âWhat Are YouâŠ.? Gypsy?â
Despite the instinct to resist Time Outâs propaganda that London is de facto âThe Best City In The Worldâ, I canât help returning to this mantra with almost daily frequency. And that is pretty much for one sole reason: Londonâs delightfully in-your-face cosmopolitanism. Halal carcasses are unpacked outside bass-thumping reggae dives; noodles rolled to the snipped riffs of Congolese guitars, Babel reigns on the Tube. And more and more, Londonâs citizens are beginning to embody that.
People of mixed white and black Caribbean or African heritage have long been a part of the urban landscape, with white and Asian mixes becoming almost as frequent. Cultural Co-operationâs busy office hub attracts a fairly cosmopolitan staff, with a healthy concoction of Italian, Jamaican, Indian, Chinese, Irish, French, Chilean and English genes simmering away within the small team. Yet, bizarrely, even in the culture and heritage sector, people still shy away from enquiring directly about each otherâs ethnicities. It is as if we have a fear of racism and an obligation to be âPCâ so deeply ingrained in us, that we donât feel able to explore the facets of that person which make them most interesting.
Performance poet Deanna Rodger explores the theme most eloquently in her poem âBeing Britishâ, stressing the strongest part of her identity to be that of âa Londonerâ, not a pie-chart diagram of perfectly mapped out, distinct ethnicities.
âWhere are you from?â
âBut Where are your parents from?â
âIâm a product of miscegenation.
So while Iâm an addict for hard food, I fiend for the smell of eggs and bacon in the morninâ.â
She teases the âpoliteâ questioner, forcing them to be more clear. Itâs the timid âWhere are you from?â which is the real culprit here. On the face of it, it could mean all manner of things - Where were you born? Where did you grow up? Whatâs your nationality?â But really, in the majority of cases, people detect perhaps an unusual combination of genes and really want to say, âWhatâs your ethnicity?â. âPoliteâ social etiquette; a reluctance to appear ânosyâ holds them back.
Luckily there is some respite to be found among the older generations. Not having such a stultified notion of the âpolitically correctâ, they come out with some delightfully refreshing comments. âWhat are you? ...Gypsy?â or  âWhereâs the brown in you from?â rank among my faves.Â
Music born in London, of course, experiences much the same fate. In the multicultural landscape of London, each member of a band often comes from a different corner of the world, each bringing their own wealth of musical baggage to the table. Yet due to the commercial nature of the music industry, there is an even greater need to categorise; to simplify and taxonomise; to pigeon-hole. People canât be content with half-Jamaican, half-Russian, they want anti-jazz, they want nu-jazz, they want post-jazz.
Miscegenated London bands however, having long been subject to the anti-identity marker of âworld musicâ, have begun to show remarkable resistance to categorisation. Alejandro and the Magic Tombolinos play a raucous blend of self-styled âNu-Power Ethno Musicâ, which typically comprises Klezmer, Balkan music, French chanson, and Afro-Cuban percussion. Needless to say, the most defining element of their identity is humour, testified to in their impossibly energetic and passionate performances.
Family Atlantica is another band which also blissfully resists being cooped up with the pigeons. The brainchild of an Anglo-Venezuelan couple, this lively concoction of complex rhythms is fuelled entirely on the musical evolution of the slave trade. Ships shuttled back and forth from Africa to South America to Europe, smuggling the effusive rhythms of tribes and troubadours in their holds. âThis is my identity,â states singer Luzmira Zerpa proudly. âAtlantic. And we do honour our past, present and future in the present tense.â Nothing has changed, she maintains. We are still continuing this story, travelling back and forth, learning, playing, jamming. The result is an impossibly detailed eponymous family album of stories, incantations and sheer exhilaration.
Yet the strangest and most captivating music I have encountered hit me square between the eyes at a grubby basement gig in Oxford, when I came face to face with the truely awesome Bangladeshi singer of Lokkhi Terra. Sohini Alam poured her soul into a full repertoire of Bengali folk songs over groove-soaked Cuban brass to astonishing effect. So surreally perfect. So perfectly surreal. "A seamless collage of some of the best noises this planet's ever made."Â According to Womad (@WomadCharltonPk).
As the biggest world music festival would testify, this isnât just novelty music; a mish-mashing of unlikely bedfellows for one-hit impact. Not only are these musicians absorbing the kaleidoscopic melodic tapestry of the metropolis, they are drawing powerful musical links between seemingly diametrically opposed cultures. Kishon Khan, Bengali pianist of Lokkhi Terra, while studying in Cuba, noticed a synergy between the rumba on the streets of Havana and the baul music of Bangladesh. Meanwhile, The Magic Tombolinos weave together gypsy threads from the Balkans, the Parisian banlieue, and the dry Spanish plains. Nowadays, with a helping hand from the Internet, such bands could theoretically evolve anywhere, but nowhere else do they occur more naturally than in London. Musicians from these far-reaching communities are treading the same streets, hearing the same tunes, jamming the same bars. And they have Gumtree!
I feel honoured to have such a wealth of high-calibre, multi-layered music on my doorstep, and proud to know that it is part of my story and identity too, as a citizen of London. I do remain wary, however, of this constant threading and weaving. I can only hope that some elements and traditions keep the power of their unique and time-honoured stories and heritage intact. Perhaps that is futile, just as it is becoming increasingly difficult to map out ethnicity, and to pin a person to a certain place, space, or census tick-box. Maybe some decades down the line, I will only be able to listen in wonder, and think, âMy, how on earth did your noise get so damn beautiful?â