Although the motives could be debated, it would be fair to say that ever since the appearance of Robert Stevenson's Music in Mexico: A Historical Survey (1952), there has been a fascination with the study of that “other” geography in the American imagination, what Ernesto “Che” Guevara called nuestra mayúscula América (our majuscule America).Footnote ¹ Guevara's Motorcycle Diaries (1952) was no doubt shaped by his perception that the United States’ relationship with the rest of the continent was objectifying. And indeed, this objectification is what permeated the first U.S. accounts of Latin American expressive culture, among which music was not an exception. Guevara's remark is pertinent because in the last sixty years, narratives of Latin American culture have shifted in light of the political, economic, and cultural complexity that American scholars have come to recognize in this region.

Whereas Stevenson's Music in Mexico and Music in Aztec and Inca Territory (1968) reflected the exotic appeal that enthralled American audiences during the first half of the twentieth century, Gerard Béhague's Music in Latin America: An Introduction (1979) positioned music practices in the context of western music historiography.Footnote ² In Béhague's volume, one realizes that the socio-political and overall historical context of this activity is vast and quite complex, and it becomes clear why the book is labeled “an introduction.” It is likely for this reason that authors such as Peter Manuel opted for limiting the geographical scope of inquiry. Even then, Manuel realized that Caribbean Currents: Caribbean Music from Rumba to Reggae (1995) could not fully account for a rich and diverse cultural terrain.Footnote ³ His following book, East Indian Music in the West Indies: Tan-Singing, Chutney, and the Making of Indo-Caribbean Culture (2000), provided a nuanced study of music not typically associated with the Caribbean, which, however, defines the historical experience of the east Indian diaspora.Footnote ⁴ This interest in a nuanced, regional approach to music study was followed by John Schechter's Music in Latin American Culture: Regional Traditions (1999), as well as by the encyclopedic efforts of Malena Kuss.Footnote ⁵

The two textbooks under review attempt, with varying consistency, to adopt the approach taken in this scholarship by offering a series of focused readings of musical activity in select regions of Latin America. In their introductions, both texts pay attention to the influence of colonialism in the changing landscape of music practices after the arrival of Europeans. Following the introductions, however, the books’ subsequent chapters shift their focus to a narrative about cultural and ethnic difference among nation-states, thus forgoing discussions of musics that are not commonly associated with Latin American countries in the U.S. imagination (e.g., 1970s rock in Mexico or Soviet music in Cuba).

In Music of Latin America and the Caribbean, Mark Brill's assessment of Mexico, Brazil, and the English and French Caribbean does show an interest in classifying music activity regionally, but he changes to a more nation specific, genre-based approach for countries such as Puerto Rico, Colombia, Venezuela, Peru, Chile, and Argentina. The music practices described are restricted to seemingly “traditional” sounds (e.g., jíbaro music for Puerto Rico; son, canción ranchera, and corrido for Mexico; and samba and forro for Brazil). Although the book devotes an entire chapter to classical music, its approach to musical practices rarely moves beyond that of an exoticizing nationalism. In this respect, one must recognize that accounting for music activity in Latin America poses a substantial challenge and it is understandable that Brill chose to focus on music considered to be of Latin America instead.

Robin Moore and Walter Aaron Clark's Musics of Latin America displays similar tendencies. Each chapter must cover a large geographical region, but ethnomusicological methodology gives some chapters a refreshing depth. The chapter titled “Central America, Colombia, and Venezuela,” for example, might seem a little too “roots”-oriented to some readers, but T. M. Scruggs's historical and socio-political contextualization makes his description substantive. A similar situation occurs with “Cuba and the Hispanic Caribbean,” where Robin Moore weaves a complex social and political panorama around música guajira, rumba, and salsa. The chapters by Cristina Magaldi, Deborah Schwartz-Kates, and Jonathan Ritter (on Brazil, Argentina and the region of Rio de la Plata, and Peru and the Andes, respectively) are equally engaging. Every chapter, however, is permeated by what seems to be an editorial imposition: That it divide its narrative between what is “traditional” music and what is classical, European, or European-based music. Similar to Brill, this book is framed by a focus on musical nationalism, an editorial choice that does not account for Latin America in terms of rock or hip hop (just to mention two examples).

Both texts treat the nation-state as a fundamental unit of inquiry and herein lies the problem. Given the fact that transnationalism has imposed new logics of cultural engagement with globalization (seen in how migrations of people, symbols, and ideas influence and create new music practices and meanings), readings of music of Mexico, of Cuba, of Brazil, etcetera can only misrepresent the plurality and diversity of music practices that constantly move across borders. This activity challenges the position of the nation-state as a center of cultural representation, for which renditions about “traditional musics” fail to capture the social, political, and cultural reality of individuals. As a matter of fact, there are other sounds that are perhaps more representative of the listening and performing practices of people in these countries, such as onda grupera or balada romántica, metal, or hip hop. Talking about these sounds would be to talk about music in Mexico, in Brazil, and in Cuba—about music that is actually part of everyday life (perhaps even more so than son jarocho, rumba, and samba, depending on the context, of course).

This is not to say that there is no pedagogical value in these books. As a matter of fact, several professors have lamented the lack of curricula promoting cultural awareness beyond U.S. borders in some universities. Brill's and Moore and Clark's books may well fill this void by exposing students to different sounds and aesthetic understandings. In using these texts one should proceed with caution, however, as this exposure could also help exacerbate already-held cultural stereotypes that overlook the complex social, economic, and political dynamics that shape musical practices in Latin America today. Focusing on this relationship could be a productive way to overcome the exoticism that pervades canonic readings of music in Latin America, as well as to learn about its actual culture today. The ultimate question is whether universities are ready to address this reality in their curricula, or whether cultural-nationalist views of music continue to have educational value amidst the cultural logics of globalization.