Yma Sumac
Inca Taqui

There is that moment when the veil of Maya is torn apart to reveal Knowledge. That moment, as thunderous as the crackling of the fire surrounding Elijah's chariot as it ascends to heaven, belongs to the Virgen del Sol Yma Sumac, and it is the moment in "Chuncho" when the Peruvian singer intones the highest note ever recorded in a musical piece. In that brief piece with strong exotic hues, the Nightingale of the Andes delights in mimicking the voices of forest creatures and in tackling such an arduous feat where she competes with the lion's roar and the birds’ chirping, she manages to cover with her voice a four-octave range, from baritone to coloratura soprano. No woman had ever dared so much, no woman had ever achieved so much.

Everything and nothing has been said about Yma Sumac. A beautiful woman, with facial features too exquisitely Peruvian to disavow that rumor that she was born in the United States under the name of Amy Camus, so enchanting as to make her descent from the lineage of the Inca Emperors credible, to inherit that direct connection with the Sun God from whom she would inevitably have received the gift of the talent of her immortal voice. Her talent was too crystal clear to go unnoticed in this existence, so much so that her fame grew and reached its peak in the States where, accompanied by her composer and guitarist husband Moisés Vivanco, she began performing in the most famous American concert halls and recorded albums for Capitol Records, making South American traditional songs and mambo famous worldwide.

There is the splendor of the Sun kissing the ridge of the Cordillera when Yma intones the aria with da capo from "Incacho" and the coloratura of moving beauty seals the final crescendo; it is still her, hardly believable, singing the beautiful tune of "Ripui" in contralto register and performing the lowest notes of the sweetest romance of "K'Arawi". But what captivates in every interpretation of hers is the supernatural ease of changing vocal registers in the blink of an eye, that innate ability to switch in a fraction of a second from a chest note to a head note and vice versa as in the ups and downs of "Cumbe-Maita" or in the unforgettable finale of "Chuncho" where the nightingale’s warbles introducing the highest note ever sung are preceded by the simulation of a hoarse roar intoned two octaves below. All with extreme nonchalance, as if her vocal cords were the natural extension of her soul.

About her, music journalist Don Heckman said:

“A living, breathing, Technicolor musical fantasy – a kaleidoscopic illusion of MGM exotica come to life in an era of practicality.”

He was right to speak of the Virgen del Sol in terms of a magnificent illusion catapulted into this era at the antipodes of her exotic essence. Faced with the supernatural enchantment of her voice, it is certain that Yma was only passing through this world.