Salif Keita arrives onstage looking more
like a spiritual supplicant than a descendant
of Malian royalty. His hands held in prayer in
front of his face, his eyes cast downward; he 
seems prepared to undergo a religious conversion.
And, to some extent, that's precisely
what singing means to one of Africa's
most celebrated pop artists.

"Performing is like a prayer," says Keita in his soft-spoken manner, so different from the sonic blast of his full-flight vocals, an instrument few can match for intensity and sheer power. "And what is most important is to remember that all music is spiritual. Even music that makes you dance can have a spiritual quality. Because a musician onstage can communicate from the heart to the body"

Keita's contemplative outlook comes from the hard-won lessons of a life as
an outsider. Born an albino in a black society, he might easily, in the not too distant past, have faced death on the sacrificial stones that still stand near the small village where he was born. It's no wonder that he projects a sense of privacy—even isolation—when he's offstage.

When he's in front of an audience, though, Keita is transformed. His magnetic shows, blending Western horns and keyboards with

the traditional sounds and rhythms of
Mali, are passionate outpourings of
feeling. His singing charged with roots
elements—from the praise singing of
African griots to the gutsy express-
iveness of the blues—crosses over all
barriers of language and nationalities.

Keita comes from a part of West
Africa with a rich musical heritage.
Music played an important role in
Mali's predominant Manding society,
dating back to the 13th century,
when king Soundiata Keita, an ancestor
o Salif's, established the Manding empire.
The long period of French rule put a lid on traditional sounds, but they began
to reemerge in new and contem-
porized forms after independence in
the '60s.

Dance bands influenced by Latin
and Cuban rhythms intermingled
with revitalized indigenous styles.
The jalimusolo, or female griot singers,
with their powerful voices and visually
dramatic renderings of love songs,
surged in the '70s. Some of the griot
artists have liberally mixed electric
accompaniment into their music. And in the last decade, Wassoulou music, a chant style borrowed from ancient hunters' songs, has become as popular as the griot shadings of Keita.

Keita grew up during the musical ferment of the '60s and '70s, and found himself drawn to the new hybrid forms, which offered freedom from strictures and stereotypes—the kind he knew all too well straddling worlds as a racial outcast.
Born in Djoliba, west of Bamako, the third of 13 children, he had to struggle to be heard even within his own home. His
father was so upset to see an albino child that he banished Keita and his mother from the house. But his attitude apparently changed when a village priest predicted his son would achieve fame.

Although his family was poor by Western standards, Keita's noble bloodline prohibited him from following a career in music. Malian society is still fairly hierarchical, with caste-determined professions. The Keilas considered themselves superior to the jalis, the caste of professional musicians. But the distinctive sound of Keita's voice, and the impassioned feelings he was capable of communicating, made the calling hard to ignore.

"In Africa," he explains, "everyone
sings a little bit. When I was young, I would go out into the fields and sing loudly to scare away the birds, and so I developed a very strong  voice."

His voice became a vehicle to exorcise the fears and uncertainties of the stigma of growing up as an albino. "The fact that I was born an albino decided my life," he stales. "It brought me obvious problems as a child. You can imagine what it was like. It made my life very difficult. And as a result, there is a lot more strength and a little more violence in my voice." And there was enough compulsion to pursue his passion despite his fathers insistence that he stick to caste customs
("In my family, men did not sing''). "I
told him," recalls Keita, "that I could
either sing or become a juvenile
delinquent. And, since my father did
not want me to hang out in the streets,
he finally decided it was more noble to
become a musician, even though he saw
it as the lesser of two evils."

  As he began working as a musician,
Keita began to win more acceptance
from his family and everyone else.
"Becoming an artist made life easier
for me," he acknowledges. He got his
career started with the Rail Band of
Bamako, a group founded by the Mali
railway administration to entertain train
travelers at the Bamako station. He
remembers listening to Cuban big band
music then, as well as jazz. "Of course,
it came from Africa first, you know.
But I also listened to Pink Floyd and
James Brown. After that, rhythm and
blues, Barry While and always lots of
European music.

  His breakthrough came after he left
the rail world to join a hotel band called Les Ambassadeurs du Motel. Their
recording of "Mandjou," a song that
praises former Guinean dictator Sekou
Toure, brought Keita international
stardom. He brushes aside any
references to Toure, though. The song
was written only to acknowledge
Toure's support for Manding culture, he maintains. "I try never to get caught in politics.”

In the early '80s, Keita moved to
Pans "to be where everything was
happening. It was a business center, you
could meet musicians from other
cultures, and there was a popularization
of African culture taking place in France
at that time." Fairly soon alter, he made
a solo album, Soro (Mango/Island),
which established him as a charismatic
performer who could translate African
music into an accessible formal without
sacrificing its fundamental elements.
Other equally impressive outings
followed. Ko Yan featured a con-
temporary Weather Report-like sound,
and Amen, co produced by Joe Zawinul
and featuring Carlos Santana, Wayne
Shorter and musicians from France and
Mali, continued the direction. The album
was nominated for a Grammy in 1991.
making Keita the first African bandleader
to be so honored. His latest album,
Felon...The Past (Mango/Island), despite its title, it’s less a retrospective than an
expansion of his already strong ties with
his homeland.

Keita shrugs off criticism that he is
losing touch with his Malian roots in
his explorations of jazz, R&B and rock.
"I don't see that it's necessary for me to
preserve that music," he maintains.
"What's necessary is that you do music
you love."

Unlike many expect African artists, Keita stays close to home, returning every four months to get re-connected, "like a fish going back to water. "With that strong
base, he'll continue to pursue his syn-
thesis of the traditional and contemporary,
as well as his commitment to the spiritual
elements of his music that generate the
connection with his listeners.

"I always pray that
everything goes well when I perform."
he adds. "The most important thing is
the contact with my audiences. And that
comes about only when I am doing the
music I love to make."

—DON HECKMAN

ROYAL CHARMERS

Griots, or jalis, are the musical
caste of Mali's Manding society, the
professional players and singers
that keep the country jumping and
oral histories alive. The jalis once
entertained royal courts with epic
songs about the great events of
Manding history. They knew local
genealogies, and often encouraged
their kings into battle with lavish
songs of praise. Today they sing for
politicians and the business elite,
but still play a vital role in the
culture, patching up feuds and
arranging marriages. As a famous
Mali kora player once put it, "The¹
are the needle that sew