The allure of salsa and kizomba dancing has transcended borders, captivating enthusiasts worldwide with their infectious rhythms and vibrant movements. As a devoted follower of salsa, my journey into the world of Latin dance began in the bustling streets of London in the 1990s. It was there, amidst the pulsating beats of Latin drums emanating from a basement in Trafalgar Square, that I was first introduced to the intoxicating allure of salsa. Coming from a background rich in Brazilian samba, the rhythmic magnetism of salsa drew me in like a moth to a flame.

Throughout the 90s, salsa thrived in the cosmopolitan landscape of London, but the landscape of the dance was soon to undergo a transformative shift. Around 1995, a new wave swept through salsa clubs, heralding the emergence of Cuban-style salsa. Concurrently, salsa instructors began introducing diverse styles such as Los Angeles, Puerto Rican, and New York salsa, heralding what I fondly refer to as the “apocalypse of salsa” as we knew it then. This period marked a divergence in salsa styles, with dancers now obliged to inquire about their partner’s preferred style before taking to the floor. Despite the fragmentation, salsa’s popularity soared, with New York style reigning supreme on dance floors across the globe

However, the proliferation of salsa styles did not necessarily equate to an enhancement in quality. While many embraced the evolving dance forms, I remained steadfast in my appreciation for the Cuban salsa style l had encountered in the mid-90s. Rooted in African traditions, Cuban salsa retained a raw authenticity and emphasis on rhythm and “ginga” (swing) that resonated deeply with me. Unlike its flashy counterparts, Cuban salsa prioritized enjoyment over ostentation, embodying the true essence of dance.

In 2014, during my tenure in Moscow, Russia, reluctantly found myself enrolled in a kizomba class at the behest of my then girlfriend. Despite possessing a background in samba and salsa, my foray into Kizomba was met with frustration and difficulty as I repudiated the music style. Fast forward to 2021, and a work assignment in Luanda, Angola, provided me with a newfound appreciation for Kizomba and its roots. In contrast to the diluted versions taught in Europe, authentic Angolan kizomba and Semba exuded a vitality and rhythm that left an indelible impression on me.

Yet, even within the heartland of kizomba, commercialization had reared its head, even with Angolans instructors living in Europe peddling a watered-down version of the dance for profit. This phenomenon, characterize by the misappropriation of cultural elements for financial gain, is not unique. In recent years, a new dance style known as Urbankiz has emerged in Europe, purportedly inspired by Kizomba but bearing little resemblance to its Angolan roots.

Presumed, created by French dancers seeking to capitalize on the popularity of kizomba, urbankiz has gained traction not only in Europe but also worldwide. However, its success comes at the expense of authenticity, as the dance form has been stripped of its cultural significance and repackaged to fit Western sensibilities.

The story of salsa, kizomba, and urbankiz is emblematic of a broader trend in cultural commodification, where authenticity is sacrificed at the altar of commercial gain. Just as rock and roll and other genres underwent commercialization in the 1950s United States, so too have salsa and Kizomba been co-opted and repackaged for mass consumption.

As enthusiasts and practitioners, we must remain vigilant in safeguarding the integrity of these art forms and resisting the allure of commercialization. Only then can we ensure that salsa, kizomba, and other dances continue to thrive as expressions of cultural heritage and artistic expression. While capitalism undoubtedly drives innovation and dissemination, it is imperative that we safeguard the integrity and cultural heritage and artistic expression of these art forms.

By Luis de Andrade