Perhaps you are familiar with the old Eskimo jazz standard, Inuit Or Inu-ain't My Baby, made famous in the mid-forties by Frankie Nanook And His Shivering Greenlanders. It's not the most romantic of ballads. The vocalist regales his lover with vivid descriptions of how she must skin and gut an entire sperm whale, making use of almost every part of the unfortunate mammal. Meanwhile, he will build an igloo suitable beneath the light of the midnight sun. Apparently, the lyrics also contain fifty different words that mean "blubber," although these words might also be a kind of Eskimo scat singing. It's hard to tell from the ancient, scratchy 78 RPM recording ....
Apologies for the culturally insensitive whimsy above. I've been a snow and icebound recluse for several days now.
Nevertheless, my shut-in rambling recalls to mind those high street record and CD stores specializing in what aficionados once called "World Beat," a catch-all category encompassing practically any genre of music originating outside the Anglo-American melodic sphere. Chansons danced cheek to cheek with bagpipes and African drumming within such environs. If the soundtrack to a Maori coming of age ceremony was required, then inspiration could be found in the stacks. You might arrive seeking a CD of German drinking songs but leave with vinyl album of Venezuelan wedding anthems. It was like the Age of Discovery, except in a retail space rather than a sailing ship.
Ah, such were the joys of brick and mortar shopping for physical objects, provided the weather was warm enough to go outside, of course. Which it isn't today, unless you're an Eskimo.