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On January 24th, 2025 I was fortunate to find myself in Ottawa for a work weekend. Even better, the weekend coincided with a cold snap that had hardened the Rideau Canal into its winter habit of becoming the World’s Largest Skating Rink. I was surprised that a) as long as the blades are not detachable ice skates are indeed allowed in one’s carry-on luggage, and b) I was actually able to fit my skates and helmet into my carryon along with my scores and my pencil case and my nice shoes and stuff.
And oh, did I skate! I skated directly after the concert, I skated first thing in the morning on Saturday, and after my gig on Sunday I skated and skated and skated. My word, how I miss skating on the canal!
Oh right…the concert…
[ahem]
My work trip also happened to coincide with a show at the National Arts Centre that I was pretty interested in. Though I had never heard of Omar Sosa, Seckou Keita, nor the unnamed drummer that rounded out the SUBA trio, I have been a major fan of the kora – a many-stringed African skinned gourd harp/guitar-like instrument that is ubiquitous in Saharan music – since the first time I saw the great kora master Toumani Diabaté perform at the Ottawa Bluesfest in 2007. So when I saw that tickets were only $34 and that the concert was slated to begin just three hours after my plane was scheduled to land I started to get excited.
Not like “Omigawd, the canal is going to be open for skating!” excited or anything, but excited all the same.*
Fearing a flight delay I waited until I had actually arrived in Ottawa before purchasing my ticket, but even at that late hour (almost quite literally) I managed to score a ticket right next to some friends that were also going to the show, which was rather ideal.
And so I walked through the crisp and frigid, -20°C weather and found my seat through frosty glasses. As I was warming up my friend Alan arrived and after a short chat the lights went down to start the show.
(Gord and Lynn arrived midway through the first song. After the show I lied that after opening with Zeppelin’s Kashmir I was surprised that the rest of the show was entirely original West African music. They claimed I didn’t, but I think I had them both going for a second or two.)
The three players emerged and took their places, with Senegal’s Seckou Keita and his kora on a small riser midstage, Italian/Canadian Aldo Mazza (thank-you internet) behind an array of drums and percussion on stage left, while Cuban pianist Omar Sosa seemed to baptize the Steinway 9″ on stage right with a thin scarf he wore around his neck before sitting down.
The show began with Keita bellowing out an unaccompanied field holler. When the music came in all at once it arrived with a shockingly understated oomph that was so un-oomphy, so surprisingly non-bombastic that it forced me to sink deeply into my seat with exaggerated ease.
I mean, the music just so utterly relaxed. So strong, so forceful, and so quiet! I bowed my head, closed my eyes and lulled as hard as I could. But don’t misunderstand: the music was fantastic, with flurries of notes spilling effortlessly from all three musicians in perfect rhythmic unison. The pianist was drop-dead amazing, and his sidearm Farfisa organ (I believe it was) added a low end that completed the sound perfectly. The percussionist was understated and brilliant, hitting his drums with quiet, consistent taps that seemed contrary to their very nature but fit in perfectly with the hauntingly undulating and subtle Saharan sound. Two or three songs in he performed an entire song on just a tambourine, and once again his playing was so quiet, so steady, so musical that when he punctuated the piece with a spin of one of the tambourine’s metal clappers I was enthralled. For me those nearly imperceptible little clapper spins were a show highlight.
And the star was no slouch either! I mean, sure, he was no Toumani Diabaté, but who is?** That said, dude was a fantastic player, delivering flurries of machine-like melodies while simultaneously holding down a steady rhythm and unmistakable harmony, plus he was a really good singer too. The entirety of the show brought me back to Mali and forced steady images of endless desert to scurry through my mind.
Well, not the entirety I suppose. There was a mid-show audience participation clapalong fiasco that got milked drier than a thirsty sponge in Timbuktu. I mean they had us clapping and dancing and “ah-ah-ahhh”-ing so long I thought I was going to have to show my union card. At the end of the concert they got us clapping again and I thought, “Oh no, here we go again,” and I was right. We were clapping and chanting and “this side of the room, now that side of the room”-ing for so long that I thought we’d never get out of there.
But get out of there we did, and after prudently bowing out of joining my friends for more music at Irene’s Pub (which I’m sure was stellar) I made a 180° (or about 55°C) shift away from the sweltering Saharan vibe by donning my skates and plunging into an hour-long skate through a crisp frosty evening.
What a great night.
*Of course the job that brings me to Ottawa on the reg – live video direction with the National Arts Centre Orchestra – always gets me excited…I freakin’ love everything about the gig.
**The answer is: no one anymore. When I first heard about this show I googled Seckou Keita and inadvertently discovered that Toumani Diabaté (1965-2024) had recently passed away.
Todd Man Out 