Review: Bokante, St George’s

Bokante truly are from all over the place. In a world increasingly defined by the politics of nationalism and homogeneity, their multi-continent, multi-national, multi-generational, multi-gendered line up is a splash of difference to be celebrated.

In contrast, they set up on St George’s stage seemingly in opposition to each other—three percussionists on one side set against five guitarists on the other. Looked like an away win. Centre stage, but without a referee’s whistle, stands Guadeloupian singer Malika Tirolien, resplendent in her white head dress. But this is no conflict, no row—they start to groove, and then groove again, in happy unison and don’t stop until two sets and an encore later they have left the St Georges’ crowd ecstatic in their response.

The big name on show here is Michael League, head honcho of jazz rock supergroup Snarky Puppy. Bokante started out as a side project from his main Puppy-related activities but has grown into a project now three years into its touring life—here on the back of their recent What Heat album. League is a conservatory-trained player of breathtaking technique.

The band around him tonight are from the top drawer of world-class session players. They nod and gurn at each other as another knotty time signature is negotiated, smile knowingly across the stage as a particularly tricky chord is thrown into this dense musical soup. They have lots of kit, boys with their expensive toys. The three percussionists have a vast array of weird and wonderfuls from across the globe to bang and shake (at one point there is a metal washboard vest solo). League spends a significant amount of the set with his dextrous fingers skipping across the frets of an electric oud. This is definitely not Def Leppard.

Opener Bod Lanme Pa Lwen starts with a haunting, slide-guitar-led blues, gently setting the atmosphere. Then the dramatic entry of an avalanche of skittering percussion. Tirolien responds with a joyful vocal, losing herself in a loose-limbed dance which she returns to several times during the evening. Warm, call and response vocal harmonies from the boys with guitars support but never intrude, and the groove goes on and on.

Each piece is a lengthy, multi-sectioned groove-based skip around various musical styles. Most happily sitting in the world music section of the record shop. I found my ‘sounds-like’ radar flitting between 80s Ry Cooder film soundtracks, Fatoumata Diawara’s joyful contemporary afro pop and Malian desert blues. This musical mixture is further coloured by generous helpings of the Caribbean and the Middle East, all tied together with 70s jazz rock structures.

It is when the players hit something resembling the most euphoric bits of those 70s albums by jazz rock royalty Weather Report that this band are delivering at their most exuberant. The final track of the set, Nou Tout Se Yonn, has such a powerful sway that it leaves me with one of those wonderful moments when with the sheer joy of the musicians meets with the response of the audience and the barriers between stage and crowd are broken down into an ecstatic, fuzzy oneness. It made me want to cry with joy which, sadly, doesn’t happen often in these hardened times.

It can’t be easy being in the world music marketplace these days. I remember my white-boy rock and pop ears being first opened to Youssou and Nusrat in the 80s and early 90s. They were sounds from another place that I had no reference points for. They have changed the way I have listened to music ever since. Now every wannabe pop idol has an exotic sample bleeding into your ears as you buy toothpaste in Wilko.

It can be hard for even the most outre of sounds to feel new anymore. Anyone who was lucky enough to experience Malika Tirolien’s extraordinary, swooping vocal performance on encore Heritier tonight would have had even the most jaded of musical palettes reinvigorated. My somewhat limited music journalist word pool could lead me to ‘breathtaking’, ‘ecstatic’ or ‘spellbinding’. I think I’ll settle for beautiful. It truly was. I loved this. Whatever you do, don’t miss them next time they’re in town, even if you need a sledge to get you safely home through the snowbound Bristol streets.