamboo) and he famously played when French president Charles de Gaulle came for an important visit. He was also featured on Malagasy currency!

By the time Kaiser and Lindley had met Rakoto Frah, he was already a known entity on the world music circuit, though still virtually unknown to Americans. The liner notes from the second volume of A World Out of Time heap a ton of praise upon him:

Rakoto Frah is one of the most amazing master musicians and individuals anywhere, by any standards. His mastery of the sodina is at a level that you could only compare to other great, instrumental masters like John Coltrane, Ali Akbar Khan, Billy Pigg, Bill Monroe, or Miles Davis. Rakoto Frah certainly seems to know mysterious things about the phrasing of melodies that nobody else knows. During Rossy [another Malagasy musician] & Rakoto Frah's American tour, Ornette Coleman remarked to Rossy and Henry that Rakoto Frah must be the greatest phraser on the planet. Rakoto Frah says he has written over 500 songs [he tapped out at about 800 before his death in 2001]. He seems to have been present at many of the major political and cultural moments of 20th century Malagasy history. He's a real character. Rakoto Frah, paradoxically, is wise & crazy, young & senile, traditional & eccentric, foolish & crafty, con man & exemplary citizen, dark & light...all at the same time.

Not mentioned in those liner notes is that Ian Anderson, the lead flutist of Jethro Tull, also counted Rakoto Frah as one of his biggest influences. I wonder how Anderson discovered him.

One of the many things that Rakoto Frah became renowned for were his performances at famadihana ceremonies (the "turning of the bones"), a sacred funerary Malagasy tradition, described by Musical Traditions Magazine in the following way:

Famadihana ceremonies feature troupes of sodina and amponga (a European-derived military-style drum) players. The events are rooted in the immense respect which the Malagasy people show their ancestors, manifesting in day or even week long celebrations of the dead. Far from being sombre or macabre occasions, they are infused with joy and celebration, reflected in the wild, frenetic music that the musicians play for dancing (to please the dead).

It's not stated anywhere in the liner notes from A World Out of Time's third volume, but I'm willing to bet that the song I'm posting today, "Zanak'iza," which is performed by Rakoto Frah's band, Tarika Rakoto Frah, is from a performance at a famadihana ceremony.

Feast your ears upon this song because it's probably one of the most novel pieces of music you’ll ever hear. "Zanak'iza" has no formulaic song composition like the verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus structures we’re largely accustomed to in North America and Europe. The amponga in this song isn't there to hold a steady rhythm and there's no consistency to the multitudes of sodinas that concurrently play. "Zanak'iza" is free flowingly virtuosic and its unpredictability is key in just about every way. It's that level of unexpectedness, that total mystery of what sets of notes or rhythms are to cone next that keeps the listener so engaged. And it's amazing how just two types of instruments, flutes and drums, can combine to produce music like most of the rest of the world has never heard or ever come close to imagining.

A stunning piece of music from this Malagasy master of the sodina and his band. Really incredible stuff.

[brooklynislandgirl]

📝 for the answering of applicable questions, please!

~Quietly, in the Lower Garden District~

~Colour~

The man behind the counter is ready to reach over and strangle her. She can see it in his expression, so put upon by each time she shakes her head and asks if she can have another sample made. She almost wishes he would try, he'd lose more than the hour that she's been at this. That might be uncharitable of her but the man reminds her of the kind of person who, when not wearing his little vest, is exactly the kind of person who sees Beth and Anakin walking down the street together and curls a lip, makes passing commentary to other middle-age white guys. Too poor, too weird, too questionably ethnic to suit them. The kind of person who would walk faster when it got dark, or would lock up before they could make it to a door. There's more of those than either one of them care to acknowledge, and the irony is almost delicious. Except that sometimes Anakin cannot help but to be very aware of that kind of prejudice and it really takes another chunk out of his self-confidence.

"Allow me to explain again," she says softly, in crisp and enunciated haole. "I said I want a very specific shade of blue. A hint of royal with a tinge of cadet number five. Then mix at the edges a touch of Prussian and just enough Turkish Steel to give that depth soft edges. Then overly sky atop it all. Or better yet, please find me a customer service specialist who can, in fact, understand what I am looking for because clearly? You're not it." That might be her fault, she does want to paint the living room the exact shade of Anakin's eyes.

~Song~

She doesn't play as well as Andy could, and she would never be a singer though she enjoyed it maybe because it was more about intent than execution, one of the few things that held true in absolute. And sometimes neither one really mattered when he folded himself up like an envelope just so he could rest his head against her chest and instead of plucking strings, she only ran fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and she focuses hers across the back yard. Beyond the pool and past the grass. Colours blur and fade and there's a ripple of dissonance within the Tapestry to make a boundary between what is solid and inflexible and what is hidden in a space outside of the Tellurian. Words they don't use in every day conversation. She isn't quite singing now instead humming a tune that would reveal more than maybe they're ready to dive into. Other words they don't use, either. Her palm comes to rest on his brow as tender as she knows how. The other reaches around him to tuck one of the knitted blankets around him. He doesn't seem to mind the combination of warmth between herself and the acrylic, is maybe the only other person who could be cold in anything else less than 80 degrees and 90% humidity. It takes an infinite amount of patience, skill, and mana to redirect the rain to a different part of the city. He'll forgive her weariness even if he doesn't understand why she will go to bed early, sleep in late. And that's okay. He doesn't need to know. It's better if he doesn't, it would spoil the gift. 'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home.

~Scent~ The balcony door is open letting muggy air move sluggishly in through the French doors. Beneath her the bed is a little too stiff for comfort. Her laptop almost too warm as it rests on her thighs and only serves to remind her that she should probably get out of the charcoal grey suit she's wearing. She closes the screen and pulls her glasses off, raising them so they rest in her hair. Takes a sip of the wine she'd bought at...some store she won't remember the name of... but that came recommended by the bellhop.

She didn't have the forethought before leaving for Baton Rouge to steal borrow something to bring along. For reasons that she didn't want to explain because there's no very polite way to explain she's grown used to having him sleep beside her. That there's something soothing that comes wafting up from his skin the closer he gets, arm wrapped around her, leg half thrown over. At the end of a day there's his natural chemistry that mixes with clean laundry and cigarette smoke, something sweet and spicy from his preferred night cap. Sometimes there's blood. Sometimes the distinct smell of wood or metal from something he's working on for himself, the kind of tinkering that seems to bring him peace like nothing else can. There isn't an exact name for it but she can recognise it at a thousand paces. It makes her want to burrow furtively into his chest cavity and find some way to live inside of that newly hollowed out space. Maybe just thinking about it was all she needed. Maybe it's some new kind of magick trick. Regardless, she'd managed to doze off just long enough to be startled when the door of her hotel room clicks shut and he's there. Pulled out of her day dreams and turned into flesh. With exactly the kind of apologetic grin she's become as familiar with as she is the smell of him. "Guess, I jus' couldn't sleep." And she knows there's more going on behind the sheepish look, and the way he stands at a polite distance away, maybe waiting for permission. She doesn't say a word. Only turns down the previously pristine other side of the bed before slipping from hers. The white silk blouse hits the floor seconds before she disappears into the bathroom.

~Meme~ She eyes Anakin. Looks at her phone. Back and forth for five solid minutes before she just starts giggling. Which turns into a laugh.

~Sound~ It's those little sub-vocalisations that get her. Every near guttural groan, every single one of those breathless whimpers that cling to the edges of her senses soft as cobwebs or hard as thunder. There are so many layers between them, so much context to be drawn from even a half of a sigh. They are a siren song even if she doesn't know what rocks he wants her to dash herself on.

~Setting~

She cringes. "I don' wanna tell ya." He's helping her work on a psychological profiling assessment that's required of her continuing education class, which is all part of her professional development. But she's worried because it's going to sound incredibly racist, coming as it is not from a white-passing woman of colour but one of incredible privilege who absolutely knows what it's going to sound like. But she cannot resist the look of self-accusation and anxiety that creeps into his micro-expressions and doing anything else would feel incredibly dishonest. Something she doesn't want to foster in him. "Somewhere 'round sunset. Da bayou waddah look like it on fire. Dere's some soft Zydeco music goin' on in da backdrop. Air's hot an' heavy like steam 'tween lovers an' if ya real quiet, can hear da bayou jus' come alive wi' oddah souls. Dere's pirogues bobbin' along, an' you can smell some ono grindz cookin' somewhere. Spanish moss all hangin' down from cypress an' willow trees. A mixture of old spirituals an' dat beautiful, melodic pidgin dat get spoke down dere...I know is nevah really li'dat.... also make me t'ink of witch blood an' Mokole dat pass as gators... all dem ghosts an' da kine ya nevah can put ya finger on but dat give ya chicken skin jus' t'inkin' 'bout..." ~Fashion Style~

Clothes litter her floor. Flung without a care to their resting places. Some on the edge of her bed or the arm of a chair. Suits and jeans and tee-shirts. Undergarments and socks. Like some small hurricane exploded out of the closet, just with less water. There's sarongs too. Luau shirts that just aren't him. Shoes too. Finally, she steps back and examines her handiwork. A frame work of satin boxers that will caress the most delicate parts of him without bunching or pinching. An accent of which are picked up in the suit lapels and bow tie. White shirt, black buttons. Silver cuff-links. Socks that are thin as a Friday night prayer, and absolutely voluptuous Paolo Scafora oxfords in a blue so dark they look black at first glance, polished to a mirror gloss. Dior and Stefano Ricci. Famous labels from famous houses of style.

If the gala wasn't required...Anakin wouldn't be seeing the light of day and there'd be very different reasons the clothes would be laying scattered about.

But she kind of also misses that scruffy plain, slightly tattered tee-shirt and skinny jeans even she would have a hard time getting up past her own hips, and questionably aged converse. Aesthetically speakin, Anakin is ever clothing designer's wet dream and she has never wanted to be a circular scarf more in her life. "Wow. Jus'....wow." ~Feeling~

"Belonging."

It's all she says before she kisses him. Softly and sweetly, a little wet from a stray tear that slips down between their lips. Admitting this is admitting that maybe, just maybe, she loves him, too. Which puts a countdown on everything. Which means that he's going to find the wherewithal to leave her and to take with him every that makes her feel even the littlest bit real. She doesn't know if she'll survive the loss, so it's best that she make the most of it before he goes. ~Animal~ "If you were one dem changing breeds? You'd be a were-fossa. Dey are dese medium sized ....well. Dey kinda look like cats, but also...dey don't. Related to da civet but also like...mongooses. Mongeese? Wha'evah. Dey from Madagascar. Da Malagasy got kapu of a kind an' actually are sorta afraid of dem, an' wi' good reason...dey carnivorous ay-eff." She glances over. "Don' laugh! Dey beautiful an' rare an' I really like dem a lot. An' I'm not gonna tell ya any more about dem. Gonna make a new animal, an' call it a' Anakin." There is every possibility that she will do this. Some day.

~Holiday~ Christmas. It will always be Christmas. Not the lights and snow and carollers, though there's plenty of that to go around. Not the chill and dank air, not the interminably long night, not even because of gifts. It's not a childhood of Santa surfing or canoeing, and it isn't sandcastles and malasadas left by the lanai doors from Hawai'i, either. Maybe it's a touch of the peace and goodwill often associated with the season, and how he came to find her when he needed her the most. But if she had to give just one reason, it's that he brought her back a sense of wonder that she'd thought was lost when her world had shattered. He took something terrible and turned it into something beautiful. That isn't an ordinary, every day kind of magick and she doesn't know how she will ever be able to express her love and gratitude for him.

"Wha'ya t'ink about mebbe da Bahamas dis year? Get out of da city for a lil while, I promise I won' make ya go for da beach."

~Season~

When Beth thinks of seasons, she thinks of it being a mainland phenomenon. Her own islands only really have two: Kau from May to October, where everything is beautiful and averages about 85 degrees give or take, and Ho'oilo from November to April when the best tides bring in the biggest waves. It's only cooler by about ten degrees. Which is maybe why she always feels so cold so far away from home. And why she likes it here so much. She knows other places have as many as six seasons, broken up into more agricultural and solar tied patterns of weather and climate and sometimes even just spiritual nature. But taking all of Anakin into account, she would have to say... "Monsoon. It's da time of life-giving rains. But also it can be dangerous for the same reason. Cool but lingers along your skin. An' it's somet'ing I keep wi' me always, waitin' for it."

[randomvarious]

Rajery - “Jijy” Resting Place of the Mists: New Valiha and Marovany Music From Madagascar 1996 Valiha Music / Folk Music / World Music

I’m going to do something a bit different with today’s post and write about music that hardly any of us are ever exposed to. For whatever reasons, African music doesn’t get much attention in North America or Europe and that’s a shame. Valiha music is a special brand of African folk music that is mainly played (perhaps exclusively) in Madagascar. The back cover from Shanachie’s valiha and marovany (a similar instrument to the valiha) compilation, Resting Place of the Mists, describes the sounds of these instruments: “The valiha is aptly called the national instrument of Madagascar. Along with its cousin the marovany, its ethereal sound epitomizes the delicacy and exotic allure of Madagascar.”

To get a bit more technical, the valiha is a cylindrical instrument, named after a species of local bamboo that is native to Madagascar. Wrapped around the bamboo are a series of vertical strings. According to Wikipedia, the amount of strings typically ranges from 21 to 24. The strings are often made of bicycle brake cable, but guitar and piano strings have been known to be used by more serious players. Valihas also appear to vary in length and girth.

Here’s an example of what one looks like:

Sprinkled throughout Resting Place of the Mists is the valiha's most well-known ambassador, Rajery. Both a legend and a top-tier musician on the world music stage, Rajery is not merely just an extremely talented player, but a teacher and an author as well. No one has risen the global profile of the valiha more than he has.

And Rajery also only has one hand. He was born with two, but at eleven months old, he suddenly lost all the fingers on his right. There's conflicting accounts as to how it happened, but a piece of poisoned meat was involved. Chris Nickson in AllMusic says touching the meat caused his fingers to fall off, but other press accounts instead say that a woman who hated his family actually served it to him. Whatever the case may be, Rajery losing his hand at such a young age turned out to have a pretty significant silver lining (not to discount in any way the difficulties one faces on a daily basis, both physically and mentally, from such a handicap) because it enabled him to literally play the valiha like virtually no one else could.

From a 2002 article originally published in the Louisana newspaper, The Advocate:

Though the valiha usually calls for the extensive use of both hands, Rajery was gradually able to pluck with his nub. The plucking initially only caused his crippled hand to bleed, but with continued practice, he managed to toughen the skin to a point that allowed him to coax sound out of the instrument. The handicap also led him to take a different approach to the instrument, using his nub to strum and playing swift, delicate melodies with his other hand.

In 1996, a Rajery instrumental called "Jijy" appeared on Resting Place of the Mists. Full disclosure, I'm not sure if this is an original recording or not, because another version of "Jijy," which is a minute longer than the version I'm writing about, appeared on a French world music compilation in 1988. It's possible that the fine folks at Shanachie cut a minute out of that 1988 version (though I wouldn't really understand why), but this could also just be a completely different recording. I dunno.

Anyway, "Jijy" is magnificent. I can't locate any specific liner notes, but I feel like if Rajery was playing with anyone else, the other artists would have been credited in the album's track list. So, I can't say this with absolute confidence, but I'm thinking that every sound of the valiha on this song comes courtesy of Rajery, and I don't think any mixing was involved either, which means that this man, who possesses a single hand and a fingerless nub, is able to play his valiha in such a way that it sounds like there's actually two, sometimes three people, playing at once. Incredible.

And even if that's bull and there actually are other valiha players on this session, "Jijy" is still a very interesting piece of music. Multiple melodies occur simultaneously at all times and they clash, intersect, or complement each other. Sometimes one melody clearly leads while the other accompanies (or others accompany), and sometimes there's no clear-cut lead. The melodies are also constantly changing. Sometimes they're short and might repeat a handful of times, like towards the end of the song, but Rajery often discards of them pretty quickly and moves on to something new.

Breathtaking Malagasy folk music. The valiha is an amazing instrument and Rajery is so freaking good at playing it. He's been a known entity among world music aficionados for years, but he still deserves way more attention than he's received.

[randomvarious]

Tarika Ramilison - “Ny hanamojo” A World Out of Time, Volume 3: Music of Madagascar Song recorded in 1991? Compilation released in 1996. Hira Gasy / Folk / World Music

I’m going to do something a bit different with today’s post and write about music that hardly any of us are ever exposed to. For whatever reasons, African music doesn’t get much attention in North America or Europe and that’s really just a total shame. But over the years, there have been two American men, both accomplished guitarists and ethnomusicologists, Henry Kaiser and David Lindley, who have been able to successfully bring African music to American shores. And one of the greatest focuses of their long-running project has been the wide variety of music from the island nation of Madagascar.

Resting in the Indian Ocean and located off of Africa’s southeast coast, Madagascar can probably claim itself as the continent’s most unique country. Because of a culture that mixes Indian, Middle Eastern, and South African traditions, the Malagasy people have consistently managed to generate some of the world’s most extraordinary and inimitable music. And up until 1991(!), nearly all of America remained completely oblivious to that fact. But that began to change when Kaiser and Lindley returned from Madagascar with about six CDs worth of recorded material. The result was a series called A World Out of Time, named after a photo-book by the same name that depicts Madagascar’s beauty.

Volume 3 of A World Out of Time features a song by a group called Tarika Ramilison, who at the time, were Madagascar’s most famous Hira Gasy group. Hira Gasy is a form of mostly political folk music performed by a troupe of singers, dancers, and musicians. The liner notes of the first volume of A World Out of Time has more:

Hira-Gasy means literally: "the songs of the (Mala) Gasy". The singers perform wonderful dance routines as they sing the Hira-Gasy songs. These are typically morality songs, encouraging the audience to be together, to be patient and to respect the advice of elders. Hira Gasy bands play at marriages, circumcisions, funerals and famadihana [reburials]. Different bands compete musically to determine who is the musical champion.

For those interested, Wikipedia provides more specifics.

Tarika Ramilison’s brand of Hira Gasy was the first music that Kaiser and Lindley were introduced to upon their arrival to Madagascar. Those same liner notes set the scene for their initial experience:

...imagine that you were Henry and David and had just stepped off of an Air Mad[agasacar] jet. Your first visit to a strange new world. Jet-lagged from 72 hours of traveling around the Earth and twelve hours out-of-phase with the local time zone. Imagine that your new Malagasy friends-to-be had arranged a little Malagasy welcome party for you. What a surprise when the music and audience participation at the party turns out to be more explosive, intense, and louder than you could possibly imagine. The party goes on and on, into the night... During the party you meet many new friends...some that you will work with for the next two weeks and some that you will know for the rest of your life.

I don’t have definitive proof to make this claim, but I’m willing to bet that this Tarika Ramilison song I’m writing about today,“Ny hanamojo,” comes from the same performance described by these liner notes. Although the song is from the third volume of A World Out of Time and these liner notes are from the series’ first release, remember that Kaiser and Lindley managed to get six CDs worth of music from their 1991 trip. This could very well be an excerpt from that same welcome party.

If you’re not familiar with Hira Gasy, which is more than likely, then “Ny hanamojo,” which according to Google Transate means “to make fun of,” is probably one of the most novel songs you’ll ever hear. There’s no formulaic song composition like the verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus structures we’re largely accustomed to in North America and Europe. The drums aren’t there to hold a steady rhythm and the interstitial trumpet-led instrumental passages aren’t of consistent lengths either. The music here is free of much of the constraints that we’re used to. Unpredictability is key in just about every way, and that level of unexpectedness is what part of what keeps the listener so engaged. The other part is just how three pieces, drums, trumpets, and a handful of singers, can combine to produce music like most of the rest of the world has never heard or imagined. 

Amazing music from Madagascar. 

[randomvarious]

Mahaleo - “Kobaka” African Tranquility: The Contemplative Soul Of Africa Song released in 1992. Compilation released in 1996. Folk Music / World Music

Mahaleo is widely considered to be the most popular band in the history of the African island nation of Madagascar. Coined by Larry Birnbaum in the August 1992 issue of SPIN as the “island’s Bob Dylan,” this septet has been around since the early 70s, cranking out hundreds of songs that blend pop and folk with a wide range of traditional Malagasy music. Formed out of a student and farmer protest movement, Mahaleo’s lyrics are almost entirely focused on political revolution. According to Wikipedia, “they tend to promote collective, grassroots action as the best solution to the country’s problems, rather than entrusting the work to politicians and international development partners.”

On the other side of the world, two accomplished American guitarists and ethnomusicologists, Henry Kaiser and David Lindley, were fascinated with Malagasy music. The country’s confluence of Indian, Middle Eastern, and South African traditions had produced a scene like no other on the global stage. With a desire to bring the diverse sounds from this nation to American ears, Kaiser and Lindley took a trip down to Madagascar’s capital, Antananarivo.

The pair stayed there for two weeks and ended up recording hours upon house of music with some of Madagascar’s most premier musicians. One of those recordings was Mahaleo’s “Kobaka”. It ended up on Kaiser and Lindley’s contemporaneous representation of Madagascar’s vibrant music scene, A World Out of Time, and was included on a compilation of relaxing African folk music called African Tranquility a few years later.

Although Brian Olewnick at Allmusic gets a crucial fact wrong about Mahaleo (they’re a septet, not a solo act), his assessment of “Kobaka” is right on:

[Mahaleo’s] song structures and [lead singer Dama’s] deep, beguiling voice put most Western singer/songwriters to shame. His brooding song “Kobaka” is a masterpiece, along worth the price of the disc.

Can’t disagree with him there. I have no idea what specifically this song is about, but the Malagasy work “kobaka” means “burning” in English, and I don’t know about you, but Dama’s voice instills in me a burning desire to follow him to the end of the earth to help him achieve his political goals. It’s no wonder why the Malagasy gravitate towards Mahaleo with such affection. Dama’s voice is simply incredible.

Carrying with a relative softness throughout the majority of this song, along with some instances of endearing, light chuckling, Dama soars at the end with a powerfully passionate, climactic boom. His vocal range is admittedly limited, but the richness in quality of his vocals more than makes up for it. I don’t even know what he’s singing, but I’m inclined to agree just so I can hear him sing more of it. Dama has an uncanny ability to both soothe and activate.

One of Madagascar’s finest, and by far, its most popular band is on display here, twenty some odd years after they humbly began. Thanks to Henry Kaiser and David Lindley for revealing this historic and vitally important band to an American audience.

[randomvarious]

Trio Ratovo - “Ambodivoara” Resting Place of the Mists: New Valiha and Marovany Music From Madagascar 1996 Valiha Music / African Folk

I’m going to do something a bit different with today’s post and write about music that hardly any of us are exposed to. For whatever reasons, African music doesn’t get much attention in North America or Europe and that’s a shame. Valiha music is a special brand on African folk music that is mainly played (perhaps exclusively) in Madagascar. The back cover from Shanachie’s valiha and marovany (a similar instrument to the valiha) compilation, Resting Place of the Mists, describes these instruments’ sounds: “The valiha is aptly called the national instrument of Madagascar. Along with its cousin the marovany, its ethereal sound epitomizes the delicacy and exotic allure of Madagascar.”

To get a bit more technical, the valiha is a cylindrical instrument, named after a species of local bamboo that is native to Madagascar. Wrapped around the bamboo are a series of vertical strings. According to Wikipedia, the amount of strings typically ranges from 21 to 24. The strings are often made of bicycle brake cable, but guitar and piano strings have been known to be used by more serious players. Valihas also appear to vary in length and girth.

Here’s an example of what one looks like:

Sprinkled throughout Resting Place of the Mists is a group of valiha players called Trio Ratovo. I have no idea who they are, but they are fantastic. Their instrumental, “Ambodivoara,” shows some of the sonic capabilities of the valiha.

The valiha produces a really taut, sort of tropical sound, and although it’s a string instrument, it has a bit of a percussive kick to accompany each pluck, sort of like a xylophone or a tightly wound ukulele, making it a pretty dynamic and unique instrument.

The trio plays in unison for a chorus melody and then break apart from each other, as one plays a melody and the other two play a somewhat sparse backing rhythm. A little more than halfway through, the three of them descend into a rather swift, textured, and entrancing rhythm. This shows just how diverse of an instrument the valiha is. It can produce pleasant melodies, but a band of them can create some fascinatingly layered sounds. Following this little intriguing detour, the band climbs its way back to the chorus for the finale.

Super cool mid-90s Malagasy folk music.

[randomvarious]

Lemaditsy - “Mila Vola” Resting Place of the Mists: New Valiha and Marovany Music From Madagascar 1996 Valiha Music / African Folk

I’m going to do something a bit different with today’s post and write about music that hardly any of us are exposed to. For whatever reasons, African music doesn’t get much attention in North America or Europe and that’s a shame. Valiha music is a special brand of African folk music that is mainly played (perhaps exclusively) in Madagascar. The back cover from Shanachie’s valiha and marovany (a similar instrument to the valiha) compilation, Resting Place of the Mists, describes the sounds of these instruments: “The valiha is aptly called the national instrument of Madagascar. Along with its cousin the marovany, its ethereal sound epitomizes the delicacy and exotic allure of Madagascar.”

To get a bit more technical, the valiha is a cylindrical instrument, named after a species of local bamboo that is native to Madagascar. Wrapped around the bamboo are a series of vertical strings. According to Wikipedia, the amount of strings typically ranges from 21 to 24. The strings are often made of bicycle brake cable, but guitar and piano strings have been known to be used by more serious players. Valihas also appear to vary in length and girth.

Here’s an example of what one looks like:

Appearing on Resting Place of the Mists is a group called Lemaditsy. I have no idea who they are, but they are fantastic. Their instrumental “Mila Vola” shows some of the sonic capabilities of the valiha.

The valiha produces a really taut, sort of tropical sound, and although it’s a string instrument, it has a bit of a percussive kick to accompany each pluck, sort of like a xylophone or a tightly wound ukulele, making it a pretty dynamic and unique instrument.

There’s two valihas on this song that are constantly alternating between playing in unison and playing independently of each other. In the many instances when they’re not in unison, they play separate rhythms, producing exquisite moments that are both somewhat dense and enjoyably hypnotic. There’s also two singers, who might be the valiha players as well. They sing in unison most of the time, but when they break apart, there’s some liberating whooping, and in the second half, an awesome tongue trill.

Super cool mid-90s Malagasy folk music.

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Today’s compilation:

Resting Place of the Mists: New Valiha and Marovany Music From Madagascar 1996 Folk Music / World Music

Favorite tracks:

Akombaliha - “Ketaka” Rajery - “Embona”

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Today’s compilation:

A World Out of Time, Volume 3: Music of Madagascar 1996 Folk Music / World Music / Worldbeat

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Today’s compilation:

A World Out of Time: Henry Kaiser & David Lindley in Madagascar 1992 Malagasy Folk / African Folk / Folk / World Music

African music doesn’t get much attention in North America or Europe and that’s really just a total shame. But over the years, there have been two American men, both accomplished guitarists and ethnomusicologists, Henry Kaiser and David Lindley, who have been able to successfully bring African music to American shores. And one of the greatest focuses of their long-running project has been the wide variety of music from the island nation of Madagascar.

Resting in the Indian Ocean and located off of Africa’s southeast coast, Madagascar can probably claim itself as the continent’s most unique country. Because of a culture that mixes Indian, Middle Eastern, and South African traditions, the Malagasy people have consistently managed to generate some of the world’s most extraordinary and inimitable music. And up until 1991(!), nearly all of America remained completely oblivious to that fact. But that began to change when Kaiser and Lindley returned from Madagascar with about six CDs worth of recorded material. The result was a series called A World Out of Time, named after a photo-book that depicts Madagascar’s natural beauty.

So, yes, if you're a world music fan, this is an album that's definitely worth checking out, just for the sheer uniqueness of the combinations of instruments and the melodies and rhythms that those combos produce.

But the one song you really need to hear, world music fan or not, is this instrumental led by a guy named Tarika Rakoto Frah who leads with his bamboo-made flute instrument called the sodina on "The Rakoto Frah Two-Step." This guy, by those that know him, is simply regarded as one of the greatest flautists who has ever lived. The liner notes from the second volume of the World Out of Time series heap a ton of praise on him, comparing him to other masters of their instruments, like John Coltrane and Miles Davis. Another jazz legend, Ornette Coleman, remarked that Rakoto Frah was the greatest phraser in the world and Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull has said that he's drawn influence from him as well.

"The Rakoto Frah Two-Step" is a mesmerizing work of country-folk-styled guitar, a shuffling drumbeat, and Rakoto Frah's sodina skills. From listening to it, you understand that these World Out of Time liner notes are not overexaggerating in the slightest bit about his ability to play his instrument; they are, in fact, dead-on. The man was truly one of a kind.

And coincidentally, "The Rakoto Frah Two-Step" is the only song that AllMusic regards as this album's one true highlight, which is something I fully agree with. Nothing else on this album comes close to approaching its level of magic.

Highlights:

Tarika Rakoto Frah - "The Rakoto Frah Two-Step"