Rhythms, Heartbeats, Identities: Around Colombia in 150 Records
💬 Music critic Jaime Monsalve takes us on a whirlwind tour of Colombia via its most iconic artists and legendary recordings
Known as the ‘Land of a Thousand Rhythms,’ Colombia is considered the source of 1,025 rhythms across 157 musical genres. I spoke to critic and author Jaime Monsalve (a veritable human encyclopaedia) about this country’s remarkable musical history - and musical geography, too.
We took an expedition through Colombia’s musical soul, from bambuco to bullerengue, through cumbia and carranga, to vallenato and (of course) reggaetón - all via love and heartbreak, tradition and innovation.
Here, Jaime gives us his essential five records to understand Colombia, from the first ever recordings of Colombian voices through to modern-day icons, and tells us about his new book, ‘In Furrows of Colours: a History of Colombia through 150 Records.’
Note: this article is full of videos and hyperlinks to playlists & songs, so don’t sit and wonder what an artist or genre sounds like - click around and have a listen!
EH: Reading your book, the first thing which struck me was the astonishing diversity and richness of Colombian music – how did you manage to get all that history down to 150 records?
JM: There are massive numbers of endemic rhythms in Colombia as well as local development of rhythms from abroad – always explored ‘a la colombiana.’
One explanation is the country’s geography - particularly its range of altitudes and the fact that we are a country without seasons: it’s always summer in some places, and others have a constant winter. Those temperatures affect customs relating to music, dance, clothes… everything!
Colombia is also split by mountain ranges and is incredibly difficult to cross by road, which means that for a long time, many cultures and customs didn’t have much contact with others - basically until the arrival of mass media. In some ways, the accidents of our geography have limited us, but at the same time they have produced an exciting richness.
We’re six countries – at least – in one: each with its own musical sensibilities. The plains, the mountains, two ocean coasts… Each region with its own influences from indigenous communities, Afro-Colombian culture, and colonial processes. All of that is reflected in the country’s music.
For this book, I started building the list from zero, but it got so long that I ending up having to make a lot of sacrifices. The original idea was 100 records, but we ended up having to extend it to 150 anyway!
It’s almost like each region is a kind of Galapagos in terms of parallel but independent evolution of musical traditions - I was amazed by the sheer number of Colombian genres - some of which I’d never even heard of! Is the listenership as regional as the origin of these genres - or are there genres which have captured the whole country’s attention?
There are genres which seem to cut across Colombia’s regions. Cumbia has been our greatest ambassador outside the country, and vallenato is listened to in all corners of Colombia.
Plus, of course cantina music – a mix of guasca, carrilera, ballad, and tango played in Colombian bars known as ‘cantinas’ - as well certain types of popular, our adaption of Mexican ranchero music. And of course Puerto Rican music – often referred to as ‘urban music.’
There have been certain moments for other genres too, like carranga, which has had moments of popularity – and we are living through another of those moments. Champeta also had its moment, but its popularity has faded a lot.
Colombia didn’t even have a machine to press records until the 1940s, so when Colombians wanted to record their music, composers had to send their compositions to other countries, and usually North American orchestras would then record them.
Those records would get back here with another recording on the other side - most likely something from another country in the region, something like a tango or a ranchero song - we have always been between Argentina and Mexico in some strange way.
So our grandparents and great-grandparents had pretty random listening habits - formed by pure chance.
And that kind of formed our emotional education too! Colombians listen to a lot of dramatic and sad music, with lyrics of distress and heartbreak – often on the edge of suicide – but we love it! Listening with a shot of aguardiente, singing the lyrics at full volume with your friends, making the song feel like your own. That’s something very Colombian - a part of the culture of ‘cantina’ bars.
I once wrote an article about a headline from 1951 – that the bolero song ‘Rencor’ was responsible for a murder. Ana Tulia Páez, a woman who worked in a cafe, put the song on the jukebox: a policeman and former-lover of hers heard the song and - overcome by jealousy and rejection - responds with gunshots, killing her there in the cafe.
Contemporary news coverage seems convinced that the ballad is to blame for the violence - not the man - and a lot of it is in agreement about the potential of bolero to inspire violence. There were even editorials suggesting a ban on the genre…
And Colombia isn’t just split by geography – it’s a very socially hierarchical society, right? I live in the centre of Medellín with a lot of cantinas around me, and it’s not the rich people of the city who are here listening to ‘popular’ or ‘cantina’ – how does class affect listening habits in this country?
Colombian music-lovers tend to have their ears open to all kinds of music, though there is a famous saying here: in Colombia, the upper classes think they’re from Miami - and the lower classes think they’re from Mexico.
There was a kind of state mission in the mid-20th century to create a ‘national music’ - certain politicians in power decided it should be bambuco, Andean music from the country’s interior. Pretty unsurprising, given that that’s where power sits in this country - in Bogotá…
But it was music from the Caribbean coast which ultimately won out during that time, musicians like Pacho Galán and Lucho Bermúdez who added an orchestra and put a tuxedo on music which was looked down on by the upper classes at a certain time. But those classes then accepted it as their own – that was the music they would go out and dance to, and felt represented by.
Vallenato also became music of the elites, though strangely only in the interior of the country: in Bogotá, it’s a genre listened to by the upper classes but in, for example, Valledupar, it’s listened to by the lower classes. The upper classes feel a real poetry - a folklore and an autobiography - in that music.
Meanwhile, bambuco has now passed into academia, only played by people who study music: it’s young people - students - on stage, and a public who are all 60 years old.
So what have been the most important influences on Colombian music?
Shortwave radio has been a huge influence – particularly on the Caribbean coast, where radio waves were reaching us from Cuba – people fell in love with son. Then Cuban groups starting coming to Colombia - and didn’t stop.
It was a musical sensibility which reached the interior of the country – composers like Emilio Sierra and Milciades Garavito mixed son with bambuco and pasillo to create rumba criolla – maybe one of the first ever fusion genres. People think fusion began with Carlos Vives [see below!] - but we have always been doing it.
And then rock music of course – seen as the enemy of everything, which came to appropriate audiences and end other vernacular music and traditions - or so many people feared.
It arrived with Elvis Presley, with the films of Bill Haley, with Beatles records brought back by rich people from other countries. People would buy a guitar and a base and do their own covers - but always very artisanal and homemade - direct from the Colombian soul.
These were quite belated phenomena: you can see Los Yetis, Los Speakers, Los Flippers et al. were recording in the mid-1960s. We got these trends slightly late in Colombia.
There wasn’t really an industry which produced rock or jazz at this point – it was Caribbean music or nothing. Some rock bands were able to give rock concerts, but when they recorded it had to be tropical genres or bambuco which was considered more marketable – often they’d record those other genres under other band names.
And we need, of course, to talk about reggaetón: has it become the new global ambassador of latino identity - or even of Colombian-ness?
So much reggaetón is ‘Made in Medellín’ - so actually a lot of it reflects what’s going on in Medellín, and some of the lyrics relate to what’s happening in Colombia more widely.
So fans are finding out about Colombia in that way. And we’ve become the land of reggaetón – so much of the industry is now here, and that’s affected how we’re seen as a country.
The song ‘+57’ was an interesting case – now a legal issue as some people are trying to get it removed from platforms. Controversy, celebration of drugs, etc aren’t new to Colombian music or specific to reggaetón, but the scale and reach that this music now has means that it has become an issue of global reputation – and how Medellín is being sold as a certain type of destination for tourists, too.
But when I was writing about Karol G in particular, I found more about empowerment – and even equality between the genders, though in very particular contexts: in seduction, partying, money, and fame.
Some of her music, I felt, was asking how those things - which are classic aspirations of reggaetón and urban music - might look in the mirror of the feminine. Plus, you see lot of generosity from her in terms of supporting other female artists in the genre.
We now live with huge global platforms - Spotify, Youtube etc - as our major sources of music, and a decreasing interest in radio… As a broadcaster and critic, do you feel optimistic about the future of music curation, taste-making, and production?
I’d say that these platforms are not as concerning to me as the algorithms which tell you what you might like based on what you listen to - that feels really limiting to people’s tastes. Critics used to do these jobs, but the algorithm is robotic - limited to what it is able to detect and understand… But I don’t think there is much to be done about it, that’s where audience is going.
Radio has survived in Colombia in places where the Internet hasn’t yet reached – in Providencia, in rural places, in the rainforest: they are still listening to a lot of radio there.
We need to let go a bit, I think: it is a fact that platforms and even podcasts have totally changed our understanding and consumption of music – and it’ll keep changing! We have to adapt. As far as criticism goes, that’s been changed by social media too – people want to learn in faster ways - more succinct, less reading, more clickbait-y. But we have to adapt to that too, we can’t avoid it.
I’ve been a music journalist for 30 years, and 25 of those have been years of impressive prosperity for Colombian music. In all senses - even in commercial terms – we have a lot to be proud of. And I’ve been a witness to marvels of indie music, of regional music, of traditions but also of fusion and evolution.
Colombia is a multicultural multi-ethnic country – we don’t have purity, it’s impossible here. We use the word fusion a lot, but I prefer a term borrowed from the flamenco tradition: mestizaje - music which is mestizo - truly mixed. With rock, the older generations were really worried that our traditions were at risk - but we’ve seen that didn’t happen.
More than ever musicians from Colombia are trying to work out where they come from, going back to the country’s regions and to old records - to the great maestros.
Jaime Monsalve’s Essential Five Records to Understand Colombia
From his book of 150 records, I asked Jaime to pick just five which capture the history and essence of Colombian music…
Pelón y Marín, El Enterrador, 1908
Record #3
Pelón y Marín have the importance of being the first Colombians to record music.
It wasn’t planned, of course: these weren’t two guys who decided to leave the country in search of someone to record them. They were living hand to mouth in a neighbourhood of tailors in Medellín in the early 20th Century. They were tailors too, but played guitar and sang.
Pelón was in legal trouble, so the two decided to the leave the country for a while: they went through Cuba and ended up in Mexico, where Marín ended up in a relationship with an actress - a jet-setter. She set it up for them and they ended up recording about 40 songs, the most important of which is ‘El Enterrador.’
It’s a terribly sad poem, written by a Spanish poet, about a man who is the gravedigger of his village and, being the only gravedigger, has to bury his own daughter.
Pelón and Marín’s record is a bambuco version - but it has been re-recorded and sampled by many artists, including Celia Cruz and Rosalía. This record arrived all over the world.
Pacho Galán y su Orchesta, Ay Cosita Linda, 1955
Record #13
‘Ay Cosita Linda’ is still listened to all the time in Colombia: this track was a phenomenon, and arrived well outside the borders of the country, recorded by Nat King Cole, various Cuban orchestras – there are jazz versions too.
Success in those days meant reach for a composition, not so much your own recording being played or listened to by a lot of people.
Galán’s music was really the catalyst for the explosion of Caribbean coastal music in Colombia – particularly the sub-genre of merecumbé, and eventually the arrival of Colombian artists abroad - particularly to the US to play in big bands and orchestras in hotels.
Today, Colombians are strongly represented in music all over the world, but that shouldn’t surprise us - it has always been the case.
Los Carrangueros de Ráquira, Los Carrangueros de Ráquira, 1981
Record #75
What happened with the Carrangueros was that they reinvented the music of subsistence farmers and rural people and gave it a relevance nobody thought it could have.
They brought back the ‘tiple requinto’ - a string instrument which is the backbone of carranga music - along with guitar and guacharaca. Those instruments try to evoke the region of Boyacá and the sounds of their regional vallenato.
It’s inspiring music - it talks about idealised love, platonic love, about caring for the environment, returning to one’s homeland, the territory of our ancestors.
The song ‘La Cucharita’ was an immediate classic – but the band didn’t have lasting success: their music ended up mostly back in Boyacá and Tolima - in the mountains.
Jorge Velosa, the composer and singer, used to say that it wasn’t a song - it was a mirror he had held up to us so that we could look at ourselves there, and recognise ourselves as Colombians. I agree totally with that.
And this music cut across class - it’s music you can’t dismiss, because it’s from our land. Of course, its success was more marked in the interior of the country, but people from all classes saw their reflection in ‘La Cucharita’ - the little spoon.
And important things happened around this song which brought pride to Colombia – this group was invited a latino festival in Madison Square Gardens in New York - it was a source of patriotism, and a lot of foreign bands tried to imitate the Colombian carranga sound afterwards.
Carranga still has the occasional commercial spike. Young people are interested again, particularly in the Rolling Ruanas, who do rock covers in a carranga style, and the recent track ‘Coqueta’ by Heredero, whose huge success has shown the genre can be commercial again.
Carlos Vives, La Tierra del Olvido, 1995
Record #106
Carlos Vives was one of our first artists to go international - and a first step which led to the possibility of a Shakira, a Juanes, more recently artists like Karol G - and ultimately the fact that Colombian music is now so much in fashion.
If you follow the influence of Carlos Vives – not even his own music but those who found their way through his music – you find two clear threads. There are those who decided, like him, to pursue fusions involving the traditional music of Colombia’s Caribbean - but going a bit further. Among that group are Carlos Vives’ own musicians.
Others copied Carlos Vives himself, even imitating his voice, leading to the phenomenon of ‘tropi-pop’ – a commercial phenomenon which only lasted a couple of years.
Some of these artists faced the issue of their tours becoming flooded with patriotic symbols which took on very ambivalent meaning during the government of Álvaro Uribe, for example the vueltiao hat – and these artists became associated with the political right - ‘uribismo’.
There are artists who you know exactly where they stand politically – often vallenato or ‘popular’. Some come from rural areas which suffered enormously under guerrilla occupation and ended up co-opted by those groups which tried to counter the guerrilla but themselves got out of hand too, and ended up causing more suffering. The Zuleta brothers are recorded shouting, “Viva la tierra paramilitar y los paracos, no joda!”
And, of course, machismo and social politics play a role too - those who went well beyond the ‘rockstar’ image of excess and hedonism into to violence and femicide - the murder of women - as happened in the case of Diomedes Díaz.
But now I think they are more often just artists who have achieved fame and success and want to hold onto it - to avoid governments who want to take their wealth and redistribute it.
But I’ve also seen vallenatos dedicated to Alfonso Lopez (a liberal president) or even in the Dominican Repulblic, merengues dedicated to the dictator Rafael Leónidas Trujillo Molina. The link between politics and music is an interesting one - often unpredictable.
Lido Pimienta, Miss Colombia, 2020
Record #146
It’s in Lido Pimienta that you find encapsulated the search between the traditional and the contemporary, and how those two things can perfectly coexist in one spirit.
Her explorations and lyrics discuss resilience, power, and many things we still need to talk about. There’s a balance here – the possibilities of searches for the new Colombia and identity with alternative sources and ideas - and lyrics which are modern and very locked into social discourse, #MeToo for example, new masculinities, and gender politics.
A lot of female artists are doing this now – Gabriela Ojeda, La Muchacha, the Añez sisters – they are working on discursive modes of making music, in all sorts of ways.
Bonus: Record #147 in Jaime’s book is The Meridian Brothers, Cumbia Siglo XXI.
Check out this interview with the genius behind one of Colombia's biggest musical phenomena - on technology, nostalgia, and the apocalypse. Half an hour with Eblis Álvarez here!
Jaime Andrés Monsalve Buriticá was born in Manizales, Colombia. He is a social communicator and journalist from the Universidad Javeriana in Bogotá, and is currently head of Music Programming at Radio Nacional de Colombia.
Jaime has been the creator and producer of music programmes for the radio station Javeriana Estéreo, editor of newspaper El Espectador, cultural editor of magazine Cambio, and editor-in-chief and international editor of the magazine SoHo.
This book is a tribute to Colombia’s territory, its musicians, its instruments and its rhythms. In the book, you will find the stories of the most representative albums of artists such as Pacho Galán, Alci Acosta, Fruko y sus Tesos, Joe Arroyo, Aterciopelados, Galy Galiano, Kaleth Morales, Shakira, Karol G and many more.
A journey through the different territories and genres of the country such as porro, cumbia, vallenato, reggaeton, pop, punk and rock, ‘En surcos de colores’ is an essential listening guide for those interested in learning more about Colombian culture - and for music lovers, or in Spanish, ‘melómanos & melómanas.’
The title of the book, ‘In Furrows of Colours’ / ‘En Surcos de Colores’, is a play on the line of Colombia’s national anthem, ‘In furrows of Pain’ - ‘en surcos de dolores.’
Publishing house Rey Naranjo created this playlist to accompany the book:
Thanks, Emily! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻