RICHARD MURGATROYD enjoys a readable account of the life and meditations of one of the few Roman emperors with a good reputation
Malian masters in exhilarating form
Captivating: Bassekou Kouyate
ALEX HALL asks whether intelligence, and stupidity, are the outcomes of poverty and wealth, and cultural norms
BRENT CUTLER is persuaded by a new account of the rise of Christianity, and the fall of the Roman empire
If non-human nature is devoid of value under the capitalist mode of production, this book presents the case for its reintegration, suggests HENRY BELL
The Bard takes issue with a BBC portrait of The Balkans, and sets the record straight
ANGUS REID urges you to visit Britain’s most remarkable - and mind-blowing - festival of contemporary music
MARIA DUARTE reviews Desperate Journey, Blue Moon, Pillion, and Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery
Bassekou Kouyate and Ngoni ba
Subterranea, London
WITH THE demeanour of complete paternal authority over proceedings, Bassekou Kouyate cuts the figure of a tribal elder centre stage — until his wife Amy Sacko sings. The audience gasps at her vocal range and crystalline delivery across ascending scales.
She's very much a focus of this family line-up, with Kouyate's son Madou on bass, Abou Sissoko on medium ngoni, Moctar Kouyate on calabash and Mahamadou Tounkara — the clown in the outfit — on doundoun, yabara and tama.
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ANGUS REID is transported by a relentless and double-bass-swingingly great set of punkfolk classics