By Mateo Szlapek-Sewillo and Walter Marsh

Photography by Robert Fletcher

World music. What on earth does that actually mean?

Is the term patronising? Yes. Over-simplifying? Definitely. It’s a tag that encompasses afrobeat, ska, blatnyak, funk, French chanson, gypsy fusion, Chaâbi, norteño and, courtesy of DJ Dexter, “Krumping”. It’s one that often makes for a kind of gentrified, dizzying combination of dreadlocks, tie-dye and fisherman’s pants that, in many ways, does a disservice to the sheer diversity that it aims to celebrate. Nevertheless, with WOMADelaide leaving us for another year, it allows us a chance to reflect on the immense popularity of music from around the globe for those few days of the year.
Like the greatest genre tags of our time, from Rock & Roll to Adult Contemporary, “world music” as we know it was essentially christened as such by record companies in the ‘80s, as a way to fatten their bottom lines through trendy categorisation. Perhaps the prime example of this synthesis between Western and non-Western popular music is Paul Simon’s seminal 1986 record Graceland, which combined the aging popster’s song-writing finesse with bold instrumentation and arrangements from a host of talented players the world over, with a particularly South African focus. That sound – the intricate multi-player percussion, the lavishing of horns, that undefinable zest for music that had somewhat faded from mainstream Western music – was a revelation. It heralded greater interest in the work of Afrobeat master Fela Kuti’s work, it popularised Johnny Clegg, and even opened Sting up to the possibility of making us cringe in genres previously unimaginable. And, in that perfect circle of life that is the music industry, traces can now be found even (in a very watered down way) in Contra, the latest effort of four preppy, white, upper-class Brooklyn boys with penchants for pastel polo shirts and boat shoes.
But our experiences of World Music™ are hugely selective. The absence of it being blasted from every Nova and SAFM-tuned radio in the state means we get some modicum of quality control. We will hear it in little dribs and drabs, as recommended by those in the know. Musicians, critics and weirdly obsessive friends alike will occasionally bleat at length about the latest must-have World Music™ record, not to be missed. Most treat it as a novelty, to be briefly heeded before being cast into the abyss that is the ‘World’ shelf at your local record store. A hallowed few musicians permeate mainstream consciousness, and while the best are stars in their own countries, the rest toil in obscurity. Yes, you’re saying, but it’s like that with all musicians. Not exactly: local musicians [gross generalisation warning] tend to ply their trade in the universally trusted guitar, bass and drums combination. The ignorant Western patronage of world music is thus a marginalisation borne from a lack of understanding, not animosity or malevolence.
There are those who attempt to break through this cultural stasis, and bring the music of the world to its English-speaking masses. By far the most prominent of these is professional hippy and one time Genesis front man Peter Gabriel. He put into place a movement and festival, to package and spread the idea of musical multiculturalism and a more vibrant and eclectic world, a World Of Music And Dance. They called it… Simba! Wait, no, WOMAD!
WOMADelaide stands as a shining beacon of musical education and acceptance away from the mainstream; the yearly jamboree is the ideal place to take those first tentative steps into the world of music, as well as being one of few events where crusty-looking hippies and herbally infused backpackers can mix with regular folk without any strange looks. And though Adelaide is the first of six such festivals in 2010, artists themselves speak highly of our city and of the festival itself. George Kamikawa and Noriko Tadano, who brought their alluring blend of Western, electric blues and traditional Japanese folk to Womad in 2010, gleefully extol the virtues of Australia’s premier ‘world’ music event. “More people get to hear our music, it’s in a nice place, and we get to hear more world music. We’ve been to other cultural festivals and this is one of the best for the artists. We feel appreciated.” This final sentiment encapsulates the crux of the success that inclusive, artist-conscious festivals such as Womad and the Big Day Out (for all its failings) have found. They tend to consider artists as more-or-less normal people who are themselves there for music, and humanise rather than commodify them. Kamikawa and Tadano even played longer sets at Womad than their stand-alone shows, defying the most common complaint of festivals. “We have actually spoken about the fact that where some festivals make you play for twenty minutes or half an hour, here you play for an hour.”
Kamikawa and Tadano are an interesting example of the blending of Western and non-Western forms of music – one that stands firmly on the other side of the fence. While those aforementioned pastel-shirt wearers have hit the dizzying heights of mainstream recognition on the back of near-equal amounts of pop smarts and Paul Simon cribbing, it is tougher going for the likes of Kamikawa and Tadano, who are less willing or able to acquiesce to the demands of the mainstream. So a festival like WOMADelaide makes for the most beautiful of compromises. A glimpse at the program heralds artists from far-flung corners of the globe, playing anything from ska, to jazz-influenced flamenco, to hip hop. Yes, it is entry-level. This is entirely the point; Womad takes in its stride our widespread ignorance of the world’s music and packages it, in an artist and audience friendly package.
There’s something lovely and transcendent about seeing people young and old wearing ratty bandanas and kaftans, and dancing around like juggling imaginary baubles to the music of an ancient Ethiopian man that they would otherwise never hear. Simply because it normally exists outside our traditional sphere of comprehension, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.