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With its roots in Indian films of the 1950s and '60s, Indian film music is the sound of playback singers (something akin to voiceover artists) reinforcing pivotal scenes — and revealing hidden emotions and future plot developments. The tradition is based in classical and folk performance wherein theater, dance and song coexist seamlessly, but for the last several decades, Bollywood soundtracks have also contributed heavily to India's pop music culture, spawning big stars and hit songs. Film music, in other words, is a vital part of daily life in India and a powerful vehicle for cultural expression. But especially in today's Bollywood, where composers and singers create music under intense time pressure, creating a flurry of pop tunes that come and go within a matter of weeks, Indian film music can be overwhelming. So we assembled this brief introduction to the vast, varied and exciting world of Bollywood, breaking down the industry's biggest stars and hottest composers in both the classic (1930s-1960s) and contemporary era in this handy-dandy extensive (yet still drop-in-the-bucket) annotated SoundTreks: Bollywood, A Playlist Guide.

Welcome to SoundTreks, our new (well, revamped) column that takes you on a sonic tour through musical scenes and styles from around the globe. Whether you're an international rookie aching to hear something new, a diehard world nerd or just an equal-opportunity crate-digger, this is the column for you. Start trekking!

In this edition of SoundTreks, we explore a movement known by several names: desert blues, desert rock or Saharan blues. Though that's somewhat amorphous and ambiguous, what we're basically talking about are the entrancing, sometimes melancholy, and often downright trippy grooves hewn when musicians from the Saharan desert region began filtering traditional folk music through blues and psychedelic rock. Those amorphous and ambiguous boundaries are appropriate, actually, as desert blues was created by members of traditionally nomadic cultures like the Woodabe and, especially, the Touareg (or as they call themselves, Kel Tamasheq) people, who have been historically persecuted by the nations surrounding the Sahara and often forced to live in exile from their homelands.

Desert blues is an integral part of that historic struggle: many of the scene's most brilliant stars honed their craft in revolutionary training camps or learned electric guitar in refugee tent cities. The music they create often speaks to the realities of their lives: the lyrics are sometimes virulently (though more often mournfully) politicized. Chanting choruses evoke the communality found within the struggle, while women's voices keen and ululate above. Small armies of guitars echo and ring as if stretching toward an ever-elusive horizon. Often steeped in ceremonial traditions and governed by rolling drums, the songs move with a slow, sweltering grace. And all of it pulses with an ineffably rock 'n' roll heartbeat.

In the world of hip-hop, American or otherwise, female emcees are a rare breed. A quick glance at Rhapsody uncovers about five women among the top 100 hip-hop artists, and only a few of them are actual lyricists. (Hint: Not Ke$ha or Fergie.) In the Latin world, hip-hop is just as male-dominated. Mexican emcee Nina Dioz has described how intimidating it was to start rapping in a world dominated by what she called "angry-faced men."

But like so many of her sisters in the Latin world, Dioz kept at it. She even started a collective, Rimas Femeninas, to create a sense of solidarity among Latina women in hip-hop. When it comes to Latina emcees, you see that kind of chutzpah across the Latin world, whether it's in Spain, where a flamenco dancer named La Shica shaved her head and started rhyming to the dismay of purists, or in Colombia, where a young Afro-Colombian woman named Goyo took up rapping to help put her long-invisible people on Colombia's cultural map. Whatever it has become in the U.S., hip-hop abroad retains its subversive qualities. It's the music of the underdog, and underdogs the world over have embraced it. And being female and Spanish-speaking almost automatically makes you an underdog.

Spring has sprung and new albums seem to be sprouting up like dandelions in the lawn of, um, some tortured analogy. (Okay, let's leave analogies to the poets.) It's been a mixed season in the worldly realm, with some false starts and some great surprises. Let's tour through them.

Grupo Fantasma is arguably Austin's favorite Latin band, a group who's remained close to its roots even as Prince came knocking and the Grammys beckoned. They've gained a following thanks to their dynamic live shows and their purposefully unpolished approach to their cumbia-funk-Latin-soul-salsa hybrid. (The members are musically promiscuous: they also loan their talents to various other outfits, including Ocote Soul Sounds and Brownout.) The band's new album, El Existential, was just released on National Geographic Records, and it's a humdinger: salsa great Larry Harlow guests, as does a Meat Puppet. (Read on to find out which one....) We spoke with band member Greg Gonzales about what it's like to play at Prince's house parties versus Iraq -- they've done both -- and even got the lowdown on a dream day spent out and about in Austin.

 

Click here to listen to start listening to El Existential. Or check out a playlist of some of the band's favorite songs by other people. And if you want to sign up for Rhapsody and get access to all this great music and more, all the time, do it now!

The music of Gotan Project and the other artists they tip their hats to in this piece are yours to rock out to whenever and however you want with your Rhapsody subscription. Click here to sign up for a free trial and see what we’re all about.

Gotan's project seemed so obvious — even from the start — that it was surprising nobody'd thought of it, or at least done it so successfully. Tango and electronic music are of a piece, at least according to core members Christoph Muller, Philippe Cohen Solal and Eduardo Makaroff. Electronic music sprouted from dub's demented mind, and dub claimed African parentage. Same with tango, claims the trio (though tango's parentage, in our view, is a bit messier, harder to parse). But what inspired the group — to bring spirit and life back to electronica's icy climes — has succeeded beyond their dreams.

On their third studio album, Gotan get it right again. Luscious strings, a thin thread of aching bandeon, actual singing. Plus, this time, a hazy focus on New Orleans jazz, tango's sister-sound, music that arose at the same time as tango and in the same dens of iniquity (whorehouses), just a bit farther north. As the collective prepares to sweep around the world with its captivating live show (volcano notwithstanding!), they gave us an interview in characteristic Gotan fashion: in three languages, circling between poetry and cryptic half-responses. Our faves? Philippe reminiscing about playing San Francisco's Fillmore (in a word, awesome), his current favorites, and some surprising picks. (Hint: he likes American doom metalists Sunn O))).)

Read the interview — and find out which track features a singing saw — after the jump. And you can hear Gotan and every band they mention on Rhapsody anytime you want. Get thee to a free trial now!

All the African jazz you want can be yours whenever you want with your Rhapsody subscription. Click here to sign up for a free trial and see what we’re all about.

It's 1956. Louis Armstrong has just landed in Ghana with a film crew in tow. (And Edward R. Murrow! Think George Clooney in Good Night and Good Luck.) A crowd of 10,000 souls has gathered at the airport, plus every nightclub band in Accra, the capital. Satchmo leaves the plane, trumpet in hand, and 13 bands break into song simultaneously — a number called "All For You, Louie, All For You." The crowds surge over the barriers, and Satchmo and band pick up their instruments and start playing too, quickly picking up a highlife tune they've never heard before. Mayhem ensues. For the next three days, jazz's greatest ambassador is feted by the prime minister, carried through crowds like a king, and viewed by an astonishing assembly of 100,000 people at an outdoor concert cut short by the absolute chaos.

The music of countless world artists is yours to rock out to whenever and however you want with your Rhapsody subscription. If you don't have a subscription yet, click here to sign up for a free trial and see what we’re all about.

Afropop-star-turned-cultural-ambassador Angelique Kidjo comes out with her latest release this week: Oyo, a covers album that sees her taking on Santana and Otis Redding and oh, just about anybody else you can think of. Which put us in mind of covers, and what happens when Western pop — American or otherwise — gets into the hands of world artists. In Kidjo's case, she turns Curtis Mayfield's "Move On Up" into a powerhouse Afropop tune (with a hot assist from John Legend), slaughters (not in a good way) James Brown's "Cold Sweat," and translates Aretha's "Baby I Love You" into Fon (Kidjo's native language). You need to listen to this madness for yourself.

The music of the Chieftains is yours to listen to whenever and however you want with your Rhapsody subscription. Click here to sign up for a free trial and see what we’re all about.

It's kind of impossibly romantic, the tale behind the Chieftains' latest album. Imagine it: a raft of recent immigrants get conscripted by the American army, find themselves fighting a war they care nothing about (and even worse, fighting fellow Catholics), so they desert ... and get taken in the by very folks they were fighting. And then proceed to fight for them!

Four years after his death, Ali Farka Toure remains a towering musical figure. He was Africa's John Lee Hooker and Robert Johnson rolled into one, with a bit of Alan Lomax thrown in for good measure. A phenomenally original guitarist, he was also a polyglot who used his fluency in seven languages to spend decades collecting folk songs from Mali's vast array of ethnic groups. (He also created, in the process, a little thing we now call desert blues.) Any new album from this man is an event, and this week sees the release of what may prove to be his final masterpiece: Ali & Toumani.

Nneka and every other artist mentioned in this article are yours to rock out to whenever and however you want with your Rhapsody subscription. Click here to sign up for a free trial and see what we’re all about.

Nigeria's a pretty fascinating country. It has a massive poverty rate (somewhere in the range of 70%), nearly nonexistent rural infrastructure, and an oil-rich delta that multinational corporations have been busily plundering for decades, at no discernible benefit (and often at considerable detriment) to the Nigerian people. On the other hand, Nigerians are not among the happiest people on earth ... they are the happiest people on earth. By a long shot. And the country boasts a massive film industry, a huge proportion of the continent's recording studios and the lion's share of its artists. The music scene in Nigeria is so vast and ever-changing that it's essentially impossible to keep up -- from a distance -- with what's going on there.

But in recent years that flood of music has begun to escape Nigeria's borders. Last year the Paris-raised Nigerian singer-songwriter Asa generated some buzz with her catchy tune "Jailer." And this year a pint-sized, model-gorgeous German-Nigerian singer named Nneka (pronounced "Nay-ka") is finally making waves on this side of the pond, after setting European hearts aflame for the past few years. Her accomplishments, to date: an appearance on David Letterman, a show review by Times music critic Jon Pareles, and blog interest that's nearing high tide.

Why Nneka? Why now?

Maybe the better question is, why not? Americans love hearing foreigners do our music better than we do (otherwise the Rolling Stones wouldn't have made it past album one), and hip-hop and R&B claim African parentage, anyhow. Nigeria has been powerfully influenced by American music for decades: in the 1970s, Fela Kuti's love of American jazz and funk helped birth Afrobeat. Young Nigerian musicians these days listen to everything, from Kuti to the Fugees and back again. Hip-hop and R&B have become the lingua franca for an entire generation.

What makes Nneka of particular interest is, quite simply, her talent. She didn't write songs until she moved to Germany for university and found herself stunned by the cultural differences she encountered. (She grew up in Warri, a small town in Delta State.) That experience fed into a wider examination of the striking imbalances between the so-called first and third worlds, and, somewhere in that period of awakening, her songwriting was born. And what songwriting. A torrent of words seems to pour forth from her, sharp and dazzling and slotting effortlessly into that other pillar of her growing success, DJ Farhot's production. She has studied assiduously at the feet of Erykah Badu and Lauryn Hill, then one-upped them, managing to sound like the gorgeous-girl-next-door (a la Hill) while slinging razor-sharp social criticism (a la Badu). And she does it well, ultimately sounding like nobody but herself.

She's not alone. While Nneka's currently the most polished and talented of a crop of Nigerian hip-hop and R&B artists (call it Naija pop; "Naija" is slang for Nigerian), she's truly just one in a crowded field of domestic and expat Nigerian musicians. We've put together a playlist of some of the best Naija pop available in Rhapsody -- check it out here, or go spin Nneka's excellent U.S. debut, Concrete Jungle, immediately. If you find yourself intrigued by the nation that could spawn such globe-dominating talent, dig deeper -- we've compiled a list of albums for your listening pleasure below.

Further Listening
Fela Kuti: The Best of the Black President
Various Artists: Nigeria 70 -- Lagos Jump
Various Artists: Nigeria Rock Special: Psychedelic Afro-Rock & Fuzz Funk in 1970s Nigeria
Various Artists: Nigeria Disco Funk Special: The Sound of the Underground Lagos Dancefloor 1974-79
King Sunny Ade: E Dide (Get Up)
Lagbaja: Africano ...The Mother of Groove
IK Dairo: I Remember
Ebenezer Obey: Juju Jubilation

Afro-Pop Radio

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

A lot of debate has occurred over the course of music history about whether music itself can really effect political change. In real life, the connection between music and change often seems tenuous at best -- the dream of an aging hippie or an over-eager musicologist -- in the face of more direct or even violent means of revolution. But then, every so often, you hear a voice like Mercedes Sosa's, and all that skepticism washes away. Sosa's songs weren't always political, nor were her performances always even necessarily connected to revolutionary movements (despite the Argentinean government's opinions to the contrary). And she herself said, "Artists are not political leaders. The only power they have is to draw people into the theater." But the weapon the woman had at her disposal, which she often called the "voice of the voiceless," was precisely that: her powerful, compelling voice, a voice rich enough to convey her convictions, a voice capable of inspiring people and giving them strength.

Born in 1935 to a poor family in San Miguel de Tucuman (in Argentina's sugarcane country), Sosa won her first singing competition at age 15 and went on to help pioneer the musical-political nueva cancion movement that swept Latin America in the 1960s. The movement shed light on the concerns of the working people and the disenfranchised in the face of oppressive dictatorships. Though she was not known as a songwriter, Sosa put her own distinctive stamp on many of her peers' tunes, imbuing their tales of struggle and protest with her versatile style (which drew from not only Argentinean folk traditions, but also a wide range Latin genres), her bombo drum and, especially, her evocative contralto voice. In the 1970s, the ruling military junta took notice of her influence (as well as her connections to leftist groups), and the government's harassment forced her into exile. She lived for several years in France and Spain, brokenhearted and working as a musician and a teacher. When she returned to Argentina in 1982, she discovered that she had become a folk hero for her oppressed countrymen. She retained that esteemed position for the rest of her career.


A few of the thousands of mourners who came out to pay their respects in Buenos Aires

Over the course of her career, Sosa released 70 albums (several of which won Grammy and Latin Grammy awards), performed in venues like Carnegie Hall and the Coliseum, collaborated with artists ranging from Caetano Veloso to Pavarotti to Joan Baez, and served as a UNESCO goodwill ambassador. When she passed away on October 4 due to liver, kidney and heart problems, we lost one of Latin America's most beloved singers and a compassionate musical visionary. But the mark that powerful voice left on the world is indelible and prolific.

Take a listen to a few of the late, great Mercedes Sosa's most powerful moments below. Or Rhapsody users can listen to a full selection of her best work on this tribute playlist, a mere tip of this artist's considerable iceberg of work:

Playlist: R.I.P. Mercedes Sosa, 1935-2009

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

Two very exciting new releases for world nerds (like yours truly) came out this week: the second album from Brazilian neo-bossa ingenue CeU and a fabulous new greatest-hits collection from the self-proclaimed (and rightfully so) Magic Couple, Mali's blind husband-and-wife duo Amadou & Mariam. These two albums might seem disparate, coming from far corners of the globe and encompassing vastly different styles. But I'm willing to put money on the theory that they share a fan base -- one that is enamored of elegant, evocative (and sometimes pensive) vocals, impeccably graceful songwriting and an aesthetic that intertwines respect for tradition with a penchant for organic innovation. Read reviews of both albums by our own Nick Dedina after the jump.

Just to make things interesting, however, we're also going to throw a few more items into this week's column in the form of three albums that really are pretty distinct: the Yoshida Brothers' new best-of album, the sophomore effort� of Mexican cumbia boy band Los Super Reyes, and the first stateside release of Balkan brass band rock star Goran Bregovic. Together, these five albums help to demonstrate the exciting, often exhilarating ground a "SoundTrek" through the world of world music can cover.

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

So many fabulous albums have come out in the last few weeks that we decided to dispense with the thematic format on this week's SoundTreks and focus instead on surveying a hodgepodge of new releases. Sound good? Well, of course it does -- just listen to the playlist of material discussed in this post!

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

"A long-oppressed people historically forced into ghettos rhyme about the sometimes violent conflict they are embroiled in over issues of ethnicity, economics, or turf." Sound familiar? Well, contrary to what it might sound like, this is something I wrote in my review of Celebrate Hip-Hop, a 2004 compilation of Jewish hip-hop from around the globe. With the glaring exception of the Beastie Boys, "Jewish hip-hop" sure seems like an oxymoron in the American public imagination. Add a globally minded touch of world music to that combo and things get even wackier.

Hip-hop is a powerful medium, however -- one that's become known for its ability to zigzag across the globe and speak to the socio-political concerns and aesthetic needs of activist-musicians in many places and cultures. In the last several years, Jewish emcees and producers from around the world have been making some important contributions to the genre. This week's SoundTreks explores several very distinct albums that demonstrate the breadth and depth of the Jewish hip-hop niche.

It's not easy to follow in Dad's footsteps when Dad is considered one of the greatest musicians of the 20th century. But Vieux Farka Toure, son of Malian desert blues pioneer Ali Farka Toure, isn't one to shy away from a challenge. Actually, scratch that: he absolutely is. The elder Toure wanted his son to join the army, and Vieux briefly complied (unwillingly). But he nurtured a secret love affair with music, first learning percussion and then finally picking up the guitar, his father's instrument. Once he started on the guitar, it was all over. Vieux went against his father's wishes, giving up the military for music and forging a mentor relationship with close family friend (and master kora player) Toumani Diabate.

His father finally came around -- with intervention from Diabate -- and played on a few tracks on Vieux Farka Toure's self-titled 2007 debut, just before Ali's death. Though the younger Toure is still finding his feet as a performer and singer, he's grown increasingly comfortable in the spotlight -- and it helps that he really has the musical goods to warrant the recognition he's getting. Even Diabate was surprised by the beauty of Toure's playing on the demos for his debut album -- and he's been championing the kid for years.

Toure's second album, Fondo, was released earlier this week on Six Degrees Records, and it's remarkable: neither a carbon copy of his father's style nor an over-eager attempt to improve on tradition -- just a thoughtful, beautifully played, adventurous release. The guitarist generously took some time out of his touring schedule to answer our questions over e-mail. Not every musician can express himself well in words, but I was bowled over by Toure's friendly, openhearted responses -- and the thoughtfulness that runs through both the album and this interview. Meet desert blues' next great ambassador!

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

The last few weeks have seen some great moments as well as some sad moments in world music. First things first. R.I.P. to Coumba Sidibe, the great Mali-born singer who pioneered the Wassoulou sound and who died last week at her home in the Bronx. While Sidibe never gained an international following on the scale of that of Oumou Sangare (who was once a backup singer for her), she was a trail-blazing musician who began making music at a time when women were a rare commodity in Mali's music industry. She passionately devoted herself to adapting the traditional music of her Fulani heritage into the Wassoulou sound, as well as composing and recording her own work. She was just a wonderful singer. I don't think anybody is quite sure when she was born, but she died May 9, 2009.

On a happier note, Federico Aubele, the tango-tronica hero who enjoyed so much crossover success with Gran Hotel Buenos Aires, is back with another album. It's called Amatoria, named for Ovid's Latin tract on how to pick up (and retain) chicks, the Ars Amatoria. So yes, if you think Aubele might be trying to sex you (or somebody) up, you're right. It's also a further departure sonically for Aubele, who seems to have grown dissatisfied with his electronic meddling with tango; this is his second album that's seen him moving toward a nearly acoustic sound. He sings on every track, accompanied by guests like Miho Hatori (Cibo Matto) and Sabina Sciubba (Brazilian Girls), but I found that after about five songs everything sounded more or less the same. Aubele's got a great sensual growl going, but, as my dad might say, writing a good melody is hard work. Lovely as the album is, Aubele's still got a ways to go in that department.

On the other hand, Marcio Local's new album -- his first to release in the States as far as I know -- has no problem with melodies: he just lifted them wholesale from Jorge Ben. But ... okay. If you're going to steal, you might as well steal from one of the greatest artists of the twentieth century. And he didn't exactly steal the melodies -- just the feel. Local's gruff-voiced Brazilian funk had steam pouring out of my headphones, and it also had me dreaming, weirdly, of beach volleyball. What do I care for beach volleyball? Nothing. But such is the power of Local's evocative sound: it makes you want to play beach volleyball even if you look terrible in a thong and can't walk two feet without using an inhaler. And it came out on Luaka Bop, David Byrne's label, if that holds any weight for Talking Heads fans out there.

Finally, if you haven't read it yet, check out Rachel Devitt's take on Afterquake, a collaboration between Abigail Washburn (noted banjo player and Bela Fleck's girlfriend!) and the Shanghai Restoration Project. The album is devoted to exploring life after last year's devastating earthquake in Sichuan province, China. Have a listen to the album, too; it's for a good cause.
 

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

The Shanghai Restoration Project have always, true to their name, been focused on renovation. Usually, that rehabbing spirit has been more metaphorical: the group, founded by Chinese American producer Dave Liang, expertly reworks Chinese folk and classical music and hip-hop, blending them in a hybridized mash-up that is danceable and evocative, traditional and innovative. This year, however, besides releasing an album of their own, S.R.P. paired up with globally minded Americana singer-songwriter and clawhammer banjoist Abigail Washburn to do some slightly more literal rebuilding with their innovative joint project, Afterquake.

Take a listen to some of the Shanghai Restoration Project's reconstructions (including Afterquake) on this playlist. To keep reading about this fascinating collaboration and other S.R.P. recordings, click the link below the playlist.

You stumble over it in the street. You hear it blaring from cassette stands (yes, cassettes) in the Jemaa el Fna. You discover that jazz musicians all want to make fusion with it ... I'm talking, of course, about Gnawa music, the underground sound of Morocco.

Officially, Morocco's national music is classical Andalusian, the stately (and undeniably magnificent) sound fashioned back when the Moors were living it up in Spain. But you don't even have to scratch the surface of that veneer to hear it crumble. Staying in the Moroccan coastal town of Essaouira, home to the annual Gnawa music festival, I found Gnawa music spilling from the most unexpected places. At the tiny riad in the old city, our desk clerk, Nabil -- an adorably hip young man who was rocking out to Louis Prima the first time I met him -- confessed that his main ambition in life was to fuse Gnawa and electronica. (That night he proceeded to break out a guembri and sing us a few songs in an old-man voice that seemed at odds with his lithe, Brooklyn-esque presence.) Later, when I wandered into a local music shop and asked about hip-hop, the clerk threw a disc in the deck. What did I hear? Gnawa music, followed by some seriously fresh-sounding flows in Berber and Arabic.

Gnawa and hip-hop, Gnawa and jazz, Gnawa and peanut butter -- the music has become Morocco's lingua franca, a key that seems to unlock musicians' creativity no matter the genre. It's Morocco's blues music, born of slavery and strife, oppression and displacement -- the sound that sub-Saharan slaves brought with them as they made the journey through Arab slave markets to Morocco, starting back in the 11th century.

Perhaps you're wondering what Gnawa music and peanut butter sound like? Listen to the playlist below to find out. Or to keep reading about this cousin to the American blues, click the link below the playlist.

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

When you think of "world music" (debates about whether that term is a misnomer aside), Canada probably isn't the first place that jumps to mind. We Americans tend to think of Canada as this, uh, less interesting version of us, whereas we like to think of world music as coming from someplace both geographically and artistically remote (again, saving the politics of that debate for another time). (Not to mention that when we put the word "Canada" next to the word "music," an image of Celine Dion inevitably springs to mind.)

But our friendly neighbor to the north is host to more than enough good sounds to (almost) purge the memory of "My Heart Will Go On" forever from your ears. This week's SoundTreks is the first in a short intermittent series of posts about Canadian world and traditional music, a topic that will dance across Cape Breton fiddling, Acadian dance jams, Vancouver global fusion, and First Nations hip-hop, among others.

Mamer

Oh, the good music 2009 has in store for us. The vein has been pierced, and out poured Mamer, the Chinese singer-songwriter who sounds like a cross between Leonard Cohen, Jeff Tweedy and Kongar-ol Ondar, singing his expansive "Chinagrass" compositions: wide-open spaces, and plenty of them, in this man's voice. I can say without any PR bluster that I haven't been able to stop listening to his debut, Eagle, since I got my hands on it.

Then on to Poland, where the Warsaw Village Band turn their classically trained violins to new compositions that point a way forward for Polish folk -- and it leads, weirdly, through Africa, New Orleans and hip-hop. Strident folk music isn't everyone's idea of a good time, but on Infinity the band plays the hell out of the violins, sings like banshees and participates in what I'd like to call focused experimentalism.
 

Two Mexican groups and a Cubana have gotten busy this month as well: the eccentrically named DJ Mexican Institute of Sound, neo-New Wave rockers Zoe and the lovable diva CuCu Diamantes. Ad Rock remixes "Alocatel" for M.I.S., Zoe sounds like Elliott Smith vacationing with the Cure in Mexico, and CuCu Diamantes' speed-rap with Yotuel from Orishas on "Alguien" will give you whiplash.

This month also marks the release of Dengue Fever's soundtrack to the excellent film Sleepwalking Through the Mekong. Dengue Fever are on their way to becoming a truly great band, but the gems here are their collaborations with traditional Cambodian musicians and the nuggets from Cambodia's mid-'60s pop scene, which was tragically extinguished by the brutal Khmer Rouge regime.

And a last plug -- for Kayhan Kalhor, the Iranian kemancheh player who recently released the album Silent City with the string quartet Brooklyn Rider. I caught them together at the San Francisco Jazz Festival and was blown away -- mostly by Kalhor's composotions. "Silent City" ranks, for me, with Shostakovich's String Quartet No. 8 as one of the great anti-war/anti-totalitarianism songs of all time. Katrina survivors have been moved by it; anyone who has witnessed a city silenced by tragedy, only to slowly rebuild itself, will follow the 20-minute composition's wordless trajectory from stunned numbness to impotent anger to sorrow and finally back to the business of life itself. If you can, see Kalhor live. 

And enjoy this sample of April's goodies. If these are April showers, what are the May flowers going to sound like?

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to

Many groups can claim to have influenced the revival and flowering of Irish traditional music, but the Dubliners were, in so many ways, the first. This was the group that went to the country and resurrected dying songs -- they copped their major hit, "Seven Drunken Nights," from a little-known sean nos singer named Joe Heaney -- and brought live music (the now indispensible "sessions," or seisiuns) back to bars in Ireland at a time when it was nearly nonexistent.

In this day and age -- and in this country -- it's hard to understand just how revolutionary the group was, and just how repressed Irish culture had been for centuries. The English in Ireland tried out tactics they later used around the world in their colonial endeavors: denying "natives" the right to use their own language in 1387, banning "Irish clothes" and banishing the Irish from walled towns, clearing them off their land, etc . Phrases like "beyond the pale" originated in Ireland, describing the zone outside the "civilized" English-controlled towns. That legacy, coupled with the famine of 1848 and waves of migration and economic stagnation, had left the country decimated, clenching a robust and punitive Catholicism in one fist and a bottle of booze in the other. We've all read the stories: Frank McCourt's litany of hardships in Angela's Ashes, the violence and hard-drinking in books like Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha or The Woman Who Walked Into Doors, or films like The Magdalene Sisters.

Indian film star Shahrukh Khan.

Slumdog. It seemed like everybody in the country fell in love with that film, and the Academy fell over itself agreeing. Eight Oscars! Danny Boyle was the driving force behind it, and its reckless pace was hallmark Boyle (Trainspotting). But the things we love about Slumdog are, at heart, also classic tropes of Mumbai's sprawling film industry, better known as Bollywood. When you think Bollywood, think big emotions, doomed romance, high drama -- and dance scenes, baby, dance scenes. Plot points matter less than taking the viewer for an extravagant, emotional rollercoaster ride. For years mocked as a niche genre (despite being by far the world's biggest film industry), Bollywood is beginning to get its due around the globe -- particularly in these recession-inundated times, when people find themselves craving escapism and sweeping emotion simultaneously. But for Bollywood neophytes, where to start?

A member of the National South Korean folk ensemble plays the kayagum, arguably Korea's most famous instrument.

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

Like South Korea itself, which is all too often overlooked by backpackers and travelers on the Asia circuit, South Korean music is relatively unknown outside Korea. Which is a real shame, because the country's soundscape is a fascinating mix that encompasses everything from revered traditions stretching back thousands of years to blazingly ephemeral pop songs that echo across the wide expanses of always-changing, always-moving Seoul at any time, day or night. In short, it is not to be missed.

Filipino folk musician Grace Nono.

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

The Philippines is all too often epically ignored by the world music industry. The island nation's snubbing is in large part a result of twin colonial legacies. First, there's the imperialist notion (perpetuated by more than 400 years of Spanish, American and Japanese colonialists) that the Philippines has "no culture" (whatever that means). Second, there's the truth: the more than 7,000 islands that make up the Philippine archipelago are actually host to more than 180 ethnic and language groups. These groups were lumped together by colonizers who typically paid little attention to the myriad distinctive precolonial cultures or the creative ways Filipinos have negotiated outside influences.

Enter Grace Nono -- musician, composer, producer, label owner, activist and champion of diverse Filipino cultural practices, including music, art, theater, and healing and spiritual traditions. Nono got her start as a much-heralded solo artist, carving a niche for herself in the Philippines' alt-rock scene with her neo-folk-pop in the 1990s. Nono's music is dizzyingly wide-ranging and often just slightly avant-garde, but the constant is her artistic vision: the combination of indigenous folk melodies and rhythms with global pop aesthetics. Since her critically lauded debut, Tao Music, in 1992, Nono's solo output has slowed down as she has diverted her focus to other projects. Her two most recent albums, however, continue to showcase her overlapping visions of innovation and tradition.

Philadelphia-based DJ, songwriter and producer Diplo.

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

One month into 2009 and we're already staggering under the great releases. Some of them have been bubbling in Europe for awhile: Rokia Traore's bird-bone delicate Tchamantche, Mariza's melancholic but slightly more pop-oriented Terra (check out that luscious collabo with Tito Paris, "Beijo De Saudade"). Others have seemingly popped out out of nowhere -- like Cesaria Evora's lost tapes from an impromptu recording session in Cape Verde 40 years ago. And then of course there's the musically ravenous Diplo, a DJ/producer who's helped make M.I.A. a pop star. Get caught up on the latest releases -- and listen to a free sampler after the jump.

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

One of my favorite albums of 2008 (so far) has been En Este Camino by Pistolera. I've described this New York band's sound as Mexican regional, Latin alternative and American indie stitched together in a sonic tapestry that is at once comfortably familiar and chicly cutting edge. Rhapsody's Latin editor Sarah Bardeen was a bit pithier: "previously at-odds elements like accordion and indie rock drink a Corona and lime together." The band itself, which has made nice with the likes of Lila Downs, Ozomatli and the Mexican Institute of Sound, gets even more succinct, referring to themselves as simply "alt-folklorico."

[Click the "Continue Reading..." link to listen to a playlist featuring the music discussed in this post.]

Miriam Makeba led quite a life: she was the first African woman to win a Grammy. She performed before great political figures of her time, including John F. Kennedy and Nelson Mandela. When she gave an impassioned speech against apartheid before the United Nations in 1963, the South African government responded by banning her records -- and keeping her in exile from her home country for 31 long years.

Makeba never wanted to be at the center of the world's cultural storms; she simply wanted to sing. But what she chose to sing defined her life and career. She sang traditional songs from her Swazi and Xhosa backgrounds; she sang jazz and township music; she sang of joy and of struggle. Her own and her people's.

SoundTreks: A regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

Buena Vista Social Club returned from the dead (almost literally) last week, and this week Puerto Rican rappers/provocateurs Calle 13 took on the living, breathing lyrical fire. (Colombian rock outfit Aterciopelados wasn't far behind on that front either.) Plus, a sneak preview of songs from a hotly anticipated Bollywood flick, and Los Lobos guitarist David Hidalgo goes folkloric ... again?

[Click the "Continue Reading..." link to listen to a playlist featuring the music discussed in this edition of SoundTreks.]

SoundTreks: a regular feature on the music the other 97 percent of the globe is listening to.

Wow -- what a great week for world music. The globalized economy may be crawling into a McMansion-sized hole right now, but you've gotta admit, while globalization may suck for mortgage-backed securities, it's been damn good for music. It's like an all-you-can-eat international buffet this week, only the portions are small and all the food is cooked by those grumpy French slow-food guys who burn down fast food joints while wearing hats set at a jaunty angle. On the menu: indie-pop from Argentina's ardently odd songstress Juana Molina, Ethiopian dub reggae (yes, you read that right) from Dub Colossus, psychedelic '60s Amazonian surf-pop from Juaneco y Su Combo, and a Brazilian who's obsessed with Japan and duets with West Coast underground rappers. Viva cross-pollination!

[Click the "Continue Reading..." link to listen to a playlist featuring the music discussed in this edition of SoundTreks.]

By Rachel Devitt

He's got the whole world in his hands.

Sure, you love Kelly, Clay and Jordin. And Randy, Simon and Paula? They're like old, kind of annoying, possibly crazy friends by now. But what about Rini, Thaeme and Timi? The winners of Indonesian Idol,  Idolos Brasil and Idols West Africa might not be household names in the U.S., but they're well on their way to becoming big stars in their home regions, thanks to the many Idol spin-offs that have cropped up around the world since the franchise launched in the U.K. in 2001. We review the best, the brightest and the most YouTube-worthy moments of Idol's international incarnations.

By Rachel Devitt

 

Bienvenido! Mabuhay! Hos geldiniz! Welcome to the very first edition of Sound Treks, Rhapsody’s new globally minded weekly blog post. Your hosts for this little endeavor are Rhapsody’s World editors and biggest fans: Judy Cantor-Navas, Sarah Bardeen, et moi, Rachel Devitt. Every week, one of us will take you on a little aural vacation through the world of music, playing tour guide to Rhapsody’s cavernous global music holdings. If you think you don’t like world music, this is the blog post for you: Sound Treks is all about exploring the sites and sounds of the world of music, from the “world music” you think you know (including didjeridoos and drum circles) to Brazilian baile funk, Chinese indie rock, Balkan brass and Senegalese hip-hop -- and finding a bit of home even in the most distant “exotic” genre. That said, if you’re already a world music “traveler,” this is also the blog for you: Sound Treks is about expanding paradigms, not throwing them out with the bong water.