Mariam Doumbia, vocalist of the renowned duo, Amadou & Mariam, is wrapping up another interview when our video call begins, and the few moments spent waiting feel like front-row access to her world. Her voice in the background fills the room, leaving no doubt as to who it belongs to. Her responses are measured and contained, while the word ‘love’ finds its way into the conversation at every turn, like a recurring motif. It has been six long months since the passing of her husband, Amadou Bagayoko, who succumbed to illness back in April.
Our conversation begins soon after, and Mariam — her signature dark shades in place — appears in good spirits. “What has changed is that my husband is no longer by my left side. I feel that he’s not here anymore,” she says, a quiet note of sorrow trailing her words.
The duo first met in the 1970s at Mali’s Institute for the Young Blind, later embarking on tours that took them across West Africa, then to Europe and the rest of the world throughout the 1980s and beyond. “When I was at the Blind Institute of Bamako, before meeting Amadou, I heard one of his songs; it was already quite well-known,” she recalls. “It was the first song on the radio that tried to encourage and celebrate the national football team and its players. I was impressed. So, in a way, I met him on the radio first.”
Over the years, they developed a remarkably close creative partnership, collaborating on albums such as 2004’s Manu Chao-produced Dimanche à Bamako, live performances, and international festivals that cemented their status as one of Africa’s most influential musical duos. Their work has consistently blended Malian guitar traditions with global rhythms, from the acoustic textures of their early records to the rich, layered productions of their later albums.
There’s a new album on the way, L’amour à la folie, and a tour that has already landed in France and will soon touch down in Canada, the U.S., and Belgium on Friday, October 24. The title track, which was released in June, is another touchpoint in their multi-layered expression of cool. It’s rock and roll: dry, arid, and unrelenting, like the landscapes that shaped their musical DNA. “Sonfo” followed in September, featuring long-time collaborator Fally Ipupa. It remains faithful to their guitar sound, but pushes into Afrobeats/dancehall territory with its bounce, backed by an 808 that underpins the rhythm and drives the track forward.
This interview, mediated by a translator, has been edited for length and clarity.
Sadly, you lost Amadou. Condolences. How has your community shown up for you since his passing?
It traditionally started in Bamako. Lots of people visited every single day just to offer condolences. It continued in France, where I was also visited by other African people in the diaspora. That's how people have sent back their love and their friendship to me and my family.
How has the meaning of love evolved for you, especially after the loss of your husband and musical partner?
What has changed is that my husband is no longer by my left side; I feel that he’s not here anymore. Otherwise, the power of his love and strength remains the same; people continue to give me strength. It’s been a lot, because the love we shared, we shared with everyone. It began with Amadou and me, and then extended to the rest of the world.
Was the album already finished when he passed away? And what conversations did you have during its creation?
The album was already mixed and mastered before his passing. Our goal and main message have always been love, peace, and understanding. That’s the message we carry with this project as well, the same engine, the same energy: bringing love and sharing love.
The philosophy behind your current single, “Sonfo,” recorded with Fally Ipupa, reminds listeners to protect and cherish loved ones, and not to criticize them publicly. Was that also the philosophy guiding your relationship with Amadou?
If we had listened to everyone around us, we would have separated long ago. There are always bad people — those who meddle, who don’t want you to stay together. But we didn’t listen to gossip. We were together for more than 40 years. That doesn’t mean we didn’t have problems, but we managed to solve them. We tried, and we didn’t listen to the bad people. That’s all.
Why did you choose Fally Ipupa for the song, and what memories do you have of recording it?
We’ve known Fally for a long time — years, actually. He’s on the same label as us. We’d been looking for a way to collaborate, and then the opportunity came up with ‘Sonfo,’ so we went for it. It’s as simple as that. We’re really happy we got the chance to record this last track with Fally; his vocal take was actually the final one on the album.
Do you feel a responsibility to speak about Mali’s struggles? Is that something that needs to be reflected in your music?
We try to be advisers, to guide people, but some don’t listen or pay attention. If the message reaches them, that’s great. For us, the focus has always been on promoting peace, understanding, and love. It’s not about highlighting the struggle, but encouraging the right attitude to face challenges, whether local, national, or international — including the situation in Mali. Our approach is about showing people how to carry themselves with the right mindset, one rooted first in peace, then understanding and love. We’ll never move away from that. Even now, as a solo singer, I’ll continue on that same path.
How do you connect the blues from Mali to the blues of America and beyond?
From the very beginning, our music — Amadou & Mariam’s — has been rock and blues. It’s not specifically ‘Malian blues’ or anything like that. It’s blues and rock ‘n’ roll, because in Mali, we grew up listening to the radio and hearing a lot of that kind of music. We loved it. We listened to many American artists – Stevie Wonder (we met him), Ray Charles (we met him too), Pink Floyd (we played with David Gilmour), and Bad Company as well. We shared the same musical culture and spirit. We’ve already met and played with great artists in the blues tradition, so for us, it has never been a problem to mix, adapt, or vary the music. It’s been there from the start; it’s simply who we are.
When you look back at those early days, what specific moment stands out when you realized that you would be more than a local artist?
We were performing within the African diaspora community in France. Then Marc-Antoine, who was a manager, heard [and] released our tapes – at that time, it was cassette tapes. When he put out the cassettes, it worked! He came looking for me. We told him, ‘Wait first, when we finish with this project, this contract, then we’ll continue together.’ So came to [again later]. We agreed, and we came here [to Mali]. At that time, he was with Universal Music Group. We did a few tours. And then he had us play at the Transmusicales Festival in Rennes — that was the first time. It was really great. I was so happy. When we performed for the first time, people were delighted. They even called us back for an encore. So we did the encores and played again, we played “Je pense à toi.” The audience loved it. We kept going from there. That festival brought us a lot of success.
