There is a need to explore the evolving journey of Manipuri folk music as it merges with modern pop culture, highlighting how traditional sounds like the Pena are being revitalized through contemporary experimentation and youth engagement.
By Marjing Mayanglambam
“More importantly, the fact that folk music now speaks to new generations is itself something worth celebrating, as it shows that our roots are not fading, but transforming, and in that transformation lies their enduring strength.”
What happens when the music of our ancestors meets the sound of amplifiers and electric strings? In Manipur, this question is no longer hypothetical—our folk music has already been reshaped by the march of time. I want to share a few thoughts and memories about this journey, as I have seen and experienced it. This is not an authoritative account, nor can it ever be, because folk music, by its very nature, belongs to the people. It is not the property of any one individual, but the collective voice of a community.
As the Merriam-Webster dictionary reminds us, folk music is “the traditional music of the people in a country or region,” once defined by its simplicity and its distance from electric instruments. Yet over the past few decades, electric sounds have quietly slipped into the fold, expanding what we mean when we speak of “tradition.”
I have been playing the Pena since 2005—not through formal training, but through the kind of slow, organic learning that comes from growing up around it. My father and the Laihui Ensemble exposed me to the wide repertoire of Manipuri folk songs, and that early influence eventually led me into the world of Anthropology, Ethnomusicology, Folklore, and Culture Studies. I wanted to be more than just a performer; I wanted to step into the realm of academia while still holding on to the strings of the Pena.
For many, folk music has long carried the reputation of being “old people’s songs,” and even my own peers once dismissed it as such. The irony, however, is striking—while they admired Pete Seeger’s folk anthems, they smirked at our own. And here’s another twist of perspective: the guitar itself, that beloved global instrument, is also part of the folk family.
There was a time when I felt embarrassed to play the Pena. At Maria Montessori School, whenever my teacher asked me to perform, I would shrink back, weighed down by self-consciousness. Yet that same teacher became one of my greatest encouragers. During the school’s Silver Jubilee Celebration in 2010, he praised my performance generously, and that recognition planted in me the resolve never to abandon the instrument.
Later, an uncle—an accomplished musician who could play a variety of wind instruments—offered me a piece of advice I have never forgotten. While I was busy chasing western sounds, he reminded me that people are far more captivated by the sight and sound of folk and traditional instruments than by the familiar presence of guitars or keyboards. Time has proven him right.
From 2013 onwards, Manipur witnessed a quiet but powerful revival of its folk music. What was once dismissed as “low” suddenly began to attract children and young enthusiasts, breathing new life into traditions that had been pushed to the margins. The irony is unmistakable. While many Manipuris had overlooked their own heritage, audiences from outside the state were already showering praise—often calling our music “cool.” Today, those same folk rhythms and voices have found their way into the heart of pop culture.
Of course, with popularity comes the risk of dilution, and questions of originality will always remain. Yet this too is part of music’s natural journey—shaped by people, shaped by time. More importantly, the fact that folk music now speaks to new generations is itself something worth celebrating, as it shows that our roots are not fading, but transforming—and in that transformation lies their enduring strength.
Folk music takes on a new life when paired with electronic instruments, and this fusion has made it increasingly attractive to younger audiences. There was a time when Manipuri youth swayed to “Summer of ’69,” and today their playlists lean towards songs like “Summertime Sadness.” The fascination with music from other cultures is hardly surprising, and it should not be seen as a threat. Instead, it opens a window of possibility: our own folk musicians can experiment, weaving the timeless spirit of folk into contemporary arrangements. Such innovation rarely fails to capture the imagination of Gen Z and millennials.
Yet for many in the older generations, the unaltered, traditional style remains closest to the heart. This duality offers folk musicians a rare privilege—the freedom to perform in two languages of sound: one modern and experimental, the other rooted and authentic.
Much more can still be done to strengthen both traditional and contemporary folk music. It is not something we can afford to take for granted, because folk music is more than entertainment—it is a living vessel of our identity and heritage. Schools, universities, and cultural organisations, including NGOs, have a vital role to play in nurturing and enriching this art form.
Today, the conversation has shifted from mere preservation to active revitalisation. After all, preservation without growth risks turning our traditions into museum pieces.
What we need is sustained research, creative innovation, and the commitment to archive and digitise our productions for the future. Manipur without its folk music would be incomplete, and the responsibility lies with all of us to support, promote, and celebrate it. Only then can we ensure that the coming generations feel not just pride, but an irresistible pull towards their own music.
(Marjing Mayanglambam is pursuing M.A. Folklore & Culture Studies and is a Pena Artiste & Researcher, Laihui Ensemble)