Amassakoul

1	Amassakoul 'N' Ténéré 3:24
2	Oualahila Ar Tesninam 3:47
3	Chatma 5:36
4	Arawan 4:06
5	Chert Boghassa 3:52
6	Amidinin 2:51
7	Ténéré Daféd Nikchan 4:51
8	Aldhechen Manin 3:54
9	Alkhar Dessouf 4:55
10	Eh Massina Sintadoben 4:29
11	Assoul 4:06

Barnes & Noble

Tuareg rebel rockers Tinariwen may be one of the more unlikely world-music flavors of the month, but the music of these desert-dwelling former freedom fighters is just as immediate as the back-to-the-rock stylings of the Strokes or Franz Ferdinand. Especially on this, their second album, recorded with modern equipment in France -- as opposed to their in situ sleeper The Radio Tisdas Sessions -- the affinity to neo-punk guitar bands is striking. Each line wriggles and thrashes like a sidewinder scaling a desert dune, while hand-drums and clapping propel the picking along. If the blare of Ike Turner's Rocket 88 inspired his guitar sound, the loping gait of Amassakoul is similarly locomotive; much of the music of the Tuareg -- or kel-Tamashek, as they call themselves -- is based on the rhythms of their striding camels. While these tribesmen traded in lutes for electric guitars long ago, they retain an idiosyncratic rhythm and attack that's rooted in North African Islamic and Berber traditions, with a little bit of Malian guitar mojo thrown in for good measure. Other influences include the mysterious Sahelian sting of Ali Farka Touré and his American counterpart, John Lee Hooker, especially on "Ténéré Daféo Nikchan," while the call-and-response vocals of "Chatma" seem to plug in to some Saharan version of Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall." "Arawan" carries a hip-hop cadence; "Alkhar Dessouf" is stark, dehydrated reggae. Each track, really, is another surprise, a small-world clash of sounds both alien and familiar. For discerning music fans, Tinariwen's raw, arid groove is a welcome oasis in an otherwise barren pop landscape. Mark Schwartz

All Music Guide

Tinariwen strip rock down to its basic building blocks of rhythm, guitars, and voice. On their second CD there are no fancy studio tricks or multiple overdubs. They stick to what they've shown they do well -- keep the music raw and emotional. While there are similarities to the desert blues of Mali, these Tuareg nomads from the Western Sahara are as much as rock band as the Stones at their best, capable of conjuring up magic with a guitar riff or lick. Oftentimes, the music has the same bluesy, undulating, hypnotic rhythm of a camel crossing the sand, as on "Aldhechen Manin." But they can also crank the amps and unleash something to tingle the spine and feet, which they do on "Oualahila Ar Tesninam," as frantic and primal a piece of rock & roll as you're likely to find. There's even a touch of rap on "Arawan." But there's a complexity in their basic approach, the interlocking layers of electric guitars and the plaintive, defiant voices. To listen to Tinariwen is to believe once more in rock and its power. This is angry and passionate; it's dangerous music in the very best sense. Western bands might have forgotten how to rock as if their lives depended on it; Tinariwen can teach them. Chris Nickson