“The Believer” Music Issue Asks: Who Are MABEL and ANABEL?

Before I say another word about the magazine, let me state simply that the free inside-cover-mount CD that comes with the July/August issue of The Believer, the McSweeney’s-published lit mag, is reason enough to purchase the thing. Leaving aside dance-mag CDs–which are usually DJ sets by big names–this is probably the best cover-mount CD I’ve ever heard. Its compiler, Believer interviews editor Ross Simonini, announces his globe-hopping theme in its first piece, but it’s immediately apparent that what he achieves is of a piece, sonically. Everything hangs together perfectly; the selections are excellent (I even liked an Animal Collective song! Me!); there are times when you can’t quite spot the exact intersection where what you’re hearing came from, which works greatly in the music’s favor. One-worldism should always be so hands-on.

Nevertheless, I find Simonini frustrating, mainly for the strident way he finesses territory that isn’t as simple as he makes it out to be. Let me quote two pieces he’s written. First, the beginning of “Notes on the 2008 Believer CD”:

An ethnomusicological wind is blowing through the valley of American music. Of late, hordes of rock and hip-hop musicians–referred to from here on as MABELs (Musicians of American, British, or [Western] European Lineage)–are drawing inspiration from musical traditions by Nigerian, Peruvian, Indonesian, and other non-local musicians–referred to here as ANABELs (Artists Not of American, British, or [Western] European Lineage). (Here it should be noted that our little acronymic friends, MABEL and ANABEL, were born as a way of avoiding broad, inaccurate locutions such as “world music,” “Anglo music,” and other unfortunate “us vs. them” terminology.)

Here’s the other, from last August, in The Stranger. The beginning of “No World Border”:

This is the last time you will see the phrase “world music” appear in this newspaper. A holdover from the precious, batik-printed, WOMAD ’80s, the term failed on many levels long ago.

By Simonini’s logic, in the first example, wouldn’t “avoiding broad, inaccurate locutions such as ‘world music,’ ‘Anglo music,’ and other unfortunate ‘us vs. them’ terminology” mean that all labeling of everything is inherently an “us vs. them” enterprise? I’m not so sure about that. Nor am I convinced that “world music” was a failure. On the evidence, it’s been anything but. Not in a cutesy-smartsy “you couldn’t have written the piece without ‘world music’ to rail against” way, either: I mean in sheer layman’s terms.

From the introduction of the first edition of The Rough Guide to World Music, published 1994: “The name was dreamed up in 1987 by the heads of a number of small London-based record labels who found their releases from African, Latin American, and other international artists were not finding rack space because records stores had no obvious place to put them. . . . [T]he world music tag was hit upon, initially as a month-long marketing campaign to impress on the music shops, the critics and buyers that here were sounds worth listening to. The name stuck, however, and was swiftly adopted at records stores and festivals, in magazines and books, on both sides of the Atlantic.”

An ad slogan meant to stretch out no longer than a month proved such a helpful catchall that it was instantly adopted all over. (This still happens–see how Yacht Rock, the Internet comedy show about the phony back-stories behind soft-rock hits, became a de facto genre in itself.) “World music” is an obviously problematic term, but by no means did it fail: it created its own market, the ultimate small-business success.

Ah, but that’s not what Simonini’s really talking about, is it? His references to WOMAD and batik print give away that his real beef is the terrifying taint of the uncool and parentally approved. Not Simonini’s parents themselves (about whom I have no idea) so much as the sense that once upon a time he had an inkling that “world music” was edifying in a boring, PBS-documentary kind of way and is overreacting in that direction now that he’s figured out the opposite can be true. But the opposite was always true, however much the idea–or, I get the sense, the memory–of WOMAD and all that ghastly batik print makes Simonini squirm. Come on, dude: they dress differently than you. Get a grip. Exchanging “good for you” for “cooler than thou” never improves discourse.

And anyway, isn’t Simonini barking up the wrong tree anyway? Really, not one word in either piece about the dreaded Putumayo label–its frequently bland, café-of-all-cultures compilations, or the nauseating, infantilizing cover drawings that package them? WOMAD at least had the objective of putting differing styles on the same page and seeing what came of it. Putumayo is like turning all that stuff into porridge–the artwork does that by itself, even if the CDs are good. (And I have to admit, a couple of them are, in particular 1998’s Afro-Latino.) Simonini gets no complaint from me in wanting to adjust “world music” for an age where most of the world’s music is at our fingertips and deserves, as it always has, to be considered on its own terms. I just wish his aim were clearer.

The Believer: July/August 2008 [The Believer]