from "Global Beat Fusion" (2005)

from "Global Beat Fusion" (2005)

Behind the Veil
(Excerpted from the introduction, Point of Departure)

by Derek Beres

Global Beat Fusion focuses on folk traditions worldwide, though not necessarily those of America. This country is rich in regional music, from Creole zydeco and cajun to blues and bluegrass, chicken scratch and conjunto to polka and klezmer. The constant influx of immigrants bringing a host of international influence has created unique blends of instrumentation and rhythmic nuances. Outside what America is globally known for (rock, hip-hop, jazz and pop) minor and distinguished subtleties spark creative endeavors. The term "folk" itself receives a rather negative connotation of old white men strumming beat-up six-strings and singing monosyllabic renderings of ’60s protest songs; Woody Guthrie as folk par excellence (and Bob Dylan as the genre’s most exciting proponent) stick in the American mind. That is only one strain of regional music. However popular an image it may be, much more exists. While this book is not involved with the sonic tradition of this land, it is still a book about music in America, as America has always been a country of everyone else.

The defining factors of folk are instrumentation and story sharing. Outside devotional and ritual music, folk musicians serve as "living newspapers" (as journalist Elijah Wald said of Mexico’s narcocorrido artists), spanning social and political topics, as well as waxing poetic on sexual, spiritual and personal issues. When we talk about the regional music of Mali images of acoustic guitars and the kamélé n’goni come to mind; Jamaican reggae is bass and synthesizer heavy; Australians bore (literally, as they were hollowed by termites) the digeridoo; and what would a Mariachi outfit be without their viheula and guitarron? American folk music is so vast specifically because, in popular history, there has always been a multicultural audience, regardless of who maintained political power. This country has long been a melding (or melting) of peoples, and the music they’ve brought along is no different. The two major folk forms in America – the ubiquitous acoustic folk and gospel with her many strains – were imported simultaneously. That one party was oppressor and another oppressed did not stop sound from harmonizing, even when people couldn’t get it together. "Early immigrants also brought with them different concepts about music making," wrote folk expert Kip Lornell. "White settlers brought ballads telling stories about unrequited love or war along with the Scottish borders that were usually performed by a solitary singer, while transplanted Africans contributed a highly developed concept of call and response that reinforced a sense of community among people torn from their land."

Lornell goes on to cite an example of this seemingly random merging of cultures by way of a hit song by the Rolling Stones. Guitarist Keith Richards was fascinated by the deep blues of John Lee Hooker and was taught this riff by a young Ry Cooder (the American guitarist who would bring Cuban son to the world with Buena Vista Social Club). "So that famous riff in 1969’s ‘Honky Tonk Woman’ came to millions of fans across the world from a Detroit-based, Mississippi Delta-born black musician by way of a young white southern Californian who taught it to a British rock star!"

America is often blamed for stealing culture and repackaging it in glossy plastic. Indeed culprits exist, although this is not new. That some prosper by manufacturing shoddy renditions of original, creative material while others toil to create is an ancient human condition. Everyone likes to imagine themselves David and the "other" Goliath, although that mythology never really applies until you find both characters within yourself. And as much as this is a book about music, it is about mythology. The stories we create and share, those that identify our identities, is the basis of who we are as people and remain inseparable from the music surrounding us. Those songs that become anthems define the culture singing them, even if only idealistically.

Which is why we shouldn’t be surprised the Delta comes to Britain via California, or any other geographic configuration. As small as this world may be becoming, we still have much to learn, about others and, most importantly, ourselves, the "other." The exterior surface this book covers does not match the intense inner terrain we experience each day. The sights and sounds of devotional and ritual music may differ in timber, pitch and cadence, though the ends remain the same. Connecting is what musicians seek, whether with some deep-seated personal energy or the audience among them, and the outlet is the connection. That is, playing music is the reason we play music. We can, and will, discuss reasons, emotions, feelings, philosophies, atrocities and carefree melees. At root, the most profound experiences are simplest, and the further we seek them, the more elusive they become. The major transformations of our lives are subtle, and if we’re not aware of the process, we miss the outcome.

"I was in a car the other day," says ghazal vocalist Vishal Vaid, "and I pull up to a red light. I look over and this woman is listening to some music and she’s bopping her head at the exact same BPM [beats per minute] that I am. We just look over and we’re there. God knows what she’s listening to, and I’m sure she has no idea what I’m listening to, but we’re there. It was so powerful, it got me through the rest of my day. I’m in my vehicle, in my enclosed space, she’s in her vehicle…it’s a beautiful analogy. She’s got her mode of transit to get to that BPM, as do I, and we’re there. You can look away and ignore it, but if you step out and look at the bigger picture, even though we’re in our own little bubbles, we got there together, but for a moment. It’s still very valid and very true; it’s beautiful. You can’t disrespect that."

America swings superfluously between crack philosophies about transcendent-exotica-cum-spiritual-enlightenment and a daily grind confining workers to overextended hours producing little more than more production. Music, for millennia a ritualistic endeavor, mimics the culture it’s performed within. Sound is a reverberation of exterior structure; the music of nations will be as varied as the different sounds made from blowing into a tuba or flute. The underlying foundation is that music is, in some manner or another, both a mirror and spiritual process. For many cultures music is a direct connection to something beyond themselves, while the popular notion of it here is saleable commodity. The material and spiritual intersect in advertisements and bibles, and along with the tunes we’ll need to gander at the unseen background of this country.

America’s religious history relegates citizens to giving unquestioned faith to one idea of one man (constructed by many men with many ideas) in an effort to never be as good as that one man. We see this in the modern business blueprint, a figurehead standing atop every industry from banking and real estate to movies and football. It’s only natural this practice would continue in our spiritual lives, as modern Christianity has turned Jesus more into celebrity than religious figure.

The tendency to turn Jesus into Christianity itself kicked into full gear with books like Bruce Barton’s 1925 best-seller The Man Nobody Knows and visual portraits such as Warner Sallman’s 1940 painting Head of Christ. The first topped bestseller lists for two years while the latter became the definitive image in churches, wallets and home alters nationwide. As media spread its gossiping wings, figures became icons as men became gods. This rapid dissemination of information allowed those with the farthest reach to reach people in unsuspecting places. Jesus became one of the most shapeshifted characters in history, taking many forms to suit many needs during different times and regions. The cultural turn toward yoga and Eastern arts in America has been a necessary psychic response for people discouraged by the misrepresentation of an image claiming to be reality. The discouragement people feel having a prophet-as-CEO/overlord glaring down is too much to handle. The guilt associated with Western religions suffocates the spirit of a people, and, as philosopher Alan Watts wrote, "Laughter and mysticism, or religion, go together all too rarely."

Indian and Asian culture has become direly relevant to the lives of modern America as a means of overcoming the limitations of Western spirituality. Along with philosophical musings an influx of art, cuisine and fashion arrive in tow, along with the most immediate, music. As people reach out globally, and as more immigrants become Americans, new musical forms (and new gods and prophets) thread this country together. Folk music is a byproduct of the culture birthing it and needs to be translated with its own unique language. If today’s electronic musicians are creating modern folk, we need to see what’s behind the veil, both in terms of sonic output as well as underlying foundations. When we want something without seeing it already present in the everyday, we miss car rides at red lights.

Contributed by: Derek Beres