Scroll to the end for the Spotify playlist.
When I was younger—on the cusp of starting college or just after—I stumbled upon a Tumblr site called Vintage Somalia that posted all sorts of deeply nostalgic and broadly representative visuals and artifacts from a pre-civil war Somalia: schoolchildren, touring musicians, healthcare workers, colorful beach garb, co-ed basketball teams, coastal moods, girl scouts, and some really retro stamps. There is even an associated Instagram accountThere seems to be another identically named Instagram account that appears unaffiliated with the site but is vastly more popular, at least according to follower counts., though neither the site nor the account seem to regular post anymore. (Their respective last posts were in 2017 and 2019.)
Here's a message from the anonymous curator of the site, circa 2012:
This site is about Somalia’s recent destroyed past. For many Somalia’s story only goes back as far as the onset of the civil war in 1991. For those who have known Somalia in the days before the war, this is a shame. There is a lot that people don’t know about Somalia. I hope you have been able to glimpse some of it on here. There are many stories to Somalia and I encourage you guys to learn more. My work and education revolves around Somalia and its a pleasure for me to share with you guys this past of Somalia.
I've always appreciated the existence of this site, as a distant member of the diaspora and Midwest transplant. In American popular media, Somalia is depicted as the archetypal failed state, plagued by pirates, drought, perpetual civil conflict, and inept government. Showing the country as it once was provided much needed optimistic pride in what it can be once again.
(An aside: I thought it was of note how the creation of the site and many of its postings were concurrent with events in Somalia, specifically the passing of a new constitution and the formation of the Somali government as it is known today, over a decade later.)
One aspect of the pre-war period I've been delving deeper into is the musical ecosystem that has all but disappeared. Somalia once had a lively disco and funk scene, and bands like Dur-Dur played outsized roles in popularizing Somali music within Africa and beyond. There are new generations of musicians in the diaspora, but the aesthetic quality of a large portion of what's being produced is noticeably distinct from what came before. In no small way, the catastrophe of war splintered generations of Somalis—geographically, temporally, and aesthetically.
In no small way, the catastrophe of war splintered generations of Somalis—geographically, temporally, and aesthetically.
But work to preserve Somali musical heritage has been a surprisingly successful project. I recently learned that Harvard University maintains, to my knowledge, the largest audio library of Somali folk music, freely available to listen to online. The collection is impressive on two fronts. First, for its sheer volume of recordings, some of which are pulled from casettes recorded as far back as the 1950s (and you can hear it). And second, the anthology has been almost single-handedly curated by one woman, Maryan "Aryette" Omar Ali, with institutional assistance from Wellesley College.
The following is an excerpt from a 2008 interview with Ali—translated from Somali to English—conducted by Ahmed Ismail Samatar, writer and professor at Macalaster College in Saint Paul, Minnesota, wherein Ali expresses her misgivings about how diasporic Somalis have lost the plot, musically speaking. (A note on vocabulary: fann/fannaan (plural: fannaaniin) means "musician" or "artist", and an oud is a lute-like instrument.)
Ahmed Ismail Samatar: What about the current time? Are there any upcoming oud players of note?
Maryan Omar Ali: I have not heard of one or seen any. That is sad, but I think a main reason has to do with the easy use of computerized sound in creating a tune. In other words, a mechanization of music setting seems to be supplanting the older process of craftsmanship. In the later context, the cultivation of the skill—that is the intimate coordination of the hand, the ear, and the head—requires years of apprenticeship, practice, and mixed with one's own ingenuity. Another new and horrible habit in the Somali diaspora is the wanton license by the young "wannabe" Fannaan who pirates the songs of great artists, feeds it into a computer and plays the distortions in public as if it is his or her own creation. This transgression is an assault not only on the integrity of the original musician (particularly when they are alive), but misguides the youth who, otherwise, would have embraced the long exacting and hands-on cultivation of musical prowess.
AIS: So, in your opinion, those computer-driven replaying styles have yet to earn plaudits for its practitioners?
MOA: Yes! But, Professor Ahmed, such a judgment should not be taken as total rejection of the role of new technologies, like the computer, in sustaining and/or offering innovations in Somali musical traditions. Such closed-mindedness, I might add, will deprive us of many techniques that could improve Somali cultural production. I cannot over-emphasize, however, this challenge: we must devise ways to encourage and celebrate innovation and yet protect the distinctive genius of the originals. Perhaps, in the future, there will come about some version of copyright or intellectual property laws fit for the new Somali artistic time.
AIS: Is the main effect of the ongoing diasporic experiences, for Somali Fann, primarily negative?
MOA: Not necessarily. The outcome depends on at least two factors: (a) Whether those who are born or growing up outside of the old country make a serious commitment to study seriously; and (b) whether the older generation is willing to patiently offer to the young standards of excellence that are also open to new interrogation and interventions. Remember the vicissitudes of transition are an essential element in every living Somali person’s time—perhaps more so in the diaspora.
Maryan Omar Ali passed away in 2011 after a struggle with cancer, but her contributions live on within the collection which is her namesake. Inspired by her work and the collection, I've curated a Spotify playlist of Somali music as a little archival project of my own, stitched together from various albums by veteran acts like Dur-Dur and Iftin, to newer and ongoing ones like Sahra Halgan and Groupe RTD, with many more group and solo acts featured. The playlist also hugs the Horn of Africa coastline, giving representation to acts from Djibouti, Somalia, and Kenya. Give it a listen: