It is always fascinating to see what happens when two cultures mingle. Unfortunately, the reasons for the cultural exchange often are tragic: rampant colonialism, slavery, and immigration to escape persecution or poverty are the main offenders.
Although the causes of the fusion may not be desirable, the outcome is usually a bounty of music, art, customs, and cuisine that enriches both cultures. Such is the case in Colombia.
It is always fascinating to see what happens when two cultures mingle. Unfortunately, the reasons for the cultural exchange often are tragic: rampant colonialism, slavery, and immigration to escape persecution or poverty are the main offenders.
Although the causes of the fusion may not be desirable, the outcome is usually a bounty of music, art, customs, and cuisine that enriches both cultures. Such is the case in Colombia.
During the 17th Century, Spanish conquistadors settled on the Caribbean coast of Colombia, and with them came their slaves. The slaves that were brought to Colombia were mostly from West Africa, including regions now known as Ghana, Nigeria, Guinea, Benin, etc.
The African rhythms were eventually mixed with European instruments, which became known as Cumbia. Cumbia spread across Latin America and even gained a bit of mainstream popularity in the United States during the 1950s.
Fast forward to 1975, and Colombia was on the path to modernization after years of military juntas and coup d’états. Along the Caribbean coast of the country, the Afro-Colombian presence had grown to a sizable minority.
The DJs that performed around cities like Barranquilla and Cartagena began to look to Africa again for musical influence. They began playing Ghanaian high-life and Nigerian afrobeat records, and the funky grooves resonated with the local population of Afro-Colombians.
Bands around Barranquilla began playing a soulful mix of African funk and Cumbia, and the “Champeta” movement was born. The name Champeta comes from a derogatory association between Afro-Colombians and a knife of the same name, beginning as a pejorative term and then being adopted by the culture and adapted to describe the musical style that was enjoyed by “champetudos.”
During the ’70s and ’80s, the music was frequently played through large sound systems or “picós” that were capable of blasting the music to volumes only previously heard at train stations and soccer matches.
The most immediate distinction this music has with the rest of the Latin musical spectrum is its avoidance of typical verse-chorus-verse structure. Songs go through gradual thematic changes instead of measure-driven repeated sections.
The dance-party bounce that steadily works its way through the chants and yelps of Cumbia Siglo XX’s “Naga Pedale” is a prime example of this African imprint on the music. This track was doubtlessly played during the “creole therapy” dance parties that took place in the slums of Barranquilla and Cartagena, where locals would vent their anger through intensely expressive dance.
Another dance-floor burner is Abelardo Carbona’s “La Negra Kulende,” which features one of the most impressive rhythm sections that I have ever heard.
An extremely complex polyrhythm shuffles at light speed across a melody driven by a guitar plucked about as high as any string instrument will allow. The tune is instantly reminiscent of Beninese high-powered afrobeat, with the sharpness of the Fon language replaced by the smooth coos of Spanish.
The vocal performances on the album also lend much of their style to their African roots. Whereas most Western music emphasizes the tonality of a singer’s voice, the Champeta singer, like the afrobeat singer, is focused on the voice as a tool for percussive expression.
Some of the songs are sung with a straightforward chant, like the psych-tinged cumbia groove “Pim Pom” by Wganda Kenya, and others have subtle melodic structure, as can be heard during the stunning vocal performance on La Nelda Pina’s “El Sucusu.”
Either way, you won’t hear singers performing gymnastics with their vocal cords, which is not a bad thing given the heady melodic structure already presented by horns, woodwinds, guitars, and organs.
Hearing this music through a picó must be a transformative experience. The rapid-fire rhythms, sultry bass lines, bombastic brass sections, and slithering guitar work all being amplified to the point of no return would turn even the most catatonic of party-goers into uninhibited dance freaks.
But if you, like me, aren’t lucky enough to have a picó, listening to it loudly does just fine. The party will still be off the hook.
– Arthur Pascale
World in Stereo is a biweekly column that examines classic and modern world music while striving for a greater appreciation of other cultures.