Some years ago, a group of musicians, DJs, magazine editors and record-label owners met in a London pub to discuss a mutual problem. They were involved with foreign popular music, music that bridged the various folk traditions of their countries of origin with the technology and appeal of what was on the charts world-wide. Fans were beginning to buy such music, but they couldn't find it in the stores. A term had to be coined to market this stuff, an umbrella large enough to shelter music from Africa, Indonesia, the Middle East, India and beyond. They came up with "world music."
Today, the market for world music in Europe is big and getting bigger. In France, West African and Algerian pop regularly shows up on the charts and has French fans. In Berlin, Radio Multi-Kulti plays world music around the clock and compiles the European world-music charts. Finland promotes the regional pop music of the Sami (Laplander) people, and Spain that of Catalonians, as world music. And British kids dance to Indian bhangra and Bollywood soundtracks.
But what about America?
Indeed, what was the last hit song you heard in a foreign language? My research says it was probably Mocedades' "Eres Tu" in 1974, while some will argue that it was Plastic Bertrand's almost-hit "Ça Plane Pour Moi" in 1978 or Kraftwerk's mostly instrumental "Autobahn" in 1975, but the fact remains that the U.S., the world's largest market for music, is remarkably resistant to songs sung in languages other than English.
Or played in different rhythms: There was a point during the 1970s when people saw reggae as the Next Big Thing but were disappointed to watch it ease into the mainstream in England while remaining a cult item here. I was a big reggae fan, but a trip to Stern's Radio, a London shop selling African records, with a musician friend from the "world music" pub confab changed my life. The salesman, at my friend's recommendation, put on a record called "Maria Tebbo" by a Congolese singer, Sam Mangwana, and as he sang in a combination of English, French and Lingala, I heard one of those pop songs you never forget -- and to this day I haven't.
But world music remains a tiny corner of most American record stores, and this is a shame, not only because there's a lot of great stuff out there, but because in developing an appreciation of it, you tend to pick up an appreciation of the culture that produced it and the people who produce the culture. Two record labels, Putumayo and World Music Network, have spent the past 10 years using two widely differing approaches to introducing Americans to world music.
Putumayo is the older by a year, and grew out of the chain of Putumayo stores Dan Storper had founded in 1975 to sell clothing made in South America. Fascinated by the varied music he heard on his buying trips, Mr. Storper gathered some together and put out a cassette tape with colorful graphics to sell in his stores. Today Putumayo has about 75 titles in its catalog, a syndicated radio show, and a nonprofit organization to promote cross-cultural children's education in the U.S. and abroad. In fact, this venture has been so successful that Mr. Storper sold the clothing stores in 1997 to concentrate on music.
World Music Network seems to have backed into the market, too. The Rough Guides started in England and soon became leaders in the travel-guidebook field. In 1994, the first edition of "The Rough Guide to World Music," which soon became the bible of world-music fans, appeared; its second edition had to be divided between two volumes. Realizing the synergy between music and travel, the World Music Network's Rough Guide CDs began to appear in 1994. These, too, have grown to scores of titles.
The two approaches to presenting the music, though, couldn't be more different. Putumayo clearly intends to soothe. Its colorful graphics of happy cartoon people in sunny locales tootling and bopping away stress the universality of the relationship between music and happiness: See? They're just like us! Unfortunately, the music inside the CD covers has the same message.
The glossy production is usually laid on a bed of Latinate rhythms, reggae, or trip-hop, no matter what the music's country of origin. Except for the language, all the rough edges are smoothed. Putumayo also misinforms in other ways: The "Sahara Lounge" album features performers from Iran, Lebanon, Turkey and the United Arab Emirates, none of which are anywhere near the Sahara. Worse, the label has an album called "World Covers," featuring Western pop songs recast by foreign performers. Does the world need a Wolof version of Toto's early-'80s MTV hit "Africa"? Here it is.
The Rough Guides' net is cast historically as well as stylistically, so that, for instance, the "Rough Guide to Highlife" traces this catchy Ghanaian dance music from the 1960s to the present, valuing recordings of poor technical quality for their musical content. The liner notes, adapted from the book, are meticulously researched and written, but are printed in tiny, tiny type, sometimes in colors that make reading them a real chore. But at least you feel you've "been there." I've never been fond of Moroccan music, and the "Rough Guide to the Music of Morocco" did nothing to change that, although I'm confident that the 71 minutes I spent with it covered the ground as well as possible.
In the end, the Putumayo approach reminds me of a New York music critic I knew who was excited by having to cover four world-music shows in four nights featuring bands from four completely different parts of the world. When I later asked him how his week had gone, he said, "Awful: All of them played reggae." The friend who took me to Stern's had the right idea: Put on the music and people will get it. I must have taped "Maria Tebbo" for a dozen people in the first few weeks I had it, and nobody who asked for a copy spoke Lingala.
Which is not to say that there's nothing to be said for the assimilationist approach. My favorite world-music record this year is "World 2004," on the Wrasse label, compiled by Charlie Gillett, the BBC disc jockey who was present in the pub meeting, as the best of the year. There's reggae here, and hip-hop, but there's also uncut soukous (a Congolese dance form) and tango. Performers come from Venezuela, Israel, Cuba, Mali and the U.S., among others. They've all got something to say, albeit rarely in English, and they all say it in the most beguiling ways. If an American wanted to get started with this stuff, I'd recommend this record and then let them deepen their knowledge with the Rough Guides. There's a lot of world out there, and it's all making music. It's time we Americans caught up!
Mr. Ward is a writer based in Berlin.
12/30/04 
