Situated right in the middle of West Africa's musical hotbed (Ghana and Nigeria are close neighbors), the country of Burkina Faso has remained relatively unanthologized thus far, a situation that Analog Africa's Samy Ben Redjeb decided to remedy after hearing Amadou Ballaké's "Renouveau."  Unfortunately, Ballaké was not exactly the tip of a great iceberg of undiscovered brilliance–he was very nearly the entire damn iceberg.  That said, there are definitely a few other good songs by other artists on Bambara Mystic Soul, but almost half of the album is consumed by Ballaké and he is very much the star of the show (deservedly).
As is usually the case with Analog Africa compilations, the story of how this album came into being is at least as fascinating as the actual music.  For example, the aforementioned "Renouveau" record was part of a trove Redjeb unearthed in Niger, where it improbably survived for 30 years in an extremely hot and sand-filled environment where the preservation of records is basically the least of people's concerns.  Then came the requisite detective work and tireless scavenging, where he had the good fortune to locate a box containing the entire catalogue of Burkina's most popular '70s label (CVD).  Of course, he also had the very bad fortune of being mugged at gunpoint in Togo, then of being the hapless mediator between a very angry Ballaké and his former record company (who later ended up breaking Redjeb's contract by selling the same "exclusive" songs to another label).
Whether or not all that effort was worth it is hard to say, as I am a fairly casual, non-blog-scavenging fan of Africa music and see Bambara Mystic Soul as one of Analog Africa's lesser compilations, albeit one with a handful of fine songs.  For more serious fans, however, some of this material may be absolutely revelatory: Ballaké is fairly major figure in African music circles and the songs that Redjeb found are both extremely rare and from a period which many consider to be Amadou's prime (his later work is less raw).  In fact, I have even seen a blog that was excited to post a single from this period that was ripped from a damaged record–even somewhat mangled work from this period is considered well-worth hearing.  Also, after tracking down the whole CVD catalog from the scene's prime, finding and interviewing all the major players, and providing an absolutely overwhelming amount of information and background in his liner notes, Redjeb has basically dropped the definitive Burkina Faso collection: there is absolutely nothing he left that still needs to be done.  While I sure there are a number of great songs that are not included, I am equally sure that it is because they either could not be found or that Redjeb simply could not secure the necessary rights.
As aforementioned, Ballaké completely steals the show, though his numerous backing bands deserve a lot of the credit.  Though originally a percussionist, it is Ballaké's soulful voice that made him a legend.  As great as that voice is, however, I was equally impressed by the guitar-work on most of his songs, particularly the clean, hypnotically repeating riff in "Johnny" (courtesy of l'Orchestre Super Volta).  All of Amadou's included songs are invariably quite good though.  In general, Ballaké's more sultry, languorous work was with Les 5 Consuls ("Renouveau" and "Baden Djougou"), while his other incarnations are bit more funky and American soul-indebted, but there are exceptions.  Curiously, it is rare for any distinctly "African" percussion to appear, which is why this collection initially underwhelmed me a bit.  Most of Bambara Mystic Soul sounds like it could have been played by a '70s American soul or funk band, rhythm-section-wise, though it is admittedly more repetitive and raw.  Without the mesmerizing repetition and the awesome guitarists, many of these songs would sound like mere pastiches, albeit good ones.
Of course, there are some noteworthy exceptions, as the non-Ballaké selections are far from dire.  In particular, the two songs from Mamo Legbama stand out, largely because he is a very charismatic (if a bit hammy) frontman.  The hard funk of "Music, Love, and Dance" is probably his finest moment, as I especially enjoyed his amusing use of high-pitched female backing singers.  His "Zambo Zambo" is also great though, boasting a very vibrant, roiling groove and some very likable turns by his guitarist, horn section, and organist.  Mangue Konde's "Kobendo" is also quite catchy, blending breezy Highlife-style guitars with some very propulsive and spirited percussion.  The other songs that caught and held my attention usually did so for the wrong reasons though, as Compaoré Issouf's "Dambakale" sounds a lot like a relentlessly cheery soundtrack to a terrible '70s porno, while Orchestre CVD's "Rog Mik Africa" initially sounds like a live Allman Brothers jam.
The remainder of the songs are generally quite good, but mostly lack the uniqueness that I am looking for when listening to music from a faraway place and time, though a few pieces succeed simply because they appropriate American funk/soul and regurgitate it in harder, more frenzied form (Abdoulaye Cissé and Coulibaly Tidiani, for example).  Ultimately, this is a solid  and exhaustively researched compilation, which I suppose is a success, but I have been so spoiled by the recent spate of great African music compilations that I am left a little disappointed whenever there is not at least one song that sends me obsessively searching for the rest of an artist's oeuvre.  More succinctly, I respect rather than love this compilation: Redjeb certainly poured his heart into his work, but it just just did not connect with me as much as some of his others.  Other people might feel very differently, however (music is quite subjective, you know), and those lucky people will be rewarded with all the information they could possibly want to embark upon an epic scavenger hunt centered around Amadou Ballaké and his unsung contemporaries.
- Amadou Ballaké ef Le 5 Consuls, "Renouveau"
- Mamo Lagbema, "Love, Music, and Dance"
- Mange Konde et Le Super Mandé, "Kabendo"
 
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