When guitarist Marisa Anderson was granted a brief 15-minute window to explore the legendary record collection of folklorist and anthropologist Harry Smith, she found her perspective permanently altered. Tucked away in the climate-controlled archives of the Bob Dylan Center in Tulsa, she moved past the expected canon of southern gospel and country blues to discover a vast, global archive. Her hands brushed against recordings from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Central Vietnam, Eritrea, Yemen, and Soviet Russia—a sonic map of the world that challenged her understanding of folk music’s origins.
Returning a year later with a grant, Anderson immersed herself in nearly 45 hours of music, meticulously downloading 900 songs across 70 records. She encountered raga, taqsim, and complex folk lexicons that were entirely foreign to her. Driven by a need to understand the rules and histories undergirding these sounds, she dove into Arabic music theory, studied migratory paths, and deciphered Smith’s famously cryptic notes.
On the first volume of The Anthology of UnAmerican Folk Music, Anderson presents the fruits of this profound study. Her interpretations are not merely technical exercises; they are a mirror held up to her own identity. She chose to record songs from nations that the United States has deemed “the enemy” at some point during her lifetime. Utilizing an array of instruments—including the requinto jarocho, the tres Cubano, keyboard, accordion, and pedal steel—she approaches these traditional pieces with a rare, glowing humility.
A Reflection on the ‘Forever War’
Born in 1970, Anderson is a child of the Gen X experience, a generation defined by the psychological weight of the “forever war.” For those of her age, the reality of living in comfort while the U.S. projected power and chaos across the globe was a baseline condition. This project serves as a way to process that cognitive dissonance. As she notes in her liner notes, “In order to truly hear, we must learn how to listen. I have listened and played my way through the past 50 years.”
Her playing is remarkably supple and patient. On “Taqsim for Guitar,” her phrasing is rapt, with note-bending that suggests an instrument far more pliable than a standard acoustic guitar. It is a transformative performance that avoids the trap of over-intellectualization.
Thoughtful Arrangements and Human Connection
Anderson’s devotion is most evident in her arrangements. For “Zar,” a piece of Yemeni ceremonial music intended to drive out spirits of illness, she utilizes the requinto jarocho—a Mexican instrument—and collaborates with violinist Gisela Rodríguez Fernández. The resulting sound exists in a liminal space, belonging to neither tradition, yet moving with a graceful, fountain-like energy.
Similarly, on “Rop Koh,” she constructs a one-woman Cambodian string orchestra, blending electric guitar, piano, and pedal steel. The melody circles endlessly, feeling like a fading memory or an after-image. In these trails of sound, Anderson finds a reflection of our shared humanity: the act of listening to someone else listen, all of us striving to hear one another across the divides of history.