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**Yma Sumac: The Voice That Defied Gravity and Geography**

In the annals of 20th-century music, few figures loom as mysteriously magnificent as Yma Sumac, the Peruvian soprano whose five-octave range could summon ancient Incan spirits one moment and seduce Manhattan socialites the next. While her entire discography reads like a fever dream of exotica and vocal acrobatics, three albums stand as towering monuments to her otherworldly artistry: "Voice of the Xtabay" (1950), "Legend of the Sun Virgin" (1952), and the criminally underappreciated "Inca Taqui" (1953).

Born Zoila Augusta Emperatriz Chávarri del Castillo in Peru (though her publicists preferred the more exotic tale of her being an Incan princess), Sumac arrived in New York in the late 1940s with a voice that seemed to channel the very mountains of her homeland. Her husband and collaborator, composer Moisés Vivanco, had crafted arrangements that would showcase her impossible range while satisfying America's post-war hunger for the exotic and mysterious.

"Voice of the Xtabay" launched Sumac into the stratosphere of American consciousness like a condor riding thermals above Machu Picchu. The album's opening track, "Virgin of the Sun God (Taita Inty)," remains one of the most jaw-dropping vocal performances ever committed to vinyl. Sumac's voice swoops from guttural growls that would make a jaguar jealous to crystalline high notes that seem to pierce the veil between worlds. "Chuncho (The Forest Creatures)" showcases her ability to mimic bird calls and jungle sounds with such authenticity that you half-expect a toucan to fly out of your speakers. The album's success wasn't just commercial—it was cultural, introducing American audiences to a sonic landscape they never knew existed.

Two years later, "Legend of the Sun Virgin" proved that Sumac's debut was no fluke. If anything, this sophomore effort pushed her vocal theatrics even further into uncharted territory. "Cumbe Maita" opens with what can only be described as vocal violence—Sumac's voice attacking the microphone with primal intensity before dissolving into passages of heartbreaking beauty. The title track weaves a hypnotic spell that builds to moments where Sumac seems to be channeling voices from across centuries. Her interpretation of traditional Andean melodies through the lens of 1950s orchestration creates something entirely new—world music before the term existed.

But it's "Inca Taqui" where Sumac truly reached her artistic peak, even as commercial success began to wane. Released in 1953, this album finds the singer at her most adventurous and uncompromising. The opening salvo of "K'arawi" immediately signals that this isn't tourist-friendly exotica—this is the real deal, raw and unfiltered. Sumac's voice here sounds less like a human instrument and more like a force of nature, channeling grief, joy, and spiritual transcendence in equal measure.

"Wayno (Dance of the Harvest)" stands as perhaps her greatest single performance, a seven-minute journey through every conceivable human emotion. Her voice leaps octaves like a mountain climber scaling impossible peaks, while Vivanco's arrangement provides a perfect foundation of traditional instruments and Western orchestration. "Llaki Runa (Lament)" showcases Sumac's ability to break hearts with whispered vulnerability before building to operatic grandeur that would make Puccini weep.

The album's centerpiece, "Ataypura," is nothing short of transcendent. Sumac's wordless vocals create a sonic cathedral, her voice echoing and multiplying until it sounds like an entire civilization singing in unison. It's the kind of performance that makes you believe in the supernatural, in the possibility that some voices can indeed bridge the gap between earth and sky.

Unfortunately, "Inca Taqui" arrived just as American tastes were shifting. The exotica craze was giving way to rock and roll, and Sumac's elaborate productions began to seem quaint rather than cutting-edge. The album received critical acclaim but failed to match the commercial success of her earlier work.

Today, Yma Sumac's legacy burns brighter than ever. Her influence can be heard in everyone from