An Explorer of a New Frontier in World Music

"What we are hearing hasn't been affected by James Brown or Jimi Hendrix or Bob Dylan," Jack Carneal says of the Malian music he's promoting. (By Bill O'leary -- The Washington Post)
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In mid-December, Sidibe greeted Carneal in the Malian uniform of Dickies-style pants and short-sleeve work shirt. He was almost slight. Carneal remembers he was actually funny.

The two stumbled across the language barrier, talking about the weather and an upcoming show. Carneal gave him the hunting gear, the camo vest and headlamp. "I felt so great," he recalls. "My conscience is free. Now we can talk about music."

"As soon as I saw him, I felt like Jack was a good person," Sidibe says. "Jack doesn't know how much I appreciate the shirt."

It wasn't until a few days later that Carneal got word that Sidibe's producer had swiped the musician's entire advance. After many more phone calls, things were worked out.

Sidibe's goals appear to be in line with Carneal's. When Americans "hear the sounds coming through the speakers," the old hunter explains, "I want them to understand as they hear the sounds and see the photos, it's natural African music. I am the one who makes the instruments, no artificial production."

"Yoro Sidibe" is due out this month.

On a recent Tuesday evening, Carneal drives his sons, ages 6 and 10, home from baseball practice in his Subaru Outback. He asks if he can roll the windows up. He wants to crank the stereo.

Sidibe's ngoni finds a deep, hypnotic groove. The man and his apprentices work up a euphoric call-and-response. For a few minutes at least, everyone goes quiet and just listens. The traffic fades away. It doesn't matter that dinner will be late. Carneal doesn't worry at all.