As you (very) slowly sail along inside Disney World’s “It’s a Small World” attraction, you may start to notice some musical differences piped in amidst Robert and Richard Sherman’s looping sonic parasite: a panda chews on bamboo as a zither softly strums in China, a carpet flies in front of the Taj Mahal as a mizmar rings out, African children ride the tusks of an elephant while another bangs a bongo, an electric lap steel smoothly sounds in Hawaii and the Pacific Islands, a cactus plucks a guitar and a desert bird plays a trumpet under a smiling sun in Mexico. Packed into an excruciating 12 minutes of animatronic-induced earworm psychosis, nowhere has there ever been more of a densely produced depiction of exotica.
This isn’t to say that the ride’s intentions weren’t pure. In fact, the Sherman brothers wrote “It’s A Small World (After All)” in the wake of the Cuban Missile Crisis to try and quell xenophobia and promote a sense of fraternity between the United States and the world. But it’s hard to overlook the colonialistic and imperialistic portrayal of these cultures. The same can be said for those albums that spurred the creation of the exotica genre, including Yma Sumac’s Mambo! and Martin Denny’s Exotica for example, or even Bond movies like Dr. No and You Only Live Twice (or, if we’re being honest, most of them). In each of these instances there’s a Hollywoodization of culture that is inherently trivializing, or ill-mannered at the very least. It eliminates the complexity of these cultures and instead traps them in a bubble of fantasy (it doesn’t help that “It’s a Small World” is located in Disney World’s Fantasyland).
Whatever the reason people are attracted to exotica (fake nostalgia, wanderlust, etc.), it has always seemed problematic. Thankfully, exotica as a music genre has greatly declined since its birth in the 1950s, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t still drawn to the sound of a steel drum whilst sipping a piña colada on the beach in some tropical island. Why are we so captivated by this sonic cultural fetishization? Why do we enjoy pigeonholing entire societies into a few sonic descriptors? On their new collaborative project Mama Killa, guitarist Ava Mendoza, violinist gabby fluke-mogu, and heavy metal drummer Carolina Pérez wrestle with these questions.
While all three musicians are New York City based, Pérez is originally from Colombia, which may have given rise to the record’s themes as it dives deep into diverse Andean cultures who once dominated South America, spanning modern day countries like Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, and Columbia. These cultural influences found throughout Mama Killa act as a catalyst to blend aspects of folk, blues, psychedelic rock, and metal to create something truly exotic.
Opener “Puma Punku” welcomes us to the center of the ancient Andean world, allowing us to marvel at its splendour. But instead of sounding glamorous and inviting, things are disjointed, garbled, and intense. fluke-mogul’s electric violin kicks things off with a bluesy and rhythmic plucking before Mendoza’s psychedelic guitar and Pérez’s heavy drums unite to form a combination unlike anything you’ve ever heard. By the time Mendoza’s guttural voice rains down from the heavens, we realize we are anywhere but a fantasy land. Elsewhere, the psychedelic track “Trichocereus Pachanoi”, which is the scientific name of a psychoactive cactus that was often used for spiritual practices in Andean cultures, further transcends musical conventions while offering a standout performance from Pérez on drums.
One of the more hard-hitting tracks on Mama Killa is “We Will Be Millions” – a valiant and hopeful warning to those who might impede prosperity. It begins with an all out lashing from the trio and continues on through six minutes of a mountainous improvisation. Juxtapose this with the bluesy, folky, rock and roll standout “Amazing Graces” and you begin to see the complexity that this trio is after. The first half of this track is an old fashioned head-banging romp, but the second half turns into an unstructured and melancholic reprise. Here I think the trio wants us to question the habits of the Traditionalist Generation. How long should traditions last? Should they be forgotten? And if not, how should we remember them? Certainly, it seems, conventional exotica music is not the answer. Mama Killa, on the other hand, might be one step closer in the right direction.
Of course, I would be remiss if I did not mention the three goddesses that make an appearance on the record. “Mama Huaco”, a Peruvian warrior princess who is believed to be one of the founders of the Incan empire, “Mama Coca”, the goddess of health and the coca leaf, as well as Mama Killa, the goddess of the moon, showcase the spiritual significance and power that women held in these societies before the Spanish brought upon their annihilation. The tracks themselves are powerful representations of all three musicians’ restrained improvisational skills as each track further defies any previous notions folk, blues, or rock you might have had.
Instead of pretending to understand a deeply spiritual society that existed centuries ago, Mama Killa sonically examines these traditions through a personal lens, using bluesy, jazzy, psychedelic and metallic tropes that gnash and gnarl until the same level of spirituality spawns. Ultimately, Mama Killa is exotica music without the colonialism — it explores the complexities of a wide range of cultures that once reigned supreme over their land without undermining the spiritual significance of their traditional values. It sounds like a recording from a society that was never conquered but simply vanished, waiting for the precise moment to reappear and unleash its fury. This is a trailblazing, vengeful record.
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