But in the land of sacred cows, Milli Vanillis rule. Schooled to believe that America is the world's pop culture pusher, it's hard for us to comprehend the global star power of these singers of the dominance of a film industry that mesmerizes millions not only in south Asia, but throughout the Middle East, Indonesia, Eastern Africa, and southern Russia. And by restlessly pillaging exotica while simultaneously honing the art of pop product and doing it all with visual seduction in mind, filmi's composers and playback singers create soundtracks not just for their movies, but for a planet dripping in creole media. I first heard filmi music when I opened the door to an empty Indian restaurant on East Sixth and walked into a swirl of peppy tablas, harmonium, and sugary vocals. In five seconds flat the waiter slapped on the ragas, which he must have figured conformed more to my notion of Orientalism.
Yesterday never knows.
Thanks to the South Asian communities that have been growing in New York since the early '70s, today you can pick up loads of filmi music on cheap cassettes at the Indian grocery stores scattered through the boroughs. But folks overwhelmed by The Best of Lata Vol. 9 and unimpressed with the infinitely xeroxed sound quality of the grocery tapes should hound down the three volumes of Golden Voices of the Silver Screen. Even without the pretty pictures, the material is intoxicating. Most pieces are grown from the motherland's own rich soil, and forms as diverse as qawwali and the ghazal are expanded upon, but those looking for a folk core of authenticity here will find themselves lost in a hall of mirrors. The shit's disorienting.