EVERY GENRE PROJECT - March 4 - Exotica

Genre of the Day - Exotica

Album of the Day - Mambo! by Yma Sumac (1954)

The economic and cultural prosperity of America in the 1950s is, in mass media and in history lessons, a horse beaten to death. The oversaturation and Technicolor veneer of the era that was unraveled by the social realities exposed by the social movements of the ‘60s sometimes distracts us from being able to situate ourselves in the eyes of those people that were thriving at that time. Exotica is perhaps the perfect musical medium to transport us back to those Space Age, optimistic, commercialism-is-so-beautiful days. 

For a lot of (but certainly not all) Americans, it’s plain to see why easy listening music came into vogue. The triumphant victory of World War II and the total economic transformation the war’s manufacturing overdrives had caused in the US as well as post-war social stimuli like the GI Bill allowing veterans to go to college for free and get a lovely white collar job and white picket fence led to unprecedented social mobility. For white America, that meant the potential to travel more and farther than ever—that trip to Hawai’i, to Key West, or to Acapulco either was or felt much more within reach. With that cosmopolitan notion flourishing and post-war exoticism and Tiki culture imported by WWII vets who had been stationed in the South Pacific at a peak, these influences were bound to translate into music. 

Through a distinctly American and simple lens, a bunch of composers took interest in these cultural shifts. Composers like Martin Denny and Les Baxter who were accustomed to traditional big band orchestration started incorporating unusual instruments from other cultures into their work. Denny in particular was inspired by his experiences playing outside in Hawai’i, where he would have his jetsetting friends bring him instruments from around the cultures around the Pacific Rim, and incorporate those and even animal sounds into his music. Denny’s 1957 album Exotica was a nationwide hit and helped solidify the genre’s presence, but Les Baxter had been perfecting the sound for the whole decade, with his distinctive orchestral flourishes, wailing vocals, heavy percussion, and mysterious melodies. He also discovered and produced Yma Sumac’s first album.

Yma Sumac deserves her own article and honestly her own biopic, but that’s beyond this column’s scope. Growing up in the Peruvian province of Cajamarca in the high north Andes, she was surrounded by nature and found herself imitating the sounds of birds and other creatures around her, which isn’t uncommon among songs in the area. This reminds me of the stories of Björk, who sculpted her expressive voice while walking through the hills of Iceland on the way to school, or earlier column artist Sonam Dorji of Bhutan whose vocal influence includes the flowing rivers and birdsong of the mountains. As a computer game-pilled city kid, I do feel some jealousy. Sumac’s voice was undeniable from a young age, and she began recording for the South American market. However, when Les Baxter discovered her, he knew he could expose the US to a once-in-a-generation talent.

Sixty years on, Mambo! remains transfixing. Many singers’ voices have been described as incredible, but I’m not sure it applies to anyone as well as Sumac. She sinks her voice into a deep, sustained growl, then in the same breath soars up into a lilting, birdlike but weighty whistle register. She can will her voice into gymnastics-level contortion from staccato rapidity to drawn-out warbling belts—every song features these sorts of leaps, which is especially incredible considering this preceded the time of multitrack recording. The songs vary between her native Quechua, Spanish, and at times incomprehensible gibberish. Her husband, Moisés Vivanco, produced the album, so at least it’s a little more in house rather than outsider-looking-in, adding an uproarious horn section accompanying the diva, complimenting the potency of her voice. 

However, Yma Sumac as an object of exoticism is a bit troubling. While she embraced the sensationalist reports that she was an Incan princess among other apocryphal tales—I mean, who wouldn’t—one wonders how comfortable she felt as the figurehead of the genre. Perhaps she felt it was necessary for her to showcase her voice in its awe-striking beauty to most people. The concept of exotica is based on a mythic, reductive amalgamation of native cultures from disparate continents, and was not anything close to what she’d been recording back home. Yma Sumac had originally wanted to be a folk singer as she had recorded in the nascent stages of her career. That being said, maybe she simply was bit by the acting bug and enjoyed playing a part, as she seemed to readily accept the media machinery at work to catapult herself to stardom. It worked—not only was she a hit in the US, but she toured the USSR and sold millions of tickets (how exactly does that function in a state-organized economy?). She kept her astounding vocal range for essentially her whole life. She may not have been an actual princess, but there does seem to be something divine about the way her career unfolded and her longevity. She didn’t need exotica, though it launched her career: really, exotica needed a voice like hers to make its fantastical notions grounded in some sort of musical possibility. With every superhuman trill and note, it feels as if she’s winking from the grave.