my new collaborative album with mansa sissoko is out now. you can preview the project here on the africa to appalachia ecard. or buy it here:

cd baby
itunes

you can read the latest reviews and articles right here.

kindly,

J

Ani Su!

After a year of prep work and a generous Chalmers Arts Fellowship award, I lit out for Mali, West Africa to research the roots of banjo and collect material for an upcoming album of Malian music. I left knowing what is still news to most. That is to say that as early as the 18th century, slave traders were known to capture West Africans with instruments to keep folks on the boats dancing and alive across the middle passage. They were headed for America where a certain gourd-bodied, five-stringed instrument was about to be renamed, its heritage practically erased. Slave life on the plantations was hardly the place for an authentic transmission of the African music's nuance and rhythmic innovation, so I thought it high time to fill in the gaps in person.

I arrived in Bamako reeling, trying to find my wits and rhythm in Mali's dusty, disorganized capital. We were sweltering at 40 degrees and rising. The world was orange. Goats and children roamed the streets and I had to quickly adjust to the astounding scale of poverty. Mali is the fourth poorest country in the world and 85% of the population lives on $2 a day. I stayed with a wonderful local family, ate mostly with my hands and slowly learned to navigate the city in battered green buses and renegade taxis. I discovered that speaking a little Bambara goes a long way, as does playing a note-perfect version of Ali Farka Toure's well-loved song Allah Uya.

There are no street signs or maps to be found, which is why it took some serious hunting to find the studio where I planned to meet Bassekou Kouyate, Mali's premier ngoni player. He was at work producing Ami Sacko's new album with members of Salif Keita's and Oumou Sangare's band. It was a wonder to see first hand how they make records there and even played banjo on one song (I hope they keep it!). Spent the following day at Bassekou's house digging into the banjo's roots in Mali. The exchange was illuminating and I came away with a renewed perspective on how the instrument and playing style has evolved on both continents. There is an astoundingly close connection between the ngoni and the banjo, and we worked on traditional music dating back all the way to the 6th century.

I fled the city to travel rural Mali and visit the Dogon Country. Imagine villages strung along an enormous escarpment and a way of life largely untouched by modernity. Village folk keep a five day week and often walk 25 miles a day to trade crops and crafts at their weekly markets. It was in the village of Ende that I met Seydou Are Gindou, a young artist who plays the Konou, a two-stringed instrument made from fig wood and stretched with goat skin. Under the light and sway of the full moon, we had an impromptu concert complete with Konou, calabash, talking drum and half a village worth of singers crowded around the fire and music. Let's not forget the crop of boys who returned at dawn from their annual circumcision ceremony atop the escarpment!

When I arrived back to civilization (and email), I met with surprise praise from fellow banjo researchers. Evidently I was the first to "discover" the Konou, an instrument as yet unknown outside the Dogon. Later in my travels I also happened upon the earliest known ancestor of the ngoni called a Juru Kelenni. After some convincing, ethnographer and historian Salia Male allowed me to peruse the archives of the National Museum in Bamako to photograph and play this one-stringed curiosity that might forever alter our understanding of the banjo's history.

We went to renown kora virtuoso Toumani Diabate's house to pay our respects and he invited me to play that evening at his music haunt the Hogon. The show began at midnight, Toumani arrived after one and I joined his Symmetric Orchestra around two, playing well into the wee hours. It thoroughly rocked my world and I'd venture to say this is one of the most powerful bands in the world.

The last week found me working with kora legend Djelimady Sissoko at the National Institute for the Arts and adapting ngoni music with the likes of Adama Tounkara, Mama Sissoko and Abdoulaye Kone. The pedagogy here is as challenging as it is enlivening. People just start playing these rhythmically mysterious little melodies and just when you catch on, they throw in a variation, a countermelody, a blur of 32nd notes. It's all done in time, with no chance to pause, practice or question. The music is alive!

I am now back on Canadian soil, poised to recoup and rehearse for the release of my brand new album The Utmost on May 1st. Check my calendar for Canadian shows. I will be playing Colorado CD release parties later in May and June at Swallow Hill, Steve's Guitars and Avogadro's Number.

Kindly,
Jayme Stone

Somogo!

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a short torrent of rain
and while scurrying to save my outdoor sleeping encampment, I
realized it was an auspicious sign. It was my last night here in
Mali and the change in weather marked both the arrival of a new
season and my return to familiar ground. As a further sign that all
was moving along as it should, I got a call in the afternoon that
Mangala Camara and Toumani Diabate were playing one block from
house. A fine final evening, though I now have only 4 hours sleep in
me.

The last ten days have been up and down. I fell ill with a
incapacitating flu that was nearly impossible to recover from in the
relentless heat. I could hardly sit up, let alone play and my
attitude was equally poisoned. It finally passed and while I've
found renewed energy for my project, I've been struggling to keep
pace with my schedule.

Daytime has found me at the National Institute working closely with
Djelimady Sissoko, an elder kora player and highly skilled teacher.
He is dead set on my mimicking his every note. It sharpened my ears
and am often left surprised how even the most ungainly passage is
possible with a little ingenuity (and elbow grease). While the ngoni
is maverick member of family here, the kora is the storage house for
the thousand variations of every song, the veritable flamekeeper of
the tradition. Evening comes and I continue to spend more time with
ngonists like Adama Toukara, beginning at last to capture that
punctuated and rhythmically freakish sound on my banjo.

Thursday night I lit out for one last session with Bassekou Kouyate.
I was compelled to revisit him in light of all I've experienced here
and was pleased to bookend my travels with Bassekou, who for me is
the consummate griot, a musician as deep as he is skilled. I am
still in awe of the range of sounds and environments he can summon
from that deceptively simple instrument. He played songs from his
family, some dating back as far as the 12th century, complete with
stories about kings, genies and forest people. I'll be playing with
Bassekou on my coming album sometime next year.

I'm off now for a final day in Bamako. Lots of visiting friends,
peers and collaborators. If I can find the time (unlikely) I'll try
again to get into the instrument archive at the National Museum.
There's no permanent exhibit of instruments and when the director
finally agreed to let me see them (not hard), the only person with
the key was nowhere to be found (welcome to Mali). A wild goose
chase like many things here. I was trying to see an instrument I
discovered called a Juru Kelegni, the oldest ngoni known here.

I'll write when I land safely on the continent. Can't wait to see
you all!

J

Hi Folks,

It's been a while since my last broadcast. I've not had a spare moment since falling into the well of Bamako's music scene last week. I started work at the National Institute for the Arts, an incredible resource, full to the brim with elder professors, wide-eyed students and an ambience of both high-brow education and down-home oral tradition. In a matter of hours I had interviewed Cheick Oumar Mara about the banjo's roots, played with Toumani Diabate's fiercely-talented fifteen-year-old son and magnetized an afternoon-long music session in the tree-shaded courtyard.

We went to renown kora virtuoso Toumani Diabate's house to pay our respects and he invited me to play that evening at his music haunt the Hogon. The show began at midnight, Toumani arrived after one and I joined his Symmetric Orchestra around two, playing well into the wee hours. It thoroughly rocked my world and I'd venture to say this is one of the most powerful bands in the world. Walk to (or click on) your favorite record store to buy their newly released album on Nonesuch: Boulevard of Independence. Incredible!

Spent the following day with Mama Sissoko, a legendary musician here who plays the ngoni ba, a large and dark-sounding brother to the ngoni. He was a joy to work with: wide smiles, eyes on fire and so so sweet. Evening found us at the annual Paris / Bamako Festival at the Institute for the Blind. Twelve hours of music including sets by
Cheick Tidane Seck, Mamani Keita and of course the legendary Amadou and Miriam. An international crowd, fine street food, the dustiest air I've ever breathed and more dancing than your feet could know.

Having become entranced by the ngoni (and set on meeting every player in town), we travelled in an early morning taxi to Lafiabougou to visit Adama Tounkara, Djelimady's younger brother and first call ngonist. Adama is steeped in the traditional griot music and generously taught me one tune after another. The pedagogy here is as challenging as it is enlivening. People just start playing these rhythmically mysterious little melodies and just when you catch on, they throw in a variation, a countermelody, a blur of 32nd notes. It's all done in time, with no chance to pause, practice or
question. The music is alive!

More work at the INA this week and a series of sessions with a young maverick ngoni player named Abdoulaye Kone. Hope all's well in your corner of the world!

Warmly,

Jayme

Wow,

Is it ever nice to come back to modern civilization! I've spent the last week traveling rural Mali and visiting the Dogon Country. Village after village with only minimal connection to modernity and a way of life largely unchanged for thousands of years. Also extreme poverty along the way. The Dogon is a collection villages strung along an enormous escarpment. Some are tucked into rock itself, the rest spotting the valley and plateau. The whole region is hike-able and has become a tourist / traveler mecca in recent years. There's a fascinating (and uneasy) clash between the ancient village life and the presence of tourist dollars, curiosity and influence.

The highlight for me was meeting Seydou Are Gindou, a cultured young artist from the village of Ende. He plays a two string banjo-like instrument called a Konou. It's made from the wood of a fig tree and stretched with goat skin. For you banjo aficianados, the instrument is played clawhammer style. Exactly. Under the light and sway of
the full moon, we had an impromptu concert complete with konou, calabash, talking drum and about 15 women singers. The music accompanies long storytelling songs about everything from witches to farming to one about a young man who (upon seeing the sky was hanging low) reaches to swipe a star with his hand. By the the wee hours, we had half the village crowded around the fire and music, along with a crop of boys just returning from their annual circumcision ceremony atop the escarpment!

We also spent time in Sevarre, Mopti and Bandiagara. Amadou and I used local transportation the whole time. It was grueling and exhausting: not always pleasant, but always a circus. Yesterday was a marathon day back to Bamako. There were times I felt on the brink of survival. Some statistics:

Number of seats on the bus: 50
Number of passengers: 64
Was there any A/C or even an open window: No
Did people eat deep fried mutton and raw yams with their bare hands:
Constantly
What one thing is used as a garbage, a seat, a bed and playpen for
the children: The aisles
Was it a small miracle when I found a bakery in San that made
Parisian quality croissants: Bismillah!
How long was the bus ride from Djenne to Bamako: 12 hours
Who we hitched a ride with from the market to the bus depot: 5
Tuaregs, 8 goats and 4 black chickens
What happens at sundown: The bus pulls over the side of the road and
everybody faces Mecca to pray

I could spin stories forever, but we'll have to wait until I'm back on North American soil. Coming up: I start work at the National Institute for the Arts, see Amadou and Miriam at the Institute for the Blind and possibly visit to Boubacar Traore in Lafiabougou.

Blessings,

Jayme

Aw Ni Ce!

The last few days have revealed a whole new side of Bamako. We were having a difficult time finding a trustworthy translator and the language barrier was not helping my adjustment to the local culture. Out for an evening stroll, I meet Hamadi Traore who greets me in English with a perfect Brooklyn accent. Turns out Hamadi fled Cote D'Ivoire to live awhile in New York before relocating around the corner from me here in Bamako. One of the kindest people I've ever met, we struck up an instant friendship and he's now my translator and fellow adventurer. A fine start to the week.

There are no street signs or maps to be found, which is why it took some serious hunting to find the studio where I had planned to meet Bassekou Kouyate, the premier ngoni player in Mali. He is at work producing Ami Sacko's new album with members of Salif Keita's and Oumou Sangare's band. I spent the better part of the day seeing
first hand how they make records here and even played banjo on one song (I hope they keep it!)

Evening found us at the Palais de Congress seeing Bassekou's own band. He's a musical innovator, bringing a modern sensibility to traditional music dating back all the way to the 3rd century. Spent the day after at Bassekou's house playing and interviewing him about the banjo's roots in Mali. The exchange was illuminating and I came away with a considerably more thorough understanding of how the instrument and playing style has evolved on both continents. There is an astoundingly close connection between the ngoni and the banjo and Bassekou's considers them to be essentially the same thing. And I learned some fantastic tunes!

I have no idea what I am going to do next. Blessings and thanks from out here, hope all's well in your corner of the world.

Jayme

I received a Chalmers Arts Fellowship to spend two months in Mali, West Africa doing research and field recording in preparation for a new project of African music on the banjo. Among other outcomes, I'll be making an album that will be produced by Lee Towsend, best known for his work with Bill Frisell, Pat Metheny, Kelly Joe Phelps and Crooked Still. I will be blogging as often as I can, so check back periodically.

Ani sogomen!

Your morning is my afternoon here in Bamako, Mali. We're currently sweltering at about 100 degrees.

I've been here about four days and starting find my rhythm and my wits. It's a rather serious culture shock. I'm in the capital, but it hardly looks like a city. No maps, hardly a paved road in sight and people everywhere. The sun is blazing, the earth is a burnt orange and everything (goats, children, banjo cases) is layered with dust.

The scale of poverty is astounding. The home I'm staying is considered more 'European', which only seems to mean there is electricity, running water and flushing toilet. I am trying hard to re-calibrate my scales, because these amenities are hardly the case for most. The typical household is a concrete box, a hole in the ground for a toilet, well water nearby and an outdoor thatched patchwork canopy for a living room. There are beautiful children everywhere, occupying themselves in the sun, the older ones often caring for the little ones. They swarm when I bring out a camera and
can't get enough of watching their faces appear on the screen afterwards. We eat with our hands out of one communal bowl, a custom that has my western alarm bells ringing. Oh well...

When the music begins, everything melts away and everyone participates. dancing, clapping, singing, playing calabash. I spent the last two days with a powerful kamel n'goni player and singer named Jah Youssouf: jahyoussouf.calabashmusic.com

We mostly played his original music the first day. Even though I can always find something to play, the rhythms are snaky: just when you think you found the downbeat, look out! Smiles abound and the connection is tangible and joyous, even with very little speaking. when I meet new people, I've been playing an Ali Farka Toure song that I once learned. They instantly recognize it and the whole room
is singing and clapping by the end. Ali Farka is something like the Bob Dylan of Mali. No one knows what a banjo is, though they are excited when I manage to learn a song.

Most of the women and children speak Bambara, for everyone else it's French. When I ask if people speak English, the response is a grin and "small, small" (which is all they know how to say). My French is hopefully improving, but in the meantime, it's just "petit, petit".

I could go on forever without truly capturing the spirit of this place. If all goes well, I might be online every few days. blessing to everyone over on the other shore.

Warmly,

Jayme

Hi Folks!

Hope all is well in your corner of the world. I just put up three previews of tunes from the new album. It was co-produced by David Travers-Smith and features Ross Martin (guitar), Matt Flinner (mandolin), Adam Galblum (fiddle), Mark Diamond (bass), Kevin Turcotte (trumpet), Rob Mosher (horns) and Mike Olsen (cello). It will be out in May and my quartet will be on tour in Canada and the States to support the release. Stay tuned!

Kindly,

J