Slightly more than a year ago, the world of music lost Simon Emmerson. The guitarist was the founder of both Weekend and Working Week but is, probably, best known for his pioneering work with two of the greatest Folk-y fusion bands of all time. If Imagined Village have their feet in English Folk music then Afro Celt Sound System are an irresistible mix of (mainly) Irish and (mainly) African rhythms.
This is the first tour that the Afro Celts have been on since Emmerson’s passing, the first to celebrate his final work with him. Their new album, OVA, was made with their Commander-in-Chief and his absence is felt keenly. His image appears, frequently, on the screen behind the band, bent over various stringed instruments, smiling warmly, a smile wrinkling around his eyes.
On this tour, the ever fluid Afro Celt Sound System are a seven-piece. Led by the Dhol of Johnny Kalsi and N’Faly Kouyate’s dextrous Kora, they are a whirling, bouncing, bubbling delight. There’s so much going on that it’s a bit like being stuck in a kaleidoscope, frantically twisted by a hyperactive child.
Hawk Owl, taken from OVA, builds beautifully, Kora shimmers and those huge Dhol beats joining forces with Kalifa Koné’s dizzying percussion, the heartbeat of Tara Howley’s Uilleann pipes and Enda Gallery’s keyboard swooshes. All the while, back projections flicker and pulse, the natural world in all of its glorious finery. It’s almost indescribably immersive.
For Bâdji Kan Wali the five musicians are joined by two singers, one Afro and one Celt. Binta Suso and Múlú syncopate their shoulder sways, their buttery, warming harmonies further humanising the pro-asylum seeking narrative of the song. Kalsi clatters away on his drum kit, a teetering heap of cymbals, snares and toms, as Gallery’s keyboards swirl around. Kouyate stands as the emotional heart, right there in the centre of the stage, his pain for refugees writ large, the loss he feels clearly personal.
From here on in, the Afro Celt Sound System have us ensnared. Every song is layered with African percussion and Celtic whistles. Every song is danceable yet vulnerable, hedonistic yet thoughtful. The thunderous beats never drown out the message. On La Paix, Kouyate calls for “Peace. Now” as Howley’s sweet violin arcs, dove-like, above Suso’s Afro-soul and Kouyate, finally, tears your heart out, his voice and Kora beseeching.
As Koné and Kalsi embark on a frantic drum battle you wonder just how much more joyful this can all become. Drum solos are normally best avoided, but not when these two master musicians are at work. Koné’s hands become a blur, Kalsi leading the audience in a clap-along that we have no chance of keeping up with. Step Up emerges from the madness, Howley and Múlú with whistles crashing into great big squishy electronic beats. The Celtic dancing, madly, with the African rhythms, explosive musical fireworks ricocheting about all over the place.
Twelve songs, twelve utterly uplifting moments, and then they’re gone. Simon Emmerson was, undoubtedly, missed but there can be no better way to celebrate the passing of a friend than to present his music in the most beautiful way possible. In this incarnation of the Afro Celt Sound System, his legacy is secure.
Gavin McNamara
TallFolk 