It was a Tuesday night. In Baltimore. And I finally got to see Mdou Moctar. At Ottobar.
We got there a little early. My first time at Ottobar - a wonderfully dark, sticker-and-graffiti-covered place. The stage was a few steps down from the bar, to the right. A small balcony on the left side with a row of chairs looking down on the crowd A far more diverse crowd than DC, a bit of excitement in the air. Full - but not uncomfortable. Got a good spot about 1/3 of the way back, smiling.
Blacks' Myths opened. Loud, dissonant, fractured. Jarring, but beautiful. Jazz-as-hardcore isn't a bad description. It was wild. Started with a guitar / bass player, seated, building layers of sound. Wild strumming, pauses, spaces. With a drummer pulling time backwards and forwards - tight, steady. Then a saxophone. Noise. So much noise. But textured and moving. It felt like a painting, with lines and threads you could follow indefinitely. I got lost. Floated. Didn't care. Pulled through. So good to see chaos like that, risk like that, in public. I'd go again, anytime.
Then a break. Time for a Natty Boh and some choice crowd-watching. Then Mdou walked out with his band - in full desert outfits. Like they stepped out of that movie. He smiled, wide and deep, and said "thank you for the claps, guys" and launched into the first song.
It's incredible to me that the guitar has so many voices. And that there are new ones - expansive ones - just waiting to be found. He played a tight, short set. Maybe 45 minutes. But for those 45 minutes, time stopped. It felt like the desert. It felt like Mdou's time and we were just living in it. There was a beauty in the rambling melody lines, real feeling in the singing - words themselves immaterial to understanding.
The band has been on tour for a while - so they were able to shift tempos with a glance. Everyone working together - real joy passing between them. Big smiles, simple connections. The room was moving - not chaotically, but like we were entranced, pulled rhythmically together. It's a long way from the Sahara to Ottobar - but somehow, not. It felt good to be there. Really good.
