YMA SUMAC LIVE in SAN FRANCISCO

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I remember a little over a year ago I borrowed a tape from my friend
Tom. I was interested in "Music for 18 Musicians", and as I was
digging the pulsations and sliding rhythms, Puccio walked up, picked
up the tape box, and nearly dropped it. "Eeema!" he shrieked, and I
wondered if there was a cockroach on it or something. I looked at him
with that special look I reserve for when people I don't know come up
to me on the street and ask to lick my toes. "Yma Sumac!" he cries.
Still getting the look, he slows down and begins his explanation....

Seems that in 1950 there was this Peruvian female singing sensation
named Yma Sumac. She astonished audiences with her tremendous vocal
range and effects that rivalled barnyard livestock: bird chirps and
dog growls that couldn't have come from that buxom young lady
standing at the microphone. They called her a "vocal wonder", a "Myth
from the Andes", and a "Peruvian nightingale." They talked of the
Peruvian legend of "The Bird that became a Woman."

Her first album, "Voice of the Xtabay", outsold Ethel Merman and Bing
Crosby, topping the bestseller list for two years. It is still in
print, the longest to be continuously printed by a single record
company. Still, your best bet for finding a copy is at a yard sale,
at least until it becomes available in CD format.

The record itself featured traditional (i.e. 2000 year-old Incan)
love songs, war chants, and religious music, set to 1950's studio
orchestra mambos, with plenty of "exotic percussion" to boot. A
really weird experience. The closest match is the little snatch of
"Quiet Village" that plays at the beginning of PeeWee's Playhouse.
Think 80 foot tall carved tikki gods of fire welcoming you to the
finest of Polynesian-American cuisine. Think kitsch.

Now I know what you are thinking. You, like I first did, cannot
believe that there really is such a woman, that she really can sing
like that, that what she's singing is really thousands of years old.
I couldn't even believe her name, or those of her records ("Xtabay"?
"Legend of the Jivaro"?)

Well, shortly after she became famous, the rumor started spreading
that Yma was none other than Amy Camus (her name spelled backwards)
and the closest she had ever been to the Andes was the south side of
Brooklyn. No one, however, contested the power and brilliance of her
voice. She could easily sing the girdle off most opera stars of the
day, and had a pop combo to back her up. She headlined in Vegas,
netting $25000 a week. Today, Cyndi Lauper, Nina Hagen, and Kate
Pierson (of B-52's) all acknowledge her influence. And Penn and
Teller play her music during their performances.

But in 1957 Yma dropped out of sight in the midst of divorcing her
husband. No one heard from her for years. Which left me with a
strange little 10" record of some of the best singing ever
recorded....

A few weeks ago I was flipping through the San Francisco Chronicle
when I saw that face once again. I had heard of her singing again in
New York, seen her reviewed in Time, even in Vogue. But here I was
for the summer in this strange town, and she was here, too. I had to
go....

The Theatre on the Square (Union Square) is a relatively small
(several hundred seat) house, with only 20 rows on the main floor and
another five on the balcony. The tiny stage was dwarfed by the twin
40 foot tall reproductions of Incan carved stone gods. Slides showed
pictures of Yma in her wildest costumes, while Martin Denny's "Quiet
Village" played in the background. All I needed was a few torches and
some fake fog.

The six man combo (two keyboards, bass, guitar, and two percussion)
crowded onto the stage and played one of Yma's mambos as an
entr'acte. The sound was good, played at a moderate volume. Then, the
lady herself stepped out.

Time has changed Yma. She is older, less energetic, a little heavier
than 30 years ago. But once she opened her mouth, it was clear that
the voice was still there.

Yma sang about 20 numbers from her various albums, divided into the
sad Peruvian love songs, some songs from other cultures (a Russian
love song sung in Spanish, for example), and some of her own
compositions.

Almost all of the selections were slow and sad, sung in a very
melodramatic and operatic style. The few that were upbeat were set in
a gently Latin flavor, usually featuring astonishing vocal effects
such as a two octave glissando. Gone were the more exotic percussion
and studio orchestrations, replaced by a synthesizer and scattered
congas. This may come as a disappointment to those expecting an
evening of campy wierdness. The campiest part of the evening was in
the audience -- several Nice Young Transvestites in amazingly funny
drag garb made themselves as visible as possible. One looked at me
for a reaction. I smiled knowingly, warmly.

Yma apologized for "a bad cold", and said she was doing "the best
[she] could" for her "dearest friends." Clearly an experienced
showperson, she acknowledged applause with a simple, endearing
gesture. She also navigated her singing to keep her levels throughout
the most complex passages of the show. The sound man was not busy
that night!

I was a little disappointed by the lack of quirky, upbeat tunes that
made her famous, and her closing number, "Mambano #1", indicated why.
For whatever combination of reasons, she had great difficulty keeping
up with the frankly intricate vocal acrobatics required for the song.
She apologized that it wasn't her best, but wanted to give it to us
anyway.

After the show, the wierdest part of the evening occurred. Yma came
out and signed autographs. I had noticed that I was among the
youngest in the audience, but when many fans started producing mint
first pressings of "Xtabay" and "Mambo", I was a little amazed. When
a woman older than I told Yma that her mother had introduced her to
the music when she was a little girl, I was befuddled. But when
people started producing programs to be signed "to my great
granddaughter" and they started recollecting seeing her in "Vegas
1952" and telling her about flying in to see her, and people told me
"the line for autographs wasn't this long the first few nights", I
pinned it down square. Yma Sumac is the oldest, and maybe strangest,
cult hero ever.  Forget the Dead, never mind Eraserhead, and don't
even tell me about PeeWee. Yma has outlasted them all. After a thirty
year absence, she still has a loyal following.

			      * * * * *

For those that want to see Yma, her show officially opens August 12th
and runs until the 23rd. Charge tickets ($15 to $20) at the box
office (415)433-9500. Better reserve 'em early. The Theater on the
Square is at 450 Post, between Powell and Mason, in the Kensington
Place Hotel, downtown SF CA.

For people who would rather have the 50's psycho-kitsch experience,
you can try to find her records on Capitol (or wait for CD's). The
best kitsch appears on "Xtabay" and "Mambo". For those whose interest
runs more operatic, check out "Legend of the Jivaro" and "Legend of
the Sun Virgin." Find a giant record store, flip through the Phonolog,
and get the clerk to order them for you.