Unless you're Latin American or a fan of "world music" (a mildly insulting term used to describe any kind of music that doesn't involve the English language), chances are you've never heard of Mercedes Sosa. I was saddened to read in this morning NY Times obituary that Mercedes Sosa had died. La Negra was an Argentine folk singer, one who possessed one of the most powerful and emotive voices you'll ever hear, whose impassioned songs gave voice to the political and social turmoil that plagued Argentina for so long.

As the "voice of the voiceless," she gave sound and vision to the issues of the day, and her career closely paralleled other folk-based contemporaries like Atahualpa Yupanqui and Violeta Parra, along with Bob Dylan and Joan Baez. When the military junta took over Argentina in 1976, Sosa stood tall in protest of this murderous dictatorship. It wasn't until she was searched and arrested during a concert that Sosa took up her struggle in exile, returning triumphantly in 1982 to sing against the bastards that ruled Argentina with a bloody iron fist. It was Sosa's refusal to remain silent in the face of unspeakable atrocities committed by the ruling junta that would eventually give rise to the junta's inevitable collapse and a return to democracy.

In her later years, she broadened her musical horizons and frequently collaborated with a slew of international musicians; Sting, Luciano Pavarotti, Nana Mouskouri, Milton Nascimento, Caetano Veloso, and Shakira, just to name a few. Sosa's name became synonymous with folk music throughout all of Latin America; I've been reading many tributes flowing in from all parts of Central and South America, while they shouldn't comes as a surprise to me, do indeed surprise me at the outpouring of love she's earned from all of Latin America. Indeed, her music reached American shores - she sold out 2 nights at Carnegie Hall in 2002 - and she was much loved in Europe.

You don't have to speak Spanish to understand just how powerfully moving her voice was. Just take a listen to her rendition of one of her most famous songs, Gracias a la Vida:

I'm mostly saddened by La Negra's death because my mother absolutely loved her. When I hear Mercedes Sosa's voice, I'm brought back to my childhood, when her music filled our house. Whether my mother was in the kitchen fixing her (in my humble opinion) world-famous empanadas, or doing housework, or just lounging with a book in hand, the music of Mercedes Sosa was always present. My mom would sing along with her, not the least bit worried about carrying a tune or who was present to hear my mother sing. For the rest of the world, La Negra's songs were the voice of protest and compassion. For me, Sosa's voice was that of maternal comfort.

Thinking back to those earlier days, I'm struck by some personal similarities they shared. For starters, they both shared the same first name, and even shared the same nickname - La Negra is a nickname commonly given to any woman with long, dark hair. They both came from the provinces outside of Buenos Aires; my mother hailed from San Juan (an arid desert along the Andean foothills), Sosa from Tucuman, in the nortwest of Argentina. They both grew up in poverty, descendants of mixed ancestry. And if this photo of Sosa below says anything, it says both her and my mother shared the same love for scarves.

My mother passed away last February. Knowing how much she loved Mercedes Sosa, I would be curious to know, if she were alive, how she would have reacted to the news of Sosa's passing. Regardless, I'd like to think that somewhere in the afterlife or wherever, both my mother and Mercedes Sosa are sharing mate, singing songs, and talking shit about someone or something. In the real world, I think they would have gotten along fabulously.