The Mystical Healing Magic of Medicine Music
Originally written in summer 2022
Way back in 2020, I had conversation with my friend, and PR fairy, Kim Booth where we discussed the emergence of medicine music. Kim had transitioned out of the electronic music world, where she’d represented a roster of influential artists, taking a break before feeling the calling to return to PR. This time though, she began working with musicians who are inspired by, or inhabit, the world of spirituality and indigenous medicine culture. We both saw the potential of this music to effect positive change on the world, and had this magical moment where our minds came to same conclusion in unison - this music has emerged from the rainforest, like the medicinal plants, to spark a shift of consciousness on our ailing planet.
I made a pact with myself to write about medicine music - a catch-all term for the folk-esque music made by a wide range of artists, rooted in revelry for the human experience, nature and the divine, and a deep appreciation and understanding of life beyond the physical realm. It’s communal and heartfelt, and hugely popular in communities that are connected to medicine ceremonies (where the origins of the music lie).
I have to admit that I felt anxious about pitching medicine music to any of the more mainstream publications, because the origins and beliefs attached to it are beyond the comprehension of most everyday people… Newspaper and magazine editors included. Terms like “woo-woo” and “New Age” are used to stigmatise an array of ancient practices and philosophies that actually predate so much of our technology-saturated lives today. It took a long time for me to finally pitch the idea out, almost two years actually.
When I finally did, I got a steady flow of “Not for us” replies. Until one major outlet actually said yes. I went in with a ecological angle, merged with the “messengers from the rainforest” line, and it worked. I secured interviews with some of the leading voices in medicine music, and talked at length with them. I also managed to get time with a couple of leaders from a Brazilian indigenous community, called the Huni Kuin, while they were in London and attended a singing circle they hosted. On top of that, I spoke to the head curator at highly-regarded British festival, Medicine, where many artists from the world of medicine music perform every year. It all came together organically and I acquired an abundance of rich material from everyone I spoke to. I also attended several events and ceremonies myself (including Medicine Festival), experiencing the transcendent power of the music, dance and medicines first-hand. I witnessed some truly incredible musicianship, and saw how it could have widespread positive impact on people.
Sadly, a very difficult personal situation arose in the lead up to my deadline. My partner at the time lost her father, which was extremely challenging. I endeavoured to get the piece done, as the intention was to publish before Medicine Festival (he was sick for six weeks and died a week before the festival took place). Unfortunately, after writing two drafts it got spiked by the editors, who said it wasn’t quite hitting the mark in terms of environmental news or music news, and the quotes were too “new age” for the outlet’s audience.
I haven’t actually spoken about this publically until now, but, in the midst of all that was happening personally and, to be frank, falling out of love with journalism at that time, the article being spiked had a big impact on my professional self-esteem. It took me nearly a year to get back in the saddle and start pitching again, such was the pain of the article being rejected. Especially after all the work I put in and the fact that I felt anxious about even pitching it in the first place. It confirmed my initial fears and put me off journalism and pitching ideas for months afterwards.
So, with Medicine Festival just around the corner and renewed enthusiasm for pitching and writing features, I decided that the piece should have its day. Since I now have the space to write freely, this is an updated version, with more quotes and insight.
While you’re reading, have a listen to this playlist featuring a selection of medicine music songs that I’ve enjoyed over the past couple of years…
Enjoy! Feedback very welcome, too.
Earlier this year, in June, at a singing circle held at Portico Gallery in West Norwood, south London, several members of the Huni Kuin, an indigenous Brazilian peoples, spent an evening delivering their devotional songs. Txana Tuwe, Txana Yube and Biruani Siriani shared their sacred prayers, each of them adorned in feathered headdresses and vibrant shamanic robes. Known as the Guardians of the Forest, the Huni Kuin invoked the spirits of their homeland, singing and strumming their guitars loudly and wholeheartedly with pure expression for two hours. Members of the audience danced and sang together, reciprocating the bold expressive delivery of the Huni Kuin and generating a palpable communal energy.
The Huni Kuin are widely regarded as one of the key global mediators between nature and humanity. They have been travelling the globe since the 80s to host healing ceremonies as part of the humanitarian effort to save the planet, though the practice has significantly longer roots. “All the chants have been passed on, orally, through the generations going back thousands of years,” says Txana Tuwe, one of the community’s spiritual leaders in one of their villages, Novo Futuro (speaking through a translator). In sacred practices, practised for millenia, known as dietas, shamans (or pajés) take on a strict regimen intended to bring them into communion with specific plants in the forest to receive communications from the plant spirits, typically delivered in the form of songs, chants and prayers.
Over the past few decades, music communities formed around plant medicines from the Amazon have spread across Europe, the Americas, Japan and Africa, hoping to spark a shift in human consciousness and reconnect us with nature. “These guys are the extension of nature,” says Patrick Belem, director of Eskawata Kayawai – The Spiritual Transformation, a documentary that explores the regeneration of the Huni Kuin tribe’s culture, which was beginning to be eroded as younger generations began to adopt western customs. “I went to my first Huni Kuin ceremony nine years ago and it was just chants, no guitar or anything … I got consumed by it. It became something really powerful.”
Many practitioners believe that shamans are mere conduits for the voice of nature itself, which is communicating with humanity through our own language to awaken a primal intelligence. For some, this emergence of medicine music represents the rainforest’s mission to reach out across the globe and encourage people to heal themselves, and, it is hoped, by healing themselves, they will ultimately heal the planet.
Adrian Freedman is a British musician who has “received”more than 160 medicine songs since he first encountered plant medicine in 1995. In plant medicine ceremonies participants experience higher states of consciousness, through which they may “receive” songs, becoming a channel for the music – and with it, they say, the resonance of the forest and its plants.
“The music of the ceremonies was very simple and repetitive. But, because I heard it in the context of the medicine, it took me to a very profound place, which was the source of the music,” he explains. “And I had this seminal experience, which was, although these songs were simple, it was like I travelled through the music to its source. When I got to that point, I saw that from this source, the music trickles down to all people in all cultures and takes on the form of the culture. So from the same source, the music could go to Bach or Beethoven, or Miles Davis, or any inspired musician in any culture”.
“In the form of medicine music, it just trickles down to these people who are receiving simple songs with the abundance of the source present in all these forms of music,” he adds. “That was an amazing revelation for me, which opened the door for me to be able to really connect with this simple music”.
At that time, Adrian’s life ran along two parallel paths, where he started making frequent visits to Brazil, attending ceremonies and becoming deeply immersed in the world of plant spirit medicine. Meanwhile, he also maintained his professional profile as a musician, with no crossover between the two. Now, 25 years later, he’s at a crossroads in his life, where these two paths have merged into one.
“The one key issue that seems to cut through is people feeling disconnected,” he says. “It’s because of a disconnection with nature that people can destroy [nature].” He believes that a split from ancestral traditions of healing, communal and sacred practices has left us feeling confused, disconnected and fragmented. “The path to salvation lies with whatever can enable us to reconnect.”
“In our work with plant medicine, this sense of reconnection is embodied in the reconnection with nature. It can be the elements, in a simple sense, like flowers, and sunset, just being in nature, being in the forest or being in the mountains and just feeling that rhythm, poetry of nature,” he adds. “But on a much deeper and profound level, the connection with plant spirit medicine awakens within ourselves a kind of voice or an awareness, which is alive within each of us, but it's shrouded, covered or veiled by a conditioned mind. In terms of medicine music, this awakening of reconnection with that aspect of our own selves that is inherently connected to nature manifests through song”.
Adrian has received 160 medicine songs over the last 25 years. These songs are a kind of bridge, he says, that allow him to experience himself as a channel for inner wisdom or inner guidance. The songs arrive to him as teachings for himself, but then they ask to be sung in such a way that they become available for the community.
This idea of reconnecting with ourselves, and nature, through music is rooted in the notion of healing; Healing one’s self and, in the process, healing the planet. Key to Adrian’s development as an artist who creates medicine music has been his detachment from traditional Western musician archetypes. Naturally gifted from a very early age, he found himself following a path he was not comfortable with. “If you're a professional musician, and you want to live as a musician, you have to make money from it,” he explains. “That means people have to like you, you need good reviews, you need to sell tickets for concerts, you need to sell CDs, you need to promote yourself, you have to be this entity that is available for people to respond to in a way that supports you, financially and professionally. And you become a kind of commodity in a way”.
Through attending ceremonies and creating his own medicine music, Adrian learned that there are other ways to express one’s self musically, that don’t follow the standardised Western model of commodification. “It took me so many years to get to a point where I realised that there are other contexts in which music is made, where you can still be a totally committed, devoted, capable musician. But it doesn't have to be on a stage or in front of a camera, or in a recording studio,” he continues. “That is devotional music, or healing music, or music for meditation, or music for ceremonies. These areas of music making are not really embedded in Western culture. They're very much alive in other cultures. And so the movement of medicine music, as I see it now, is a movement where creative musicians and professional musicians are starting to align their own musical practice with healing practices. You don't have to be in an ivory tower, just creating music that we listen to for entertainment, or for release, you can actually be part of a wave of artistic endeavours which strongly aligned with a deep need for healing within individuals and society”.
Ayla Schafer, who has collaborated with Adrian, as well as being a highly-regarded medicine musician in her own right, had a similar experience of finding the performance element of music was not aligned with her true nature. “I would be playing music venues and open mic nights where people were drinking and these kind of atmospheres. I remember I'd come home and sit there thinking, “Something's wrong”, and I would cry,” she tells me. “I didn't know what it was because I didn't know what else existed. At some point went into one of my many dark nights. I was about 21 and it was a very strong time”.
“Part of what happened in that process was I stepped away from music in quite a painful way, because it was hurting me and I needed to really shed my skin,” she adds. “That was when I went first Mexico and this was really the moment that I unknowingly crossed the bridge and entered into the into the realm of many things. I discovered indigenous cultures, I discovered yoga and meditation for the first time, and plant medicines. I was learning about prayer and being with people using sound and song as the amazing tool that it is for many, many things; invoking healing, releasing, calling”.
Witnessing the power of song in such a profound context, away from the performative element she had become so accustomed to, demonstrated to Ayla that there are other avenues for her creativity. As she discovered herself, through discussions with musicians from other communities around the world, singing and dancing are an inherent part of life for many traditional cultures. “If you look at what's happened to tribal cultures around the world, and is still happening, one of the main things they do is make it some way illegal or dangerous for people to sing their songs and dance,” she explains. “One of the things they take away the language because then they cannot sing songs. And if they cannot sing the songs, they cannot do the dances and they can't practice their prayers. This is one of the most disempowering things that can occur”.
“So I flip it around and go, ‘Well, then what's the most empowering thing that we can do is to reclaim recreate rebirth?’ We cultivate our songs and our dances and the culture that comes with that,” she adds. “And the rituals that come with that and the power and the magic and the spiritual force and that deep soul fulfilment, that comes with that”.
George Barker is curator of British festival Medicine. Taking place from 17-21 August, the multi-faceted Berkshire festival highlights a broad range of sacred music alongside talks, workshops and ceremonies, intended to raise awareness of indigenous societies from all over the world and connect people to the healing power of ancient traditions. “I felt that we could use music as an access point for a flavour of the sacred,” he says.
“If we approach music in the same way that these traditions do, with an attitude of devotion and gratitude, that opens a space for us to be able to hear the music in a different way. If it is a prayer that’s come from a lineage and you’ve been given that transmission – whether that’s an echo from nature or whether that’s a mantra from a Buddhist master that is holding a very high transcendent state of consciousness – when they deliver that piece of music to your heart, then you’re now carrying that medicine in your heart.”
George credits the singing circles he was part of for playing a key role in his success in battling throat cancer. “I came back from Colombia, and, having been in a ceremony with the Kogian people and been utterly ashamed of the fact that I'd made a living out of music for 15 years and had no ability to sing to anyone,” he explains. “I was so embarrassed that I couldn't share any songs from my place of origin that I decided to learn a song. I learned a Colombian song and I tried to sing in ceremony, but it was appalling, terrible, embarrassing. A disaster. But I kept going with it because, in that ceremony, it became obvious that I needed to do it”.
Soon after, George had a diagnosis of laryngeal cancer, cancer of the voicebox. “I was like, ‘Oh, my God, you couldn't make this up’. I'm having this desire to sing and, at the same time, I got a diagnosis of early stages of laryngeal cancer, throat cancer,” he tells me. “So how extraordinary that I was being pushed to sing to change the vibration in my larynx”.
He set up his own singing circle events, initially with just a couple of friends. Over a six-month period, the circles grew to around 40 people, all held in a ceremonial, intentional manner. As a trained psychotherapist, George would incorporate subtle elements of his training into the events, but, more importantly, he embodied the core foundations; community and intention setting. “It became really popular, we were invited to many festivals, and many other places to set up these singing spaces. This was during the time that I was also getting treatment for cancer,” he explains. “I was doing other things as well, like plant medicines. I did a six-month-long silent retreat, which was equally important as music. Luckily, I'm now clear of any cancer and obviously attribute that to the work that I did, both on the cushion [as a meditator], but also that singing circle”.
Many community-based projects arose out of George’s singing circles. “It was extraordinary how many projects then how many of our group left behind more dysfunctional work and jobs that weren't so much aligned to their true nature, and began to nourish and set in motion projects that were about help,” he continues. “They were about service, they were about activism, they were about love in the community”.
At George’s cricles, the seeds were also planted for Medicine Festival, an event that I attended myself last summer. At Medicine, the curation is centred around artists who are connected to the broad umbrella term medicine music. Some of them have trained with indigenous communities and learned their songs, and customs. Others travel the world collecting and sharing ancient songs from a variety of cultures, like Peia, who describes herself as an archival songkeeper. The music is presented beautifully, with a rootsy setting in the woodland at Wasing Estate, in Berkshire. Of particular note, is the fireside, where musicians sing and play acoustically next to a sacred fire, surrounded by the audience. Indigenous communities also attend and host their own ceremonial gatherings, where songs, prayers and chants are shared.
Discussions around respect and exploitation arise frequently when discussing medicine music. In a world rife with cultural appropriation, it is a complex topic that has no definitive answers or guidance. Even within indigenous nations there will be varying opinions on how the songs should be exported, if at all, by those who want to share them with the world. “Sometimes we share our songs as a force for healing humanity,” says Txana Tuwe. “There have been a few occasions when we allowed someone to record the songs and publish them. In most cases people need to have a specific relationship with us.”
“We don’t like it if someone who isn’t indigenous just takes a song and records it,” adds Txana Yube. “Only if they have a relationship with us, or if it’s connected to a fundraising project so they can reach a wider audience.”
Due to their sacred nature, there’s a perceived risk from some that the pure intention and resonance behind them could be lost in translation or ignored altogether. Touching on the nuance of the topic, Ayla explains that it’s not as simple as singing the words or sounds, it’s the devotional energy that goes into them and how the singer receives and carries the music respectfully. She also highlights that differing opinions exist even within indigenous nations, like the Yawanawa, for example, where some people are very relaxed about the sharing of songs, while others are ultra strict. Should people from outside indigenous communities sing these songs, chants and prayers at all? For some, their universal source means they are open to be channelled and shared by anyone, so long as the intention is untainted.
Recordings of the Huni Kuin and Yawanawa, two of the most prominent indigenous groups, can be found on platforms such as Spotify, Soundcloud and YouTube, posted by organisers and attendees of their international singing circles. There are also renditions from devotees of the medicine community. “Maybe people on the other side of the world, who’ve learned those recordings, will never have an opportunity to have [direct] contact with someone who can pass them that song,” Ayla adds. “And maybe the spirit of that song is still feeding and nourishing and giving that person something that's really important to them.”
Nothing is ever simple and the popularity of spirituality has, of course, exposed indigenous communities and their practices to colonial, consumerist and capitalist influences. It’s a sensitive and complex situation, as more and more Westerners indulge in these ancient practices. “There's some really tricky things going on, regarding the medicine and how people are making profit out of that,” filmmaker Patrick Belem explains. “Polarity comes in, because we have this really beautiful side of sharing the culture and reconnecting people to nature and everything. But there's also another side of people making huge profits and sending the indigenous back to the village with all these resources and bringing a lot of inequality within their societies”.
“It's tricky, and it's sensitive,” he adds. “We need to take care not to put them on a pedestal or to create a celebrity culture around them. That’s kind of what has been going on”.
Plant medicine ceremonies are big money, in the UK they can cost upwards of £500 for a two-day weekend, with similar pricing around Europe. The money covers basic costs, with profits being shared among Western organisers and the indigneous themselves. “The thing is that these guys live in the present. If you're in the forest, and you hunt a big animal, you need to use all of it otherwise it's going to rot,” Patrick explains. “So they have this mentality of using the resources in the moment. After they’ve been travelling, they come back with with tonnes of money and it just disappears. Many problems come with that”.
“I feel that, they know how to navigate the forest, or the medicine - those contexts. But when we bring them to the city, and there’s this relationship with materialism, and money and all that, we [Westerners] know better how to navigate, and there's a need to be careful and not contaminate their culture,” he adds. Smartphones are prevalent in indigenous communities and many of their members have Instagram accounts. In what could be considered a cultural exchange, I discuss with Patrick how those facilitating the indigenous international travels could support them with navigating their finances and relationships with technology, in the same way they assist with their navigating their arcane technology.
At Portico the room wa teeming with positivity when I attended the Huni Kuin singing circle. Txana Tuwe, Txana Yube and Biruani Siriani sang from their core, eliciting a primal response in the crowd. The energy was unified and joyful, rising in intensity and culminating in the Jiboia - sacred boa dance - a communal dance where everyone snakes around the room in a line, similar to the conga. At the heart of this rapturous event is the healing power of love, prayer and community, and how they connect us back to our essence.
Similar experiences occured at Medicine Festival, where a broad range of singers connected to the medicine music realm appeared on stage. From Ayla Schafer, Nessi Gomes and Aleh Ferreira singing around the fire, to the wonderful array of artists on the main stage, the festival’s curation is centred around soul nourishing music. It’s enriching, communal and uplifting. At the fireside there was a grounding level of intimacy, and a primal connection to the music and the powerful cleansing element of fire. When the crowd sang along with Nessi Gomes’ anthemic ‘All Related’, there was a potent energy in the air - highly emotive and unifying.
For the indigenous groups, however, the purpose behind the songs and prayers couldn’t be more pressing. In Novo Futuro, the Huni Kuin’s main place of sacred congregation, known as the Maloka, lies on the banks of the river Humaitá. In recent years, the river has burst, flooding the Maloka, which they now intend to move deeper into their village, with the aid of a fundraiser. For Txana Tuwe, the message is simple,: “We need to preserve nature. Always remember that we are nature and that the more we destroy nature, the more we are destroying ourselves as a species.”
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Amazing and inspiring piece, thank you Marcus.