vinylfanatics.com

**Voice of the Xtabay: The Mystical Marvel That Launched a Legend**

Before Björk made otherworldly vocals fashionable, before world music became a Billboard category, and long before anyone coined the term "exotica," there was Yma Sumac—a woman whose voice could allegedly span five octaves and whose very existence seemed to blur the line between reality and mythology. Her 1950 debut album "Voice of the Xtabay" remains one of the most bewildering, beautiful, and bizarrely captivating recordings ever pressed to vinyl, a work so singular that it continues to confound and enchant listeners more than seven decades after its release.

The album emerged from the fertile imagination of Les Baxter, the godfather of exotica, who had been searching for a vehicle to showcase his lush, orchestral arrangements inspired by far-flung cultures. Enter Yma Sumac—born Zoila Augusta Emperatriz Chavarri del Castillo in Peru (though conspiracy theorists still insist she was actually Amy Camus from Brooklyn, her name spelled backward). Whether she was an Incan princess descended from Atahualpa, as her publicity materials claimed, or simply a remarkably gifted singer with an extraordinary range, became irrelevant the moment she opened her mouth.

"Voice of the Xtabay" is exotica at its most unhinged and magnificent. The album takes its title from a Mayan legend about a seductive spirit who lures men to their doom—fitting, considering how Sumac's voice seems to cast its own supernatural spell. This isn't world music in any anthropological sense; it's pure fantasy, a Hollywood soundstage version of South American mysticism filtered through American orchestral sensibilities and one woman's impossible vocal gymnastics.

The album opens with "Taita Inty (Virgin of the Sun God)," where Sumac's voice soars from guttural growls to crystalline high notes that seem to pierce the stratosphere. It's simultaneously ancient and futuristic, like discovering a lost civilization that somehow developed space-age technology. Baxter's arrangement perfectly complements her vocal acrobatics, creating a sonic landscape that feels both primordial and sophisticated.

"Xtabay (Lure of the Unknown Love)" showcases the full scope of Sumac's range, as she moves from seductive whispers to operatic proclamations to sounds that barely seem human. The effect is hypnotic and slightly unnerving—exactly what you'd expect from a song about a deadly seductress. Meanwhile, "Cumbe Maita" demonstrates her ability to make even the most elaborate vocal runs sound effortless, while the orchestra swells around her like a musical jungle.

The album's genius lies in its complete commitment to its own mythology. This isn't pastiche or parody; Baxter and Sumac create a fully realized sonic world that feels authentic to its own internal logic, even if that logic has little to do with actual Peruvian or Mayan music. It's the aural equivalent of a Technicolor adventure film, all saturated colors and impossible romance.

"Voice of the Xtabay" became an unlikely hit, reaching the top ten on the Billboard charts and establishing Sumac as one of the most unique performers of her era. The album spawned numerous imitators but no true equals—how could it? Sumac's voice was a force of nature that couldn't be replicated or manufactured.

Today, the album's influence can be heard everywhere from film soundtracks to electronic music. Directors like Quentin Tarantino and David Lynch have featured Sumac's recordings in their films, recognizing the cinematic power of her voice. Contemporary artists from Stereolab to Broadcast have drawn inspiration from the album's blend of the exotic and the orchestral, while her vocal techniques have influenced everyone from Diamanda Galás to Fever Ray.

"Voice of the Xtabay" endures because it occupies a space that popular music rarely dares to explore—the genuinely mysterious. In an age where every artist's backstory is instantly Googleable and authenticity is endlessly debated, Sumac's debut remains beautifully, stubbornly enigmatic. Whether she was a Peruvian princess or a Brooklyn housewife matters less than the undeniable fact that she created something magical, something that still sounds like nothing else on earth. The Xtabay's lure remains as potent as ever.