Mdou Moctar Dazzles The State House

The first thing you might have noticed when walking into the Mdou Moctar concert at The State House on Friday evening was that the musician attracts an uncommonly tall crowd. Maybe it has something to do with Moctar himself, whose rangy frame easily surpasses six feet. Maybe it's because he's actually larger than life. Maybe its that on the fourth time through New Haven in under two years, he can still sell out a room.  

But it was hard not to feel bad for anyone craning to see, because there was a real spectacle happening on stage.

Moctar, who hails from Niger and is largely self-taught, is an incredibly gifted guitar player. If you’ve gone to your fair share of rock shows, you may have seen some really good guitarists, but chances are, most are just good enough. They handle their duties as the prominent sound in the band’s songs with proficiency and put on a pretty good show.

Friday, Moctar put all of them to shame—many, many times. He went from playful noodling in between songs to a face-melting three-minute solo, played in the time it takes you to order a drink and tip the bartender. It came off as effortless, but never disinterested. (Click below to watch a video of the last time he graced The State House).

The wide-ranging set could have been described as a lot of things. First it came off as trippy, but that’s wasn't quite accurate. The songs played around with tempo and rhythm and would constantly morph into something new. One song early in the set had the initial bubbliness of something you might hear in a car commercial, but then travelled to places far more weird and exciting that you’d hear in between episodes of Law & Order.

The band also hit New Haven with a taste for musical exploration. They would jam, but the songs never overstayed their welcome. A six minute song might change its pace and melody four or five times, so there was never time to get bored with or accustomed to it. The guitars raged against the bouncy bass lines and the drumming was relentless and frantic.

Indeed it's very clear during a Moctar that he’s not only very good at playing guitar, but derives genuine joy from it. Several times throughout the night, he would gaze out over the crowd and grin as if to say “you don’t even know what’s about to hit you.” 

And then it hit, and he was right. He would one-up himself, still sporting the grin, as if it were too easy for him and the crowd members were silly to have thought he had pulled out all the tricks. But arrogance didn't seem like his style either; he was quite gracious throughout the night, thanking the crowd frequently. At points, he became so immersed in the music that it was as if the crowd didn't need to be there. He would have been just fine if he and his bandmates were there jamming by themselves.

All of the songs are sung in Moctar's native language Tuareg, which is what he speaks in his home in northern Niger. Nothing warranted live translation, however—lyrics spoke through whining, urgent guitar. Around Moctar, a complex soundscape bloomed from a simple four-piece outfit. The appellation of "desert blues" was fitting: the ensemble was at times reminiscent of Pink Floyd’s spacey, rhythmic anthems and at others, B.B. King’s deliberate, raw sound.

Even after a long set, the audience seemed like they could have stayed for much more. Despite songs that lasted upwards of six minutes, attendees were never subdued.

You may have seen a crowd this satisfied, but you’ve never seen one more impressed.