Salif Keita, Royal Festival Hall

Salif Keita is a direct descendant of Sunjata Keita, the first king of the 13th-century Malian empire, and it was Salif's golden voice that first put Mande music on the international map. But his early path was anything but smooth. "There were two ways I could go," he told the American guitarist Banning Eyre, while recording the marvellousIn Griot Time. "Because I was noble, it seemed better to play music than be a crook."

When he came on stage at the Festival Hall dressed in a white robe and skull cap, the atmosphere was expectantly intense, and when he began to sing, that intensity increased. His voice had a warm serenity, and the way he plucked at his guitar made it sound like a Malian lute; the simple melodies had that gracefully turning quality that is unique to his region of Africa. He may only be an honorary griot - a praise singer from an ancient Malian line - but in this magic moment we were transported to a simpler, purer world.

Too briefly, alas. After 15 minutes he welcomed an archetypal Essex girl to join him, and over a leaden pre-recorded beat they launched into a syrupy "ballad". The Essex girl squeaked out some high notes, he growled out his replies, and - sickeningly - bowed low to her as she swaggered from the stage. Things seemed to look up when a Bamako band came to replace her - Griot music crossed with Western rock is his trademark style - but the amplification was so crude that all the guitarist's subtlety got lost in the heavy sonic wash.

Salif Keita has joined the ranks of the superstars, and is, therefore, doomed to swim in a sea of hype. Sima Bina is merely a star, and her art needed no hyping to the overwhelmingly Iranian audience at the Queen Elizabeth Hall the following night. Pretty as a picture in her village finery, and looking less than half her incredible 59 years, this Iranian singer took us on a musical tour of her native land.

She has spent her life collecting folk songs, which she delivers with the aid of a brilliant traditional band led by a professorial scholar-arranger. Each player seemed able to play everything equally well - flute, lute, drum, tabla - with spike-fiddler Jamal Mohammadi hitting the heights of virtuosity. Sima Bina has a low but wonderfully versatile voice; I just wished we could have been provided with lyric sheets, because each song was so clearly about something. A triumphant evening, but poignant too: Iranian law still doesn't allow a woman to serenade a male audience like this. No wonder the hall was packed.