It was one of the great global rock'n'roll moments. Rachid Taha, the Algerian exile who grew up in France listening to English punk and went on to pioneer his own highly individual fusion of Algerian rai and western rock, announced that he had a very special guest. On stage, incongruously dressed in a neat black suit and white shirt, came Mick Jones, the Clash's guitarist. It was the cue for Taha to provide a reminder of his own rebel credentials, with a speech in French about Tony Blair and Palestine, before they crashed into a rousing version of Rock El Casbah, the Arabic treatment of the Clash's anthem that has become one of Taha's standards. It was a rousing end to a furious show.
Taha had also decided to wear suits (first black then red) as well as a large white hat, and he looked like some edgy, unpredictable spiv as he prowled across the stage, surrounded on one side by a rock line-up, with guitar, bass and drums, and on the other by a North African ensemble of oud, trumpet, flute and hand drums. When he is on form, like this, he can evoke a rare sense of danger, and he attacked his songs at full tilt, with the audience on their feet from the start.
The show coincided with the release of his Definitive Collection CD, but far from being an exercise in nostalgia, it showed how he has toughened up his act. So Voila Voila, an angry complaint about hostility to immigrants in France, that he recorded in the early 90s, was treated with even more venom than before, and the love song Habina, made famous in the 50s by the Egyptian singer Farid El Atrache, was now a stomping Arabic rocker. There was musical variety, from echoes of Bo Diddley, funk and reggae through to the stirring mix of North Africa and crashing guitar chords in Barra Barra, but Mick Jones was in the house and Taha didn't feel like slowing down.
Earlier, there was a less successful demonstration of African-western fusion from Vieux Farka Touré, son of the late Ali Farka Touré. He has just released an impressive debut CD, which features a glorious duet with his dad, but was far less interesting playing live. His guitar work was proficient, but with little of his father's magic, mystery or soul, and the attempt to update the Farka Touré style by adding electric bass and drums sounded at times like Africa's answer to a 1970s bar-room blues band.
