When I was around 9 years old, I discovered a tape of Irish music someone had given my mother, and proceeded to listen to it on repeat until I wore it out. Later, in high school, I was one of only two students that I knew of who listened to what we will loosely term ‘Celtic’ music, but at this point, most of the ‘Celtic’ flavored music one could easily find were from artists such as Loreena McKennitt—heavy on the synth with a distinctive new-age flavor. I also lived in California and, rather than being drawn to the 4-chord pop songs blasted on every other radio station, I would often sneak away to listen to the passionate, brass-laden mariachi music at our local burrito place. Instead of doing homework, I would spend hours rifling through the $12 CD ‘deal’ catalogues my mom would get in the mail. We had a deal: she would buy one full priced CD, and I was generously allowed to pick out the other 11 CD’s which we could get for a penny each. However, save for Simon & Garfunkel or the occasional album of Big Band Swing, I could rarely find anything that I was drawn to. I would settle for the occasional classical album of medieval or renaissance dance tunes, but they never quite satisfied the itch. I wanted something older, certainly, but something less polished; something grittier and more honest; something…else.

I knew that what I was looking for didn’t exist in the realms of pop music or rap or R&B, but I didn’t know exactly what it was, nor where to find it. I would buy soundtracks of movies with a hint of French street music or listen to musicals that were flavored with Klezmer influences. Towards the end of high school, just as the internet was really taking off in a public way, we finally got our first computer and I became a detective. If Bartok had classical pieces that were ‘folk dances,’ I posited, then surely similar folk dance tunes must exist elsewhere…but where were they? Music filled most of my waking thoughts.

While I was desperately searching for a genre of music that didn’t even have a name yet, halfway around the world, in Sweden, a man named Magnus Bäckström had an idea. In 1970, Magnus Bäckström took up the fiddle, and promptly found a passion for the traditional music of his country. As in many countries, however—while folk music held a certain place of distant, antiquated respect within certain music circles—as a general rule, folk music was not considered to be ‘real’ music, but that practiced by ‘real’ musicians, but that of amateurs. It, simply put, was not something one studied. Magnus and his colleagues wanted to change that.

In an email interview he gave to Hugo Ribeiro, he stated:

“Many of us, younger folk musicians…did not like the national romantic, folklore spirit that folk music took in the decades before us. We felt it was false, nationalistic, and conservative. We looked for older and more ‘original’ folk music, rougher and not so refined, and we also worked on rebirth for some forgotten old folk instruments.

Playing folk music was for us not only for fun; it was also an attitude and a statement. It meant a particular cultural approach and specific cultural values. We valued the idea of nurturing many voices (music, styles, genres), all equal in value, and we were against what we called cultural imperialism.
This situation did not happen only in Sweden. You find this happening at the same time all over the western world. It could turn out in different ways in different countries, but it had the same roots – from Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger to the wave of British folk-rock, the revival of Cajun music in Louisiana, the rebirth of Rebetica in Greece, of the Swedish polskas, and the Hungarian village czardas in the dance houses of Budapest. The movement was international, and so were we. We played different styles, different instruments, but we were colleagues and equals.”

Over the next few decades, and collaborating on various projects with a number of fellow musicians, Magnus and his colleagues began to completely reinvent the traditional music scene. Out of one of many, many projects came Ethno. The concept was simple: take a group of young musicians from various backgrounds and musical traditions, and bring them together to live, learn, and teach each other music over one intensive week. During the week, each musician is given the opportunity to present a piece of  music from their tradition to the other musicians, and everyone learns to play it. Through this process of teaching, some context of the individual, their country and culture are also made transparent. A handful of adult, professional musicians remain on hand, acting as coaches or leaders, in order to give a bit of support, structure, and offer guidance when appropriate, as well as to ensure safety—but the exchange is largely student-lead. Lastly, the camp is often aligned with a large folk festival and at the end of the week, the musicians perform a concert showcasing the songs they have learned together. Often, there are also other performance opportunities offered during or after the camp, in order to showcase the musicians a bit more individually. However, it should be noted that while these performances are an obvious extension of the camp, it is intercultural exchange and peer-to-peer experience of the camp itself that is the focus. (During this week of workshops, jam sessions, and social activities, the students, obviously, become very close and share far more than if they were merely rehearsing together for a performance, and that is not by coincidence).

As I write this article, in the midst of Estonia’s massive Viljandi Folk Music Festival, I have just been listening to the final performance of Ethno Estonia. Here are a group of young musicians, playing an array of tunes from all over the world, as one masterfully cohesive unit. They do not sound like students; they do not sound like amateurs. And they aren’t. They are musicians, many of whom are becoming leaders in their own musical communities. While playing, they listen to one another with their entire bodies, giving space for each other; rejoicing in the differences of their traditions, voices, and instruments.

It was the same story in Finland, three weeks prior, during the Kaustinen Folk Music Festival, where I watched another group of young musicians playing for hours and hours together; performing on some of the biggest stages and leading dances and jam sessions around the fire til the early morning hours. During their first performance, I was struck by one musician who had chosen a well-known folk song, with versions across many of the Baltic countries, in Ukrainian, to honor those musicians and far-away friends (both known and unknown) who found themselves displaced or in peril right now. I was even more struck in the coming days by the confident manner these young people presented themselves with and the depth of their conversations. (As a side-note, two days later, they had taken the same melody and interlaced it with rhythms of Cumbia, to honor one of the other musicians traditions. It was fantastic).

It strikes me, suddenly, that many if not most of the amazing, trail-blazing artists I have run across in my travels have been involved in Ethno in some way. I will not lie. Part of me is jealous; devastated for my teen-self who loved music so much, but thought an instrument did not belong in my hands; who had no one to share a passion for world music with, and no connections to my own musical roots. However, despite being ‘too old’ to be a student (the age range for participants is generally capped at 30), I am told there is undoubtedly a place for me…as there is for everyone. Besides, the realization that other children around the world, just like me, might have the chance to celebrate their own voice and rejoice in the voices of other cultures through this fantastic program? That joy outweighs any regret I could ever feel.

In my interview with Lady Maisery, back in 2017, I had asked them to name something they would wish to pass on to would-be young musicians.

‘Everyone has one song,’ said Hannah James. The other two women had nodded.

‘We’ve all taken part in the Ethno camps…do you know Ethno? Well, it teaches you that. You may not be perfect at your craft; you may not be the best; but you have a song to share. Everyone has a song to share…and that is important. It gives you a place at the table.’

Ethno’s main purpose is to revive and keep global cultural heritage alive. By doing so, they are also creating a strong, supportive and vocal network of young folk artists, acting as ambassadors for cross-cultural collaboration, peace, tolerance and understanding. The first Ethno took place in 1990, with 120 participants from 15 to 25 years old with most of the students coming from the Nordic or Baltic countries, as well as the Shetland Islands. After it’s beginning in Sweden, Estonia quickly followed suit in 1997, and two years later, they were joined by Belgium. Today, the program exists in 40 countries, on six continents…and the network continues to grow. Last year, the US established it’s first branch—Ethno USA—in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. The second edition of the camp will take place this October 11-23. As well as many other events and performance opportunities, the final performance of the camp will take place as part of the well-known LEAF Festival, along with a concert at the amphitheater of the YMCA Blue Ridge Assembly, in Black Mountain.