Alsarah & the Nubatones has been around for more than 10 years, elegantly matching North African music with a lively cross-stitching of neo-soul and R'nB- unsealing the potential that this harmonious integration contains to embody history and the patterns of global migration. Seasons of the Road is the group's third LP, and likely takes its name from the constant state of motion through which the well-traveled and tour-forged crew has earned their reputation. It may also reference the sense of alienation that being witness to a world that is unremittingly committed to tremendous acts of violence can engender in a person not yet ready to forsake their humanity. When horror is commonplace, living with a feeling of placelessness inevitably becomes normal. While Alasarah's resplendent vocal prowess and fluid sense of melody, and the band's overall accomplished sense of rhythm and composition, can, and often does, lend itself to some extraordinarily intriguing and accessible acoustic folk hybrids, the fact that they're willing to embrace a kind of futurist outlook to their radiantly retro style makes each listen that much more engrossing- almost like your encountering a backdoor into an alternative past, one that is more abundant and gracious than our own- an envelope of possibility where brutality of the present was not inevitable. "Fa3el Fi Eldawam" begins the album with a suitably restless rhythm and poly-percussive pastiche of caravan craft, which moves in consonance with Alasarah's wondering, plaintive bawl. "Bye Bye" is more stripped-back and playful, ridding a reticent, shuddering chord progression on a star-catching offering to the seizing draw of spellbound devotion. "Disco Star" feels like a nomadic astral march through a needle's eye of chance and determination, while the evocative textures of "Tendo" feel like being baptized in the ocean. There will always be rough road ahead, not just a season, but a whole lifetime, and when conditions are inhospitable underfoot, something lovely in your ears can be a balm for the pain of our pilgrimage.
