This is a story about migration, the fusion of different cultures, imperialism, politics, and economics. But ultimately, it is about music.
It all started when I learned about “world music.” During both work and free time, I began to listen to more and more music from outside the Western cultural sphere and noticed that some compilations included the term “world music” in their title or description. While reading more about the new (and old) genres I was listening to and discovering great music along the way, I realized that the term world music is outdated and listeners should be able to know the name and origin of genres that lie beyond the horizon of popular Western music.
What does this mean? Let’s go back and explore the term world music. In the early 60s, American ethnomusicologist Robert Brown coined the term to describe music by artists from Africa and Asia that he worked with. It is a vague term and encompasses folk, traditional, and neo-traditional music from non-Western countries, while the local and traditional is often mixed with elements from modern Western music. In the 80s, the music industry and record shops discovered the term and began to use it as a marketing tool. If a record came from a non-Western country and you did not know where to put it, you parked it in the world music section. This label still exists today, on compilations and in both digital and analog music shops. Of course you cannot create a new section for each new genre and some records and artists defy categorization, but the catch-all term is so vague and includes so many different kinds of music that are all lumped together under a simple phrase, that it is simply not helpful.
What about “ethnic music?” If you hear this alternative term that serves the same purpose, you may begin to realize how bad this description actually is. It carries the connotation of music being of a certain ethnicity and possessing a purity that does not exist in the real world because genres develop over time and are often influenced by different cultures. The term serves as a distancing mechanism as it groups everything together into the realm of something exotic and says that anything that isn’t “us” is “them”. As David Byrnes wrote in a 1999 New York Times article, “it’s a none too subtle way of reasserting the hegemony of Western pop culture. It ghettoizes most of the world’s music.” Once a band is labeled as world music it’s hard to break out of that categorization. Within the (analog) record store’s world music bin, a contemporary album by an Afrobeat superstar could sit right next to a field recording of traditional music by an Indonesian hill tribe.
Byrnes writes: “The fact is, after listening to some of this music for a while, it probably won’t seem exotic any more, even if you still don’t understand all the words. […] music can inspire love, religious ecstasy, cathartic release, social bonding and a glimpse of another dimension. A sense that there is another time, another space and another, better, universe. It can heal a broken heart, offer a shoulder to cry on and a friend when no one else understands. There are times when you want to be transported, to get your mind around some stuff it never encountered before.” Musicians can come from anywhere in the world, but as long as the music touches you in some way, you will be transported somewhere else. Music — like food — can make you share an experience with other cultures and create a connection through it. He continues: “That’s what art does; it communicates the vibe, the feeling, the attitude toward our lives, in a way that is personal and universal at the same time.” Well then, let’s listen to some music and its stories.
Peru: Chicha
Chicha, a genre coming out of the cities of the Peruvian Amazon rainforest, likely got its name from the purple corn based liquor that was favored by the Incas. Like the liquor, the music uses different ingredients to make something delicious. In this case it takes elements and inspiration from Cumbia (Chicha is sometimes even called Peruvian Cumbia), Andean huayno (traditional music from the Peruvian Andes), criollo (“Peruvian waltz”, a mix of elements from Peruvian folk, Spanish and Afro-Peruvian music) and surf rock. To trace back the origins of Chicha, one must go back to the 60s, to the oil-boom cities in the Amazon where American oil companies sent their employees. They brought with them instruments like electric guitars, synthesizers, and records of American music. The Western sound mixed with the local music and created a new genre, pioneered by bands like Los Mirlos and Los Wembler’s de Iquitos. Chicha quickly became the genre of choice for indigenous migrants that moved out to the cities and thus spread its popularity in Peru.
Los Wembler’s de Iquitos — Sonido Amazonico
Juaneco y su combo — Me robaron mi runa mula
Armonia de Pucallpa — Selva ardiente
Venezuela: Joropo
Joropo, derived from the Spanish word “Fandango”, which means party, is a type of Venezuelan music and dance. It originated in Los Llanos, the central plains of Venezuela, and was played and sung by native herders, called llaneros, at their local festivities. It is heavily influenced by the Spanish, who introduced the harp to Venezuela in the 18th century, but it also draws elements from native South American and African folk music. A Joropo band usually uses cuatros, bandolas (both string instruments), maracas, and the harp. Back then, Joropo was not formally taught because music was seen as a low-status activity and some musicians even discouraged their own children from picking up an instrument. Instead, children observed adults at parties and country fairs and experimented in private to create their own sound. The songs draw inspiration from the vast plains, beautiful landscapes and the llaneros’ love for cattle and horses. In 1882, Joropo became Venezuela’s national dance and the well-known song “Alma Llanera” is considered the unofficial national anthem of Venezuela.
Villamil Torres — El Azulejo del Llano
El Libertino — Dumar Aljure
Jorge Negrete — Alma Llanera
Dominican Republic: Merengue
The name Merengue comes from the expression used to describe whipped egg whites and sugar and was probably chosen for the light and fluffy nature of the music and accompanying dance. How did it develop? In the early 1800s, European colonialists held ballroom dances with a kind of French minuet on the island of Hispaniola (the location of modern day Haiti and Dominican Republic). The slaves that were taken from their homes in Africa to work the fields in the Caribbean saw these dances and started to add their own twist to it, including elements from African music, dance, and rhythm. In the following decades, a new genre slowly developed, in which bands liked to use the guitar, accordion, tambora (two-sided drum), marimba, and a güira (metal scraper).
The colonialists denounced the genre because of its African influence, but they could not stop its spread and it grew more popular, especially in low-income neighborhoods and brothels. In 1930, after the US invasion of the Dominican Republic to “restore order” and a short-lived democratic government, Rafael Trujillo took over as head of state and the “Era of Trujillo” was proclaimed. Trujillo was never wealthy growing up, and he always resented the wealth and power of the local aristocracy. He especially hated their control over music styles. When he rose to power, one of his first goals was to turn the rural, lower class Merengue típico into a popular symbol and subsequently destroy the aristocracy’s hold over music in the DR. Trujillo did this by having his own merengue ensemble follow him around to political campaign events to perform for his audiences and by commissioning Merengue pieces that supported and praised himself and his policies. His brother Petán was given control over the TV and radio stations and he flooded them with Merengue to make it omnipresent. In 1936, the government even declared Merengue the official national music genre and dance. Trujillo, a brutal dictator, reigned over the DR with an iron fist and was finally assassinated in 1961, but his legacy is still visible through the ongoing popularity of Merengue, which was spread by Dominicans who emigrated to the US and other countries.
Sergio Vargas — Las mujeres
Jossie Esteban Y La Patrulla 15 — Perfidia
Juan Luis Guerra & 440 — La Bilirrubina
Japan: City Pop
Japan in the 80s: technological innovations and exported hits like the Sony Walkman and synthesizers like the Yamaha DX-7 and the Roland Juno-60 created a lot of wealth and a high standard of living in Japanese cities. The economic boom and fresh musical instruments paved the way to the genre known as City Pop. It captured the flourishing euphoria by mixing elements of Disco, Funk and Jazz to create a fantastical dreamworld.
At the same time, in-car stereo systems were spreading, giving City Pop a social listening platform. It was perfect for “night time cruising through an eastern urban paradise of technicolor lights, blurring and merging together with the car motions as one gazes out at a view of mesmerising capitalist billboard art, romanticising the very unromantic corporate conglomerate culture that had created this dream world of ephemeral promise”. It often included female vocals that painted an optimistic future and romantic version of the world. The lyrics were indicative of a cultural shift for women because the female singers voiced their own desires and feelings to demonstrate independence, as opposed to the passive role they had in the past. Famous City Pop artists include Takako Mamiya (間宮貴子), Miki Matsubara (真夜中のドア), Tatsuro Yamashita (山下 達郎) and Taeko Ōnuki (大貫妙子).
As quickly as City Pop emerged with the economic boom to amplify the neon colored bliss, it faded away with the financial crash of 1991 that destroyed the unwavering optimism of the 80s. Today, you can hear many of these songs sampled in Vaporwave tracks that reflect the dreamy and futuristic feel of City Pop, creating a second hand nostalgia that fits the gleaming visual aesthetic of Vaporwave.
Tatsuro Yamashita — Sparkle
Mariya Takeuchi — Plastic Love
Miki Matsubara — Stay with me
Thailand: Molam, Thai Funk
Molam has been played by bands in the Thai Isaan region and Laotin hinterlands since the 17th century. It traditionally features a singer and a khaen (a bamboo mouth organ) player, and in the modern version phin (small lute with strings), drums and bass can be added. In the 70s, when American GIs were stationed around Isaan, they brought psychedelic rock, soul and funk with them from the US via guitars, records and their own radio stations. These imports influenced the Molam scene, but also gave rise to Thai bands that were oriented towards these Western genres and led them to put their own spin on funk.
For many years, people from Isaan that went to other regions of Thailand were ashamed of Molam; the genre was connected to the working class, rice fields, and denounced as taxi driver music. The reputation changed when DJ Maft Sai and the Paradise Molam International Band began to play Molam music at parties in Bangkok in the 2000s. It then gained popularity in and outside of Thailand. When Maft Sai wanted to throw Molam parties, he had to trek out to Isaan to find the old stars and vocalists and convince them to play in the cities. Most of them haven’t played in cities since the 70s and retired to live as farmers in the countryside, but the revival brought them back on stage.
The Paradise Molam International Band — Live Jam
Waipod Phetsuphan — Ding Ding Dong
The Impossibles — Mister Slow
Cape Verde: Funaná, Coladeira
The Cape Verde islands off the coast of Senegal were uninhabited until the Portuguese arrived in 1462, when they brought their own people and slaves and colonized it. It was naturally a hostile place to live in, but the oppression of the population by the colonial power made it even worse. During the second half of the 20th century, the inhabitants of the island fought for their independence from Portugal and finally achieved it in 1975. But independence came at a price: during the revolution and right after a new nation was established, many Cape Verdeans emigrated to Europe and the US, resulting in a diaspora that is greater than the population inside the country.
Way back before the war for independence, a musical genre called Morna was very popular on the archipelago. The genre consisted of a solo singer singing Creole songs about love and mourning together with a guitar, violin and a piano. In the 1930s, Morna started to incorporate more humorous lyrics and lighthearted dancing and evolved into Coladeira. Funaná, another genre that is based on the accordion, was also widespread, but the colonial authorities denigrated it because of its African roots.
When people emigrated, especially to Europe, they often found themselves unwelcome. At the same time, musicians that arrived in other countries were influenced by the new sounds and musical instruments and consequently infused the classical sound of Cape Verdean music with electronic elements like the synthesizer. Artists like Paulino Vieira and Narciso “Tchiss” Lopez created a new kind of music that made people dance and let the diaspora reminisce about their home islands.
Nhú De Ped´Bia — Nós Criola
Val Xalino — Dança Dança T’Manche
Pedrinho — Odio Sem Valor
Nigeria: Juju
Juju’s foundations are intricate and complex drum patterns combined with guitars, banjos, singers, and often a tambourine. The “Iya Ilu” — or “talking drum” — is part of this composition and holds a special place in it because it resembles tones and rhythms of the Yoruba language from the Yoruba people in Western Nigeria, where the genre originates. It evolved in the 30s and 40s in urban clubs and grew through its adoption by bands at family festivities, weddings, and ceremonies. It takes elements from the Nigerian genres Highlife and Palm Wine music, which came from taverns in culturally diverse port cities of West Africa (especially Lagos) where people would sing, play the guitar and drink palm wine together. The name “Juju” — meaning “something being thrown” in Yoruba — stems from the tambourine that was often flung into the air during performances. Another tradition that emerged during live acts is “spraying” which meant that the audience would shower the band with paper money while they were playing. The earliest famous Juju musician was Tunde King (in the 20s), followed by King Sunny Ade, Shina Peters and Ebenezer Obey.
King Sunny Ade & His African Beats — Syncro System
Ebenezer Obey — Ota Mi Dehin Lehin Mi
King Sunny Ade & His African Beats — Ma Jaiye
Zimbabwe: Chimurenga
The story of Chimurenga begins with Thomas Mapfumo. Born in 1945 in Zimbabwe (then called Rhodesia), Mapfumo lived in the countryside with his grandparents, surrounded by the local Shona customs and music. It was when he moved to Harare (then called Salisbury) in the 60s for attending school that he witnessed the escalating conflict between Zimbabweans and the white minority government of newly independent Rhodesia. Living in a city meant that Mapfumo was surrounded by a lot of Western music, especially Rock and Pop. He idolized Western musicians and started playing in a rock band with his friends. At the time, an annual rock band contest was held in Harare, where bands from as far as South Africa and Zambia would travel to play. However, no African band ever won the contest, regardless of their talent. He realized that he would never win the contest and started re-thinking what his music was supposed to represent.
Mapfumo was convinced that Africans were losing their musical culture in pursuit of Western music, so he decided to focus on Shona music. He started to incorporate Shona identity into his songs by adding traditional Shona texts, instruments and rhythms to the foundation of rock music. He sang in Shona instead of English to criticize the government, display his proudness of origin, and rally the rural population. His music went on to be called “Chimurenga” which means “liberation struggle” in Shona and is derived from the name “Murenga”, an early ancestor and warrior of the Shona people. One important Shona element is the mbira, a thumb piano that was used in traditional ceremonies to summon ancestral spirits. Guerilla groups sang Chimurenga songs derived from folk hymns that connected the living with the world of the ancestors and were popular at urban rallies and all-night vigils. Mapfumo founded the Hallelujah Chicken Run Band in 1973, followed by the Blacks Unlimited in 1978 through which he voiced his powerful criticism of the government. Songs like “Muka, Muka!” (“Wake Up, Wake Up!”) and “Tumira Vana Kuhondo” (“Mothers Send Your Children to War”) were sung to politicize and educate Zimbabweans about why the war for independence was being fought. The government wanted to silence Mapfumo and threw him in jail in 1977, but he was released quickly and his songs were sung louder than ever. Other famous Chimurenga artists include Oliver Mtukudzi and Comrade Chinx.
Zimbabwe finally gained independence from Britain in 1980 and Robert Mugabe became the leader of the newly independent country. As a consequence, Chimurenga subsided a bit and was made more traditional to include praise of the government. In the late 80s, it was obvious that the new government was corrupt and did not deliver on its promises to the people, so there was a resurgence of Chimurenga with some artists celebrating and some condemning the government. In 2000, Mapfumo became fed up with the Mugabe government because he was branded a persona non grata, and left the country to move to Oregon, USA.
Thomas Mapfumo & The Blacks Unlimited — Chigwindiri
Oliver Mtukudzi — Wagona Fani
Thomas Mapfumo & The Blacks Unlimited — Chikende
South Africa: Mbaqanga
During the tough times of apartheid, one of the things that gave hope to the oppressed was music. “Mbaqanga” is the Zulu name for an everyday cornmeal porridge, and while the porridge nourished the body, the music nourished the mind. Its lyrics were not about apartheid, but rather used energy-laden happy melodies that made people dance and lose themselves in the music for a while. The songs were apolitical on purpose; this way they could not be censored and were able to spread during the 60s to gain a wide audience. Bands like the Makgona Tshohle Band and Mahlathini and the Mahotella Queens used mainly Western instruments like guitars, keyboards and drums and were influenced by Jazz. But these artists also incorporated Zulu dance moves into their performances and drew inspiration from the South African genres marabi and kwela. Because Mbaqanga spread from shebeens (illegal clubs and bars) in townships, it was also called Township Jazz. In the 70s, Bubblegum Pop and Soul branched off of Mbaqanga and grew more popular in South Africa. However, Mbaqanga influences musicians until today.
Mahotella Queens — Umculo Kawupheli
Imitshotshovu — Inkani
The Soul Brothers — Mantombazane
Iran: Funk, Rock, Soul
Before the 1979 Iranian revolution, Iran was a relatively liberal country with a prospering music scene. Dictator Mohammad Reza Shah pushed for a Westernization of Iran to improve its economy and as a result, Western music became widespread in the country. Iranian artist Kourosh Yagmhei, for instance, was heavily influenced by Psychedelic Rock and combined it with Persian traditional instruments like the santur (Persian version of a violin). Abbas Mehrpooya pioneered the genre of Sitar Funk, which is Funk with an added flavor of sitar (Persian-Indian version of a guitar). But one of the most famous musicians of the 60s and 70s was Googoosh, a female superstar who combined soul, funk and disco with elements from romantic Persian poetry.
In 1979, with the onset of the Iranian political and religious revolution and a new government, the free spirits and pop culture was reigned in. The new fundamentalist regime under Supreme leader Ayatollah Khomeini branded pop music as a symbol of Shahs’ dictatorship; it was seen as American, un-Islamic, and un-Iranian, and thus banned altogether. Music that diverges from the traditional Persian song structure has had a hard time in Iran ever since. Although an underground music scene exists in today’s Tehran, you can be arrested for performing the “wrong” kind of music and women are not allowed to sing alone — all female voices are relegated solely to the choir.
Since then, many artists have moved out of Iran to continue their art. After the revolution, many emigrants began to call themselves Persians and not Iranians because they were ashamed of what Iran had come to be. Googoosh performed for the first time since the revolution in 2000 in LA and in many ways, her voice is a direct link to the past for many Persians because “the soaring, unrequited love songs are uncanny premonitions of the country’s impending cultural heartbreak.”
Kourosh Yaghmaei — Saraabe Toe
Vigen — Mahtab
Googoosh — Gol Bi Goldoon
Conclusion
In times of continuous change, a constant that remains is music. People use it to express themselves, their heritage, their hopes and dreams, and to educate, rally and entertain others. I hope you understand now what I mean when I say the term “world music” oversimplifies these diverse genres, origin stories, and sounds. One culture shouldn’t influence everyone else’s. If cultures come into dialogue and we learn and feed off each other, we can grow together. Music can act as a bridge between cultures by encouraging understanding and making us come a bit closer together along the way.
P.S.: It’s a great time to discover new music from around the world without ever stepping out the door. If you would like to explore this type of music more, YouTube is a great place to start because you can find songs that have never been released digitally and are not available anywhere but on a few rare vinyl records. But also make sure to support the artists and labels behind the music, which is easy to do on Bandcamp. They feature and sell a lot of excellent music from all over the world, and support artists and labels that make it happen.
