Don't mention the music!

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Mind you, we do learn that "Set is a Wolof word meaning pure and clean." and that the word apparently fits Mr. N'Dour "...like the flowing boubou he wears...". Your Dues writer can only conclude after viewing the photograph attached to the article that the fit is at best loose and inexact. We also learn that Mr. N'Dour is "very comfortable walking in his shoes". Your Dues writer was delighted to learn that piece of vital information and feels prompted to observe that Mr. N'Dour was doubtlessly more comfortable than if he had been walking in his suitcase.

After this interesting but somewhat lengthy introduction Ms. Coufos does actually refer to what she heard. Mr. N'Dour apparently delivered one of his songs as a "Teutonic dirge". Your Dues writer freely admits that this statement caused some puzzlement. Mr. N'Dour's country of origin is Senegal and the review makes much of his connection with that country and its people, going so far as to claim that he "...has never left Dakar, not spiritually and definitely not musically." It would be reasonable then, to suppose that the music was essentially Senegalese. Some diligent research has revealed that Senegal prior to independence was a French colony so a Gallic influence admittedly would be unsurprising but a German one? Perhaps the cultural effects of the Vichy government in World War II France have been seriously underestimated.

Ms. Coufos continues her review with some observations about the artist's career. Apparently because of the "...clear beauty of his voice alone..." Mr N'Dour "...could have been a popstar...". This will be interesting news to vocalists who are engaged in the pursuit of that particular musical goal, not least those on "Australian Idol" or "Popstars". Further, "...greater success would come...", evidently, "...should N'Dour sing more in English, but at what expense?". A very good question. Your Dues writer can think of a multitude of potential answers ranging from "none" to "quite a lot actually". Ms. Coufos sadly does not seem to feel the need to provide any further guidance on this point. Incidentally she also fails to inform us exactly in which language Mr. N'Dour does sing. (Further research has revealed that apart from the official language of French, Wolof, Pulaar, Jola and Mandinka are also spoken in Senegal.) This fascinating linguistic conundrum is brought to a conclusion by the statement: "Certainly nobody at the Concert Hall would want him any other way." You Dues writer feels compelled to congratulate Ms. Coufos on her dedication and wonder in amazement how she managed to seek the opinion of every single audience member who was in Concert Hall on the night in question!

Surprise can be a wonderfully refreshing experience. Perhaps it is a good thing that one can approach a review such as this with the mundane expectation of finding out something about a performance and the music performed and then... learn little or nothing.

The original review can be found at: http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/archives/ by searching under "youssou" - subscription required.

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The Triangles sparkle

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Their naïve tunes and strangely bent lyrics wouldn't be out of place on an early Brian Eno album. But there is an emotional depth to some of the songs that belies such comparisons. In one song, a character takes a permanent marker and circles all the imperfections on her body so that she can confront her lover with them, to prove she is not good enough for him...or to be truly accepted.

Echoes of the kindergarten abound in the orchestration - recorders, a melodeon, click sticks, a cheap glockenspiel, a cheesy keyboard and of course, a triangle. As far as the inner child goes, this band has been pulled inside out (possibly by their trip through the daggy black hole). However, the Triangles combine their kindegarten sounds in rythms and colours that are interesting, unexpected and strangely satisfying.

The use of kindergarten instruments also means that they suffer from a preponderance of middle and upper register sounds. This can get a bit wearing after a while - there is a lack of punch and warmth in their rockier numbers which, if present, could provide a balance to the ubiquitous top end. (The Triangles also use drum kit and guitar, but no bass except that provided by the keyboard).

If this show were a children's book, it would be by Roald Dahl on acid, with illustrations by Magritte or Dali. The surreal is never far away. In another song, a character falls in love with the bats that are chewing her arms off. The effect of this song, sung by the aforementioned impossibly young pure blond singer, is magically and blissfully disturbing, like Wagner for the under-10s.

The Triangles are not without their problems. Their constant instrument swapping lends, as it so often does, an air of amateurishness to their stage performance, and their evident inexperience with live performance through a PA occasionally results in some gratingly out-of-tune vocal harmonies.

But they are masters of audience involvement. As a motif that runs through the nights, they get the crowd to hold their hands in the air, as if a Pentecostal congregation has overrun the pub. Halfway through the night, the guitarist plays a song solo while the rest of the band hand out home-baked cake made by their aunts or some such, and encourage people to take random badges from a box. Mine reads "I have been told that my skin is exceptionally smooth..." The crowd, which was not by any means simply made up of their cheerleaders, was constantly delighted and demanded more...the final measure of a good gig by a fascinating band.

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