As some of you may recall, sometime last sunmer I discovered a series available through eMusic called Ethiopiques, covering Ethiopian pop and folk music from the ’60s through the mid-70s. Or some timeframe like that. I’m not good with dates and remembering the historical events within which this collection was framed. What’s important to me is how quickly I took to large swaths of whatever I downloaded from this 20-plus-CD set. I’m usually not that apt to dig “world music,” but this Ethiopian stuff had a lot going for it. Despite the fact that I couldn’t understand a word of any of the singers I’d been sampling, the recordings spoke to me. It was refreshing. I felt unusually open minded while, at the same time, I felt like I’d been listening to a sound that my soul had been calling for since I was a boy trying to float beyond all the crap and confusion of my world.

Shortly after stumbling across this stuff I was reminded that this was some of the music Jeffrey Wright‘s character in Broken Flowers would play Bill Murray‘s character. Early in the film, if memory serves, these Ethiopian tunes created a cool, hip, slightly familiar, slightly exotic vibe. As I continued downloading this stuff, I felt the presence of Wright’s character as well as the presence of so many real-life friends over the years who’d turned me onto something new yet surprisingly familiar.

As I began digging deeper into these new sounds I started trying to place names with my favorite songs. It’s a difficult task. The Ethiopian language frequently does not order letters in ways English speakers are accustomed to seeing. Luckily the artist whose music first grabbed my attention had perhaps the easiest name to remember: Mahmoud Ahmed. You may recall the following song, from my first post on my Ethiopian journey.

Mahmoud Ahmed, “Almaz Men Eda New”

Man, this Mahmoud Ahmed gets me jumping! I love the repetition and the tumbling percussion. I love the organ drones, like something out of “Tomorrow Never Knows”. I love the horn parts, the way they stagger in and out of the songs. I love Ahmed’s urgent, insistent vocal delivery, a delivery that, refreshingly, avoids any of the threatening, boasting, or otherwise macho aspects of the great James Brown or Chuck D. Ahmed’s sound is joyous, playful, obsessive, and ultimately peaceful.

More tracks after the jump!
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How hard up are you Nancy Sinatra-Lee Hazelwood collectors for something cool to show off at your next gathering of rock nerd friends or to spin on your college radio show? Granted, this rant is a good 20 years overdue, dating back to the time when we all started feeling warm and fuzzy about this stuff, but it’s gone on too long. Suddenly, the joke’s on us. Let’s review the supposed “greatness” of these collaborations.

The groovy camp appeal of “These Boots Are Made for Walking” is undeniable. The tune is pretty cool. Nancy’s looking good. Women feel empowered. And all that jazz. An unforgettable treat.

Certainly, I get the hipster, so-bad-it’s-great appeal of “Some Velvet Morning”. When we first discovered this song in the ’80s and cool bands started covering it, this was the appeal, right? It’s like a musical equivalent of Mandom. Honestly, though, beyond the giggle factor of of this song and the associated images of these two clowns, what’s there to dig? Isn’t this kind of stuff best left to the French, who excelled at making melodramatic, semi-lame, semi-laughable, semi-groovy ’60s pop music? Plus, those French women were much hotter than Nancy. Sorry, Frank.