Perhaps it’s a case of quality not quantity, or the amount of dope he smokes, but Senegalese crooner Chiekh Lô doesn’t make albums very often. He has only released three since his bewitching international debut Ne La Thiass in 1996. And although he hasn’t really followed through on the promise of that first record, Jamm comes closer to doing this than anything since.
Lô’s music has always been roughly divided between a mellow semi-acoustic take on the surging poly-rhythms of mbalax – Senegal’s most distinctive and popular style – and the local variations on Afro-Cuban grooves loved throughout West Africa since the 1960s. Lô was born in Burkina Faso and spent his formative years there, so he’s always had quite a different take on them from other Senegalese artists, as well as several other influences.
These are brought to the fore on Jamm, which has a strong streak of nostalgia running through it, and an equal number of covers and original compositions, revealing more about his roots than any previous release. For a relatively short album, it’s surprisingly varied, or as he drolly puts it in the sleeve notes: "It’s a cocktail".
The opening cut Conia is typical mbalax, and finds him scatting tentatively to rather quaint effect. Il N’est Jamais Trop Tard is a relaxed mix of Manding and Congolese flavours, and the first of two songs by the great Guinean band Bembeya Jazz. Both this and the summery, swinging Warico feature some tasty electric guitar that suggests the influence of Orchestra Baobab’s Barthelemy Attisso, rather than Sekou "Bembeya" Diabaté. Lô has an endearing habit of slipping into a husky falsetto, but delivers his most forceful vocal on the Afro-Cuban number Seyni, the first song he ever sang in public.
Celebrity guest (and long term Lô collaborator) saxophonist Pee Wee Ellis has become a little too ubiquitous by the time you get to Bourama, an overblown festival crowd-pleaser. Even so, things rally with guest drummer Tony Allen’s signature double-kick Afrobeat rhythm and nifty cymbal work on Ne Parti Pas, which gives the song a nice lift without intruding. The lovely, understated closer Folly Cagni is another subtle gem, probably the track closest to the original demos that formed the backbone of the recording. Jamm is slow to reveal its charms, but charming nonetheless.
--Jon Lusk