Dominican Merengue and Its Bigger Pictures

In Merengue: Dominican Music and Identity, following Benedict Anderson’s concept of imagined communities and nationalism as cultural artifact, author Paul Austerlitz proposes that merengue “lies at the heart of the Dominican national imagination” (xiv). On page 129, he states, for example, that liking merengue seems to be a patriotic duty for Dominicans. The author suggests that merengue “derives its efficacy as a Dominican symbol by simultaneously encoding several often contradictory aspects of Dominican life” (xv). He recounts the history of merengue from the mid twentieth Century to 1995, focusing on the Dominican Republic’s social history; race, gender, and class issues; cultural nationalist movements in response to foreign occupation; the propagandist use of merengue by the Trujillo regime, its local variants, and its transnationalization.

Austerlitz pays particularly close attention to historical and contemporary Hispanic-centrism in the Dominican Republic, a process which often neglected or even denied the African influence in Dominican culture and the African roots of merengue rhythms. In fact, he argues that merengue, and particularly the variant from the predominantly white Cibao region, was accepted by the Dominican upper class as the canonized musical tradition of the Dominican Republic because of its relative high Hispanic musical roots in comparison to other more African-heavy musical styles, such as those involving ritual drumming.

In the history of Dominican merengue, the role of Trujillo, who ruled the country from 1930 to 1961, is a particularly interesting chapter. As Austerlitz points out, Trujillo “like the European totalitarian leaders … understood that rural expressive forms can serve as effective symbols of national identity” (52). Trujillo used merengue music as part of his campaign, had a personal band that was required to specialize in merengue and play it at events, and was well known as a skilled merengue dancer (52-73).

Austerlitz points out that merengue became essential to national identity for Dominicans “as outside influences inundated the Republic in the late twentieth century,” but also for the large numbers of Dominicans who emigrated abroad. I believe this twofold indispensability of music for cultural identity holds true for all Latinos, be it juxtaposed to outside influences for those who live in Latinoamerica, or as a long distance umbilical cord to the motherland for those who have emigrated.

Furthermore, Austerlitz presents the development of Dominican national identity as a “hegemonic process” that invokes an identity that advances the interest of a nation’s dominant class (11). This is also applicable to the formation of national identities in many other Latinoamerican countries where, until very recently, African cultural roots were consistently downplayed and completely unappreciated in favor of “Hispanidad”.

It is also important to point out, as Austerlitz does on page 12, that nowadays Dominican merengue has transcended its national roots to become an integral part of the “soundscape of Latinos in all of the Americas” and the pan-Latino identity. This phenomenon started in the ‘50s with musicians such as Joseito Mateo, and went on through the ‘70s, due in part to the presence of Dominican musicians in New York. However, the international rise of merengue from a regional genre to a popular Latin rhythm took place in the ‘80s, mainly due to the success of musicians such as Wilfrido Vargas and Juan Luis Guerra. Decades afterward, their music is still common, if not essential, at danced parties all over Latinoamerica. The music of Juan Luis Guerra and his group 4:40 in particular, is often conceived as having elevated merengue with its jazz harmonies, funk influences, and poetic or socially conscious lyrics. Yet some Dominicans also point to the double standard through which the upper class danced to 4:40’s Bachata Rosa while censuring bachata in general as a lewd music genre of the rural and lower class.

Another aspect that Austerlitz explores about merengue, which applies to all Latin dances, is dance as courtship. Many of the contemporary popular Latin dances were at first regarded by the upper class in Latinoamerican countries as lascivious and unacceptable. There is no doubt that hip-swaying Merengue, particularly in its close embrace format, can be a rather arousing dance form – although it can also be danced by couples keeping a considerable distance between the man and the woman. Besides dancing as a courtship ritual for couples, it is also important to notice that Latin dance genres are always socially acceptable in mixed gender situations. In fact, dance skills are considered a desirable quality in a potential partner, and a source of pride for both men and women.

While we are on the subject of gender, it is also important to acknowledge, as Austerlitz does on page 115, that Latin sexuality is largely misogynistic. This is reflected in the lyrics of many merengues with lecherous references. Furthermore, merengue, like most other Latin music genres, has traditionally been mostly performed and composed by men. However, in the most recent decades, female performers and all female groups of merengue have enjoyed international success; for example, Puerto Rican singer Olga Tañón and Dominican group Las Chicas del Can. This group was well known for their sex appeal and provocative outfits, which many criticized as demeaning and instigating the voyeuristic male gaze; while others, such as Dominican anthropologist Carlos Andújar, viewed “erotic dance on the merengue bandstand as the same kind of celebration of fertility that characterizes much African influenced expression” (117).

Among the many reasons Austerlitz suggests for the huge acceptance of merengue in D.R. and abroad, I find one of them particularly interesting because it is generalizable to a formula that applies to all music in Latinoamerica: level of danceability is directly proportional to success. Merengue has been welcomed by non-Dominican Latinos too, partly because it features an upbeat inviting rhythm, and because of the simplicity of its dance steps. Compared to other Latin genres, merengue is not just enjoyable but easy to dance (128).

The success of merengue outside of D.R., and, on a larger scale, of Latin music worldwide, is a source of pride for Dominicans and all Latinos respectively. Austerlitz points this out when he quotes Arnold Perris: “musical nationalism is an effective oppositional strategy when a subjugated nation’s art gains fame on the global stages … a subtle act of resistance” (151).

Sacred Dance and Embodied Divinity

In exploring Latin music and dance, and embodied forms of knowledge, I feel the African diaspora religions (or would spiritual practices be a better word?), deserve special attention. I am referring to the ritual dance & music performances that are part of African-American (as in the continent, not the country, of course) syncretic belief and worship systems, such as Haitian Voudoun, Cuban Santeria, Brazilian Candomble.

The main difference between these and other Latin music and dance traditions is that the former are considered sacred by participants, while most of the latter are firmly planted in the secular world. In these drummed and danced rituals archetypal/spiritual/divine entities, referred to as Orishas or Iwas (such as Ogun, the warrior, and Yemayá), manifest themselves through the minds and bodies of some participants. The rituals are full of encoded meaning in the shared movement and rhythmic vocabulary and dynamics, and often also in chant lyrics, colors, items, foods, drinks, and clothing. These meanings are learnt and communicated experientially.

Yvonne Daniel, the author of Dancing Wisdom: Embodied Knowledge in Hatian Voudu, Cuban Yoruba, and Bahian Candomblé, studies these practices as praise performance: sacred dancing. A number of quotes from her book will proof helpful in understanding the worldview in which they take place:

“The divinities have come to help believers become divine themselves.”

“Worshipping Africans in the Diaspora have made philosophy indelible and cosmology visible by means of the intricate and elaborate interrelatioships between sound and gesture, music and dance.”

“Worshippers dance, sing, and drum divinity in order to express divine presence within, between, and among all planes of existence.”

The danced rituals of these Diaspora religions are truly embodied spirituality, an enactment of shared spiritual experiences and knowledge, largely based on collectively raised energy through drumming and movement. Furthermore, these practices also serve a communal purpose generating and fostering cohesiveness. As embodied spiritual experiences, they are wholly alien to our worldview and experiences as Westerners, with our sacred/secular and mind/body dualities, and consequent disregard for the physical and the experiential. In these embodied traditions a feminist would quickly find diverse but equal roles for both genders (among participants and spiritual leaders, as among divine entities); traditions that survived enslavement, colonialism, oppression, and misinformed stereotypes; as well as a refreshing appreciation of human experience.

Analyzing the analyses

The texts I have been reading, have opened my eyes to the deep complexity of Latin music and dance, and the number of layers and perspectives to be considered when studying it as a collection of living traditions. Not the least important of which is the relationship of inside and outside, of the global roots of Latin rhythms, as well as the influence of Latin rhythms in dance and music traditions worldwide.

As explored in previous posts, the widespread reach of Caribbean rhythms around the world, often results in issues of (mis)representation. There is another curious phenomenon worth exploring which emerges from the fact that people the world over dance to Caribbean beats: they often appropriate them and mix them with their own rhythms. The emergence of ska and drum & bass are clear examples of global rhythms with roots in Jamaican music. But the phenomenon does not end there: these new rhythms return, like waves, to the Caribbean, and in turn influence our music and dance scene. Thus, the generation of new rhythms through constant processes of fusion and cross-fertilization is a staple characteristic of Latin music a dance. This continuous rhythmic creolization is noticeable in all our genres: from the original fusion of African, European, and Native American rhythms, instruments, music and dance traditions; to the recent phenomenons of Salsa in the '60s, with it's jazz and orchestral influence; to the reggaeton of the present times, undeniably marked by hiphop. As Susanna Sloat (editor of Caribbean Dance from Abakua to Zou: How Movement Shapes Identity) puts it, the layering of influences (from India, China, Indonesia, Africa, the Middle East, Europe, and Latin America) "have given the caribbean dance cultures a fascinating complexity".

There are other aspects of complexity to these living dance cultures worth exploring. One such aspect is time: some rhythms are abandoned over time, some others revived by folkloric troupes in codified versions for stage performance, while others continue to be embraced by the youth after many generations. Another aspect is social class. Often rhythms originally identified with lower socioeconomic status are eventually accepted by the upper class. Often times in Latin America, the change from disdain of a particular rhythm by the upper class to nationwide acceptance to the point of being identified as the national dance (as was the case with Tango), happens only after the particular rhythm becomes popular abroad. A simlar intercharge of rhythms takes places between rural and urban groups of people, as music and dance forms from the countryside originally considered rustic, rough, and unsophisticated, gradually become accepted in the cities.

In exploring cultural influences and social context, we must consider dance and music genres as living traditions. Taking into account the entire complexity of Latin music and dance requires exploring current elements and social functions as well as ongoing processes (synchronic study) as well as tracing its origins and historical development (diachronic study). Finally, an approach that also includes documenting practitioners and audiences, as well as performance processes, would provide an ethnographic basis from which to draw a sound feminist analysis. I must say, however, that most of the reading I have read thus far approaches Latin music and dance from a historic perspective. Even those writings that include descriptions of dance/music events, participant observation, and/or deal with identity issues, lack any detailed study of dancers and musicians as tradition bearers and as individuals, or of the events from a performative perspective. Thus, focusing on the dance and music genres as text and leaving almost completely out of the picture the people who practice them. This realization has struck me as nothing short of catastrophic, considering that if I have been able to reach any one conclusion thus far, it is that Latin dance and music genres are performed identity.