Mama Africa, Barbican, London

Miriam Makeba, the veteran South African singer, exile and activist, was a friend and mentor to her younger counterpart from Benin, Angélique Kidjo. Makeba died last year while touring, and Kidjo has convened an all-star tribute. It had its debut in Paris and on Saturday night filled the Barbican in London.

Makeba took on many guises in the course of her career, from jazz ingénue in 1950s Sophiatown, to exile in London; then New York and Guinea; latterly a triumphant return to traditional song. This concert located her firmly as a pan-African artist, and most of Kidjo’s guests took inspiration from her time in Guinea, married to the Black Panther Stokely Carmichael.

The Guinean singer Sayon Bamba incarnated the witchy 1970s Makeba, giving “N’Djiginira” a caressing slink, floating on a swish of cymbal. The Ivorian singer and dancer Dobet Gnahoré sped through lullaby, country-and-western and aggressive heavy breathing. The Nigerian singer Asa served up “Ring Bell” and “I Shall Sing” as dynamic powerpop.

Makeba’s own trio of backing singers added sturdy South African harmonies to the west Africans’ leads. Their only compatriot in the spotlight was Vusi Mahlasela, an anti-apartheid campaigner with the body of a giant and the voice of an archangel. Wisely, Kidjo left one early high-point, “The Click Song”, with its Xhosa clicks and pops, to him and the backing singers.

The Senegalese superstar Baaba Maal sang the lead on “Khawuleza”, a shebeen-emptying song warning of the arrival of the police, with the Islamic inflections of an imam, an arresting juxtaposition with the South African responses.

Kidjo herself was an energetic host and frontwoman, from her opening charge into Solomon Linda’s century-old song “Mbube”, to her frenzied dance amid the thick organ runs of “Saduva”, to wandering along the aisles whipping a willing audience into a closing singalong on her own anthem “Afirika”.

The whole cast reunited for “Pata Pata”, its lightness of touch bludgeoned by volume and overcrowding, until Mahlasela’s shivering voice made space for the piano jive to shine through. “Soweto Blues”, an angry marching chant, was a final reminder that so much of Makeba’s life served the cause of struggle, not just the ends of entertainment.