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Tobias Janz, Chien-Chang Yang (eds.) Decentering Musical Modernity
Music and Sound Culture | Volume 33
Tobias Janz, born in 1974, is full professor and director of the Department of Musicology at the Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität in Bonn, Germany. He is also editor of the journal Musik & Ästhetik. He wrote his doctoral thesis on the dramaturgy of orchestral sound in Wagner’s Ring des Nibelungen and published his second monograph Zur Genealogie der musikalischen Moderne in 2014. His research interests include music history from the 17th to the 21th century, music aesthetics, and music theory. Chien-Chang Yang is associate professor and director of the Graduate Institute of Musicology of the National Taiwan University. He earned his doctorate from the University of Chicago in 2002 with the dissertation »Music as Knowledge: The Foundation of German Musikwissenschaft and Hugo Riemann’s Theory of Listening« which received a research grant support from the DAAD and the Chiang Chingkuo Foundation. His research areas include the intellectual history of music, critical theory, music historiography, and issues related to musical modernity.
Tobias Janz, Chien-Chang Yang (eds.)
Decentering Musical Modernity Perspectives on East Asian and European Music History
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Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de © 2019 transcript Verlag, Bielefeld All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Cover layout: Maria Arndt, Bielefeld Cover illustration: Tobias Janz Printed by Majuskel Medienproduktion GmbH, Wetzlar Print-ISBN 978-3-8376-4649-8 PDF-ISBN 978-3-8394-4649-2 https://doi.org/10.14361/9783839446492
Content
Preface | 7 Introduction: Musicology, Musical Modernity, and the Challenges of Entangled History Tobias JANZ and YANG Chien-Chang | 9 Modernity as Postcolonial Encounter in Korean Music
CHOI Yu-jun | 41 Modernity, Regionality, and Twentieth-Century Symphony: On Jean Sibelius and Yamada Kōsaku
Kathrin KIRSCH | 63 Music at the Service of Nordic Modernity? Wilhelm Stenhammar’s Opening Cantata for the “General Arts and Industries Exhibition” in Stockholm in 1897
Signe ROTTER-BROMAN | 87 Different Interpretations of Musical Modernity? Xiao Youmei’s Studies in Leipzig and the Foundation of the Modern Chinese Folk Orchestra
Hannes JEDECK | 123 Traditional Music, Alternative Modernity, and Internal Colonialism: Reassessing the Campaigns for National Music and Folk Songs in Taiwan
KAM Lap-Kwan | 145 Reflexivity as Method: A Historiographical Comparison of Finnish Pelimanni Music and Taiwanese Hakka Music
HSU Hsin-Wen | 173 Nonsimultaneity of the Simultaneous: Internationalism and Universalism in Postwar Art Music until the 1970s
Christian UTZ | 207
4 Synchronizing Twentieth-Century Music: A Transnational Reflection
YANG Chien-Chang | 247 Multiple Musical Modernities? Dahlhaus, Eisenstadt, and the Case of Japan
Tobias JANZ | 279 Contemplating East Asian Music History in Regional and Global Contexts: On Modernity, Nationalism, and Colonialism
YAMAUCHI Fumitaka | 313
General Index | 345 Authors | 371
Preface Tobias Janz and Yang Chien-Chang This volume has its starting point in a simple reflection. Considering the global dimensions of music and music history may not be a completely new topic for musicology. What is lacking, however, is the actual cooperation between musicological communities, which tend to be separated by language barriers and diversities of scientific traditions even in the age of globalized communication media. On the occasion of a research visit in Taipei in 2013, the idea of a bilateral research project then arose. The idea was to select overarching themes from East Asian and European music history, in order to foster an academic team work beyond the established academic circles. Thanks to generous funding from the German Research Foundation (DFG) and the Taiwan Ministry of Science and Technology (MOST), we were able to invite ten colleagues from Austria, Germany, Japan, Korea, and Taiwan and to hold two working meetings in 2016 at the National Taiwan University in Taipei and the Christian-Albrechts-Universität Kiel, which resulted in the contributions to this volume. The topic of musical modernity turned out to be an ideal subject, not only because all the colleagues could connect it with their current research interests, but it also gave us the chance to reflect on the historical and social preconditions that made such a project desirable in the first place. With many others, we believe that cultural and capital globalization forces us to change our consciousness and think differently about common things. Furthermore, we would like to stress how the path to a change of consciousness starts with the change of practices. If this volume can give new impulses for this, it will achieve one of its most important goals. At the same time, the volume is meant to be a contribution to a global history of music that considers universalism—from which neither the European concept of music nor the European concept of history can (or should) be completely released—as a problem and not as a matter of course. The title “Decentering musical modernity” is therefore associated with a serious concern: the need for a reflexive universalism at a time when global
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cooperation is virtually enforced by humane and ecological challenges, while at the same time the preconditions for such a cooperation are being undermined from various sides. Following such a spirit, a few editorial measures have been taken to accommodate the diversity of the two groups of authors, including the presentation of family names order, and the inclusion of research literatures from different Asian and European languages represented in this volume. References in original languages are provided alongside with English transliteration and translation of Asian titles. The volume employs the Hepburn romanization system for Japanese, the Korean romanization system and the McCune-Reischauer for Korean, Hanyu Pinyin for Mandarin Chinese and the Taiwanese romanization system for Taiwanese. The two editors would like to thank a number of people without whom this book could never have taken shape: the student assistants of the workshop in Yilan/Taipei in March 2016, Lee Hui-Ping, Liao Yu-Hsuan, Lin Zheng and Chuang Tzu-Ying; the student assistants of the workshop in Kiel in October 2016, Kirsten Gerhardt, Sönke Holst, Luise Paulenz, Erko Petersen and Christoph Schröder; the student assistants Sven Boxberg and Robin Schmidt in Bonn; the scientific assistants Jonas Reichert (Bonn) and Benedetta Zucconi (Bonn) as well as Leslie Kriesel (New York), Shaw Chih-Suei (Taipei), and Chen Wanling (Taipei) for their invaluable help in editing the volume, and Huang Yu-Chen (Taipei) for her generosity in providing research materials.
Bonn / Taipei, December 2018
Tobias Janz and Yang Chien-Chang
Introduction Musicology, Musical Modernity, and the Challenges of Entangled History Tobias Janz and Yang Chien-Chang
Nearly two decades after the beginning of a new century, musicology’s role in a continuously changing world order is changing too. The thirty years since the turning point of 1989 have been characterized by the restructuring of governance and society in large parts of the former Eastern bloc in Europe, a liberalization of trade and the rapid development of markets in parts of Asia and South-America, the revolution of digitalized mass communication, and—more recently—also by political turmoil, the reinvigoration of vociferous nationalism and massive economic and humanitarian crises. Music is certainly connected to the migration and exchange taking place between the economically more and less advantaged parts of the world, but today there is also the rapid and seemingly boundless migration of music via the internet. Under these circumstances, music changes not only its physical (and nonphysical) mediality, but also its place in the changing social orders. If—in the view of the traditional Europe-centered music history—the nineteenth century was culturally dominated by the ruling bourgeois society, and if the music of the twentieth century was shaped by the social tensions produced by capitalism, totalitarianism and the bipolar world order after 1945, the twenty-first century might become the century of musical cultures between the poles of global deterritorialization and national or regional reterritorialization. Musicology is confronted by new materials, new problems, and perhaps also its different roles within societies. And as musicology is a readily globalized academic discipline represented in universities and institutions everywhere, this challenge brings together colleagues from very different places working under different academic traditions. Paradoxically, in times when universalist thinking is seriously questioned from all sides, there seems to be an urgent need for common
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and perhaps universal bases in order to enable a scientific discourse within musicology that can handle the complexity of global musical cultures in the present. Decentering Musical Modernity, the programmatic title of this volume, can be read as a formula expressing this need through emphasizing the ambivalence between the universalist concept of modernity and the renunciation of any hegemonic discourse of musical modernity. A greater sensitivity toward the current situation in different parts of the globe likewise changes the perspective adopted in music historiography. And a new and different perspective will naturally tend to restructure the history of music itself. But simply denying universalist thinking might result in its opposite: in particularism or—to put it in more negative terms—in cultural relativism. Currently favored approaches like “entangled history” intend to overcome the divide between universalism and particularism. And in a way, every contribution to this volume struggles with the difficulty of bridging the gap between hegemonic and relativist thinking about music. Given that the outlined problem is not entirely new for historical musicology and the existing solutions might not be sufficient for a dialogical approach involving colleagues from both sides of the Eurasian continent, it seems appropriate to begin with a reflective consideration of past attempts to cope with the global diversity of musical cultures—in Europe or “the West” and, starting a dialogue in the mode of histoire croisée, in East Asia as well. The concluding paragraphs of this introduction will outline some principles and ideas for a new and comparative perspective on East Asian and European music history.
I. TWO CULTURES OF WESTERN MUSICOLOGY 1 The idea of a general or universal history has a long lineage within the European tradition that can be traced back to the world chroniclers of late antiquity or even to sacred scriptures like the Bible. The idea that all things on earth have a common history might be indispensable for the coherence of any kind of history telling— even though postmodern thought has taught us to deal with the fundamental contingency of culture and history, and even though in practice, already the ancient world chroniclers must have found it difficult to connect all things and events within a single narrative. In the age of the global internet, where the amount of available data is multiplying in ever shorter periods, the idea of a true general
1
The parts written by Tobias Janz include passages of a paper read at the ShanghaiHamburg-Forum 2015, Fudan University, Shanghai, 18 April 2015.
Introduction | 11
history has become highly illusionary, historiographically differentiated into numerous areas and types. Nevertheless, the question of how things are connected from a global point of view has been present until today, not only within the realm of popular science2 and textbooks. Quite the contrary: Global history is one of the liveliest fields of research and methodological reflection within the historical sciences (see Conrad 2013; Conrad et al. 2007; Iriye/Osterhammel 2012-2018; Osterhammel 2009; Pernau 2011; Sachsenmaier 2011), including musicology.3 The “world history of music” as an idea has its roots in the eighteenth century, when authors like Padre Martini, Charles Burney, and Johann Nikolaus Forkel began writing their mostly unfinished voluminous general histories of music. It’s fair to say that the origin of modern music history in Europe roughly coincides with the advent of the idea of a world history of music, an idea that—as we shall see—has continuously lost significance since the nineteenth century (Dahlhaus [1975] 2007: 346).4 Of much greater importance for the current debate is a renewal of the old idea of a world history of music in the years following World War II, when UNESCO in 1949 launched the project of a “world history of music as a dialogue of cultures” (Stenou 2003). This “world history of music” has never been written (Nettl 2013: 41), and it differs in many respects from the music histories of the Enlightenment historians. Thus, it might be more reasonable to speak not of a “renewal” but a “second invention” of the idea of a musical world history. As part of UNESCO’s general objective to save and to document the cultural heritage of mankind, the aim of the project was to collect musical facts and data from different cultures, focusing less on historiographical connection. Today, a whole musicological research direction gathered under the rubric of “world music” is still growing, but significantly remains only a subdomain of musicology. Recent publications like
2
One of the finest “world histories” ever written is Gombrich’s A Little History of the World (1935), addressed to children and young readers.
3
Historical musicology joined the current discussions at the latest when in 2012 the music historian Reinhard Strohm, author of The Rise of European Music 1380-1500, won the highly prestigious Balzan Prize and dedicated it to the topic of a “global history of music.” (Towards a Global History of Music [2013-2016]: Part of outcomes have been recently published [see Strohm 2018]).
4
The discussion about the possibility of a world history of music has its own tradition in German musicology, with particularly different positions in East and West Germany during the Cold War. On Carl Dahlhausʼs reactions to ideas from Marxist musicologists like Sofia Lissa and Georg Knepler on the one hand, to Western ethnomusicologists and popular historians on the other hand, see Janz 2016.
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the impressive Garland Encyclopedia of World Music (1998-2002) in ten volumes or more recently the no less remarkable Cambridge History of World Music (2013) in one volume are strongly associated with the subject area and also the methodology of ethnomusicology, while the greater part of historical musicology in Europe, and certainly in Germany limits itself to what Richard Taruskin calls “the history of Western music” (Taruskin 2005), i.e., the tradition of written music in Europe since the Middle Ages, with a small link to ancient Greece. The consequence of this traditional division of labor between ethnomusicology and historical musicology is a mostly peaceful coexistence between two perspectives on music and its history: One that is interested in the diversity of the world’s musical cultures, focusing on the cultural embedment of music and, increasingly, also questions of regional history and of cross-cultural connections, although excluding or marginalizing the scope of “Western classical music”; and one that justifies its limited focus by the closeness and the specific character of “Western music” in Taruskin’s narrow sense. Music seems to exist in two different types: “world music,” and “Western music.” Or to put it differently: The Enlightenment’s idea of a world history of music has been differentiated into two dichotomized cultures within Western musicology. One of the main objectives of this volume is to question this dichotomy, and to open up the discussion for alternatives. The recent trend towards global perspectives in the historical sciences poses a challenge for historical musicology, perhaps no less for ethnomusicology. Within historical musicology, the common critique of Eurocentric attitudes and the postcolonial discussion about the provincialization of Europe (Chakrabarty 2008) might lead, and already has led, to alternative conceptions of the history of music, especially of a de-centered conception of “Western music” entangled with music from all parts of the globe.
II. LOOKING BACK, PART ONE: ON THE HISTORY OF EUROPEAN MUSIC HISTORIOGRAPHY To give an impression of the transformation of the self-representation of European music in its historiography, it is highly instructive to look also at the (often highly distorted) representation of its other: “extra-European” music at different historical stages and in different genres of historiography. General histories of music from the eighteenth-century contain little information about music from non-European regions like Asia and Africa. Following the biblical narratives, only Egypt and the whole ancient Near East are included in the historical narration from the beginning of time to the present state of the
Introduction | 13
world.5 Contemporary musical cultures in Arabia, the Americas, Africa, India, and China seem to lie in an unmarked space outside of history. In such a space, they can be referred to either in order to underline their difference and incomprehensibility or to compare them with much older periods of history. Johann Nikolaus Forkel’s General History of Music, published in two volumes between 1788 and 1801, makes short but interesting statements on Chinese music that demonstrate Forkel’s very limited knowledge and the Europe-centered view of his specific conception of history. In the foreword, Forkel states that people like the Turks, the Persians, the Chinese, and the American savage would build melodies lacking any order or beauty for European ears. But what seems to be pure disorder and ugliness to Europeans—says Forkel—could be beauty and order to others, just as European music must seem disorderly and ugly to foreigners (Forkel 1788: xiv). At first, Forkel’s statement might remind us of relativistic positions of our time.6 But that is exactly what Forkel does not have in mind. Living in the age of Enlightenment, he believes in universal laws of music that develop over time in constant progress. And the different reactions that he depicts thus prove to be only reactions from people standing for different stages of development. While Africa and the Americas musically stand for childhood, China, in Forkel’s perspective, represents youth. Forkel not only comments mostly pejoratively about China but also argues against his German contemporaries who admire China for its arts and sciences: those who would praise the perfection of Chinese music regardless of the assumed limitations of Chinese musical notation that Forkel discussed in detail (Forkel 1788: 93). Only in Forkel’s negative statements can one sense the high esteem that the Europe of the Enlightenment since Leibniz and Wolff could have for China in general (with regard to Wolff 1726 see Schmidt-Glinzer 2009: 15). Music histories in the nineteenth century resemble those from the eighteenth century, following the narrative scheme of the development of Western music. One innovation taken in these new discussions shows that, musical cultures from Asia and Africa are discussed in separate chapters. And a clear difference is marked by the continuously growing amount of knowledge about musical cultures from all over the world. François-Joseph Fétis for instance, whose unfinished Histoire Générale de la Musique was published in five volumes between 1869 and
5
Charles Burney, writing as an English citizen, has access to more information about music from overseas. Giovanni Battista Martini, a brother of the Conventual Franciscans, relies heavily on the biblical sources.
6
Jürgen Osterhammel misinterprets Forkel’s statement in this way (see Osterhammel 2012: 93).
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1876, has numerous music examples, transcriptions of nonwritten music, and figures showing musical instruments and people making music. Fétis and also August Wilhelm Ambros, who published three extensive volumes of his likewise unfinished History of Music between 1862 and 1868, belong to the era of historicism. The immense material gathered in their volumes is arranged in large historical periods in the case of Ambros, corresponding to the different human races in the case of Fétis. Ambros shows an affinity for the historical sciences in the age of Ranke and Droysen, while Fétis orients himself by contemporary anthropological categories in the age of Darwin. Interestingly, both histories locate China at the beginning of the story, within a kind of prologue before the actual history starts. Despite their overall positivistic tenor, both historians do not hesitate to render value judgments when it comes to Chinese music: Fétis misses musical “logic” in Chinese melodies (Fétis 1869: 79), Ambros does not understand the melodic leaps of the famous tune Mo-Li-Hua (“Jasmine Flower”), which he harmonizes, and thus misinterprets, in correct four-part German church style and in major/minor tonality (Ambros 1880: 34-5).7 It is no coincidence that Ambros’s and Fétis’s music histories remained fragments. Already in the nineteenth century it was impossible for a single person to collect and arrange the knowledge about all musical cultures on the globe within a lifetime. Their histories are perhaps the last attempts made to write a true and scientific general history of music: the more knowledge, the less attractive and—above all—the less practicable the model of a general history. Or to put it the other way around: A general history has been (and is) the appropriate format for historians (and readers) with only limited knowledge.8 The actual presence of music from all parts of the world in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, e.g., on recordings, releases music historiography from one of its functions: the simple collection of heterogeneous knowledge. More and more refined in methodology, Western music historiography in the twentieth century focused on ever narrower contexts: nations, stylistic periods, musical genres, musical works, and also on historiographic coherence. Works on Central and Western Europe, i.e., the music histories of Austria, Germany, Italy, and France, since then constitute the main body of music history.
7
About the different readings of Mo-Li-Hua between 1795 and Tan Dun’s use of the melody in his Heaven Earth Mankind (Symphony 1997), written for Hong Kong’s return to China, see Utz 2014: 152-64.
8
And this is not necessarily a negative statement. One of the arguments against the nineteenth-century historicism has been that a lack of or an economy of knowledge could be an advantage as opposed to a culture drowning in historical knowledge.
Introduction | 15
At the same time, ethnomusicology, or comparative musicology, has been established as a musicological subdiscipline. The invention of sound recording made it possible to transport nonwritten music from all over the world. And soon professional methodologies of musicological field research took shape. The subject matter of comparative musicology or ethnomusicology was limited to traditional music from Europe and to all music from other continents, i.e., to what would be labeled as “world music” in the late twentieth century. Historiography was not the main concern, although theories like the Kulturkreislehre were used to interpret the dissemination of instrument families or musical scales on the globe in a historical perspective (with regard to the writings of Sachs see Nettl 2013: 42). The first half of the twentieth century was also the heyday of a deeply problematic mingling of racial or racist discourses with attempts at understanding musical difference. The category of race, frequently in combination with the category of nation, was used not only to state and describe differences between musical traditions and ways of conceiving or performing music but also, either implicitly or explicitly, to naturalize presumed differences of value, e.g., between the musical traditions of Central, Western (or Northern) Europe and Asia. Ethnomusicologists on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean joined this discourse, and the participation of leading Austrian and German musicologists like Robert Lach and Friedrich Blume in the racial discourse on music against the historical background of the Nazi era is likely to be only the tip of a larger tradition going back to the age of Burney and Forkel. The comprehensive compendia of today’s ethnomusicology can be read as results of a thorough reflection upon the discipline’s shady past, and they represent exactly the opposite of the general histories of music from the Enlightenment. A correlating effect seems to be that their preferred format is the encyclopedia, i.e., not the historical narration but the systematic collection of knowledge. 9 Even though historical questions seem to have become more relevant for ethnomusicology in the past decades—and the other way too, to the point where some musicologists, like Nicholas Cook, argue: “We are all (ethno)musicologists now” (Cook 2008)—, the book that calls itself The Cambridge History of World Music is clearly not a coherent history in the traditional sense, but a loosely connected collection of heterogeneous essays on different historical topics of current world music research.10 Jonathan Stock, for example, does not write about Chinese music
9
The Garland Encyclopedia emphasizes the high relevance of the concept of history for the context of European art music and thus limits (“historicizes”) the range of historical thinking (see Nettl 1999).
10 The editor Philip V. Bohlman speaks about a “paradox of history.” Since “world music”
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history, but rather about the histories of Chinese music, mostly written by Chinese authors. When he focuses on “four recurring themes” in Chinese music historiography, history means the past millennia in general and not that much the historicity of music and its historiography. In this perspective, developments like the encounters between Chinese and European concepts of music in the time of globalization appear to be reiterations of age-old processes: “China was from the earliest days multicultural as well as being involved in cultural exchange with neighboring peoples,” says Stock, paraphrasing the Chinese musicologist Shen Zhibai (沈之白, see Stock 2013: 408).
III. LOOKING BACK, PART TWO: GLOBAL HISTORY OF MUSIC IN ASIA? Stock’s paraphrase of Shen’s assertion, however, runs a risk of idealizing China’s music history/histories as synthesizing different musical practices in its wide territories that later became the modern China as a nation state, yet losing the complicated historical and modern interrelatedness among cultures in the eastern part of Eurasia.11 One might question, does such a “Chinese music history” refer to a history of a “pre-modern” empire with rich yet loosely-connected and diversified cultures, or a history of a modern nation state that emphasizes the often-imagined idiosyncrasy of national culture? Even if we tentatively accepted the compatibility between the terms musica and 音樂 (yinyue in Mandarin Chinese, umak in Korean, ongaku in Japanese), the translated term “music” and its translating process itself has generated a complicated history in East Asia that deserves further critical scrutiny (see, e.g., Hosokawa 2012 and Yamauchi in this volume). As Stock has also remarked, the earliest document of Chinese music in Lüshi chunqiu (呂氏春秋, Spring and autumn annals of the state of Lü, ca. 239 BCE) is fundamentally functional, related to the rulership of the Qin Kingdom before its expansion into the first Chinese empire (Stock 2013: 397). Documented by Confucian authors, Lüshi
was established as the other of Western music and its historicity, the “historiographic turn toward world music” would lead to a “turn of ethnomusicology toward a historiography of alterity” (see Bohlman 2013: 16-7). 11 One might want to note that Shen wrote his music history after Chinese communists’ liberation of China. Shen’s vision of Chinese music history was parallel to the most prominent post-liberation Chinese musicologist Yang Yinliu’s (楊蔭瀏) historical narrative from the same historiographical tendency based on a communist internationalism. On Yang’s case, see Lam 1995.
Introduction | 17
chunqiu and Shijing (詩經, Book of odes, 6th to 11th centuries BCE) can still reflect musical practices of different peoples and cultures. But since the writing of Yueji (樂記, Record of music, ca. 2nd century BCE), these records have manifested Confucian moral theories of understanding music in its social context, which were implemented by Confucian scholar-officials and became dominant in formal learning in imperial China in the subsequent dynasties. These writings also echoed and further contributed to a Sinocentric viewpoint, written from an imperialist starting point yet now being understood from a modern nationalist way, a way that underlies a specific meaning of universalism prevalent in classical Chinese writings about music and its universal rituality (禮樂, li-yue). In other words, the later Sinocentric worldviews displayed in the long succession of Chinese dynasties (especially since the Ming dynasty) have given birth to imaginations of “a Chinese history” through a unified Confucian universe that overshadow other possible multicultural variants. Yet is such a unified picture true?12 Especially for the history from 4th to 15th centuries, one of the recent historiographical turns emphasizes a competing viewpoint from Central Asia that sees “East Asia,” instead of the long-held view centered on a dominant Chinese empire, as the eastern part of the Eurasian continent, the so-called East Eurasia, or Eurasia East in a constant political, economic, and cultural battle-ground between the rivalling steppes nomad empire and the Chinese empire (Hirose 2017: 21-24; Suzuki 2015: 156-57). One might want to look back at the Tang empire (618-907), a royal house of Turkic-Xianbei steppe origin called Tabgatch/Tabgach or Toba (拓拔), which was partly sinicized (with Han Chinese) to establish one of the most powerful regimes in world history, incorporating the realm called the Chinese Empire 13 (Chen 1996: 61–63; Moriyasu 2007: 138-42; see also Lewis 2009). While in conventional Chinese history, the Tang empire was counted as one of the greatest
12 For instance, China was a part of the Mongolian Empire between 1271 and 1368; this period was designated as a Chinese dynasty called “Yuan” as it is generally written in modern Chinese history, implying an unbroken, unified imperial China. 13 The Byzantines had known northern China by the name Toba, in Turkic Tabgatch, in Arabic Tamghaj, in medieval Greek Taugast (Grousset 1970: 62). According to recent research, Tang empire was called by central Asians as Tabyač, a term related to Tabgatch (Moriyasu 2007: 164). The situation is similar to the name Kitay or Kithan, the nomadic people founding the Liao empire in today’s northern China (10th-12th century), that later turned into Cathay and became the name for China. Kitay is still the term referring to the Chinese Empire in most of the Central Asian languages (Kaitay, Kathay) and also in Russian, Portuguese, and Middle English.
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Chinese dynasties, in fact it was a converted regime, following its predecessors such as the quintessential Toba court North Zhou (北周). Tang’s musical cultures, just like its territory, intersecting between those from China proper and Central Asia that later turned into the “Chinese music” as we call it nowadays. Many of the “traditional Chinese instruments” are imports from Central Asia through the so-called Silk Road during the time of the Tang empire and the Sui dynasty prior to it, including pipa (琵琶), a four-stringed, pear-shaped lute with frets; bili (篳篥), a double-reed pipe similar to a shawm; konghou (箜篌), a vertical harp from Persia; and the jiegu (羯鼓), an hourglass drum. These instruments can be found as far east as in Korea and Japan (Kishibe 1982: 6-24). In sum, while it might be too far to say that Tang’s musical cultures were mostly non-Chinese, it is clearly arguable that we should not view early written “Chinese music history” in the way we regard a national musical history from the modern perspective. 14 Tang’s musical institutions show exactly an intricate integration in a “global façade,” by dividing its entertainment music according to geographical and ethnic origins to encompass the surrounding cultures in nowadays northwestern China— Tang started itself as a borderland regime between nomadic Central Asia and the China proper. For instance, a few decades earlier than the time when Charlemagne was about to unify church music for his Holy Roman Empire, the Tang court divided music into ten divisions according to its “national origins,” modified and developed from the previous North Zhou and Sui dynasties (Shen 2000: 46-52). The ten divisions (shibu ji, 十部伎) include Tang’s yanyue (讌樂, entertainment music), xiliang ji (西涼伎 called guo ji [國伎, national music] in Sui dynasty; xiliang is the origin of Tang’s royal family in nowadays northwestern China), qingshang ji (清商伎, Chinese music), goryeo ji (高麗伎, Korean music), tianzhu ji (天竺伎, Indian music), anguo ji (安國伎, Sogdian music in current day Bukhara, Uzbekistan), kuche ji (庫車, ancient Kuche kingdom in today’s East Turkistan), shule ji and gaochang ji (疏勒伎 and 高昌伎, both from today’s East Turkistan), kangguo ji (康國伎, Samarkand music), wenkang ji (文康伎, Jin dynasty Chinese music) (Kishibe 1982: 103-111). In addition, the musical culture of the Tang empire was one of the most richly documented among Chinese historical sources, including official records such as Yueshu yaolu (樂書要錄, Essential records of music documents) and the Jiutangshu and Xintangshu (舊唐書 and 新唐書, Old and New official histories of the
14 From a contemporary viewpoint, Joseph Lam addresses the issue of seeing that “the production and consumption of […] Globalized Chinese Music involves not only indigenous Chinese elements but also those that originated in faraway lands, explicitly or implicitly referencing non-Chinese peoples and cultures, past and present.” (Lam 2008: 32)
Introduction | 19
Tang empire dating from 945 and 1161). Vivid documentation on musicians and their careers can also be found in numerous informal contemporary sources, including the Jiaofang ji (教坊記, Record of the office of entertainment music) and Yuefu zalu (樂府雜錄, Miscellaneous records of the office of music), compiled at the end of the Tang dynasty, that report competitions between pipa masters. Such descriptions also show musical repertories and the contacts between folk and elite musicians. Today, some of the details and relics (including instruments) of the Tang musical culture remain accessible only through Korean and Japanese sources. From the late nineteenth century, the universalist, multicultural frame of the Tang empire was one of the inspirations for modern Japan’s replicating attempts through historicizing a modern Japanese nation that would combine universalism from both Europe and Asia. But at the same time, the idea of a universal West has become a new model through decades of institutionalization since the Meiji Restoration. And indeed, the second attempt in East Asia to record a universal history of music was a reaction to the recognition of a universal West since the mid-nineteenth century among non-European intellectuals; this reaction replaced Confucian universalism. This new universalism in Asia is characterized by its intellectual origin in the European Enlightenment, evident in writings by Japanese intellectuals since the early Meiji period, as manifested in Fukuzawa Yukichi’s (福澤 諭吉, 1835-1901) famous proposal for Japan’s modernization project in terms of bunmei kaika (文明開化, civilization and Enlightenment). The appreciation of Western culture was prevalent even among Confucian thinkers in Meiji Japan who asserted the superiority of Confucian morals over those in Japan (Watanabe 1966). Therefore, a term such as “world music history” refers to music history in general except the national music of Japan; but it sometimes simply means Western music because of its universal applications “based on scientific rationalism as part of the modern culture as opposed to musical cultures of other particular ethnic origins,” according to the renowned ethnomusicologist Kurosawa Takatomo (黒沢隆朝, 1895-1987) (Kurosawa 1974: 2). The first half of the twentieth century in Japan witnessed two concurrent trends in historicizing music. On the one hand, severe criticisms of Japan’s contemporaneous Western music were launched through the discourse of “overcoming modernity” among Japanese intellectuals in parallel to the rising militant nationalism (see Yang in this volume; Yamauchi in this volume). On the other hand, since the late nineteenth century a search for a common origin of European and Asian music from India had taken shape (this view originated in late nineteenth century during the period of Meiji Restoration; see Yoshida 2001).
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Subsequently, in the first half of the twentieth century, this Indian cultural origin also narrates the history of Asian music in writings of influential musicologists such as Tanabe Hisao (田邊尚雄) and Kishibe Shigeo (岸邊成雄), whose works on the East Asian history of music encompassing India, Central Asia, Mongolia, Manchuria, China, Korea, Japan, Taiwan, the Philippines, and Indonesia, infamously coincidental to the wartime “Greater Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.” This way of thinking about Asian and Chinese music also influenced Chinese writers such as Ye Bohe (葉伯和), who authored the first modern history of Chinese music in 1922 (Ye 1922; on Ye’s possible Japanese influence see also Huang 2015: 149-50). At the same time, modern Chinese views on music history started to appear, utilizing sources from Europe as well as those from Japanese translations. Several books on the history of Chinese music were published in the 1920s and early 1930s in response to the overwhelming dominance of Western music. One author, Tong Fei (童斐), stated most bluntly in his In Search of the Origin of Chinese Music (1926) that the concept of Chinese music was new and was responding to the recent dominance of Western music (Tong 1926). All versions of Chinese music history written in the first half of the twentieth century, including Wang Guangqi’s [Wang Kwang-Chi] classic Chinese Music History (1931), followed the prototype of European national history. Methodologically, nevertheless, Wang’s history of Chinese music was based on the conviction of scientific rationalism: “The evolutionary result of Western music since the Greeks, whatever its form (e.g., instruments, notations) or its contents (music tunings), all surpass our nation’s older music [jiu yinyue, 舊音樂] more than a hundred times. Particular attention should be paid to its ubiquitously applied scientific method.” (Wang 1926: 9)
The type of universal history of music in the official historical records of the Tang dynasty and as recently as the early Qing dynasty was no longer present in twentieth-century China.
IV. GLOBAL HISTORY/GLOBAL MODERNITY Since the last decades of the previous century, historians worldwide have attempted to compensate for the past imbalanced assessments of the cultural flows between Europe and Asia (see Conrad 2013). To take Germany as an example, this new rising field can be seen in the works of historians such as Dominic Sachsenmaier, Jürgen Osterhammel, and Sebastian Conrad, with particular interest in
Introduction | 21
the diversity of modernity since the eighteenth century (see, e.g., Conrad 1999; 2010; Osterhammel 2009; Osterhammel/Petersson 2003; Sachsenmaier 2007; 2011). The German federal government even launched a Cluster of Excellence project, focusing on “Europe and Asia in a Global Context,” based at Heidelberg University. 15 Historical studies in music, however, rejoined the trend only recently. Part of the effort shows Christian Utzʼs investigation of the exchange of compositional techniques and cultural values in contemporary Asian and European music in a global context (Utz 2014). More achievements are expected from the project entitled “Towards a Global History of Music (2013-2016)” initiated by Reinhard Strohm and sponsored by the Balzan Foundation based in Switzerland (see Strohm 2018). The currency of this problematic can also be shown in papers of the Second Biennial Conference of East Asian Regional Association of the International Musicological Society (IMS-EA) in 2013 with the theme title “Musics in the Shifting Global Order.”16 One of the leading scholars of the research direction of Globalgeschichte in Germany, the historian Jürgen Osterhammel (see Iriye/Osterhammel 2012-2018), outlined some possibilities of a newly conceived global history of music in an article entitled (in English translation) “Global Horizons of European Art Music,” published in 2012 (Osterhammel 2012). At first sight, Osterhammel’s approach seems to undermine the simple distinction between “world music” and “Western music,” since from the beginning he discusses Western music in a global perspective. Although Osterhammel is by far not the first one to discuss the dissemination of Western music over the globe (see, e.g., Wiora 1961) or the reflection of world music within Western musical compositions (see Locke 2009), it is revealing to look at some of his thoughts. First, he begins with a characterization of European art music, following Max Weber’s famous rationalization hypothesis, that tends to emphasize the incomparability of Western music instead of problematizing the dichotomous perspective. Despite possible influences from Arabian music and music theory in the Middle Ages, European art music was distinct and coherent in itself, says Osterhammel, according to Max Weber. It was distinct because of the specific rationality of its organization, the calculation of the pitch space and of temperament, the notation in musical scores, the grammar and syntax of tonal forms, etc. Like other components of European modernity, these rational foundations were among the reasons for the effective globalization of European music. The Japanese composer Takemitsu Tōru spoke of European art music as “trans-
15 http://www.asia-europe.uni-heidelberg.de/de/home.html [accessed 25 November 2018]. 16 http://www.gim.ntu.edu.tw/imsea2013.html [accessed 30 December 2016].
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portable music,” in contrast to the cultural and geographic rootedness of Japanese music (Takemitsu 1995). Second, Osterhammel outlines some of the ways the “Western impact” took shape within a global historical perspective on music: He discusses the mobility of military orchestras, the role of Christian missions, the migration of musicians, and the globalization of European music education in the crucial years between 1860 and 1930 (from a slightly different perspective see Cook 2013)—all this in some way balanced by an opening of European music to foreign influences since early modernity. In general, Osterhammel draws a vivid picture of the birth of our modern globalized musical world. However, Osterhammel misses one crucial point. He rightly speaks about the opening of European art music to musical influences from other cultures, including China. The tradition of musical exoticism from Jean-Philippe Rameau’s Les indes galantes through Giacomo Puccini’s Turandot (in which Puccini famously uses the Mo-Li-Hua-melody) is well known. But Osterhammel thinks of European art music as a rather stable system. In fact, musical modernity in Europe, understood as part of social modernity (see Janz 2014), led to a constant transformation and destabilization of the foundations of music even before the period Osterhammel writes about. Albeit in the form of an apparently unbroken rationalization of poetics and discourse, every way one can demonstrate the rationality and coherence of (Old-) European art music has been called into question during the past 250 or so years—from the major-minor tonality and the periodic structure of meter, rhythm, and musical syntax to the concept of the musical work. At the same time, there has been not only a long history of exoticism but also a complete replacement of musical concepts by those of others. Modernist Western music since Arnold Schoenberg, Claude Debussy, and Igor Stravinsky developed its own kind of “otherness” distinct from the rationality of traditional European art music (see Janz 2014: 407; Taylor 2007). This modernist otherness contributed to the wide acceptance of “world music” by Western audiences in the twentieth century—the acceptance of a music that the Forkels and Ambroses of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were simply incapable of understanding. In connection with that, there’s a second aspect that Osterhammel neglects to mention. The migration of music was not only a migration of classical European music all over the globe, followed by a converse in-migration of traditional music from all parts of the earth. In addition to the worldwide dissemination of Westernstyle pop music, there has also been a migration of the concept of musical modernism. As Christian Utz points out, in China there were at least two waves of musical modernism in the twentieth century, one shortly after World War II, and a second one in the 1980s, when composers like Tan Dun began not only to adopt principles
Introduction | 23
of the Western avant-garde but also to musically reflect the own traditions. Utz speaks of this second wave, labeled the xinchao (新潮, new wave) in recent publications, as “perhaps the most important phase of Asian music in the twentieth century” (Utz 2014: 92; our translation).17 The different contexts and the shape of musical modernity in Asia are just beginning to be understood within Western musicology (see Menzel 2015; Wade 2014). But the imbalance of Osterhammel’s argument raises important questions regarding the notion of “musical modernity” in a global perspective. First of all, the question arises which understanding would qualify the notion of modernity as a universal concept able to unify music historical narratives from different origins. To be sure, it is a commonplace that defining modernity is an illusionary task. And yet the notion of modernity is everywhere in discussions of contemporary politics and culture, not only in Western discourses but also in Asian (African, South American etc.) discourses. In philosophy and sociology there is a quite stable use of the term, less so in historiography. In arts and literature one finds the well-known discussion about the exact date of the beginning of modernity, and there is a distinction among modernity, modernism, and postmodernism (or postmodernity) with its different emphases in different languages. Hence, at least within these discourses the notion of modernity holds a central position.18 But modernity is not a “thing” or a simple matter of fact—it is a concept used to orient oneself within existing discourses, a concept used and needed to interpret and understand reality. In this sense the notion of modernity could be used as a common point of reference to structure and organize what would be a global history of music, at least with a view to the past three centuries. But liberating the discourse and theory of modernity from its universalist or Europe-centered legacy without getting into relativism poses some intricate methodological issues. Asked about a definition and a start date of modernity, one could perhaps give a very brief and not too serious answer: Modernity is reached when there is democracy, capitalism, and electricity; “full” modernity was established in Europe around and after 1800. There is quite some sense in these two statements, but of course this is not more than a pragmatic means for first orientation. More precisely, the sociologist Andreas Reckwitz identifies three grand narratives of modernity in the realm of sociology and philosophy: the characterization of
17 The importance of the “new wave” of Chinese New Music is a phenomenon that has been noticed in German academic discourse since the 1990s (see Mittler 1993; 2008). 18 The DFG priority program Ästhetische Eigenzeiten. Zeit und Darstellung in der polychronen Moderne (2013-) gives an impression of the current debates in the German academia. See http://www.aesthetische-eigenzeiten.de/ [accessed 5 October 2016].
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modernity as “capitalization,” as “rationalization,” and as “functional differentiation” (Reckwitz 2008: 226). The “classical” discourse of modernity has been established since the nineteenth century in the writings of Karl Marx, Émile Durkheim, and Max Weber. Poststructuralist theory tended to “destabilize” the classical grand narratives, but at the same time thinkers like Michel Foucault, Gilles Deleuze, and Ernesto Laclau made important contributions to what Reckwitz calls a “critical theory of modernity” (see Reckwitz 2008: 238).19 The grand narratives of modernity (and the term itself) have not become false or completely obsolete after the poststructural (or postmodern, or postcolonial) critique, but they have been differentiated, modified, and corrected in many respects. What does it mean to place music within such a critical theory of modernity? First, it means to take the view that—in spite of the criticism just mentioned— heuristically it does make sense to adhere to the term “modernity” and to critically reflect the classical narratives with regard to music history; second, it means to make a distinction between modernity as a social macro-structure or process and “modernism” as a style or epoch in the arts (see Janz 2014). Certainly it is true that any music in modern societies is somehow connected to the structures of modernity and the forces of modernization. If it is appropriate to call a society modern, then any music heard, produced or performed within that society can be regarded as modern in a certain way. But there are closer connections, even though the specificity of music and of music history remains a major obstacle when applying sociological theory to musical issues. Historically, music has been an important means to shape and articulate modern subjectivity, a means to organize modern groups and collectives, and until now a prominent medium for subjectification and expression in modern societies all over the globe (see the many examples in Beyer et al. 2015). And obviously there has been a modernization of music, at least of European (or Western) music, aware of itself and leading to an accelerated transformation of (European [art]) music between Mozart and John Cage. This dramatic transformation was, as is well known, driven by the principle of novelty according to a cultural economy with striking similarities to the “real” capitalist economy (Geiger/Janz 2013; Groys 2004) and it was linked to the general process of acceleration, which has been described by Hartmut Rosa as the
19 Historians seem to have stronger reservations concerning the usage of the term. Although terms like Moderne or frühe Moderne (early modernity) are widely used among historians today, the term frühe Neuzeit (meaning the period between 1500 and 1800)— according to Jürgen Osterhammel—was the last name of an epoch to be accepted without greater controversies (see Osterhammel 2009: 88-9).
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dynamically changing core element that paradoxically manages to stabilize modernity (Rosa 2005). Apart from the task—or the impossibility—of defining modernity is another important aspect: Modernity is not a mere descriptive term but a tendentious or polemical one, loaded with norms and values, whereby positive and negative connotations alternate (Janz 2014: 60-8). This is particularly true for the arts, from the querelle des anciens et des modernes of the seventeenth century up to recent discussions about postmodernism, “second modernity,” and the end of history. Another important aspect in this regard is the conflicts and antinomies within modernity itself (see Janz 2014, 399-410). The modernization of the European societies has been such a strong force—sometimes with devastating consequences—that strong antimodern tendencies arose. The arts and again music have been prominent media for the articulation of both tendencies, and if we look at philosophical statements from Adorno to Peter Sloterdijk (2015), the radical critique of modernity, up to the point of denying the reality content of the term (Latour 2008), seems to be at least as strongly developed as the affirmation of modernity. When it comes to the transnational and global perspective one will find quite similar conditions. Within postcolonial theory, modernity is under critique as a means of European universalism, domination, and expansion (Appadurai 1996; Chakrabarty 2008; Mbembe 2014). And there have been strong antimodern movements within the globalization of modernity over the past 150 years—for example, the discussions on overcoming modernity in wartime Japan. But just as European subjects are not only agents and profiteers of modernization but often at the mercy of its transformational forces, the subjects of non-European civilizations are both agents and victims of the global process of becoming modern. The situation today seems to be marked by the decentering of Europe, one could say by the implosion of European modernity as a hegemonic discourse, followed by a (or better: another) self-reflection and perhaps a pluralization of the concept of modernity within a global context. The postcolonial legacy might have prompted a critical question still unanswered: How to replace a single, unified version of modernity? Should there be multiple modernities represented by different geopolitical economies, or should there be alternative modernities in opposition to the European one that was once dominant (Eisenstadt 2000; Gaonkar 1999)? Despite the difficulty of its definition, alternative paths to modernity have been argued and exemplified by scholars from different fronts (e.g., Lee 1999). It seems to be generally agreed that at least the Eurocentric single modernity should be replaced by more diversified visions of the modern world. As Dilip Gaonkar has famously argued:
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“It [modernity] has arrived not suddenly but slowly, bit by bit, over the longue durée— awakened by contact; transported through commerce; administered by empires, bearing colonial inscriptions; propelled by nationalism; and now increasingly steered by global media, migration, and capital.” (Gaonkar 1999: 1)
Nevertheless, some critics were cautious about putting too much emphasis on the “multiple” and the “alternative,” which could emphasize the “local,” discouraging further reexaminations of the transregional flows from a global viewpoint. In terms of artistic production, should we agree with Andreas Huyssen’s proposal for a “modernism at large,” which is “the crossnational cultural forms that emerge from the negotiation of the modern with the indigenous, the colonial, and the postcolonial in the ‘non-Western’ world” (Huyssen 2007: 194)? We might also propose an investigation of modernity that treats Western and non-Western as equally “provincial,” visions of the modern world equally local and global at the same time. As a result of both the criticism of the classic narratives of modernity and the transdisciplinary paradigm shift initiated by postcolonial theory, historical musicology today stands at a crossroads between the traditional Europe-centered understanding of the discipline and the challenge of today’s globalized musical culture in its present condition and within its historical genealogy. The provincialization of Europe has led to a thorough critique of Europe’s historical heritage in the once colonized and today decolonized parts of the globe and of Eurocentric attitudes within the academic discourse until today. European art music certainly could no longer serve as the single measure for music from all times and places. But it seems unnecessary to exclude European art music from global musical narratives or simply to perpetuate the antiquated opposition between world music and Western music. The provincialization of Europe has also led to a greater sensitivity to the manifold cultural contexts in which different forms of music evolve over time.
V. PROVINCIALIZING EUROPE (IN ASIA) Dipesh Chakrabarty, who introduced the term “provincializing Europe” in his 2000 book with the same title, has pointed to a general ambivalence about Europe’s role in postcolonial discourses. Although Europe might de facto be politically provincialized since at least the middle of the twentieth century, it still plays a dominant role in almost all relevant academic discourses. Concepts like democracy, political modernity, scientific rationality, social justice, etc. would be
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unthinkable without their inseparable connection to Europe. At the same time— says Chakrabarty—these concepts with their European history prove insufficient for understanding, e.g., democracy or political modernity in India. The concepts are “both indispensable and inadequate in helping us to think through the various life practices that constitute the political and the historical in India” (Chakrabarty 2008: 6). And isn’t the same true of musical concepts like “art music,” “world music,” “modernism,” or “avant-garde”? It might be highly problematic to universalize such concepts (see Liu 2010: 7-21), but at the same time they seem to be indispensable when one tries to understand musical “modernisms” in China or East Asia in general. In the foreword to the 2008 reissue of Provincializing Europe, Chakrabarty claims that his aim was never to “pluralize reason” but rather to adhere to a differentiated idea of the universal: “[I] emphasized that the universal was a highly instable figure, a necessary placeholder in our attempt to think through our questions of modernity.” (Chakrabarty 2008: xiii)20 Thus, provincializing Europe does not mean to somehow liberate “the world” from the European inheritance, but to ask for modifications of universal concepts like “modernity,” “art,” and “musical modernism” within particular regional contexts. Like “world history,” concepts of regional or national history have a questionable history themselves. Area studies and the whole discipline of ethnology still struggle with the inheritance of colonialism and imperialism (see Harootunian/Miyoshi 2002), often lapsing into an inverted Eurocentrism when focusing too much on the otherness and alterity of non-European areas’ cultures. Yet, in a positive way, regional history could be conceived as a format somewhere between “too big” and “too narrow”21 and also between the ideological fallacies of universal world histories and exclusive national histories of music (see Dahlhaus 1984). Asian music historiography seems to already be benefiting from postcolonial queries and reflections by scholars born and socialized in Asia. When the Taiwanese scholar Chen Kuan-Hsing released his influential book Asia as Method in 2010 (Chen 2010),22 he gave a fresh impetus to Asian musicologists, whose effects are already observable in the conference programs of the recently founded IMS East-
20 Within sociology there is another tradition of comparing universals, leaning on Shmuel N. Eisenstadt’s theory of modernity. About “multiple modernities” see Eisenstadt 2000; Schelkshorn/Abdeljelil 2012; Schwinn 2006. 21 “Think global, study the local,” concludes historian Angelika Eppler (Eppler 2007: 113). 22 In 2011, four contributors of the current volume worked together in the panel Asia as Method: Methodological and Epistemological Reflections, at the 2011 first IMS-EA biannual conference in Seoul.
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Asia Regional Association (IMS-EA). In his book, Chen proposes to reexamine and to deconstruct the embodied power structure in contemporary knowledge production. He offers two rules of thumb: 1) First of all, a new view of Asia can be local but also trans-border, regional, and even intercontinental. It recognizes that the elements of the West have become internal to base entities in Asia. This means that two apparently rival terms are never mutually exclusive but embodied in each other. In this view, Asia and “the West” are two inseparable and “entangled” concepts. 2) Second, a new view of Asia emphasizes practice, and as a result transforms the subjectivity. That means interrogating Asia is also a way of living, a way of epistemological reconstruction. Chen’s observations from cultural and social perspectives, in our view, can shed light on the general situation among Asian musicological communities. For instance, musicologists trained in Europe and in the United States, regardless of their specialties, usually attend conferences in Euro-American locations but not in Asia. Second, scholarly research in Asia responds to either the needs of individual local communities or the interests of “Western musicology.” As a result, research on individual national practices is preferred over more general reflections on music in Asia or among Asian regions. Such a practice, as mentioned earlier, reflects the Cold War structure of the East-West division under US auspices. Not until recently have the inter-Asia practices of music, such as migrant musicians, the diaspora of different musical traditions, the expansion of the music industry, including the recording industry and pop music, among Asian countries become foci of musicological studies. 23
23 As early as in 1977, Tokumaru Yosihiko (德丸良彦) has intended to reflect upon the standards of comparison in a well-recognized book to view Asian music from an Asian Perspective (see Tokumaru 1977). And more recently, while teaching in Hong Kong, Larry Witzleben proposed in 1997 in response to “the need for a reassessment of the nature of ethnomusicology and its suitability or transmutability for both the study of Chinese and other Asian musics (by anyone) and the training to indigenous researchers in Chinese and other non-Western societies.” “Whose Ethnomusicology?” was Witzleben’s question, whose solution was a comparative study of cross-cultural practices, in order to obtain “multi-cultural musical knowledge” and to achieve “a multi-cultural musicology” (see Witzleben 1997).
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VI. PROVINCIALIZING EUROPE (IN EUROPE) What consequences can be drawn from postcolonial approaches for the European history of music? First, the slogan “think global, study the local,” should be taken seriously in a manner that might transform ways of perceiving European music history. Thinking global should not be understood as a plea for an expansion of the music historical scope to the vast field of “world music” (including “Western music”). To require that each music historian educated in Europe be an expert in European and Asian contexts of music would clearly overstrain their expertise and professionalism. But simply to be aware of the manifold contexts of music and of the possibilities of thinking music history beyond Europe will certainly change musicological practice with regard to the traditional subject matter of European music history. One of the most interesting perspectives could be the self-application of Chakrabarty’s idea of provincializing Europe. As Chakrabarty himself discovered that there is not one but many Europes (Chakrabarty 2008: xiv), a new sensitivity for the dialectics between the universal and the local will certainly be useful in (re-)writing regional histories of music within the European context, e.g., dealing with the problem of how to write the music history of the Iberian peninsula: Is there a Spanish history of music? Is there a Catalan history of music? Should we speak of a branch of European (or Southern European) music history? Or should we conceive of a Mediterranean history of music capable of including the Arabian and Muslim influences on European music? How about the northern regions and their entanglement with other regions or centers of the European continent (and the globe)? What has been the East-West dichotomy for oriental studies has been the North-South dichotomy within European discussions that can be traced back to Greek and Roman antiquity. The opposition between a more developed or civilized South and the “barbarian” North played a role in European discourse as well as the converse opposition between the rationalized, modern North and the vital, but backward South in later discussions until the current European crisis. There has been much (and quite often ideological) discussion about a transfer of the economic and cultural centers of Europe from the Mediterranean South to the NorthWest and the Atlantic Ocean. Music historians know about the intricate question of the confessional difference between the Protestant North and the Catholic South—a distinction that was powerful as an idea in texts and polemics but also, if to a lesser degree, in the music itself and its forms. And the far North of Scotland, Scandinavia, and also Russia and America became a legendary place—one of Europe’s internal frontiers inhabited by one of Europe’s “internal others.”
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To adopt Chen’s plea and to search for a new view of Europe that can be “local […], but is also transborder, regional, and even intercontinental” (Chen 2010: 255) might change, last but not least, the delusive assumption of a static and homogeneous modern Europe that one encounters as an imaginary empire in much postcolonial literature. * The current volume engages the issues of musical modernity and its history through dialogues between scholarly communities from Europe and East Asia. It starts from the conviction of new, decentered, and pluralist historiographies. Not only does it propose dissolving the assumption of an East-West binary, it also queries the nationalist historiography of music prevalent since the nineteenth century in Europe and Asia alike, emphasizing the diversities and complexities within each continent. Accordingly, a more reflexive type of transnational comparison would also generate more pluralist ideas about how industrialization, urbanization, and colonialization should evoke the process of institutionalization of what we now call “modernity(-ies).” The case of Korea seems to epitomize the issues involved, since almost all the conflict lines shaping the twentieth century had a deep impact on the situation on the Korean peninsula. Choi Yu-jun starts the volume with a reflection on the traces of modernization within Korean music history. As Choi states, Korea was dominated by Western modernity for most of the twentieth century, following decades of colonialization by Japan as a non-Western and yet modern power. North Korea still adheres to the sort of state ideology that ruled the Eastern bloc and communist China since the 1920s or 1950s respectively. In a way, the directions of the compass rose on the Korean peninsula represent the whole ensemble of antagonistic forces of global political modernity since the late nineteenth century. Choi discusses in detail the consequences of these power structures for the search for a “national music” in South and North Korea, for the identity politics of (South) Korean musicologists, and for the modernization and hybridization of traditional and popular music, including examples from the genres/traditions of sori and kugak and the North Korean national opera. The two papers specifically on the Nordic countries show problems quite similar to their East Asian counterpart. Like Korea in East Asia, Finland seems to provide a key example for scrutinizing the cultural and political colonial force in its history. Kathrin Kirsch discusses the ambivalence between the regionalism connected to the view of Jean Sibelius as a Nordic or Scandinavian composer and the presumed universality or internationalism of the symphonic genre. In particular,
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non-Germanic (mainly Anglo-American) writers such as Peter Brown, Stephen Walsh, Olin Downes, and Cecil Grey attempted to place the works of “Nordic” symphonists since the Danish composer Niels Wilhelm Gade into such a discourse. Likewise, as Kirsch turns to the symphonic compositions toward early twentieth-century Japan, a parallel case of Yamada Kōsaku seems to echo the fate of another “peripheral” region from the view of a Central European perspective of history. Both Sibelius and Yamada were forced to respond to the “paradigms” set up by the Austro-German symphonic legacy. Signe Rotter-Broman discusses a different façade of Nordic modernity displayed in Wilhelm Stenhammar’s musical career, particularly in the context of industrial modernity through social spectacles and expositions. For Rotter-Broman, the development of the academic discipline(s) of musicology and the specific paths of national modernities in the Nordic countries have to be considered together and cannot be reduced to a “peripheral” Sonderweg outside of Western Europe. Colonial powers show their influence to differing degrees, for example, a “local” imperial power such as Denmark and the later cultural domination by Swedish culture in Scandinavia, as well as the continental “European” musical mainstreams, just like the cultural imbalance within East Asian countries due to the premodern Chinese empire and the modern Japanese. It is then interesting to turn to Hannes Jedeck’s chapter on China’s musical modernism. His primary object is the “Modern Chinese Folk Orchestra,” a hybrid ensemble fusing Chinese music traditions and instruments with the idea of the Western symphony orchestra. Jedeck reconstructs a connection between the Gewandhaus orchestra in Leipzig and the institutionalization of music education in Beijing and Shanghai in the early twentieth century. A central figure in this context is Xiao Youmei (蕭友梅, 1884-1940), a scholar and composer who wrote his dissertation on the Chinese orchestra in Leipzig under the supervision of Hugo Riemann. Jedeck traces the history of the Modern Chinese Orchestra from its beginning until the 1930s. Kam Lap-Kwan asks about the imbalance of power in decolonized Taiwan and its effects on musical cultures. Kam argues that the decolonization of Taiwan has by no means overcome “inequalities at large, as demonstrated by the ideologies of Japan’s ‘Pan-Asianism’ or China’s ‘Chinese nation/people/race’ (zhonghua minzu, 中華民族).” “[C]enter-periphery subjugation,” says Kam, still persists in the form of internal colonialism or sub-imperialism. Two examples from Taiwan’s recent music history serve as his starting point: xiandai guoyue (現代國樂, modern national music) and minge caiji yundong (民歌採集運動, folksong collection movement). Xiandai guoyue, strongly supported by the government, came along with an understanding of the “national” modeled after Western modernity and at the
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same time with a renaissance of central China’s musical tradition in opposition to the Cultural Revolution then taking place in mainland China. Minge caiji yundong in turn differed from the modern national music movement by collecting music from Taiwan’s aborigines and early Han Chinese settlers. The composers and musicologists involved in minge caiji yundong were mostly Western-trained musicians, and their interest in autochthone music (mirrored by a rejection of contemporary popular music) echoed the European romantic imaginations of pure folk music up until Béla Bartók’s folklorism. Kam’s analysis of the two campaigns reveals similarities with tendencies in Korea, Japan, and mainland China, but also with developments in European regions. One chapter in this volume directly benefits from transnational comparison. Hsu Hsin-Wen proposes the method of “reflexive comparison” as a tool for transnational music studies as a response to widespread criticism of comparative methods within and beyond musicology. On the one hand, comparison of musical cultures has a (bad) reputation for emphasizing (or even essentializing) difference and otherness instead of hybridity or transculturality. On the other hand, sociologists are aware that globalization and modernization tend to force and not to suppress the mode of comparison. “We live in an age of comparison,” says German sociologist Bettina Heintz (2016). Thus, reflexive comparison in Hsu’s paper means to overcome essentialist or dichotomic thinking but at the same time to acknowledge the fact that comparing is inevitable. Hsu’s case study is an almost provocative comparison between the social history of Taiwanese Hakka music and Finnish pelimanni music. The comparison reveals that despite all the particularities of the institutionalization of “traditional” music cultures in modern Finland and modern Taiwan it does make sense to consider universalities on the level of modernization processes and the fundamental structures of modern societies. While Kam and Hsu discuss examples of subjugated peripheries, Christian Utz turns toward the traditional center of European or Western musical modernism when he considers the role of universalism, cosmopolitanism, and internationalism in European postwar New Music until 1970. His chapter focuses on developments closely connected to European history in the twentieth century—as is well known, the internationalisms of the 1920s and the 1950s were predominantly reactions to the catastrophes of two World Wars, the first of them being a “European World War” and World War II merging the aggressive expansionism of Nazi Germany with the Asia Pacific War started by Japan. Utz’s differentiation of internationalism, universalism, and cosmopolitanism covers much of the political forces shaping the twentieth century up to the Cold War, showing, for example, that internationalism and nationalism were by no means mutually exclusive. But at first his distinction provides a framework for understanding the agency of avant-garde
Introduction | 33
composers between 1945 and 1970. While tendencies like internationalism or universalism involved many composers from Europe, the United States, and East Asia (and other regions as well), Utz discusses Henry Cowell, Mayuzumi Toshirō, and Luciano Berio in the context of the Tokyo East West Music Encounter Conference 1961 in detail as three case studies. Focusing on the interculturality of internationalist or universalist orientations within New Music, he develops what he labels the “nonsimultaneity of the simultaneous” in postwar music. From different geographical orientations, Tobias Janz and Yang Chien-Chang both trace the scholarly origins of the problems of musical modernity. Yang presents his criticism of historical allochronism from a postcolonial stand. He addresses the power imbalance in past music history by reviewing the interdisciplinary efforts in cultural studies from Asian scholars since the last decades of the twentieth century. He also reviews historical accounts in twentieth-century music from both prewar and postwar Japan. As a consequence, he proposes a comparative method, engaging contemporaneous events in Europe and Asia that were parallel but so far have escaped scholarly scrutiny because of a false assumption separating the East from the West. Examples from prewar neoclassicism and postwar reflections on avant-garde music show that transnational comparisons between Asia and Europe can gain many more historical insights that on the one hand “synchronize” twentieth-century music history on the global scale and on the other hand can demonstrate the complexities of history within Europe and Asia respectively. Tobias Janz deals with the problem of pluralizing modernity without falling back into the regionalism of area studies or even nationalist views. His approach is a comparative one too, leaning on thoughts by Carl Dahlhaus and the sociologist Shmuel N. Eisenstadt. Two different perspectives found in Dahlhaus’s later writings serve as a model for what could be transnational music history on a global scale: his differentiated view of structural entanglements in eighteenth-century music and his proposition of the core structure of the European bourgeois music culture of the nineteenth century—a structure still visible in globalized musical communities. Dahlhaus’s failure to cope with a transnational musicology including East Asia brings Shmuel Eisenstadt’s comparative sociology into play. In particular, Eisenstadt’s analysis of “Japanese civilization” and its reception among Asian scholars is discussed and used as a model for a multilayered reflection on Japanese musical modernity. And finally, Yamauchi Fumitaka’s chapter explores a possible new direction for an East Asian (and also global) transnational history of music to replace the modern nationalist historiography. He notes that the past two centuries of East Asian history have witnessed a transformation from a homographic to a hetero-
34 | Tobias JANZ and YANG Chien-Chang
phonic world; East Asian countries such as China, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam were for a time communicating with one another through the same written form, but then “modernized” forms of nation states came together with a denial of such an older basis of communication together with the establishment of different national tongues and “music.” Simply put, the new form of music became “national music” as a part of the nationhood that had hardly existed before—a process echoing what has happened in Europe during the transition from the eighteenth to the nineteenth century. He thus argues that the idea of modernity, just like the modern concept of “music,” is a translated and perplexing concept. His most controversial as well as original argument questions the fundamental legitimacy of “modernity” as the center of discussion globally. Yamauchi therefore re-considers the possibility of a new epistemological framework that can show the past “empirehood” instead of the modern “nationhood.” His argument begs the question of how we will be able to historicize in the future: Does a music history based on modern nationhood seem useful at all? Should we recognize the empirehood that seems to be rising again in the twenty-first century? And how can we, if possible, reconstruct a musical history of the globe when music has not been defined just like the one universal music since the European Enlightenment? Is there a type of “universal music history” based on a collective “peoplehood” that is different from the “nationhood” with which we are so familiar, and the “empirehood” that seems to be another alternative?
REFERENCES Ambros, August Wilhelm. [1862] 1880. Geschichte der Musik, Vol. 1, Leipzig: F.E.C. Leuckart. Appadurai, Arjun. 1996. Modernity at Large. Cultural Dimension of Globalization. Minneapolis/London: University of Minnesota Press. Beyer, Theresa et al., eds. 2015. Seismographic Sounds. Vision of a New World. Ulm: Norient. Bohlman, Philip V., ed. 2013. The Cambridge History of World Music, Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press. Bohlman, Philip V. 2013. “Introduction: World Music’s Histories.” In The Cambridge History of World Music, ed. Philip V. Bohlman, 1-20. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press. Chakrabarty, Dipesh. [2000] 2008. Provincializing Europe. Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference. Princeton/Oxford: Princeton University Press.
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Chen, Kuan-Hsing. 2010. Asia as Method, Toward Deimperialization. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Chen Sanping. 1996. Succession Struggle and the Ethnic Identity of the Tang Imperial House. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, third series 6 no. 3: 379405. Conrad, Sebastian. 1999. Auf der Suche nach der verlorenen Nation: Geschichtsschreibung in Westdeutschland und Japan 1945-1960. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. ———. 2010. Globalisierung und Nation im deutschen Kaiserreich. München: C. H. Beck. ———. 2013. Globalgeschichte. Eine Einführung. München: C.H. Beck. Conrad, Sebastian et al., eds. 2007. Globalgeschichte. Theorien, Ansätze, Themen, Frankfurt a. M.: Campus Verlag. Cook, Nicholas. 2008. “We Are All (Ethno)musicologists Now.” In The New (Ethno)musicologies (Europea: Ethnomusicologies and Modernities, No. 8), ed. Henry Stobart, 48-70. Lanham et al.: The Scarecrow Press. ———. 2013. “Western Music as World Music.” In The Cambridge History of World Music, ed. Philip V. Bohlman, 75-99. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press. Dahlhaus, Carl. [1975] 2007. “Gibt es eine Weltgeschichte der Musik?” In Carl Dahlhaus. Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 10, ed. Hermann Danuser, 272-4. Laaber: Laaber Verlag. ———. 1984. “Nationale und übernationale Musikgeschichtsschreibung.” In Europäische Musik zwischen Nationalismus und Exotik, eds. Hans Oesch et al., 9-32. Winterthur: Amadeus. Eisenstadt, Shmuel N. 2000. Die Vielfalt der Moderne. Weilerswist: Velbrück Wissenschaft. Eppler, Angelika. 2007. “‘Global History’ und ‘Area History’. Plädoyer für eine weltgeschichtliche Perspektivierung des Lokalen.” In Area Studies und die Welt. Weltregionen und neue Globalgeschichte, ed. Birgit Schäbler, 90-116. Wien: Mandelbaum Verlag. Fétis, François-Joseph. 1869. Histoire générale de la musique depuis les temps les plus anciens, Vol. 1. Paris: F. Didot. Forkel, Johann Nikolaus. 1788. Allgemeine Geschichte der Musik, Vol. 1, Leipzig: Schwickert. Gaonkar, Dilip Parameshwar. 1999. “On Alternative Modernities.” Public Culture 11, no. 1: 1-18.
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Geiger, Friedrich and Tobias Janz. 2013. “Ökonomie und Kanon.” In Der Kanon der Musik. Theorie und Geschichte. Ein Handbuch, eds. Klaus Pietschmann und Melanie Wald-Fuhrmann, 858-888. München: edition text + kritik. Gombrich, Ernst H. [1935] 2005. A Little History of the World. Yale: Yale University Press. Grousset, René. 1970. The Empire of the Steppes: A History of Central Asia. Trans. by Naomi Walford. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press. Groys, Boris. 2004 Über das Neue. Versuch einer Kulturökonomie. Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer. Harootunian, Harry and Masao Miyoshi. 2002. “Introduction: The ‘Afterlife’ of Area Studies.” In Learning Places. The Afterlives of Area Studies, eds. Harry Harootunian and Masao Miyoshi, 1-18. Durham/London: Duke University Press. Heintz, Bettina. 2016. “‘Wir leben im Zeitalter der Vergleichung’. Perspektiven einer Soziologie des Vergleichs.” Zeitschrift für Soziologie 45, no. 5: 305-23. Hirose Norio (廣瀬憲雄). 2017. “‘Tōajia’ to ‘sekai’ no henshitsu” (「東アジア」 と「世界」の変質, The Change of ‘East Asia’ and ‘the World’). In Rekishigaku kankyukai (歴史学研究会) ed. Historical Studies in Japan from 2001 to 2015, Trends and Perspectives 2: Perspectives on World History (第 4 次現 代歴史学の成果と課題 2:世界史像の再構成), 18-31. Tokyo: Sekibundo Publishing (績文堂出版). Hosokawa, Shuhei. 2012. “Ongaku, Onkyō/Music, Sound.” Working Words: New Approaches to Japanese Studies. https://escholarship.org/uc/item/9451p047 [accessed 5 February 2019]. Huang Yujen (黃于真). 2015. Ershi shiji shangbanye zhongguo yinyueshi xiezuomailuo tanxi (二十世紀上半葉中國音樂史寫作脈絡探, Investigation to the Writing of Chinese Music History in the First Half of the 20 th Century). Ph.D. diss., National Taiwan Normal University. Huyssen, Andreas. 2007. “Geographies of Modernism in a Globalizing World.” New German Critique 100, 34, no. 1: 189-207. Iriye, Akira and Jürgen Osterhammel, eds. 2012-2018. A History of the World, 6 Vol. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Janz, Tobias. 2014. Zur Genealogie der musikalischen Moderne. Paderborn: Fink. ———. 2016. “‘Gibt es eine Weltgeschichte der Musik?ʼ Mit Carl Dahlhaus auf dem Weg zu einer komparativen Historiographie der musikalischen Moderne.” In Carl Dahlhausʼ Grundlagen der Musikgeschichte. Eine Re-Lektüre, eds. Friedrich Geiger and Tobias Janz, 129-55. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink. Kurosawa Takamoto (黒沢隆朝). 1974. Sekai Ongaku Shi (世界音楽史, World Music History). Tokyo: Yūzankaku (雄山閣).
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Kishibe Shigeo (岸辺成雄). 1982. Kodai shirukurōdo no ongaku (古代シルクロ ードの音楽, Music of the Ancient Silk Road). Tokyo: Kōdan sha (講談社). Lam, Joseph. 1995. “Chinese Music Historiography: From Yang Yinliu’s ‘A Draft History of Ancient Chinese Music’ to Confucian Classics.” Association for Chinese Music Research Reports 8, no. 2: 1-45. ———. 2008. “Chinese Music and its Globalized Past and Present.” Macalester International 21: 29-77. Latour, Bruno. 2008. Wir sind nie modern gewesen. Versuch einer symmetrischen Anthropologie. Frankfurt a.M.: 2008. Lewis, Mark Edward. 2009. China’s Cosmopolitan Empire: The Tang Dynasty. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Liu Ching-Chih. 2010. A Critical History of New Music in China. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Locke, Ralph P. 2009. Musical Exoticism. Images and Reflections. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mbembe, Achille. 2014. Kritik der schwarzen Vernunft. Berlin: Suhrkamp. Menzel, Stefan. 2015. Hōgaku. Traditionelle japanische Musik im 20. Jahrhundert. Hildesheim: Olms. Mittler, Barbara. 1993. “Chinese Music in the 1980s. The Aesthetics of Eclecticism.” In China Avant-Garde, eds. Jochen North et al., 84-92. Heidelberg: Heidelberg University Publishing. ———. 2008. “Musik und Identität: Die Kulturrevolution und das ‘Ende chinesischer Kultur.” In Zwischen Selbstbestimmung und Selbstbehauptung. Ostasiatische Diskurse des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts, ed. Michael Lackner, 260-89. Baden-Baden: Nomos. Moriyasu, Takao (森安孝夫). 2007. Shirokurōdo to tō teikoku (シロクロードと 唐帝国, Silk Road and Tang Empire). Tokyo: Kōdan sha (講談社). Nettl, Bruno. 1999. “The Role of History in Contemporary European Art-Music Culture.” In The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music. Europe, eds. Timothy Rice et al., 58-67. New York: Routledge. ———. 2013. “On World Music as a Concept in the History of Music Scholarship.” In The Cambridge History of World Music, ed. Philip V. Bohlman, 23-54. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press. Osterhammel, Jürgen. 2009. Die Verwandlung der Welt. Eine Geschichte des 19. Jahrhunderts. München: C.H. Beck. ———. 2012. “Globale Horizonte europäischer Kunstmusik, 1860-1930.” Geschichte & Gesellschaft 38: 86-132. Osterhammel, Jürgen and Niels P. Petersson, eds. 2003. Geschichte Der Globalisierung: Dimensionen, Prozesse, Epochen. München: C.H. Beck.
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Pernau, Margrit. 2011. Transnationale Geschichte. Göttingen: Utb. Reckwitz, Andreas. 2008. “Moderne. Der Kampf um die Öffnung und Schließung von Kontingenzen.” In Poststrukturalistische Sozialwissenschaften, eds. Stephan Moebius and Andreas Reckwitz, 226-244. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Rice, Timothy et al., eds. 1998-2002. The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, 10 Vol. New York: Routledge. Rosa, Hartmut. 2005. Beschleunigung. Die Veränderung der Zeitstrukturen in der Moderne. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Sachsenmaier, Dominic. 2007. “World History as Ecumenical History?” Journal of World History 18, no. 4: 465-89. ———. 2011. Global Perspectives on Global History. Theories and Approaches in a Connected World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schelkshorn, Hans and Jameleddine Ben Abdeljelil, eds. 2012. Die Moderne im interkulturellen Diskurs. Weilerswist: Velbrück. Schmidt-Glinzer, Helwig. 2009. Wohlstand, Glück und langes Leben. Chinas Götter und die Ordnung im Reich der Mitte. Frankfurt a.M./Leipzig: Verlag der Weltreligionen. Schwinn, Thomas, ed. 2006. Die Vielfalt und Einheit der Moderne. Kultur- und strukturvergleichende Analysen. Wiesbaden: Springer. Shen Tung (沈冬). 2000. Tangdai yuewu xinlun (唐代樂舞新論, New Theory on Music and Dance in Tang Dynasty). Taipei: Le Jin Books (里仁). Sloterdijk, Peter. 2015. Die schrecklichen Kinder der Neuzeit. Über das anti-genealogische Experiment der Moderne. Berlin: Suhrkamp. Stenou Katérina. 2003. “Die Weltpolitik der Unesco.” In TRANS. Internet-Zeitschrift für Kulturwissenschaften 15, http://www.inst.at/trans/15Nr/plenum/ stenou15DE.htm [accessed 5 February 2019]. Stock, Jonathan P. J. 2013. “Four Recurring Themes in Histories of Chinese Music.” In The Cambridge History of World Music, ed. Philip V. Bohlman: 397-415. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press. Strohm, Reinhard, ed. 2018. Studies on a Global History of Music: A Balzan Musicology Project. Oxon/New York: Routledge. Suzuki Yasutami (鈴木靖民). 2015. “Tōajia sekaishi to tōbu yūrashia sekaishi: ryō no kokusai kankei, kokusai chitsujo, kokusai ishiki o chūshin ni (東アジ ア世界史と東部ユーラシア世界史:梁の国際関係・国際秩序・国際意識 を中心に, History of the East Asian World and that of the East Eurasian World: Placing the Focus on International Relations, Inter-national Order and International Consciousness of Liang.” Senshū daigaku shakai chisei kaihatsu kenkyū sentā tōajia sekaishi kenkyū sentā nenpō (専修大学社会知性開発研 究センター東アジア世界史研究センター年報) 6: 143-63.
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Taylor, Timothy D. 2007. Beyond Exoticism. Western Music and the World. Durham/London: Duke University Press. Takemitsu, Toru. 1995. “Sound of East, Sound of West.” In Toru Takemitsu. Confronting Silence. Selected Writings, eds. Yoshiko Kakudo and Glenn Glasow: 59-67. Berkeley: Fallen Leaf Press. Taruskin, Richard. 2005. The Oxford History of Western Music, 5 Vol. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Tokumaru, Yoshiko. 1977. “On the Method of Comparison in Musicology.” In Asian Music in an Asian Perspective: Reports of Asian Traditional Performing Arts 1976, eds. Yoshiko Tokumaru et al.: 5-11. Tokyo: Heibonsha. Tong Fei (童斐). [1926] 1976. Zhongyue xun yuan (中樂尋源, In Search of the Origin of Chinese Music). Taipei: Xue yi chu ban she (學藝出版社). Utz, Christian. 2014. Komponieren im Kontext der Globalisierung. Perspektiven für eine Musikgeschichte des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts. Bielefeld: transcript. Ye Bohe (葉伯和). [1922] 1993. Zhongguo yin yue shi (中國音樂史, History of Chinese Music). Taipei: Guan-ya (貫亞). Yoshida Hiroshi (吉田寛). 2001. “Kozu Senzaburo ongaku rigai (meiji nijūyon nen) to meiji zenki no ongaku shisō—jūkyū seiki ongaku shisōshi saikō no tame ni (神津仙三郎『音楽利害』(明治二四年) と明治前期の音楽思想―一 九世紀音楽思想史再考のためにー, Kozu Senzaburo’s Ongaku-no-rigai (1891) and Japanese Musical Thought in the Early Meiji Era). Tōyō ongaku kenkyu (東洋音楽研究) 66: 17-36. Wade, Bonnie C. 2014. Composing Japanese Musical Modernity (Chicago Studies in Ethnomusicology). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wang Guangqi (王光祈). 1926. Dong xi yuezhi bijiao (東西樂制比較, Comparison between Musical Systems of East and West). Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju (中華書局). Watanabe, Hiroshi. 1966. “They Are Almost the Same as the Ancient Three Dynasties: The West as Seen Through Confucian Eyes in the Nineteenth-Century Japan.” In Confucian Traditions in East Asian Modernity, ed. Tu Wei-Ming, 125-7. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Wiora, Walter. 1961. Die vier Weltalter der Musik, Stuttgart: dtv/Bärenreiter. Witzleben, Lawrence. 1997. “Whose Ethnomusicology? Western Ethnomusicology and the Study of Asian Music.” Ethnomusicology 41, no. 2: 220-42. Wolff, Christian. 1726. Oratio de Sinarum philosophia practica. Frankfurt a.M.: Andreae/Hort.
Modernity as Postcolonial Encounter in Korean Music Choi Yu-jun
I. INTRODUCTION: MODERNITY AND COLONIALITY In an attempt to find a way to reconstruct universal history, Susan Buck-Morss reflects on the Western project of modernity and illustrates its contradictions and inconsistencies with the following statement: “The exploitation of millions of colonial slave laborers was accepted as part of the given world by the very thinkers who proclaimed freedom to be man’s natural state and inalienable right.” (BuckMorss 2009: 22) Anyone who attempts to create something universal in the age of globalization, at a time when modern egalitarian principles are being severely challenged by immigrants and refugees across the globe, would have to face a similar introspection on modernity. Western (European) modernity and national ideology have something in common in that they operate through the dichotomous logic of center-periphery. As Sakai Naoki points out, “The modern national community was an organization that could be unified insofar as it constantly created marginalities or minorities.” (Sakai/Nishitani 2009: 53-4) The Western modern idea of universality, based on humanistic ideals, really displayed this centripetal tendency. Therefore, when scholars sought the universal, the differences of marginalities were concealed or repressed. This can be described using Walter Mignolo’s notion of coloniality to represent “the darker side of modernity.”1
1
Latin American postcolonial theorists, including Walter D. Mignolo and Enrique Dussel, distinguish “coloniality” from “colonialism.” According to them, unlike “colonialism” which means the structure of the administrative/military/political domination performed during the period of imperialism, “coloniality” means the structuring process
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The two sides of modernity, or the contradictory relationship between modernity and coloniality reinforce numerous contradictions, particularly regarding nationalism in a postcolonial country such as South Korea. For instance, the presumption of a Korean peculiarity, such as the “Korean identity,” causes a centripetal force that calls for homogenization within the boundaries of the nation state, which can then be entangled with the ideology of universality installed by Western modernity. In short, a paradox is created: The more the national culture emphasizes its national peculiarity, the more strongly it is controlled by Western modernity. It is, therefore, not surprising that the concept of modernity itself has been harshly criticized in the Korean traditional music field: “For us, to accomplish modernity is only to accelerate coloniality. Modernity is not something to be completed, but to be withdrawn.” (Jeon 2005: 66) This impeachment of modernity, or the aspect of anti-modernity, however, can be part of the contradictory processes of modernization. As Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri argue, the dialectic relation between modernity and coloniality suggests another dialectics: Modernity carries anti-modernity.2 According to them, “the fact that anti-modernity is within modernity is at least part of what historians have in mind when they insist that European expansion in the Americas, Asia, and Africa be conceived not so much as conquests but rather as colonial encounters” (Hardt/Negri 2009: 67). And this idea of colonial encounters “effectively breaks down the common dichotomies between the traditional and the modern, the savage and the civilized,” and “the encounters of modernity reveal constant processes of mutual transformation” (Hardt/Negri 2009: 68). The project of modernity is often considered to be in conflict with postcolonialism, since the former emphasizes the construction of subjectivity while the latter deals with the politics of difference and “the other” excluded in the processes of modernization. However, when we consider the relation between modernity and coloniality as suggested above, no completion of modernity is possible without
of racial/ethnic/national/gender discrimination continuing even after the end of colonialism. See Mignolo 2012; Kim 2013: 67. I will follow this terminological distinction in this essay. 2
“Modernity is always two. Before we cast it in terms of reason, Enlightenment, the break with tradition, secularism, and so forth, modernity must be understood as a power relation: domination and resistance, sovereignty and struggles for liberation. […] And therefore forces of anti-modernity, such as resistances to colonial domination, are not outside modernity but rather entirely internal to it, that is, within the power relation.” (Hardt/Negri 2009: 67)
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overcoming coloniality, and vice versa. If modernity, as Latin American postcolonial historians argue, began with “colonial encounters,” the task of mapping out an alternative modernity should begin with experiencing different encounters.
II. NATIONALISM, GLOBALIZATION, AND COLONIAL MODERNITY Hybridized Modernization In this essay, I will explore the possibilities of alternative musical modernity, focusing on contemporary Korean music in hybrid genres from a postcolonial perspective. In South Korea, where the institutional dichotomy of yangak (양악, Western music) and gugak (국악, national music) has been maintained, musical modernity has not become a major issue because “Western music” is regarded as “already modernized music,” and “national music” as “traditional music that remains in the past.”3 Despite this, musical modernity has been discussed in a restricted manner regarding “creation/composition” in written music. Modernity applies to the Western music circle’s hyundae umak (현대음악, contemporary music), which was influenced by Western modernism, and the national music circle’s changjak gugak (창작국악, newly composed national music), employing traditional instruments. Each shows a process of musical modernization that is significant in its own right. This essay starts with the premise that popular music and hybrid genres must be considered along with institutionalized Western music and national music in the contemplation of musical modernity. This premise holds true, considering that the category of “popular music” was established as a musical other in the process of realizing Western modernist aesthetics, and that, on the other hand, the exploration of modernity in Western music is related to experimentation in appealing to common sense and public emotions (in other words, sympathy) through secularized musical genres such as madrigal and opera. In short, investigating Korean music’s modernity by relying solely on modernist aesthetics can be seen as yet another manifestation of coloniality. Korea was colonized in the early twentieth century (1910-1945) by Japan, whose modernizing process was dominated by Western models. This situation made
3
The academic fields of yangak and gugak also have been separate in Korea; they form separate public spheres for academic discourse with their own academic societies and journals.
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coloniality in modern Korean history very complicated and multilayered, since the Western influence on Korean society inevitably has been intermingled with the colonial domination by Japan.4 Western influence on Korean society and culture has been complicated even more by the engagement of American culture. Yoo Sun-young (유선영), in her article on the colonial modernity of Korea during Japanese rule, pointed out that Koreans at that time had inhabited an excessively private sphere while having lost their public sphere (Yoo 2001). Even though Japan ruled Korea politically and institutionally, she maintained, it was America and American culture that dominated Koreans’ private domain. America had disseminated its positive images to Korean people since the late nineteenth century through the churches, hospitals, and modern schools built in Korea and the idea of free love conveyed through jazz music and Hollywood films. After the liberation, the American influence on South Korean society became absolutely dominant beginning in the period of the US military government (1945-1948) and the Korean War (1950-1953). In short, the modernizing process in Korea can be illustrated as a hybrid one: Westernization, Americanization, and globalization intermingled with nationalism. Since this modernization overlaps with colonial domination, the modernity of Korean culture has a colonial character. The very concept of “Korean music” epitomizes this colonial structure particularly in modern knowledge production, and creates a conundrum that Korean musicians and musicologists have faced over the last century. Does “Korean Music” Make Sense? The Korean music and musicians of the early twentieth century exemplify the contradictory relation between modernity and coloniality, or between modernization and nationalization. Hong Nan-pa (홍난파), a Korean composer during the rule
4
East Asia, as the last major part of the capitalist world’s economy, has never been colonized by Western powers. Therefore, the issues of Eurocentrism and coloniality in East Asia need to be thought through carefully. However, it is necessary to consider the following points of view regarding the historical role of Japan as mediator: “Japan succeeded in imitating Western industrialized (and colonialist) countries. It is true that Japan has posed a challenge for some simpler forms of Eurocentrism. However, this, in a deeper sense, has resulted in strengthening the dominant world system and the ‘universality’ of its ideologies. Even their waging war against the US and the UK in the name of ‘Great East Asia’ indicated the culmination of the fervor of Japan’s obsession with Western imperialism and racism.” (Baek 1999: 11)
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of Japanese imperialism, wrote: “We will never find our own true music without the prompt emergence of a Bach or Beethoven of Joseon [조선, the older name of Korea] among us, who can express our sentiments and emotions in what amounts to Neo-Joseon music.” (Hong 1936: 68) Hong Nan-pa’s mention of “Neo-Joseon music” and “true music” provides some interesting insights into discourses on modernity. This is because modernity is both the experience and the pursuit of newness. Here, newness is truth and can be made possible only through Westernization. For Hong, modernity meant Westernization, and Western things were truth itself. Hong set Westernization as a prerequisite for achieving the nationalistic task of creating “Neo-Joseon music.” The West was both a window through which to view Joseon (Korea) and the Joseon people (Koreans) anew and a reference for the future. Was this Eurocentrism or nationalism? One way to avoid this contradiction was to divide music into yangak or umak (음악, music) and gugak, following the path of Japanese musical modernization after the Meiji Restoration. This strategy would institutionally separate Westernization from nationalization. In South Korea, since its liberation from Japanese colonial rule, music has, in practice, been divided into “Western” and “national” (Korean traditional) based on institutional dimensions (including education system, organizations, performing practices, etc.), but this has inevitably created a hierarchical “center-periphery” relationship. As long as the hegemony of Western music remains intact in regard to producing musical knowledge, the institutional division between Western and national music will remain, and music will not completely break from Eurocentrism. The phenomenon of institutional separation between “Western music” and “national music” seen in South Korean music after liberation demonstrates the distorted image of Korean modernity (colonial modernity). This division was initiated by the political superiority of “Western music,” but the otherization may have happened from within as well, when “Western music” and “national music” avoided making fundamental contact with each other. The institutional separation of music gave birth to the institutional separation of musicologists. Indeed, the identity confusion of Korean musicologists, formed through the institutional dichotomy of “Western musicology” and “Korean musicology,” originates from the colonial structure of modern knowledge production that pushed non-Western academic traditions or groups to peripheral positions while Western academics exerted power with their central status. 5 Therefore, the “Western music-Korean music” dichotomy is no different
5
The fact that the institutional dichotomy of knowledge production has caused an identity crisis among Korean musicologists and in Korean musicology itself is epitomized by the following statement: “If someone says he or she researches pansori [판소리,
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from the other repeated appearances of West-centered perspectives, such as “Occidental-Oriental,” “Western-Nonwestern,” and “West and the Rest.” Nishitani Osamu (西谷修) points out that a dichotomy between “humanitas” (Westerners as subjects of knowledge) and “anthropos” (non-Westerners as objects of knowledge) has been constructed in the process of modern knowledge production, and consequently, non-Western cultures have become the objects of various area studies. Western musicology, having a characteristic self-understanding of “humanitas,” and ethnomusicology or music anthropology rooted in comparative musicology for observations of “anthropos,” are modern academic disciplines that are never free from such a dichotomous and colonial structure of knowledge production. In the twentieth century, however, “anthropos began to participate in knowledge production as a subject,” suggests Nishitani, and “the dichotomy of human beings is being slowly eroded with anthropos’ participation in humanities.” (Sakai/Nishitani 2009: 29) In the end, the institutional barrier between “Korean musicology” and “Western musicology,” which widened during the process of establishing Korean musicology, reflects the dichotomous “humanitas-anthropos” structure that was internalized during this transition. Therefore, “Korean music” was otherized as the “music of anthropos,” in the view of Korean musicologists who were promoted (or “Westernized”) to “humanitas.” The “Western-Korean” dichotomy or “Western-traditional” dichotomy institutionally accepted by both camps led to the strengthening of the West-centered perspective and degradation of both “Western musicologists” and “Korean musicologists” to peripheral positions in knowledge production. Discourse on Minjokumak (민족음악) One of the meaningful attempts to deconstruct this musicological dichotomy and provide a counterdiscourse against the Western hegemony was made by a group of progressive Korean musicologists and musicians during the late 1980s and early 1990s. It was initiated by the Korean musicologist Lee Gang-suk (이강숙) in the late 1970s. In an article, he deplored the absence of a “musical mother tongue” in
musical storytelling], we could answer that ‘It is Korean musicology,’ while foreign scholars could answer that ‘It is ethnomusicology.’ Koreans themselves never would regard it as ethnomusicology. […] But it would be more complicated to answer if someone says he or she researched Korean piano music. In that case, some would say ‘It is Korean musicology’ and others ‘It is Western musicology.’” (Hong 2001: 79)
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Korea. He distinguished “true (진) Korean Music” from “semi (준) Korean Music,” and suggested a thought-provoking idea: “Contemporary Korean lieder cannot be considered ‘Korean music’ since they are written completely by taking advantage of Western-style musical materials (in scales, rhythms, harmony, etc.) except for Korean lyrics.” (Lee 1980: 274)
He also defined Korean traditional music as “the past Korean music,” which could not belong to what he called “true Korean music.” Simply stated, according to his view, there has been no such thing as “true Korean music” in Korean music history. Though highly controversial, Lee’s discourse on “the absence of (true) Korean music” left a conundrum for Korean musicologists to solve. In the late 1980s this issue was combined with the nationalist activist movement of that time, creating a more progressive form of discourse on the minjokumak (민족음악), whose literal meaning is ethnic music, by Noh Dong-eun (노동은), a music historian, and Lee Geon-yong (이건용), a composer (see Noh/Lee 1991). Minjokumak had a little different nuance compared to hangukumak (한국음악), Korean music. While the latter tended to refer to the music of South Korea, the former implied that the music of a unified Korea that is yet to come. It was, so to speak, a project of musical modernity trying to construct a common musical language for a unified Korea in the future. The discourse on minjokumak waned rapidly along with the decline of sociocultural activist movements in South Korea since the late 1990s. However, its radical perspective on ethnic music of present (and future) Korea has promoted musical imaginings freely transgressing institutional borders drawn between Western and traditional music in Korea, and inspired self-conscious young Korean composers and performers to undertake significant hybrid musical experiments. The discourse on minjokumak as a postcolonial strategy has failed in musicological knowledge production because of its strong essentialist nationalism, postulating an ideal (not traditional but modern) form of national (ethnic) music. This inevitably leads to the unanswerable question, “What is minjokumak?.” The fundamental limitation of a defiant postcolonial discourse grounded on nationalism is shown by the fact that even the progressive national music discourse, not to mention the stance of traditionalists, could not break free from the essentialist understanding of the true (or authentic) Korean music. Musical nationalists overlooked or did not consider as important the fact that music had long been an experimental mechanism for cultural assimilation and multicultural exchanges and that the phenomenon of globalization and multiculturalism, as far as music is concerned, had started at least a century before. Even considering only the culture
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within the Korean peninsula, globalization emerged as early as the first half of the twentieth century. Music’s unique characteristic of crossing national borders has been largely expanded since the twentieth century under the influence of the mass media, which I have called the “diasporic characteristic of music” (Choi 2008: 50). In reality, Korean people in their 50s and 60s living with the nostalgia of American folk music, people in their 30s and 40s with memories of passion for rock ’n’ roll, women in their 20s indulging in musical performances, teens enjoying girl groups and K-pop dance music, and, in addition, the fans of classical music who are enthusiastic about Mahler’s symphonies represent the musical diasporas whose different identities intersect within the Korean cultural topography. The music of Korea, in the real world, had a diasporic characteristic long before postCold War globalization was set into motion, and Korean musicologists, as well as Koreans themselves, had gained a diasporic identity that moves freely across musical national borders. The institutionally dichotomous perspective could not easily capture the diasporic identity of Korean music, and the progressive national music discourse could not overcome this dichotomous perspective. However, the identity politics of Korean music cannot be fully resolved with the diasporic identity. This may be a trap of global modernity, which has converted all identities into diasporic identities as possibly another extension of Western universality. As implied in Chen Kuan-Hsing’s (陳光興) idea of “Asia as method,” (Chen 2010) an alternative is to produce a flexible subjectivity. The task is to face the epistemological problem, where the image of the subject of knowledge is reflected in the object of knowledge without a clear distinction between subject and object. Consideration must be taken to ensure that the relationship between the other and the self is flexible and that the inner and outer parts revolve around while interlocked with each other. In this regard, however, traditional music, which serves as the collective memory for Koreans, is still important and influences the formation of the locus of utterance held by the historicized body of the subject. The task is to explore alternative modernity and to find a flexible sense of modernity in the encounter with the other. The current situation of globalization provides the material basis for this task. Gangnam Style as Dilemma Globalization has created a rift in the conventional notions of modernity. In his book Modernity at Large (Appadurai 1996), Arjun Appadurai analyzes the cultural identities in the age of globalization along two main axes, transnational electronic media and mass migration, and suggests that nation states as “imagined
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communities” are now disintegrating and turning into multiple “imagined worlds” instead.6 As the title of his book implies, modernity is now entering into “diasporic public spheres.” (Appadurai 1996: 4) Such fluidity, however, was an intrinsic characteristic of the process of modernization well before the advent of globalization, and characteristic of the process of modernization of Korean music as discussed above. Colonial modernity in Korean music has not fundamentally changed since globalization. A recent dramatic event in Korean musical field showed an aspect of colonial modernity in global dimensions: Korean pop musician Psy’s song Gangnam Style became an instant global hit and phenomenon far beyond the domestic market. In 2012, this song ranked No. 1 on the British pop chart and No. 2 on the American Billboard Chart. The music video Gangnam Style received a whopping record number of views on YouTube. The song’s worldwide popularity shows five layers of “scape” that Appadurai suggests as a conceptual tool to measure the cultural phenomenon of globalization. Above all, in terms of “Mediascape,” the song would not be popular without global media and social networking services through the internet. We have been witnessing the global propagation of K-pop spearheading the Hallyu (韓流, Korean Wave), starting from Asia for the last decade already. Hallyu has shown the potential of Korean music and popular culture in the layers of “Ethnoscape,” “Technoscape,” “Financescape,” and “Ideoscape.” The popularity of Gangnam Style reminds the world that Korea, a colony and poor country force-fed by foreign culture a century ago, has become a proud exporter of culture in the twenty-first century of globalization through successful modernization. Given that Gangnam Style takes on a hybrid musical form unconstrained by any specific national tradition, it appears to be a global exchange of cultural imagination just like Appadurai has identified. But this is not necessarily true. Psy’s and Koreans’ attitude and reactions to the worldwide popularity of Gangnam Style had a strong nationalistic element. Here are some noteworthy examples: In a live morning program on the American TV network NBC featuring the enormous popularity of Gangnam Style, Psy got permission from the MC before his performance and shouted in Korean “Daehanminguk Manse!” (대한민국 만세!), which means “Hurrah for the Republic of Korea!.” On 4 October 2012, when his song moved up to No. 1 on the Billboard chart, Psy staged a free concert in the public square of Seoul City Hall in front of an audience of 80,000 citizens.
6
“These landscapes thus are the building blocks of what (extending Benedict Anderson) I would like to call imagined worlds, that is, the multiple worlds that are constituted by the historically situated imaginations of persons and groups spread around the globe.” (Appadurai 1996: 33; emphasis original)
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The concert was made possible thanks to a special permit from the Seoul Metropolitan Government and was treated as a national celebration event. When a renowned Korean pop critic was asked to comment on the global popularity of Gangnam Style in a TV interview, he said, “Korean pop music was chosen by America.” In Gangnam Style, “Gangnam” (강남, south of the river) refers to the southern part of the Han River, Seoul. This area is a new cultural and economic hub in Seoul created in the process of rapid economic modernization since the 1970s. The new rich class in Gangnam has developed its own “refined” culture since the 1990s through frequent overseas trips and by having their children study abroad from an early age. This is, in reality, the “Gangnam style,” which is studded with all sorts of aspects of American consumer culture. Non-Gangnam residents in Korea harbor an untold admiration for and a sense of inferiority to the “Gangnam style” culture. It is ironic that “Gangnam style” in Korean popular music began by mimicking American hip hop, which was originally a subculture. In short, “Gangnam style” is another cultural code, symbolizing a phase of Korean materialistic modernization on a global scale. Though Psy’s Gangnam Style appears to be at least partly mocking the snobs and their culture, most people, particularly abroad, who loved this video enjoyed the funny look at the scene without knowing the cultural background. The global spread of the Gangnam Style music video is closely related to the macro-cultural transformation, what Henry Jenkins calls “convergence culture,” where heterogeneous media centers are converging on platforms such as YouTube.7 However, ironically Psy’s Gangnam Style as the cultural code of globalization revealed itself as a cultural simulacrum, i.e., reproduction, with its original somewhere else. Koreans’ nationalistic interest in Psy or national aspirations for Gangnam Style to top the charts showed the characteristics of colonial modernity that can describe the subject only through the “eyes of the others.” The age of globalization apparently cannot destroy the center-periphery scheme but rather reproduces it domestically. In this regard, careful attention should be paid to Korean traditional music as well, though nationalist or ethno-centered support of it cannot be a practical solution. And cultural globalization and deterritorialization are gradually changing Koreans’ sympathetic feeling for their traditional music. The globalization of traditional music has been realized through creative experiments in “fusion gugak” (퓨전국악) based on the “world music” market and through the UNESCO designation of this music as “World Intangible Cultural Heritage.” Furthermore, in a
7
“It also occurs when people take media in their own hands. Entertainment content isn’t the only thing that flows across multiple media platforms. Our lives, relationships, memories, fantasies, desires also flow across media channels.” (Jenkins 2008: 17)
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digital music environment characterized by “convergence culture,” the history of music is rapidly flattened, which means past music is intermingled and coexists with present music. I will discuss this further in the next part.
III. SORI IN THE AGE OF GLOBALIZATION Modernizing Sori Sori (소리), meaning “sound” in Korean, can literally refer to all sounds, but, especially in the context of traditional music, this term can be used in a narrower sense to refer to meaningfully (humanistically) produced sound. The dictionary definition is “generic term for singing songs such as pansori, minyo, and others (puri [푸리], geori [거리], taryong [타령], yeombul [염불], etc.).” (Song 2012) Pansori includes “-sori,” and this component of the term can also be used to refer to minyo (민요, folk songs), for example seodo-sori (서도소리) and namdo-sori (남도소리), respectively folk songs from northwestern and southwestern provinces. Sori in musical practice does not linger at a pitch but flows continuously. It is resistant to pitch yet does not completely deny it. The term sori has been used in a similar context in a work by Isang Yun, a Korean German composer, “Sori for flute solo” (1988). Sori, however, cannot be applied properly to written music. Strictly speaking, it has its own meaning only in the context of improvisational performance. This is why this kind of music cannot be learned through the pitchbased Western music education method. The only way to learn it is to just follow the master’s sound. In this context of oral tradition, sori can be extended to nonWestern traditional musical elements in general and even to pre-modern Western music. Whenever we discuss modernity or modernization, we should mention the sociologist Max Weber’s theory of rationalization as the principle of social differentiation, individualization, and bureaucratization. Korean traditional sori, as illustrated above, works against the grain of the rationalization of music, but it has been playing various roles in the modernization of Korean music. That is to say, in the formation of the modern concept of “Korean music,” a variety of antimodern forces were at play. This is exemplified by the fact that the title of the largest national music festival of Korea is Jeonju (Chŏnju, 전주) International Sori Festival. As the following statements, drawn from the official homepage of the festival, imply, sori is considered the medium for both the past and present (future) of Korea:
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“The Jeonju Int’l Sori Festival, which showcased its first stage in 2001, has done its best not only to bring out the real value of Korean traditional music on the elegant stages of the greatest musical artists, but also to preserve its original forms, and search for Korean traditional music in the future, through various creative works and interchange with new artists in many genres.” (www.sorifestival.com, accessed 5 November 2018)
Hybridity of New Folk Songs In tracing the historical starting point when Koreans began to gain a global as well as a local perspective, and a consciousness of modernity on a daily basis, we find a critical moment during the 1930s. Through transnational mass media, such as records and films, Koreans at the same time began to become conscious of global and, accordingly, local elements. In music, they began to distinguish sori from other musical sounds and to consider what “Korean music” was. Korean intellectuals’ efforts in the early twentieth century to invent minyo (민요, folk songs)8 were soon followed in the mid-1930s by similar efforts to create a new musical hybrid genre, shinminyo (신민요, new folk songs). Korean urbanites’ newly formed modern desire was projected into shinminyo through mass media and popular music. As modernity and coloniality overlapped in the notion of minyo in the Korean Peninsula, it developed a much more complex layer of meaning and representation than in the West. A modern differentiation of songs and singing styles began to appear between the late nineteenth century and the early twentieth century. Protestant hymns introduced in the late nineteenth century were not just religious music but were expanded into changga (창가, sing-song), which anyone could sing easily; the term commonly referred to “Western music” in general. During Japanese colonial rule, changga was applied not only to Western children’s songs
8
The term minyo (민요) was not in common use among Koreans until the 1920s, when Korean nationalist intellectuals created the concept. This term, however, was actually imported from Japanese folklorists, who adopted it as a translation of the Western “Volkslied” or “folk song” as part of the modernization task of nation building in Japan. Minyo, an effective means of social integration that involved a homogenized national identity, was needed in both Japan and Korea. “It can be said that categorizing certain songs sung in Korea as minyo with Westerners’ cultural anthropological perspective in the search for ‘folk songs’ that were apparently disappearing in the process of modernization, and from the interest of the colonizer, Japan, in its possession. The introduction of the concept minyo was deeply related to the process of Korea’s being colonized.” (Ym 2005: 164)
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and songs taught and sung in educational institutions but also to anti-Japanese resistance songs such as the national anthem and the Independence Army’s Song. Changga was used so widely that the term “popular changga” was used to refer to popular songs in earlier days. However, its implication of “Western song,” which was imported, unrelated to Joseon’s traditional music practices, was common in Joseon. In the 1930s, the mainstream musical styles of Korean popular songs produced by the recording industry came to be called yuhaengga (유행가), a cross-cultural genre created through being exposed to transnational musical styles during the interwar period. Various styles of transnational popular dance music, such as tango, waltz, rumba, and foxtrot, along with jazz and blues, were absorbed into yuhaengga during this period. In this way, the transnational recording industry made transnational music-making possible in Korea as early as the 1930s. However, Korea remained a peripheral consumer market controlled by the imperial power of the Japanese recording industry, which was part of a much broader global recording market. Due to this vulnerability of the Korean recording industry, in the 1930s Korean popular musicians had no choice but to accept contemporary international popular musical styles provided through Japanese mediation. Hence, Koreans in this early age of transnational mass media also lacked a proper subjective perspective on their local productions. 1930s yuhaengga songs, which used various foreign musical styles, would not be considered “Korean music” by modern Koreans, even if they enjoyed listening to them. This search for an alternative to yuhaengga was the reason shinminyo was conceived and projected as a new record genre in approximately 1934. As Kwon Do-hee (권도희) points out, the new genre of shinminyo re-created national identity, taking advantage of nationwide folk songs with modal syntax and singing practiced beyond the confines of the regional, and suggested an urban worldview with voice timbre in a sophisticated gagok (가곡, lyric song cycle, accompanied by Korean traditional orchestra) style and modern major-minor tonality from the West (Kwon 2015). Exploring nationalism and locality, Korean folk songs were achieving the territorialization of the epistemological field within the order of imperial Japan even before liberation. This served as a precondition for traditional folk songs to be incorporated into institutional “national music” gugak, after the country was liberated. Shinminyo as “new folk songs,” however, were not integrated into gugak and remained in popular culture. Even then, they were marginalized as a peripheral genre by so-called trot (트로트), which succeeded popular songs of the colonial period, and American-style pop music. Consequently, shinminyo represented individuals or groups who could not properly belong to the “nation” and revealed
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a vulnerable aspect of colonial modernity in terms of the country becoming an independent subject. However, a potential force of deterritorialization is being regenerated in the age of globalization. North Korean National Opera One attempt at musical modernization involving the total rationalization of sori, in a narrower sense confined to technological aspects, was conducted in North Korea. From its foundation in the late 1940s and 1950s, North Korea has, based on socialist reform, set achieving modernity as its top priority, downgrading most traditions as outdated and as vestiges of a feudal society. Hence, North Korean music has accumulated the results of the rationalization of traditional musical material, broadly adopting the Western notational and tuning system. North Koreans have almost completely eliminated traditional sori elements in favor of establishing a hybrid form of national music. In particular, the national opera in North Korea shows contradictory interactions between nationalization and rationalization (Westernization).9 A good example is one of the most representative national operas, Chunhyangjeon (춘향전, story of Chunhyang), based on a Korean traditional pansori repertoire, which premiered in 1988. From the 1960s, North Korea pursued a large and long-term project of traditional instrument reform, the purpose of which was to renovate or retune traditional musical instruments to equal temperament to allow them to be played with Western musical instruments. This involved not only changing the tuning system but also forming new musical instrument families to accord with those in Western orchestras. For instance, the haegum (해금, a Korean fiddle similar to the Chinese two-string erhu [二胡]) was converted into a small haegum, mid-sized haegum, large haegum, and a low-sounding haegum, resembling the violin family format of violin, viola, cello, and contrabass. As a result, renovated traditional and Western instruments can be inserted into a mixed orchestra setting using a 50:50 ratio. Chunhyangjeon rendered the traditional pansori repertoire into a Western opera style by employing such a mixed orchestra. It is not easy to find traditional elements in its song forms and singing styles; however, the plot of the opera and the timbre effect of the mixed orchestra are reminiscent of traditional elements. The original Chunhyangjeon focuses on a love story between the heroine, Chun-hyang, and the hero, Lee Mong-ryong. However, North Korean writers
9
See Cheon (2012) on North Korean opera focusing revolutionary opera Pibada (피바다, Sea of Blood) and national opera Chunhyangjeon.
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adapted the plot in a way that based it on socialist ideology and emphasized the class conflict. In the opera, they used modern Western music’s aesthetics of feeling as well as political propaganda or demagogy to achieve class ideology. This was intended to arouse and agitate the audience, a result they also pursued by exploiting the emotional dichotomy based on the major-minor system; employing the pseudo-Wagnerian infinite melody, which has cadences but is played through without pauses; and using repeated themes called jeolga (절가, verse song). An offstage chorus called bangchang (방창, off-stage song), an original element of North Korean opera, was also used to propagate ideology. In short, North Korean opera is a product of North Korean musical modernization, which is mixed with rationalization, nationalization, tradition, and totalitarian ideology. It provides us, in an extreme way, with a model for the interaction between nationalist ideology and colonial modernity in Korean music history.10 It is worth noting the levels of technical rationalization and hybridization of traditional music that North Korea has achieved, because they share some ideas with South Korea’s attempts at musical modernization, such as changguek (창극, pansori opera), national orchestras called gugakgwanhyunak (국악관현악, gugak orchestra ),11 and the hybrid style of fusion gugak.
10 In South Korea, the styles of music drama are divided into three categories along with the trichotomy of yangak (양악, Western music)—gugak (국악, national music)—daejungumak (대중음악, popular music): European-style opera, pansori or changguek (창극, pansori opera), and Broadway-style musical. Each style adheres faithfully to its genre convention: bel canto singing style and Western orchestration in the opera Chunhyangjeon (premiered in 1950) composed by Hyun Je-myung (현제명); pansori singing style and traditional instrumentation in Changgeuk Chunhyangjeon by the National Changgeuk Company of Korea (국립창극단). In the case of the Musical SeongChunhyang (성춘향, premiered in 1968), composer Kim Hee-jo (김희조) adopted both traditional and swing-style popular musical according to each musical number, rather than mixing them. For further discussion, see Korean Research Center for the Arts (2003) on North and South Korean music dramas focusing on the works based on the classical text Chunhyangjeon. 11 South Korean national orchestra, in this context, refers to one consisting entirely of traditional instruments in a Western-style setting. Unlike the North Korean case, there are no Western instruments (they are just temporarily added as needed), but the main instruments are renovated in order to be tuned to equal temperament. This seems to be a rather universal formation of modernized traditional orchestras seen in many East Asian countries, including China (see Jedeck in this volume).
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World Music and the Post-Gugak Age Although sori is such a premodern or antimodern element of Korean music, for that very reason, it represents a modern notion of Koreanness or Korean nationality in a musical way. The ambivalence of sori as obsolete but novel should be a crucial point for considering Korean musical modernity as one of “multiple modernities” (Eisenstadt 2002). One of the benefits of keeping music institutionally divided into traditional and Western genres in South Korea, unlike in North Korea, which neutralized the traditional by mixing the two, was that traditional sori could be preserved close to their original form. However, the more traditional music stuck to its original form, the more alien it seemed to the modern Korean audience. Finding a way out of this situation, in the 1980s musicians began to compose and sing gugak gayo (국악가요, gugak songs) in order to gain popularity, and this was followed in the 1990s by fusion gugak, which extended to instrumental music, taking the global world music market into consideration. Both were a combination of traditional Korean rhythms and melodies with Western harmonic accompaniments. These hybrid genres were marginal in the Korean music scene until the late 1990s, often being criticized by both traditional and Western music circles. Since the 2000s, however, some fusion gugak ensembles, such as Gongmyeong and Puri, have made headway into the global world music market and gradually produced a change in the Korean musical field. For example, the “Twenty-First-Century Korean Music Project,” which commenced in 2007 with support from Gugak FM and the Korean government, is a contest for fusion gugak creative music, and it has produced famous performance teams, such as Coreyah and Ensemble Sinawe. After this period, a rapid trend of “fusion” arose in the national music field, and the following distinct changes occurred after the 2010s. First, musical collaborations across institutional or national borders are frequently conducted. What we can call the deterritorialization of traditional music, however, is distinct from the hybridization of heterogeneous musical elements such as shinminyo in the 1930s and fusion gugak. Here, different sounds in themselves, whether Korean or not, are promoted and the encounters of different musical materials with each other are highlighted. Second, a growing number of compositions are taking advantage of sori elements in individualistic ways rather than nationalistic ways. In this case, sori moves closer to the expression of an individualistic subject rather than the representation of “nationalism.”12 Last, the national
12 The new self-awareness and identity of young Korean traditional performers are evident in the following statements by Lee Ja-ram (이자람), a young pansori singer who has created a successful contemporary pansori repertoire, Sacheonga (사천가, pansori
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music (gugak) field dismantles the boundaries of musical institutions and embraces virtually all genres of music. This is evident from the fact that the Jeonju International Sori Festival, which advocates traditional music festivals, and the National Theater of Korea’s Yeowoorak Festival (여우락 페스티벌) are indeed open to any genre. “Post-gugak,” a term introduced by gugak critic Yoon Jung-gang (윤중강) while reviewing the album by the trio Jambinai (잠비나이), describes this situation well. Post-gugak, in this context, distinguishes the music of rather more progressive groups, such as Jambinai, Su:m (숨), and Geomungo Factory (거문고 팩토리), from fusion gugak but it seems more appropriate to use it as a term that points to the symptomatic changes in the gugak field and start of a new era. In a post-gugak era, the institutional status of the past can no longer be maintained, as the reformative aspect of gugak is wholly expressed. If gugak stops being “traditional” or “the music of the past” and succeeds in attracting “now-here” audiences, it will essentially stop being gugak. The term “post-gugak” refers to this paradox of modernity related to Korean national music. The post-gugak era certainly did not come about by chance but is rather related to the foundational changes in the overall musical culture. These are interlinked with the era of globalization analyzed by Negri and Hardt, and the trend of globalization that encompasses politics, economics, and culture (Hardt/Negri 2009). To Negri and Hardt, the current globalized capitalist reality should not simply be criticized, denied, or eliminated. Rather, this reality is the actualization of the orientation toward freedom by multitudes over the course of history and the result of the capitalistic “virtuous cycle of accumulation.” Though the reality of the present that has reached the level of an “Empire” is failing “to generate a virtuous cycle,” this can also be interpreted as the foundation upon which the power of the multitudes can be expressed as potential power or virtuality in a Deleuzian sense. Their explanations of the Empire, the expression of virtuality by the multitude, and the expansion of the common created through nonmaterial production are easily proved in musical culture, which has rapidly changed since the start of the twenty-first century. As seen in the internationalization of K-pop and the Gangnam Style craze, the national borders of music have already disintegrated such that
adaptation of Bertolt Brecht’s The Good Woman of Szechuan): “I did not start pansori in order to protect it as our tradition. I am from the generation that listened to Nirvana while growing up. Among various artists I have heard, there is a pansori artist who is my hero, someone I like, and they are very attractive to me, so I have learned this style and I am better at this than other things; hence I wish to tell my stories through pansori, that’s all.” (Lee 2010: 20:00-20:36)
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the “outside” is disappearing (“the stage of Empire”). Since the disappearance of the physical medium of records, the production, consumption, and distribution of music are integrated, without boundaries and becoming non-materialized (“nonmaterial production”). Moreover, music consumption through digitalized tracks is eroding the traditional concept of copyrights; music consumers can access massive volumes of music for free as never before (“expansion of the common”). In summary, the post-gugak era can be defined as a cultural signal of the transitional period of Korea, moving on from the stage of colonial modernity to that of global modernity. I would like to keep a critical and watchful eye on globalization and the status of the Empire and still avoid a pessimistic view. When Negri and Hardt defined “love” as “a process of the production of the common and the production of subjectivity”—not as “identitarian love, that is, love of the same,” which is a “corrupt form of love,” but rather “the encounters and experimentation of singularities in the common”—they provided an active and optimistic view on the production of a new subjectivity in the age of globalization (Hardt/Negri 2009: 183-4). Will the post-gugak era, with globalization as its backdrop, be able to produce an alternative, postcolonial subjectivity of Korean music? This will depend on the imaginations of and actions on the kinds of encounters and sympathy that can be produced.
IV. CONCLUSION: ENCOUNTERING THE PAST IN THE PRESENT Throughout the twentieth century (and up to this day), East Asian musics including that of Korea have experimented with their own modernities and cultural identities in the various aspects and phases of Westernization, Americanization, and globalization, intermingled with nationalism. The modern or modernity is not a concept defining a break from a traditional society and culture but refers to the ongoing contradictory process of conflict and interaction between the magical power of traditional lives and the sociocultural movement of disenchantment. Thus, we would be misled if we studied the modernity of Asian music as a linear development toward Westernization or rationalization and researched Asian music history as the simple transmission of traditional music that various area studies often focus on. As suggested above, modernity is always accompanied by antimodernity. And in large part the anti-modernity is triggered by the traditional, particularly in a non-Western country like Korea. This double image of modernity should be considered, if the concept of modernity implies an aesthetic emancipation.
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Decolonialization in an alternative modernity starts by rediscovering the lost sense of time in history. For this, the National Theater of Korea’s Song of the Little Night concert, designed as a part of the Yeowoorak Festival on 26 July 2016, is worth noting here. Choi Soo-yeol (최수열), associate conductor of the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra, led this concert, juxtaposing Korean traditional music with Western music in order to ask the audience and performers themselves: “Why can’t Western modern music be Korean music when Koreans are performing and listening?” The climax was the performance of Benjamin Britten’s Serenade for Tenor, Horn, and Strings, Op. 31, from which four songs had been chosen and their lyrics translated into Korean. The solo part was supposed to be sung by a Korean female gagok singer, Park Min-hee (박민희), instead of a tenor. Park was expected to sing in a traditional gagok style with sori elements. That was a more dangerous and challenging crossover musical experiment than ordinary changjak gugak or fusion gugak performances. It added the unfamiliarity of Korean traditional music to the unfamiliarity of Western music. What could have been its intended dimension of sympathy? Here, the performance and performers themselves, rather than the musical work, made newness and the experience of encounter, revealing plural subjectivities’ mutual transformation. The alternative subjectivity of decoloniality, or decolonial subjectivity, cannot be constructed only with meetings and encounters that surpass the boundaries of ethnicity and nation. It also needs to encounter its own past in a new way. The Western musical work sung by a traditional gagok singer was an attempt to bring the past to the present: the moment of first meeting between Korean and Western music. This seems to have failed or to have ceased incompletely, but it leaves a clue to the tasks necessary for the postcolonial reconstruction of subjectivity. Will Koreans (or modern human beings in general) be able to hear the otherized sori within their historicized bodies? Post-gugak is an indicator of the possibility that Koreans may hear the “sori of the past,” which could not be heard through the institutional category of gugak and encounter their tradition, which could actually not be met. This is because sori can resonate with the auditory sense of “nowhere” only through the unfamiliar and vivid experience of encounters.
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이중과제, Coloniality in Korea and a South Korean Project for Overcoming Modernity). Changjaggwa bipyeong (창작과 비평) 27, no. 3: 6-28. Buck-Morss, Susan. 2009. Hegel, Haiti and Universal History. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Chen, Kuan-Hsing. 2010. Asia as Method. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Cheon Hyun-sik (천현식). 2012. “Bughan gageugui teugseonggwa byeonhwa: hyeogmyeonggageugeseo minjoggageugeulo” (북한 가극의 특성과 변화: 혁명가극에서 민족가극으로, The Characteristics and Evolution of North Korean Opera: From Revolutionary Opera to National Opera). Ph.D. diss., 북한대학원대학교 박사학위논문 (University of North Korean Studies Ph.D. dissertation). Choi Yu-jun (최유준). 2008.“Isandoen sori, danjeoldoen dieogui jeongchihag – segyehwawa damunhwa sidaeui eumaggwa minjok” (이산된 소리, 단절된 기억의 정치학 – 세계화와 다문화 시대의 음악과 민족, Diasporic Sounds and Disjunctive Memories: Music and Its Ethnicity in the Age of Globalization and Multiculturalism). Eumaggwa minjok (음악과 민족) 35: 49-68. Eisenstadt, Shmuel N. 2002. Multiple Modernities. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers. Hardt, Michael and Antonio Negri. 2009. Commonwealth. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Hong Jeong-soo (홍정수). 2001. “Jongjogeumaghag, Hangugeumaghag, Eumaghag” (종족음악학, 한국음악학, 음악학, Ethnomusicology, Korean Musicology, Musicology). Seoyangeumaghag (서양음악학) 4: 79-81. Hong Nan-pa (홍난파). 1936. “Dongseoyang eumagui bigyo” (동서양 음악의 비교, Comparison of Eastern and Western Music). Shindonga (신동아) 6.6: 64-68. Jenkins, Henry. 2008. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York: New York University Press. Jeon Ji-young (전지영). 2005. Geundaeseongui chimlyaggwa 20segi hangugui eumag (Invasion of Modernity and Twentieth-century Korean Music). Seoul: Book Korea (북코리아). Kim Yong-gyu (김용규). 2013. Honjongmunhwalon (혼종문화론, Theory of hybrid culture). Seoul: Somyeongchulpan (소명출판). Korean Research Center for the Arts. 2003. Nambughan gongyeonyesului daehwa (남북한 공연예술의 대화, Dialogue between South and North Korean Performing Arts). Seoul: Sigongsa (시공사). Kwon Do-hee (권도희). 2015. “Sinminyo changbeobgwa balseongbeobi pyomyeonghaneun dosijeog·minjogjeog jeongche” (신민요 창법과 발성법이 표명하는 도시적·민족적 정체, Singing Practice and Voice Timbre of
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Popular Genre, Neo-Folk Song Articulating National and Urban Identity). Dongyangeumag (동양음악) 38: 9-50. Lee Gang-suk (이강숙). 1980. Yeollin eumagui segye (열린 음악의 세계, The World of Open Music). Seoul: Hyunumsa (현음사). Lee, Jaram. 2010. Telling the New Story in the Old Form: Jaram Lee at TEDxSeoul. Online video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D35qys8YZpo [accessed 12 December 2018]. Mignolo, Walter. 2012. Local Histories/Global Designs: Coloniality, Subaltern Knowledges and Border Thinking. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Noh Dong-eun (노동은) and Lee Gun-yong (이건용). 1991. Minjogeumaglon (민족음악론, Discourse on National Music). Seoul: Hangilsa (한길사). Sakai Naoki (酒井直樹) and Nishitani Osamu (西谷修). 2009 [2004]. Segyesaui Haeche (세계사의 해체, Deconstruction of World History: Translation, Subject, and History). Korean trans. by Cha Seung-gi (차승기) and Hong Jonguk (홍종욱). Seoul: Yeogsabipyeongsa (역사비평사). Song Bang-song (송방송). 2012. “Sori” (소리). In Bang-song Song eds., Hangyeole eumagdaesajeon (한겨레음악대사전, Korean Unabridged Music Dictionary), 969-970. Seoul: Bogosa (보고사). Ym Kyung-hwa (임경화), ed. 2005. Geundae hanguggwa ilbonui minyo changchul (근대 한국과 일본의 민요 창출, Inventing Minyo in Modern Korea and Japan). Seoul: Somyeongchulpan (소명출판). Yoo Sun-young (유선영). 2001. “Yugcheui geundaehwa amelikan modeonitiui Yughwa” (육체의 근대화 - 아메리칸 모더니티의 육화, Modernization of Body: Embodiment of American Modernity). Eonlongwa sahoe (언론과 사회) 9.4: 8-48.
Modernity, Regionality, and Twentieth-Century Symphony On Jean Sibelius and Yamada Kōsaku Kathrin Kirsch
The symphonic genre has played an efficacious role in Western music historiography. In terms of its aesthetic implications, the symphony—as introduced by the Viennese School and its predecessors in the mid-eighteenth century—embodies one of the main traits of musical modernity, namely the autonomy of music, that is, its autonomy from meaning and its proceeding by its own independent rules (see Kunze 1993: 16-27). But as the general idea of modernity originated from the aesthetic concept of autonomy (see Klinger 2002: 150-3), an increasingly stronger influence was attributed to the symphony regarding the conception and construction of national and universal utopias of a future society. Around 1900, the symphony had incorporated not only national or “exotic” elements but was also, from the Austro-German perspective, labeled as “universal”, which opens to supranational, quasi-anthropological interests. Beethoven’s symphonies served as prototype of the “universal” genre and contributed to the definition of an “Austro-German” norm with strong “centralistic” impact. Symphonic production in Europe and the United States from the mid-nineteenth century onwards was defined— with either positive or negative connotation—by its regional and also compositional “distance” from this either accepted or denied center. Being part of nation building up to nationalistic processes, the symphony became suspect after the World Wars (see Fanning 2013). Thus, since 1900 the symphony has become part of modernity in a broader sense. It has been entangled in intra-European regional differentiations that connect modernity to matters of value. The ideal of progress in arts and society on the one hand, and the “peripheral” distance from a defined “center” on the other hand, became criteria of volatile assessment and interconnection. A “Nordic Path”
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towards modernity has recently been marked as a “successful search for a middle path” (e.g., Árnason/Wittrock 2012: 15). European music historiography, however, has not directly related a specific “Nordic modernity” to “Nordic symphonic” music. Because of the multilayered history of the symphony and of the term “modernity” in symphonic historiography, both concepts became ideological combat terms for the classification of Nordic symphonic music. 1 The consequences are still open to clarification and have turned Jean Sibelius (1865-1957) into a problematic case (see, e.g., Kirsch 2007: 13-9, 154-65; Oramo 2003). The symphonic production by the prominent Japanese composer Yamada Kōsaku (1886-1965) began at about the same time as Sibelius’s middle and late symphonic contributions, namely between 1912 and 1934. In Western music historiography, Yamada plays no role at all, not even as a peripheral phenomenon or—like Sibelius’s work—as a specific expression of modernity in a broader or narrower sense. From the old—but still important European historiographical benchmark (as ideal or as antithesis), Japan seems to be far out on the periphery compared to Finland, which occupies the inner periphery. But Yamada’s symphonic output and other contributions to Western music genres (yōgaku) have been part of similar debates on modernity, regionality, and symphonic aspirations within the Asian context (Galliano 2002: 32-9; or from the perspective of traditional hōgaku [Japanese music], see Menzel 2015: 101-7, 144-63). The examples of Sibelius and Yamada belong to specific regional locations, as well as to historiographic positions and aesthetic assignments. For these reasons, they seem to promise an instructive case study within the context of the present volume: The goal is to explore options for filling the gap between historiographic methods, implementing hegemonic discourses to find universal categories on the one hand and applying the micro-perspective of regional research on specific singled-out phenomena on the other hand, also taking advantage of comparative approaches. Thus, in this chapter I will provide a short overview on the image of the symphony in Germany after 1900, starting from Paul Bekker’s Die Sinfonie von Beethoven bis Mahler, first published in 1917 (Bekker 1923). In order to show how these way previous frameworks of understanding have lasted and still affect—in different fashions—the reception of Sibelius’s symphonic production nowadays, I then discuss some examples from existing histories of the symphony. Through German and Anglo-American handbooks on Sibelius, I will show how established terms such as “modernity” and “regionality” outline the subject. A focus on sev-
1
The exchange between Walter Niemann und Eric Furuhjelm in Finnish and German feuilletons of the time is significant for the case of Sibelius (see Kirsch 2007: 17, 50).
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eral incidents concerning the genesis, reception, and composition of Sibelius’s and Yamada’s symphonies respectively will serve to sketch how the discussed discourses and terms have developed under different circumstances, with different emphasis and different compositional outcomes. A comparison of central terms such as “symphony,” “modernity,” and “regionality” shows their common starting points, their differentiation in distinctive contexts, and also their persistent entanglements, which might indicate overriding similarities marking global universalities. In a short conclusion I suggest aspects of how both Sibelius and Yamada could be part of a common twentieth-century history of the symphony.
REGIONALIZATION AND THE HISTORY OF THE TWENTIETH-CENTURY SYMPHONY Is there a global history of the twentieth-century symphony? In his 1917 Die Sinfonie von Beethoven bis Mahler, Paul Bekker described the genre as generating its own public, surmounting social boundaries, creating a mass community and identification where there is no nation (Bekker 1923: 3-40). According to Bekker, the main and by that time only representative figure of this ideal was Beethoven. In his classification based on epochs and regions, he recognized an Austro-German main branch and—among others—the “Scandinavian side branch” including Niels Wilhelm Gade, Edvard Grieg, the “young Swedish group” (probably meaning Wilhelm Stenhammar, among others) and also the “English line” led by Edward Elgar (Bekker 1923: 13). Bekker’s outline draws on a specific discourse regarding the aesthetics of the symphony, which became especially relevant after the appearance of the “Nordic tone,” perceived as an innovation outside the German-centric discourse. This line of discourse is connected with the name of the Danish composer Niels Wilhelm Gade, and specifically to his Ossian Overture (1840) and his First Symphony op. 5 of 1842 (see Matter 2015; Oechsle 1992; 2001). Gade introduced the topoi of the Nordic “other” that had been previously elaborated in (artificial) folk songs, operas, and literature into the grand genre of “absolute” art music. In this respect he was first acknowledged in Germany, especially by Schumann.2 Gade’s First Symphony was the first widely-known and frequently-discussed example of a symphony explicitly trying to open the genre to
2
Robert Schumann’s depiction of Niels W. Gade deeply influenced the subsequent discussion. In his 1844 article on Gade, Schumann introduced the idea of a “Nordic character” in music. In Neue Bahnen (1853) on the young Johannes Brahms, he mentions Gade as precursor to symphonies still to be composed by Brahms (Schumann 1844; 1853).
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national characteristic elements. This overlaid the fact that “characteristic” elements had been part of symphonic music not only since Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony, followed by other examples like Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony (1833) and Scottish Symphony (1842), or Schumann’s Spring Symphony (1842). Subsequent works by non-Austro-German composers were debated in terms of genreadequacy (vs. non-symphonic character), originality (vs. mannerism), authenticity (vs. à la mode), center (vs. periphery), and art (vs. nature), no matter whether there were any “real” or emulated elements of folk music in them or not. Different images of the national, Scandinavian, Nordic, German, as well as Slavic, Russian, and Far Eastern emerge, interfere with, and develop in the history of the romantic symphony. Consequently, the discourse of national “otherness” in music conceals the phenomenon of “character”, which has been part of the history of symphonic music since the Viennese Classics. It suggests that through Gade and his successors, the “absolute” symphony had become a genre of national identification— and a matter of Nordic modernism by a specific idea of progress expressed in this genre. In Bekker’s often adopted view, the symphony as an idealistic genre (following Beethoven’s aspiration) had to recover from the failure of European revolutionary movements. Still striving toward freedom, it should rise again from the premises of nineteenth-century nationalism and achieve universality, which represented a common expectation in the twentieth century. In this respect, the history of the symphony after Mahler is supposed to be universal, because the telos of the genre relies on parallel developments in national schools and on a future synthesis in society and arts (Bekker 1923: 39-40). Nearly at the same time—when early-twentieth-century modernist movements also emerged in Europe—another discourse seems to have joined the discussion about “absolute” versus the “national” symphony: The social and artistic crisis of the early twentieth century is very closely related to the crisis of musical form and tonality. This has set new criteria for what was considered relevant in terms of a historiography driven by the ideal of progress. Schoenberg’s small-scale compositions were promoted and perceived as avant-garde music in large parts of Austro-German and related circles. 3 The symphony as such, soon after Bekker’s
3
Reinhard Kapp recently argued that the Second Viennese School actually did produce symphonies, which started from the same point as those of other composers of the time (Kapp 2014). The fact that this has not been a focus of much research and reception seems to be the reverse effect of the same image of the “grand” symphony. Compositional and aesthetic differences and similarities of this inner-European, even inner-Austro-German “other” of the symphony could be another perspective on the present question.
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statement, was considered romantic, late romantic, or postromantic, whereas “modern,” especially “New Music” genres were supposed to be rather small-scale chamber music, connected with the extension and dissolution of tonality. Consequently, the symphonic genre plays a subordinate role in current outlines of twentieth-century music, whose ideal and telos is focused on New Objectivity (see, e.g., Mauser/Schmidt 2005). Gustav Mahler in this view brought the genuine form of the symphony to an end (see Steinbeck 2014). Obviously, neither Bekker’s vision of a universal symphony nor any postulated “end” of the genre has come true. As a matter of fact, no other musical genre appears more tightly bound to national discourse, connected with an immanent hierarchy of aesthetic values, than the nineteenth and also twentieth-century symphony. The “universal” understanding of the “true” symphony, clearly based on the idea of an Austro-German tradition, has guided overviews up to the present. They usually suggest a nation-based description of the twentieth-century symphony, putting Austro-German developments first. Ludwig Finscher, for instance, in Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart (Finscher 1998) arranges his overview of the modern symphony’s history by historical periods first and then by continents and nations. Chapter X, “From the Middle of the [Nineteenth] Century up to New Music,” refers to Dahlhaus’s thesis of a crisis of the symphony after Beethoven and includes the programmatic symphony as known by Liszt, Strauss, and Raff, then Brahms, Bruckner, and finally Mahler. As an introduction to Chapter XI, “Developments in Non-German Speaking Countries up to the Beginning of New Music,” Finscher cites Schoenberg’s well-known statement about twelve-tone music saving the supremacy of German music for another one hundred years. This, says Finscher, has never come true; nonetheless, Schoenberg’s perception of the hundred years long supremacy before 1920 is based on the “real” worldwide recognition (Weltgeltung) of Haydn’s, Mozart’s, later Beethoven’s, Schumann’s, and Mendelssohn’s symphonies (Finscher 1998: 89). Starting from these premises, Finscher looks at symphonic production in the non-German-speaking countries as examples of “peculiarities.” The chapter contains France, the Mediterranean, England, the United States, Scandinavia, and Finland, and finally Eastern and Middle Europe, including Russia. Chapter XII, “From the Beginning of New Music up to the Present,” deals with all of these countries, now also looking at Latin America. In this outline there is thus a period of prosperity of the symphony led by Austro-German contributions, surrounded by specifically derived examples. By the late twentieth century, however, the diminished relevance of the symphony and the importance attached to individuality in composition suggest an international depiction but resist a coherent narration.
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SIBELIUS IN TWENTIETH-CENTURY HISTORIES OF THE SYMPHONY There are, however, attempts in German and Anglo-American historiography to write a history via a compositional or stylistic rather than a national perspective, though the latter remains relevant, as demonstrated by Sibelius’s example. Even when it focuses on compositional aspects, historical narrative recurs to aesthetic associations between nations and symphonies, and therefore it requires a different classification. Such patterns entangle historic standpoints with ideas of a historically and socially suitable “state of musical material.” Arranging musical phenomena by style and locating specific styles within a historical framework introduces the idea of the non-contemporaneity of the contemporaneous and, as a consequence, categories of evaluation and temporalization, because the aesthetics of progress is predominant in modern historiography (see Yang in this volume: 24950). The examples of Stephen Walsh’s account of the twentieth-century symphony (Walsh 2001) on the one hand, and Wolfram Steinbeck and Christoph von Blumröder’s account (Steinbeck/Blumröder 2002) on the other hand, show two distinct perspectives that can be applied to Sibelius’s case: Whereas in Walsh’s view, the historiography of twentieth-century symphony is based to a large extent on Sibelius’s symphonies, Steinbeck and Blumröder’s historiographic perspective would work well without Sibelius, yet it has a great impact on the image of Sibelius as a symphonist. In the introductions to the volumes of Steinbeck and von Blumröder’s Die Symphonie im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert (The Symphony in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Century, Steinbeck/Blumröder 2002: 3-4, 95-9), the symphony is described as experiencing its crisis and decline at the beginning of the twentieth century: Steinbeck detects four different approaches to the modernist symphony, which all amount to the “schism and dissolution of the symphony as a genre” (Steinbeck/Blumröder 2002: 3; my translation). They are: 1) “the principle of seamless continuity of the genre’s aspiration” (Nielsen, Vaughan Williams, Szymanowsky); 2) “self-confident rejection of the genre” (Debussy, Ravel, Reger, Berg); 3) “the takeover of the name of the symphony but deliberately breaking up with fundamental features of its tradition” (Schoenberg, Webern); and 4) “the path towards crisis,” namely, those composers who are considered to have reached a turning point in symphonic writing during their lifetime, such as Scriabin, Strauss, Sibelius, and Mahler. Consequently, the last chapter of the book is called “Final Destinations in the Second Half of the Twentieth Century” and deals with Messiaen, Berio, Isang Yun, and Rihm, and closes with 5) “Allusions and Relicts.”
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The chapter on Sibelius is entitled “Appearance from the Woods: The Anachronistic [unzeitgemäße] Modernist.” Sibelius might have been important in the context of nineteenth-century nationalistic symphony, but his works joined the discourse a generation too late: “If Sibelius weren’t born in the 1860s like Mahler and Strauss and hadn’t composed his Kullervo and Finlandia in the 1890s, but 20 or 30 years earlier: Who knows, if independence efforts in Finland wouldn’t have begun earlier […]. Certainly, Finnish identity is essential for a deeper understanding of Sibelius’s music.” (Steinbeck/Blumröder 2002: 26; my translation.)
The geographical, ethnical, and political state of Finland at the time is considered the basis for the national, late-romantic symphony (or rather symphonic music). Steinbeck focuses on early symphonies up to the Fourth, in which the “reduction of folklorism, the increase of a ‘classicist’ tone that still doesn’t give up typical Sibelius vocabulary” (Steinbeck/Blumröder 2002: 41; my translation) are important elements. “Besides its advanced tonality the symphony is marked as a particular piece of modern music because it is underlaid by one single, characteristic interval as the core idea, which is not only the central element of diastematic theme building but at the same time a higher-category topic.” (Steinbeck/Blumröder 2002: 41; my translation)
At this point Steinbeck agrees with Carl Dahlhausʼs view on Sibelius’s symphonic work, emphasizing Sibelius’s affinity to a Max Weberian type of rationalist modernity (Dahlhaus 1989: 309). Both of them consider Sibelius’s Fourth as the historically most important contribution to the symphonic genre. Steinbeck classifies Sibelius as one of those who aimed at New Music’s ideals of objectivity and abstraction but then rather gave up and retired to late romantic styles. By abandoning characteristic—that is, regional—attitudes and focusing on compositional “structural elements,”4 Sibelius’s Fourth matches the dominant European understanding of modernity.
4
However, Dahlhaus and Steinbeck understand the structural element in Sibelius’s Fourth in a very different way: Steinbeck reconstructs a nuclear motive and claims it to be the starting point for a somewhat organic development, Dahlhaus argues that the tritone in this symphony contains not only the motivic and thematic material but the form and process of the work as “sub-motivic” structure (see Dahlhaus 1989: 309-10; Steinbeck 2002: 41).
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Stephen Walsh organizes his lexicon article first chronologically by centuries but then by regions—strongly emphasizing the Austro-German production for most of the nineteenth century and adding “Other Countries 1840-1900.” Up to this point Walsh avoids stylistic categories in his chapters. Chapter III, “Twentieth Century,” however, emphasizes significant figures for the evolution of the genre. They might coincide with national developments as in “Stravinsky” or “France after 1930.” In other cases, he also adopts national perspectives, as for Great Britain or “Scandinavia after Nielsen.” Nonetheless, he opens Chapter III with the paragraph “1901-1918: Mahler, Sibelius, Nielsen” and the following statement: “The most important symphonists before World War I are Mahler, Sibelius, Elgar and (though his greatest symphonies came later) Nielsen.” (Walsh 2001: 841) Not only by juxtaposition but also by argumentation, Walsh seems to neglect nationalistic elements of Sibelius’s and Nielsen’s symphonic production and their public perception. His argument follows modernist categories in the sense of Max Weber as he depicts compositional aspects of their symphonies in terms of dispassion, elaboration, and condensation coming close to rationalization: “Something decidedly anti-Romantic in their [Sibelius’s and Nielsen’s] temperaments, a certain objectivity of stance, prompted them to refine and compress to the point where the fusion of contrasting elements assumed much greater importance than the insistence on their individual or picturesque nature.” (Walsh 2001: 842)
Within Sibelius’s symphonic œuvre, he observes an overall development leading to the Seventh Symphony, whereas the symphonic poem Tapiola wouldn’t satisfy Sibelius’s demand for modern symphony: “After the war Sibelius continued to develop his technique until in his Seventh and final symphony (1924) he arrived at the point where large musical conflicts could truly be resolved in a single-movement symphony of 20 minutes’ duration. The Seventh is a masterpiece as compact as it is varied and inspired. […] Though in one sense more unified than the [Seventh] symphony, since all its material comes directly from the initial theme, Tapiola precisely for that reason lacks the dialectical and dynamic force of the symphony.” (Walsh 2001: 842)
As for the symphony in German-speaking countries, Walsh claimed: “In Germany, the former home of the symphony, the genre went through its dimmest phase [after 1918]. […] It [the list of mentioned works by Pfitzner, Franz Schmidt, and Webern] contains not a single name of importance in the history of the symphony. […] While the
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symphony in France thus struggled back to life [after 1930], in Germany and Austria it must have seemed quite dead. […] The only shining light in the dark was Hindemith.” (Walsh 2001: 843)
The last part of Walsh’s third Chapter sums up recent developments under the programmatic title “The Survival of the Symphony.” From his perspective, the symphony was safeguarded by “composers hitherto identified with the avantgarde” who returned to the genre in the 1970s and 1980s (Walsh 2001: 847). They not only had some kind of “neoromanticism” in mind, but also focused on the symphony as “programmatic vehicle, or as medium for political or other forms of statement.” The main examples are symphonies from Poland (Penderecki, Gorecki), Russia (Schnittke), the United Kingdom (Peter Maxwell Davies) as well as from Denmark (Nørgård) and China (Tan Dun). Walsh understands the “survival of the symphony […] ultimately bound with the survival of the institution that has nurtured it, the symphony concert” (Walsh 2001: 849). In Walsh’s interpretation, the compositional individualization of the genre sets in earlier, and by that he infers a network of possibilities and influences, linked with sociopolitical conditions and requirements, that did not come to an end but changed the genre’s centers. David Fanning, in his historiographic sketch The Symphony Since Mahler: National and International Trends (Fanning 2013), went a step further in considering Mahler, Sibelius, and Nielsen the most important symphonists (but unlike Walsh, he doesn’t mention Elgar). He suggested to arrange composition history by influential composers and relevant works as a possible way to structure music history from 1900 onward. Considerations about the national can and must be included, but without stressing national events only. Fanning’s perspective focuses on the compositional impact of specific developments and stresses the global dissemination and perception of music in the crucial time span. In this sense, advanced compositional techniques and characteristic harmonic-tonal inventory, for example, can be considered as main factors. Fanning suggests that after Mahler and Sibelius, symphonic composition had to place itself between these poles. This dualism between two poles found resonance in national developments. Symphonists who only “weakly defined” their position in this context ran into the danger of historiographic neglection (Fanning 2013: 97-8). Fanning describes two main tendencies: Gustav Mahler and the “emotional” approach to the symphony had followers, e.g., in the Soviet Union; Sibelius’s concept of “motion” has been pursued in the United States and Great Britain and was at the same time refused in Germany and France, also within an increasing rejection of the symphony as such (Fanning 2013: 99100). Fanning’s argumentation, however, assigns little relevance to aesthetic
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categories such as modernism. Instead, individual solutions gain a great historiographic weight. The examples show how questions about modern symphony and its place in music history are combined with questions about its function and the manifestation of national elements in it. The coordinates of historiographical value by aesthetic categories such as “modern/modernism,” “symphony,” “national tone” or “universality” and their entanglement with social and global categories of organization and valuation such as “center and periphery,” “contemporaneousness and uncontemporaneousness,” or “power and dependence” must be further analyzed. These coordinates obviously shape the historic narration and, consequently, the selection of works presented and their evaluation. To some extent, music historiography—as Carl Dahlhaus put it—can be understood as based on aesthetic judgment (as immediate verdict) and historic judgment (constructed by comparison), by analyzing music theory or other historical sources (Dahlhaus 1976: 105-10). Within historiography, these judgments turn into a new aesthetic judgment, as implied in categories such as originality, epigonality, triviality, complexity, and novelty that are historical in themselves (Dahlhaus 1977: 153; Oramo 2003: 69-80). The hermeneutic problem seems to be particularly urgent for the history of twentieth-century symphony, since categories of evaluation and of time categorization are questioned, as compositional criteria become diverse. In this context, “nationality” can change from a source of historical judgment into an aspect of aesthetic judgment and become even more blurred the closer the investigated repertoire is to the present. The definition of “musical modernity” at around 1900 in Western discourses is (and has been) based on the given telos of a narrative closely related to the valuation of the symphony as a genre. The problem was reduced to the question whether a formal, tonal, or content-related divergence perceived in a symphony should be put into the frame of either “innovation” or “ignorance” in relation to what is considered the leading tradition and development respectively. What exactly has to be innovated or can be ignored depends on the aim of the main historiographic narrative that can explain a crisis and end of the symphony or its renovation. To this dichotomous view, however, another historiographic perspective has been added and focuses on individual achievements and their specific national, aesthetic, or historic entanglements and reception. This access is open to supraregional perspectives but introduces the problem of selecting significant examples out of the vast variety of contributions in the twentieth century. The question remains whether or how this approach can put compositional contributions into one historiographic narrative that only has indirect or selected junctions, such as the symphonic work of Sibelius and Yamada in Finland and in Japan.
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CONTEXTS AND REALIZATIONS OF THE TWENTIETH-CENTURY SYMPHONY IN COMPARISON: SIBELIUS AND YAMADA Yamada’s symphonic production isn’t mentioned in any of the cited German and English historiographies on the symphony. To find out how Yamada’s works have been connected to European categories and comparable Asian concepts, it would be necessary to study the early Japanese perception of Yamada’s work and the following historiographical position of the work within Asian music history, which is beyond the scope of this chapter. Instead, I try to compare contexts and compositional outcomes of symphonic writing in Finland and Japan, by asking the following questions: To what extent do these two cases show similar generic structures that make a joint historiographic account plausible and convenient for the comprehension of global trends and interrelations? How can we extrapolate criteria from these examples, in order to write a different history of the twentieth-century symphony overcoming national boundaries and aesthetic evaluation based on regionally defined ideas of “contemporaneousness”? The aim is to find correlating “structures” that may work as tertium comparationis and mutually highlight each other. The main aspect of comparison—besides the fact that both composers in their early work started to elaborate symphonic compositions—at first glance is their image as “national” composers in their countries of origin and abroad. Apparently, they both began to perceive themselves as “Finnish” or “Japanese” respectively while they were abroad. In both cases, this has been exploited in a national discourse—Sibelius within the Finnish independence movement and Yamada in the era of national expansion, imperialism, and an increasingly totalitarian system. Born one generation apart, both went to Berlin for their music studies—Sibelius in 1889-1890 with Albert Becker (Hepokoski 2001: 320), and Yamada in 1909-1913 with Max Bruch and Karl Wolf (Galliano 2002: 44). They could have met in Berlin, a metropole, where Sibelius went regularly after his years of study. For Yamada, his two-year stay in the United States since 1918 seems to have had a vital impact (Pacun 2006). It was by the local press in New York that he was portrayed for the first time as “the Japanese composer” (Galliano 2002: 36; Pacun 2006). Sibelius’s stay in Vienna (1890-1891) had a similar impact on him (Goss 2003; Mäkelä 2011: 179-84). Both composers focused—at least for some time— on symphonic works, including programmatic symphonies. Thereby they used texts from their own cultural history and language that, in different ways and political contexts, were identified with nationalistic movements (Sibelius, Kullervo Op. 7, 1892; Yamada, Nagauta kōkyōgaku dai 3-ban “tsurukame” [鶴亀], 1934).
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They also worked on the implementation of “ancient” and “traditional” music, or what was defined as such. Far away from regressive traditionalism, they both—I would go so far as to say—aimed at a “modern,” that is, aesthetically suitable but artistically autonomous and innovative, symphonic music in their respective area, having both clearly in mind the representative role of the genre. Their symphonic works had two functions in terms of perception. The first of them was to generate a national (musical) identity in a changed or changing political and social environment. This aim could best be achieved by earning at least some public and international recognition. Therefore, they had (and this was the second function) to gain a reputation abroad. In order to do that, it was necessary to embrace supranational, if not global categories of aesthetic value judgment. What David Pacun states about Japan’s music production in the interwar period in this sense has proven right in many national movements: Two schools of Japanese composition, according to Pacun, can be recognized: “a conservative school rooted in the German-Romantic tradition and a progressive school that looked to the Japanese past as a source for new adventures of musical expression” (Pacun 2012: 6). But still the symphonic works of both schools have for quite a long time not been recognized much abroad, being acknowledged neither within the canon of performed repertoires nor as research subjects. Do these similarities suggest that both Sibelius and Yamada face the same historiographical gap that is defined by the labels “peripheral,” and “national,” and therefore, in twentieth-century music history, “uncontemporaneous symphonic contributions”? There are two aspects involved: First, Sibelius’s symphonies have been appreciated by the Anglo-American public and critics. Despite the image of Sibelius as coming from the European Northern periphery, in the English-speaking perception he could emerge as Beethoven’s twentieth-century successor. As such, he could be at the center of the contemporary debate.5 And even in early German perception, Sibelius’s symphonic production—especially the programmatic pieces—found its position in specific discourses, namely within the Heimatbund movement (Niemann 1917). Yamada, by contrast, during his early time of success in the United States seems to have mainly been perceived as “Japanese” (Pacun 2006). In the case of Sibelius, the dichotomy of “North/South” shifted and could be transformed into other perspectives within the Western discourse. The idea of “centers” is obviously open to definition. Northern stereotypes are similar in many regions on the northern hemisphere. The concept of “East/West,” however, seems
5
The ideological Music Ho! A Study of Music in Decline by Constant Lambert (1934) entailed Adorno’s famous Glosse über Sibelius (1937-1938) and had a strong impact (see Mäkelä 2011: 360-8).
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to be more stable within the globe and, as a result, tightly connected to certain cultural stereotypes. The second essential aspect that distinguishes the cases of Sibelius and Yamada is about “power and dependence” (which also shows the entanglement of these concepts). Japan had been a dominating nation and a center within Asia. In contrast to Finland, it held a position of strength and international importance as a colonial force and martial ally. Japan also used its own history and cultural heritage to cultivate an idea of cultural leading power for political influence and state affairs.6 Finland, on the other hand, gained sovereignty only in 1917, during World War I. The constellation of “center and periphery” therefore applies differently to Japan and Asia than to Central Europe and Finland. The Meiji government that opened deliberately for foreign influences in several institutions, creating the premises for Yamada’s musical education in Japan and abroad, can be assumed as oriented toward Central Europe (Osterhammel 2012: 114). But Westernization did not mean to emulate a set of norms to show Japan’s own equality (Herd 2004: 40). Instead, the aim to absorb Western music and to make it “Japanese” was intended to show strength. It was a demonstration of the ability to do so. Due to the greater distance from the European centers and to the stronger national identity, a foreign concept—like that of symphonic writing—could be adopted and claimed as an act of artistic assimilation. Unlike Sibelius’s perception, as Takenaka Tōru (2006), Judith Ann Herd (2004), and Stefan Menzel (2015) observed, in Japan the main focus of aesthetic discussion was not whether “European music” was treated appropriately and whether its genuine value was understood by Japanese composers, but rather whether the outcome of the amalgam of Western and Japanese traditional music fitted the aim of claiming leadership in aesthetic and cultural terms (see Menzel 2015: 125-34). Yamada, for instance, described his symphonic work Nagauta kōkyōgaku dai 3-ban “tsurukame” (= Nagauta Symphony) as a “step in the direction of desperately overcoming the opposition of Japanese and Western music, with the aim to create a Japanese national music” (Menzel 2015: 134, citing Tsuyuki 1939: 36; my translation). This claim is not about success in a field dominated by a normative “center.” Takenaka showed how Western classical music was an institutional, state, and church project, and therefore it was a duty and also a chance for standardization and for social self-assurance to acquire Western
6
The proceedings of the symposium Overcoming Modernity in Tokyo in 1941 (Calichman 2008) show how Japan’s intelligentsia discussed the acknowledged “influence” of Westernized modernity on Japanese cultural heritage and the following position of “present-day Japanese” (Calichman 2008: x) between East and West.
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music as a kind of status symbol (Takenaka 2006). In Europe and also in the Finnish view, any understanding of a “Nordic other” to the “Austro-German symphonic style” was seen as an (approved or not approved) addition or impulse to the main body of “Western art music,” not as an opposition to another culture. Both Sibelius and Yamada used “traditional” music material for their symphonic works: In his first uncounted Kullervo Symphony (1892) Sibelius prominently introduced Finnish runo-style singing of the Finnish national epos of Kalevala. Later he used titles referring to that epos for his programmatic symphonic works. The Kullervo Symphony’s third movement, Kullervo ja hänen sisarensa (Kullervo and his sister), which includes singing, is a 20-minute-long piece published separately when Sibelius withdrew the whole symphony after its premiere. Working on this piece led Sibelius to investigate folklore in Finland, an interest intensified during his stay in Vienna (Goss 2005: ix-xii). Similar to German philologists collecting folk songs in Scandinavia, an interest in the old oral traditions also arose in Finland. The “tradition” Sibelius refers to is a historically renewed and philologically reconstructed “import” of a markedly pagan oral heritage connected to creation myth and national myth—elaborated into a “Finnish style.” Actually, its musical language had been written down first by Christian missionaries, and it had spread among the Finnish middle and upper classes only a few decades before Sibelius’s concern with the epos. A different process led to Yamada’s symphonic work in Japan: The opposition between Western classical and Japanese traditional music had been set since the institutionalization of Western music education supported by the Meiji Restoration. The Japanese musical tradition stemmed from a long history and offered several different genres connected to specific social surroundings (Galliano 2002: 512; Menzel 2015: 29-45); therefore, it wasn’t necessary to recollect and historically reconstruct it. There were musical traditions for different social groups, including high-ranking aristocracy and the emperor. Tradition consisted of several styles, instruments, and ensembles and yielded its own aesthetic discourse, which was not the case with Finnish runo song. Both in Finland and Japan (as in Scandinavia and in the German reception of Herder), the (re-)adoption of traditional material was mostly represented by songs (Mäkelä 2011: 185-6; Pacun 2006) and, subsequently, by the composition of symphonic works to create national identity. This shows the closeness of national movements in different regions: They not only occurred roughly contempo-raneously (Pacun 2012: 8) but also developed similarly by remaking the past (Nuss 1996: 9-13; Straus 1990). The “traditional material,” and especially its reflected history and its connection to vocal practice, produces differences in the symphonic
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music in both contexts that can be labeled as artistic progress and a modern search for identity in distinction to the “other.” The Kalevala as (re-)constructed myth of creation includes narratives and conflicts of classical and biblical dimensions, but also Orpheus- and Oedipus-like topoi, resurrection, and immaculate conception. In the well-known version by Elias Lönnrot, it is meant to create Finnish identity by using antiquity and a fictional myth. Aside from musical material, there is more historical and social distance between the respective symphonic levels in Sibelius’s Kullervo ja hänen sisarensa and the male choir’s storytelling in runo style than there is in Yamada’s Nagauta Symphony and the nagauta recitation. The underlying nagauta text and melody were composed for a specific ritual and politically loaded context of about 80 years earlier (Menzel 2015: 134). It contains historical facts in a mystically charged realization and has a political, even ideological relevance in the context and time of its “arrangement” as a symphonic piece by Yamada in 1934 (Menzel 2015: 140). Sibelius’s Kullervo was celebrated as a musical milestone of national identity at the time of the increasing Russian suppression and national independence movements up to 1917 (Goss 2005: xii-xiii). Yamada’s Nagauta Symphony was part of an increasingly autocratic regime of growing imperial force and alliance with the fascist regimes in Germany and Italy during World War II (Galliano 2002: 49).7 Regarding contemporaneous understandings of the “Nordic” and the “Japanese” musical “other” in opposition to some kind of “central European” or “Western” musical norm, and in view of compositional aspects of symphonic production by Sibelius and Yamada, we find similar concepts and musical solutions. In their actual form, however, they belong to different discourses. Herd reports suggestions given by the newly rising Federation of Composers in Japan (founded 1930) for creating new musical styles (Herd 2004: 41). This federation might not represent the main reference point of Yamada’s production; nonetheless, it shows (together with aspects of local understanding of “Japaneseness”) how institution-
7
Both artists, however, were honored by Nazi Germany (e.g., 1935: Sibelius received the Goethe Medal; 1937: Yamada received an award of the German-Japan Cultural Association; 1942: foundation of the German Sibelius Society; see Galliano 2002: 49; Gleißner 2002: 158-67, 181-7). Whereas the political and strategic connection between totalitarian Germany and Japan of the time seems to be a reason for the mutual institutionalized interest, Germany’s ideological usurpation of Sibelius was justified by racist ideology (Gleißner 2002: 87-96). It would be interesting, however, to find out what role the actual compositional output—especially the contributions to the symphonic genres—of the two might have played for the evaluation in Nazi Germany.
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nalization and written theoretical evidence on such matters became of political interest in Japan, while they were not considered a priority in Northern Europe. Composers were encouraged first to use modes and scales “particularly the minor and pentatonic to emphasize Japanese qualities” and second, to combine these with “tonal systems suitable” as “quartal ‘harmonies’ derived from the vertical tone clusters of the shō in gagaku.” Also “linear, quasi-polyphonic texture similar to the sankyoku and jiuta ensemble music” was maintained and finally the “creative use of instrumental color” (Herd 2004: 44-5). There is no such systematic methodological state-organized treatment of the “Nordic tone.” A highly institutionalized force and important representatives fostered and prefigured the production of “Japanese-” and “Western-” style music that was intended to represent Japan abroad and at home and at the same time drove nonmainstream composers to define their field. While in Japan finding a specific musical identity was a state affair, in Finland it had rather the function of a grassroots movement that also after 1917 contributed to generate a national identity that was yet to emerge. The musical factors described and used in Europe obviously resemble those verbalized by the Japanese composers’ association: As a result of the use of collected and re-created “Nordic” songs with modal elements, minor chords (especially in cadences and plagal phrases) became connected to this character. Especially “Nordic” symphonic pieces by Sibelius and other composers of the first decades of the twentieth century have been connected to the idea of avoidance of thirds—for Sibelius in the Kullervo Symphony based on the pentatonic runo style or in the Fourth Symphony with the tritone as central interval. Polyphonic structures in the “Nordic” character didn’t prevail, while an inclination to melodic rather than “thematic” musical invention seems to be characteristic. Sibelius’s long, winding cantabiles in programmatic pieces like The Swan of Tuonela or in his slow movements are emblematic in this sense, and represent at the same time the individual style of the Finnish composer. In a similar fashion, Yamada argued that “the beauty of European music is the body [or sound] and of wagaku [和楽, old Japanese music] it is line. Composing new Japanese music without destroying this old beauty—the New Music has to fit to our modern society after all—the polyphonic method alone will not suffice” (Yamada 2000: 221-3).8 And indeed, he went on, he attempted to combine free melody and a ground of shamisen accompaniment with the genre of symphony. Here Yamada meets with the peculiarities of Sibelius’s symphonic production: free melodic invention, nontonal ground, both elaborated in symphonic form.
8
I would like to thank Norie Takabayashi very much for translating parts of several essays by Yamada.
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What Yamada clearly labeled as “modern (Japanese) music” was much more discussed as “antimodern traditionalism” concerning the reception of Sibelius’s music in central Europe. Nevertheless, similar notions of new sound were based on the avoidance of thirds as well as tonal extension—i.e., “exoticism” as known from Gustav Mahler or “classic modernist” works as well. The subsequent problem of creating formal unity (and at the same time increasing the claim to unity) has been faced in every symphonic work since around 1900: Global symphonists seem to share the task of widening tonality within the scope of “grand” orchestral music. In using traditional instrumentation in symphonic music, Yamada went further in “nationalizing” the sound and thus opening up to new sound experiences in orchestral works—or maybe the other way around. Rather than “nationalizing” the European symphony, Yamada’s Nagauta Symphony seems to use orchestral sound and force to change the nagauta song from sophisticated courtly ritual music into a public state affair. The Japanese song is not just an ingredient of an otherwise “Western” symphony, rather it displays through the orchestra a public representation with the aesthetic tools of “breakthrough” (Durchbruch) or monumentality. The Nagauta Symphony has been criticized for reducing the European impact of the desired amalgam to mere accompaniment (Menzel 2015: 135). Actually, one could also argue that Yamada deliberately, by perceiving and using the “idea” of symphony, introduced extraneous elements into Japanese music, namely, the idea of concertlike music with choral instrumentation and subsequent aesthetic images. Sibelius and other European composers did not try anything like this—possibly because of the lack of a similarly sophisticated and distinct “other” set of music, instruments, and ensembles. There are, however, approaches aimed at broadening the soundscape with new material and playing techniques as known from Gustav Mahler or also Sibelius. Like Sibelius in his Fourth (fourth movement, development section), for instance, Yamada uses bells or chimes as extensions of the “classic” orchestra that match with traditional instruments, e.g., in his Inno Meiji Symphony (1921).9 Fanfare strikes or oboe cantilenas above the very low range of brass or massive fanfares typical of Sibelius’s symphonies and programmatic symphonic works (e.g., Karelia Suite March) can be found in the middle section of Yamada’s piece. While meeting different demands in different imaginative contexts, both composers experiment with “the” symphony and its material, its image, and its extremes. They
9
After a waltzlike fanfare chimes over roaring strings and more fanfares lead to a sudden breakup. In Sibelius’s finale of the Fourth the chimes are also part of a broken-up phase of the movement.
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reach comparable outcomes by broadening the perspective: One (Sibelius) gave the genre a new impulse by introducing material that carries understandable “character” and at the same time was meant to overcome symphonic tradition, and the other (Yamada) confronted two “cultures,” aimed at a more existential opening of symphonic perspectives and sound experiences a few years later. There would be many more aspects to discuss in comparing Sibelius and Yamada’s symphonic works as examples of “multiple compositional modernities” in relation to the historically developed normative discourse of the Austro-German symphony. These aspects might show first the relevance of concepts like “genre” as a comparative category that reveals differences and similarities—as long as the concepts are being critically reflected in their historic context, function, and artificial character. Compositional works could be esteemed as realizations of relevant aesthetic, social, or political discourses of their time and context and not only as “contemporaneous” and “uncontemporaneous” products of a given epoch. Second, and based on that argument, the example of Sibelius and Yamada shows how symphonic composition has become more and more uniform on a global scale since the beginning of the twentieth century. Jürgen Osterhammel suggested the time “around 1930” as the moment when “basic models of a global music market had come into being” (Osterhammel 2012: 129). He claims that by then a global (Western) musical institutionalization had been established and the use of sound recording was widespread (Osterhammel 2012: 129). The idea of a global music history from this perspective implies the availability and usability of any music anywhere in a genuine “common” global history. The example of Yamada and Sibelius can possibly show—by further investigations of their symphonic production and their premises, and for comparison with more examples—that already by the end of the nineteenth century there was at least the possibility of bringing composers and ideas together more easily, also thanks to the improved individual mobility, accelerated by technical and economic developments. The early twentieth century seems to confirm—at least for Finland and Japan—the increasing decentralization of musical modernity. Sibelius’s and Yamada’s symphonic works belong to different discourses regarding “power,” “nationality,” and “cultural history.” Still, both have been located on the “periphery” of a European “center”—Finland being on an inner periphery and Japan part of an outer periphery. This marginalization in historiographic narration is rationalized by the regional genesis and historical age of what is defined “Western” or “central” and by the relative regional and chronological distance of the example discussed. Pacun argued that by 1914 Japanese composers had a “set of musical parameters that were or could be sonically identified as ‘Japanese’” (Pacun 2012:
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10)—that is, in yōgaku. The stage of learning by emulating must have been largely concluded by then;10 at least by the 1930s during the Pacific War, Pacun states, “‘Western’ music was […] a thoroughly integrated aspect of Japanese society and culture.” (Pacun 2012: 36) That does not mean that Japanese and, say, Finnish or German symphonic production merged into a single style, but that, at some stage, musical contributions must be seen as a specific local realization of potentially global components. If we agree that a narrative of music history for the twentieth and twenty-first centuries has to acknowledge global perspectives and that at the same time selections have to be made, I would suggest to organize and differentiate musical historiography by rather formal aspects. Classifications by styles risk to introduce an evaluation by “uncontemporaneousness” of events as long as the benchmark of the aesthetic value of modernity is innovation; differentiation of musical production by nations might separate events that are connected to each other; the idea of arranging music history by influential composers and relevant works, as David Fanning suggested, is one possible way to structure music history from ca. 1900 onward, but it needs criteria for selecting these personalities. The cases of Yamada and Sibelius show that the genre of the symphony is relevant on a global scale, and that questions, ideologies, meanings, and functions related to it might—by further investigation—expand the perspective for differences, similarities, and entanglements in the development of multiple modernities and their global universalities. In order to investigate both authors’ production it is relevant to consider the discourses connected to the genre as well as local discourses. The symphonic works of Yamada and Sibelius are connected to the construction of modern national states. But the discourses of strength in Japan as a dominant region and of inferiority in Finland as a late nation state shape not only the reception but also the self-image of composers. Although similar interests in sound experimentation within the tonal framework of the symphonic orchestra are clear in the contributions of both, comparison further illuminates that Yamada, as a representative of a historically developed center, not only introduces sounds that seem by language and structure more alien to the European genre, but also that these aspects of the musical self—from his position of strength and the different ideological function of a piece like the Nagauta Symphony—have a greater impact
10 It has been stressed that the Japanese or even Asian way of learning is imitation. But that is probably a human way of learning and has only been suspended by the emphatic idea of European “original genius.” Any individual trying to learn any cultural technique will begin by imitatio and emulation (Galliano 2002).
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on the musical process. Both composers—like many others of the time—use a reconstructed or selected musical past for their symphonic invention. The introduced musical material is different, yet it fulfills the same quest for creating a differentiation toward the surrounding musical proceeding, achieved by solutions like the isolation of musical events or the avoidance of thirds to bypass tonal gravity. The levels of historicalness and the compositional work within the symphonic process, however, have to be distinguished further and fed back to the preconditioning categories of discourse. In this way it seems reasonable to investigate global musical developments from the twentieth century onward within a network of overriding and regional categories. In the current case, the symphony represents a common ground for composing representative music that transcends time and, at the same time, it remains a problem and a challenge for “modern,” that is, progressive music. Although it is problematic to adhere to “Western” terminology, the fact that composers use the term to define their aesthetic meaning and structural elements offers a basis for further investigation. It seems useful to build something like a hermeneutic triangle taking into account multiple functions of “modernity” and the respective role of “regionality” (that is represented in its “history,” also named “tradition”) to criticize, historicize, and regionalize the terms where necessary, and still use them as tools to highlight differences reflected by the same pattern, and to connect universal ambitions and specific findings in historiography.
REFERENCES Adorno, Theodor W. 1997. “Glosse über Sibelius.” In Theodor W. Adorno, Musikalische Schriften IV. Moments musicaux. Impromptus (Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 17), ed. Rolf Tiedemann, 247–52. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Árnason, Jóhann Páll and Björn Wittrock, eds. 2012. Nordic Paths to Modernity. New York: Berghahn. Bekker, Paul. 1923. Die Sinfonie von Beethoven bis Mahler. In Paul Bekker, Gesammelte Schriften, Vol. 3, 3-40. Stuttgart/Berlin: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt. Brown, A. Peter. 2007. The European Symphony from ca. 1800 to ca. 1930: Germany and the Nordic Countries, (The Symphonic Repertoire, Vol. III, Part A), Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Brown, A. Peter with Brian Hart. 2008. The European Symphony from ca. 1800 to ca. 1930: Great Britain, Russia, (The Symphonic Repertoire, Vol. III, Part B), Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.
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Calichman, Richard, ed. 2008. Overcoming Modernity: Cultural Identity in Wartime Japan. New York: Columbia University Press. Dahlhaus, Carl [1967] 1976. Musikästhetik (Musik-Taschenbücher: Theoretica, No. 8). Köln: Musikverlag Hans Gerig. ———, 1977. Grundlagen der Musikgeschichte (Musik-Taschenbücher: Theoretica, No. 15). Köln: Musikverlag Hans Gerig. ———. [1980] 1989. Die Musik des 19. Jahrhunderts (Neues Handbuch der Musikwissenschaft, Vol. 6). Laaber: Laaber. Fanning, David. 2013. “The Symphony Since Mahler: National and International Trends.” In The Cambridge Companion to the Symphony, ed. Julian Horton, 96-130. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Finscher, Ludwig. 1998. “Symphonie.” In Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, Vol. 9, ed. Ludwig Finscher, Column 16-153. Kassel: Bärenreiter. Galliano, Luciana. [1998] 2002. Yōgaku: Japanese Music in the Twentieth Century, trans. Martin Mayes. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Gleißner, Ruth-Maria. 2002. Der unpolitische Komponist als Politikum. Die Rezeption von Jean Sibelius im NS-Staat (Europäische Hochschulschriften XXXVI, Musikwissenschaft: Vol. 218). Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang. Goss, Glenda Dawn. 2005. Jean Sibelius. Kullervo Op. 7 (Complete Works Series I, Volume 1.1). Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel. Hepokoski, James. 2001. “Sibelius, Jean” In The New Grove Dictionaly of Music and Musicians, Vol. 23, ed. Stanley Sadie, 319-347. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Herd, Judith Ann. 2004. “The Cultural Politics of Japan’s Modern Music: Nostalgia, Nationalism, and Identity in the Interwar Years.” In Locating East Asia in Western Art Music, ed. Yayoi Uno Everett and Frederick Lau, 40-56. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Jaakkola, Jutta and Aarne Toivonen, eds. 2005. Inspired by Tradition: Kalevala Poetry in Finnish Music. Jyväskylä: Finnish Music Information Center. Kapp, Reinhard. 2014. “Symphonien und Verwandtes von Angehörigen der Wiener Schule. Verzeichnis und Kommentar.” In Das Ende der Symphonie in Österreich und Deutschland (1900-1945), ed. Carmen Ottner (Studien zu Franz Schmidt, Vol. 17), 117-39. Wien: Doblinger. Klinger, Cornelia. 2002. “Modern/Moderne/Modernismus.” In Ästhetische Grundbegriffe. Historisches Wörterbuch in sieben Bänden (ÄGB), ed. Karlheinz Barck, 121-67. Stuttgart/Weimar: Metzler. Kunze, Stefan. 1993. Die Sinfonie im 18. Jahrhundert. Von der Opernsinfonie zur Konzertsinfonie (Handbuch der musikalischen Gattungen, Vol. 1). Laaber: Laaber.
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Lambert, Constant. 1934. Music Ho! A Study of Music in Decline. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Mäkelä, Tomi. 2003. “Natur und Heimat in der Sibelius-Rezeption. Walter Niemann, Theodor W. Adorno und die ‘postmoderne Moderne’.” In Sibelius Forum II. Proceedings from The Third International Jean Sibelius Conference, eds. Matti Huttunen et al., 365-82. Helsinki: Sibelius Academy, Department of Composition and Music Theory. ———. 2011. Jean Sibelius. Trans. Steven Lindberg. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press. Matter, Michael. 2015. Niels W. Gade und der “nordische Ton.” Ein musikgeschichtlicher Präzendenzfall (Schweizer Beiträge zur Musikforschung, Vol. 21). Kassel: Bärenreiter. Mauser, Siegfried and Matthias Schmidt, eds. 2005. Geschichte der Musik im 20. Jahrhundert: 1900-1925 (Handbuch der Musik im 20. Jahrhundert, Vol. 1). Laaber: Laaber. Menzel, Stefan. 2015. Hōgaku. Traditionelle japanische Musik im 20. Jahrhundert. Hildesheim: Olms. Nuss, Steven. 1996. Tradition and Innovation in the Art Music of Post-War Japan. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, City University of New York. Oechsle, Siegfried. 1992. Symphonik nach Beethoven Studien zu Schubert, Schumann, Mendelssohn und Gade (Kieler Schriften zur Musikwissenschaft, Vol. 40). Kassel: Bärenreiter. ———. 2001. “Nationalidee und große Symphonie. Mit einem Exkurs zum ‘Ton’.” In Deutsche Meister – böse Geister? Nationale Selbstfindung in der Musik, eds. Hermann Danuser and Herfried Münkler, 166-84. Schliengen: Edition Argus. Oramo, Ilkka. 2003. “Sibelius as a Problem in Musical History.” In Sibelius Forum II. Proceedings from The Third International Jean Sibelius Conference, Helsinki December 7-10, 2000, ed. Matti Huttunen et al., 69-80. Helsinki: Sibelius Academy, Department of Composition and Music Theory. Osterhammel, Jürgen. 2012. “Globale Horizonte europäischer Kunstmusik 18601930.” Geschichte und Gesellschaft 38, no. 1: 86-132. Pacun, David. 2006. “‘Thus we cultivate our own world, and thus we share it with others’: Kósçak Yamada’s Visit to the United States in 1918-1919.” American Music 24, no. 1: 67-94. ———. 2012. “Nationalism and Musical Style in Interwar Yōgaku: A Reappraisal.” Asian Music, 43, no. 2: 3-46. Schumann, Robert. 1844. “Niels W. Gade.” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 20, no. 11: 1-2.
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———. 1853. “Neue Bahnen.” In Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 39, no. 20: 185-6. Sibelius, Jean. 2005a. Dagbok 1909-1944, ed. Fabian Dahlström. Helsingfors: Svenska Litteratursällskapet. ———. 2005b. Kullervo Op. 7, ed. Glenda Dawn Goss (Gesamtausgabe Jean Sibelius Werke, Serie I Orchesterwerke, Vol. 1.1). Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel. Steinbeck, Wolfram. 2014. “‘Das Ende der Symphonie?’ Zur Gattungsgeschichte im 19. und frühen 20. Jahrhundert. Ein Rückblick.” In Das Ende der Symphonie in Österreich und Deutschland (1900-1945): Symposion 2012, ed. Carmen Ottner,1-13. Wien: Doblinger. Steinbeck, Wolfram and Christoph von Blumröder. 2002. Die Symphonie im 19. und 20 Jahrhundert, Teilband 2: Stationen der Symphonik seit 1900 (Handbuch der musikalischen Gattungen, Vol. 3/2), Laaber: Laaber. Strauss, Joseph N. 1990. Remaking the Past: Musical Modernism and the Influence of the Tonals Tradition. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press. Takenaka, Tōru. 2006. “Foreign Sound as Compensation. Social and Cultural Factors in the Reception of Western Music in Meiji Japan (1867-1912).” In Floodgates. Technologies, Cultural (Ex)Change and the Persistence of Place, eds. Susan Ingram et al., 185-202. Frankfurt a.M.: Peter Lang. Tsuyuki Tsugio (露木次男). 1939. “Nihon-ongaku to yōgaku to no kōryū. saikin no hōsō kara” (日本音楽と洋楽との交流:最近の放送から, The Communication of Japanese and Western Music: From Recent Radio Broadcasting). Ongaku-sekai (音楽世界) 11, no. 5: 35-7. Yamada Kōsaku (山田耕筰). 2001. “Kōkyō nagautagaku sakkyoku no kanten (交 響長唄楽 作曲の観点, Compositional Viewpoints on Symphony Nagauta).” In Yamada Kōsaku chosaku zenshū (山田耕筰著作全集, Yamada Kōsaku, Complete Writings), Vol. 1, 221-33. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten (岩波書店). Walsh, Stephen. 2001. “Symphony, III. Twentieth Century.” In New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musician, Vol. 24, ed. Stanley Sadie, 841-9. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Music at the Service of Nordic Modernity? Wilhelm Stenhammar’s Opening Cantata for the “General Arts and Industries Exhibition” in Stockholm in 1897 Signe Rotter-Broman
I. INTRODUCTION For a long time, the term “modern” and its derivatives in relation to music have been used as an aesthetic value judgment, or at least intimately combined with one. Tobias Janz has on historical grounds addressed this problem as the “normative dimension” of modernism: “With ‘normative dimension’ I mean […] the manifestation of criticizing modernity on the one hand and of emphatically supporting modernity on the other.” (Janz 2014: 60; my translation) These implications of modernity are still evident in writings on music, in reviews, and in CD booklets, when works from unknown composers or from “peripheral” regions are described as “modern” in order to assure readers of their aesthetic quality and to justify editions, performances, or recordings. Musicological research, however, has in recent decades set out to differentiate the relationship between music and modernity and to critically reflect and historicize its normative dimensions (see Janz/Yang in this volume 23-6). Musicology has profited in various ways from research in other disciplines, such as sociology, history, philosophy, politics, and anthropology, as well as the history of literature and arts. This has led to several new approaches to this most multifaceted research object called “Die Moderne,” or, respectively, “modernity/modernism” in relation to music history. 1 One important trend—instead of a shortcut identification of
1
Even if I am aware of the differences between the English and the German terminologies, I leave aside this complexity here, as the points discussed in this chapter display a basic compatibility in this respect.
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musical modernity with the “New Music” movement after 1910—is to regard the whole nineteenth century and even the late eighteenth century as part of musical modernity. The relationship between modernity and modernism then still might be differentiated into periods, e.g., a “macro period” from ca. 1800 and a “micro period” around 1900.2 This double perspective gives attention to both broader sociocultural processes and the more narrowly defined modernist movements in arts and literature that emerged in several geographical locations around 1900. Julian Johnson recently even voted for a “long view of modernity” since 1600, referring to writings by Michel Foucault, Frederick Jameson, and Frank Kermode (Johnson 2015: 3-5). The emergent relevant categories in musicology—admittedly undergoing considerable changes—include questions of modern subjectivities (Jacobshagen 2011; Klinger 2002; von Massow 2001), multi-layered time and space concepts (Berger 2007; Dittrich et al. 2012; Janz 2014), ideas on convergences of the arts (Frisch 2005), and questions of music and commerce (Bashford/Marvin 2016). Of these, temporalities have proved to be especially fruitful for transformation into analytical criteria (Berger 2007; Janz 2014; Johnson 2015).3 An overarching guideline for recent research on music and modernity is to investigate artists’ and works’ self-concepts of being and acting as modern and their consequences for musical practices—rather than to impose normative ideas of modernity on musical works: “Modernity may either be understood as a fixed historical object—as an epoch or as a designation of a certain social order—or as a discursive element used by a society to describe itself and to observe itself. Both, in turn, can be observed in a scholarly way: One can describe an epoch as ‘modernity’ [‘Die Moderne’] or a society as ‘modern’ and ask for the criteria that allow for this description. But one can also ask what people are doing if they describe their time or the society they are living in as modernity or modern society. This is the question about the self-concept of modernity.” (Janz 2009: 315; my translation; see also Janz 2014: 68-85)
Self-concepts of modernity play a central role in the world exhibitions and their national and regional derivatives in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Currently, this is a lively field of research in several disciplines, as a phenomenon with even global significance, to which musicology recently has started to
2
I adopt this useful distinction from Becker/Kiesel (2007: 17-20).
3
See the research program Ästhetische Eigenzeiten. Zeit und Darstellung in der polychronen Moderne founded by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (www.aesthetische-eigenzeiten.de [accessed 12 April 2017]).
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contribute substantially.4 My case study suggests a complex relationship between music and modernity in a specific Northern European context. As this touches on several topics in partly intersecting research areas, some preliminary remarks seem appropriate. International Exhibitions in the Nineteenth Century as “Spaces of Modernity” 5 The vast flourishing of “general” or “universal” exhibitions that culminated in the late nineteenth century followed, roughly speaking, the agenda to put “the world” on display. With a didactic impetus—in the Northern European countries tightly connected to the folkbildning movements (Ekström 1991: 102-9; 1994: 233-63)— the exhibitions displayed all sorts of items documenting the current status of civilization, of technical, economic, and cultural progress. This resulted in a combination of systematized knowledge and touristic spectacle (Fuchs 2002; van Wesemael 2001;). Even the non-Western parts of the world were part of the exhibition business, as colonies,6 as the “exotic other,”7 or as arrangers of their own international exhibitions. 8 Regional expositions often included non-European “ethnographic” sections, such as the “Kongobyn” (Kongo village) at the 1914 Jubilee Exhibition at Kristiania (Oslo) (Ytreberg 2014). Ideas and values around this aspect of globalization have been at the center of much critical research before and since the postcolonial turn (Benedict 1991; Stoklund 1994; Thode-Arora 2014). In recent exhibition studies, there are several important trends concerning the questions of global and local modernities. First, the complex interaction among
4
For bibliography and orientation in the research field, see Geppert et al. (2006). For an overview, see Schroeder-Gudehus et al. (1992) and Greenhalgh (1988). Especially helpful (from a vast amount of recent research): Geppert (2010) and Bosbach et al. (2002). Concerning the global perspective, see Hedinger (2011). Music has not been at the forefront of the research. The most comprehensive contribution and a fascinating read is Fauser (2005). See also Pasler (2009) and Groote (2014) and recently Kirby (2018).
5
Geppert 2010: 3.
6
On music at colonial exhibitions organized in and by the colonies, see Forbes (2000), Jane (2014).
7
Concerning music, the reception of Javanese gamelan by French composers such as Claude Debussy at the Paris exhibitions in 1889 and 1900 is the best-known example for this. See Fauser (2005: 195-215), and the literature cited there.
8
On Japan’s international exhibitions and their complex relationship to their central European models, see Hedinger (2011).
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regions, cities, nations, and international agents and networks has emerged more clearly, based on a critique of theories from the 1980s and 1990s, where the concept of nation was regarded as dominating exhibition practice (Geppert 2002; 2010; Lindner 2006; Sibille 2016; Zelljadt 2005). Alexander Geppert emphasizes the individual agency and transnational activity of the organizers—this “well-organized and very mobile class of cultural bureaucrats, exhibition experts, and entertainment entrepreneurs” (Geppert 2010: 5). International exhibitions show “how urban modernity was displayed, formed and disputed at and through one of the most momentous and powerful media in fin-de-siècle Europe” (Geppert 2010: 6). Geppert criticises bipolar readings (center vs. periphery, identity vs. otherness) as simplistic. “From the outset the evolving exhibitionary networks were characterized by multipolarities including overlapping dimensions of intra-metropolitan, trans-European and even global competition.” (Geppert 2010: 14) As a consequence, the scope of this field was broadened well beyond the exclusive chain of world’s fairs (“Expos”) that became canonized retrospectively in the 1920s (Großbölting 2008: 22-30).9 It even became clear that the beginning of the exhibition movement is to be traced to the late eighteenth century (Beckmann 1991; Großbölting 2008), despite the legendary “from scratch” status in the selfdescription of the London Great Exhibition of 1851 (Bosbach et al. 2002). Exhibitions thus display both changes and continuities in self-concepts of being modern within modernity’s “macro period,” and we may follow the various formations of their self-concepts in different times, places, and cultural circumstances. There has arisen an increasing interest in all sorts of specialized exhibitions in the late nineteenth century, such as gardening exhibitions (Hamburg 1869 and 1897; see Steinmeister 2014) or the Vienna “Music and Theatre Exhibition” in 1892 (Antonicek 2013; Nussbaumer 2005; 2007).10 Last but not least, the role of the exhibitions within the emerging mass culture, the connection of exhibitions to early tourism and media revolutions, and the participatory role of the public have moved into the foreground (see Ekström et al. 2006; Großbölting 2008: 62; Prügel 2014; Telesko 2010; Ytreberg 2014).
9
Several exhibitions saw themselves as world exhibitions but are not part of the “official list” of the Bureau International des Expositions, founded in 1928, e.g., Melbourne 1880, Barcelona 1888, or Brussels 1897 (Schroeder-Gudehus/Rasmussen 1992: 104-7, 108-11, 128-31).
10 See also the current Schweizerischer Nationalfonds (SNF) project at Berne University under the direction of Cristina Urchueguía: Vienna 1892. The Emergence of 20th Century “Musical Experience”, http://vienna1892.unibe.ch/ [accessed 15 September 2017].
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In this context, exhibitions in Northern Europe recently have attracted more scholarly attention, even if they formerly figured at the margins of international research.11 The main subject of this essay, the Stockholm exhibition of 1897, belongs to a series of Nordic arts and industries expositions before World War I: • 1866 Stockholm: Konst- och industriutställningen (Arts and Industries Exhibi• •
• • •
tion) (see Ekström 1994: 51-4) 1872 Copenhagen: Den nordiske Industri- og Kunstudstilling (The Nordic Industry and Arts Exhibition)12 1888 Copenhagen: Den nordiske Industri-, Landbrugs- og Kunstudstiling (The Nordic Industry, Agricultural, and Arts Exhibition) (see Falberg Jensen 2015; Parko 1989) 1897 Stockholm: Allmänna konst- och industriutställningen (General Arts and Industries Exhibition) 1914 Kristiania (Oslo): Jubileumsutstillingen (Jubilee Exhibition)13 (see Areng Skaara 2007; Ytreberg 2014) 1914 Malmö: Baltiska utställningen (Baltic Exhibition) (see Christenson et al. 1989; Widenheim/Sundberg 2014)
Strictly speaking, Stockholm 1897 marks the end of the series (Ekström 1994: 53). Nevertheless, the 1914 exhibitions, even if not in Stockholm and not explicitly “Nordic,” and—in the case of Kristiania—more nationally oriented, refer to it, marking continuities and changes in political and social relationships after Norway had gained independency in 1905. It is not easy to draw a strict dividing line between these “international” and further “national” exhibitions, either. Even the Stockholm exhibition in 1909 (Ekström 2008; 2010), the 1909 Århus “Landsudstilling” (Denmark), 14 and the “National Arts and Industries Exhibition” of
11 In Geppert et al. (2006), only the Stockholm 1897 exhibition has been listed (due to Ekström’s dissertation). In most articles the Nordic exhibitions are listed fragmentally or not named at all (e.g., MacLeod 2002: 349-58). On expositions at marginal places, see the excellent volume edited by Filipová (2015). 12 See https://www.sa.dk/brug-arkivet/laer/industriudstillinger [accessed 22 September 2016]. 13 100th anniversary of the 1814 constitution (grunnlovet). 14 Århus Bymuseum organized an exhibition on the 1909 Landsutstilling in 1999; a summary is accessible from https://web.Archive.org/web/20160305140625/http:// www.bymuseet.dk/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=83&Itemid=46& lang=da [accessed 31 August 2017].
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1876 in Helsinki (Finland) abound with references to the above-named exhibition series (Syrjämaa 2015). The driving forces, main motives, ambitions, and organizational structures behind these exhibitions of course varied from place to place. In general, to organize an exhibition at that time meant “a de facto manifestation of the modern” (Geppert 2010: 2). Program texts about the Nordic exhibitions generally name the motivation to gain an overview of the state of technical and economic development and the desire to compete peacefully with other invited nations. Beyond the material and practical side, even aesthetic and moral education were mentioned as important objectives. The Stockholm Expositionstidningen (Exhibition newspaper) of 1866, stated that “the international expositions’ true greatness consists of the high moral aim, which one reaches through impartial searching for the truth and an industrious labor in the service of humanity” (cited in Ekström 1994: 53; my translation). Research on these more or less explicitly “Nordic” exhibitions is mainly driven in each country or city, separately. There is, for example, no reference to the Malmö 1914 Baltic Exhibition in a recent publication on the Kristiania Jubilee Exhibition of the same year—and vice versa (Sundberg 2014; Ytreberg 2014). Questions of transnational connections have recently been raised by the Finnish historian Tarja Syrjämaa, who in an article on the Helsinki exhibition of 1876 points to the transnational relevance of “national” exhibitions: “Although the Helsinki exhibition was marginal in the European and global context—due to both its location and its size—the exhibition genre itself seems to have guaranteed that commentators perceived it to have overcome any sense of marginality. The international characteristic of the exhibition medium was essential in this aspect. It was one of the established and accepted conventions of the day how to participate in international interaction […] not only did ideas and practices flow outward from the great exhibitions, but the interconnectedness of exhibitions was complex and multilateral.” (Syrjämaa 2015: 305)
This hypothesis stimulates further research on other Nordic exhibitions. In musicology, music for and at the above-named exhibitions has rarely been the focus. Some vocal works specifically composed for exhibitions are treated in biographical research on single composers, often as mere peripheral works. 15 Considerable attention was paid to the Nordic Music Days, a festival series that emerged in connection with the exhibition at Copenhagen 1888 and was renewed in the
15 E.g., Ander (2001); Vollestad (2005: 170, 172). The cantatas of Berwald (Stockholm 1866) and Nielsen (Århus 1909), though, are accessible in critical editions.
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context of the Stockholm exhibition of 1897. Research on these were encouraged by the still extant Nordic Music Days organization, which looked back on its hundred-year history in the 1980s (Hanson 1989; Kube 2014). 16 Nordic Marginality, Nordic Modernity, and Music Concerning the question of decentering modernity in Europe (see Janz/Yang in this volume, 29-30), musicologists have to face the paradox that, whereas music from Northern Europe is normally assigned a marginal role in narratives on musical modernity, disciplines like sociology, politics, economics, and history share the conviction that Northern Europe is characterized by a geographically preconditioned peripheral status or marginality in relation to the European continent, yet has been at the very forefront with regard to social, political, and especially democratic modernization (Árnason/Wittrock 2012; Danson et al. 2012; Daun/ Helgesen 2006; Ljungberg/Schön 2013). Some scholars even regard this combination of marginality and modernity as the root of this regional history of progress (as in many contributions in Danson et al. 2012): “What then is ‘Nordic’? Is it a geographical demarcation, a mental map, an historic vision or a contemporary reality? One could answer yes to all of this and still miss important aspects. […] The remote location of the area in relation to greater powers has been, and probably still is, a formative feature of Nordic distinctiveness, as this location has made it possible for autonomous rural societies to negotiate compromises both with state authorities within the region as well as with powers further south.” (Daun/Helgesen 2006: 60)
This general image has even partly informed art-related disciplines. To take just one example, the standard textbook on Scandinavian literature in German, edited by Jörg Glauser (2006), presents the nineteenth- and twentieth-century literary history very much alongside the history of social and political modernization, describing varying positions of authors and readers toward how literature was related to the process of modernization. In musicology, though, there are strong residues of normative, substantiating interpretations of modernity and modernism. A recent article on Sweden in a collection of essays on avant-garde culture in Europe unreflectively applies modernist values in thinking about musical modernity in terms of rejection of the past and antiromanticism (Engström 2012). 17 It seems that musicology still awaits the
16 See www.nordicmusicdays.org [accessed 31 August 2017]. 17 Here, the Nordic countries are described as latecomers in their adaptation of New Music
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critical impulse that has been virulent in recent years, e.g., among German and Danish historians of literature, when the question was raised whether some scholars perhaps had identified themselves too much with the modernist ideals of their research subjects (Borup 2005; Erhart 2007; Lohmeier 2007; and the replica by Anz 2008). A fresh attempt at relating modernism and music in Denmark in the early twentieth century on historical grounds was presented recently by Michael Fjeldsøe (2013). What makes the relationship of Northern European music and modernism still more complicated is the pervasive imaginary of “north” and “Nordic” within European culture that in many aspects persists today even within academia. Recent research has demonstrated a broad range of ways “the [European] north” has been constructed in arts, discourses, and media (Parker 2002; Sørensen et al. 1997; Stråth 2000).18 This includes even processes of “northernization,” i.e., ascription of meanings of northernness to cultural phenomena, which at times happens independent of geographical location. In the present context, the difference between cultural constructions of the “north-as-other” by self-declared non-northerners (German music journalists) and the construction of the “north-as-self” (by exhibition organizers and visitors) becomes especially important. When imaginaries on the north-as-self are combined with national and urban identities and the self-concept of modernity, “Nordicness” clearly needs to be differentiated further. Ambivalence between the north-as-self and the north-as-other in relationship to musical compositions has informed writings on music at least since the nineteenth century. Katharine Leiska has shown from German reception documents concerning symphonies from “northern” composers around 1900 that their works could be deemed technically insufficient compared to the Austro-Germanic tradition (i.e., the north-as-other) and glorified as alternative modernities within an integrative “Germanic-northern” culture (i.e., north-as-self) (Leiska 2012: 75-82). In German-speaking musicology, traces of these debates still seem to have impact on models of music historiography (Keym 2013; Kirsch in this volume 65-8). This intra-musicological normative value system is comparable to the one that,
and works such as Nielsen’s Fifth Symphony are characterized as mixtures of “old” and “new” styles (Engström 2012: 502). For critique on such historiography, see Eysteinsson (2008). For a convincing attempt at relating modernism and music in Denmark, see Fjeldsøe (2013). 18 One of the centers for this research was the Graduiertenkolleg Imaginatio borealis at Kiel University, see www.uni-kiel.de/borealis/frameset.htm [accessed 27 September 2016].
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following Janz, scholars working with art music from East Asia have to face (Janz 2015: 9-10). With this in mind, the main questions for the following investigation into Wilhelm Stenhammar’s inauguration cantata for the Stockholm exhibition of 1897 are: How does the composer act within the multipolar exhibition space of modernity? How do the composer and the poet relate modernity and Nordicness? And how does the music itself relate to modernity?
II. “AWAKE, STOCKHOLM!” WILHELM STENHAMMAR’S CANTATA FOR THE STOCKHOLM GENERAL ARTS AND INDUSTRIES EXHIBITION, 1897 Wilhelm Stenhammar (1871-1927) was in the 1890s one of the young generation’s most promising Swedish composers and musicians. 19 After studies in his hometown Stockholm and at the Königliche Hochschule für Musik in Berlin, he had his spectacular breakthrough as pianist and composer in 1894 with his First Piano Concerto Op. 1 in B minor. He engaged in various activities in Stockholm’s musical world until he moved to Gothenburg in 1907 as chief conductor for the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra (Wallner 1991, Vol. 1: 302-26, 404-63, 513-43). It is thus relatively unsurprising that the exhibition’s executive committee (förvaltningsutskott) commissioned him to compose the music for the inauguration cantata for the Stockholm 1897 General Arts and Industries Exhibition,20 even if it may appear as premature praise for a young composer still in his twenties. The cantata,21 from the viewpoint of artwork-centered musicology, has marginal status. It was performed only three times in the composer’s lifetime22 and
19 For an introduction to Stenhammar’s life and work in English, see Rotter-Broman (2014). In German, see Rotter-Broman (2001: 37-52). Essential reading in Swedish is the three-volume biography by Bo Wallner (1991). 20 Original title: Kantat vid öppnandet av Allmänna konst- och industriutställningen i Stockholm. 21 Piano reduction, see Stenhammar 1897. For more analytical remarks on the work see Rotter-Broman (2013). See also Wallner (1991: 520-43). 22 In my article “‘Spectacular articulations of modernity,’” the third performance had escaped my attention (Rotter-Broman 2013: 123). Stenhammar conducted it himself on 7 December 1897, as the concluding work in his inauguration concert as director of the Filharmoniska sällskapet (Philharmonic Society) (Wallner 1991, Vol. 2: 33). This is
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then never again for another hundred years. In contrast to Stenhammar’s earlier works (two string quartets, several songs for voice and orchestra or voice and piano), it is a typical example of Auftragswerk (beställningsverk) (Wallner 1991, Vol. 1: 520). Stenhammar himself recognized it as such when he did not provide any opus number and had only the piano reduction published, and by the local publisher Abraham Hirsch, whereas Stenhammar’s usual publisher at that time was Henrik Hennings of Copenhagen. In terms of self-concepts, however, the cantata was part of a most spectacular demonstration of modernity in late nineteenth-century Sweden.23 On 15 May 1897 (the queen’s name day), the General Arts and Industries Exposition opened with a meticulously staged ceremony (Ekström 1994: 123-31).24 A choir of more than 300 people sang25 and the Royal Opera Orchestra played under its leading conductor, förste hovkapellmästare Conrad Nordqvist. King Oscar II and his wife, Queen Sophia, attended and listened to the performance, and so did a selected group of about three thousand guests from the invited nations Denmark, Norway, and Russia, and representatives from Stockholm city, the Swedish parliament, national institutions, the army, and the industrial elite. The choir framed a ritual: It gathered the crowds and prepared them for something like a divine service, the first stroll through the exposition buildings. The long-awaited exhibition was intended to demonstrate recent achievements in every domain of industry, technics, economy, sciences, and arts, and thus mirror the high state of civilization in Sweden, which in the late nineteenth century had undergone a late but successful wave of industrialization. The neighboring countries, Denmark and Russia with Finland, were invited to compete with a self-confident Swedish industry and market economy (Ekström 1994: 53, 128).
confirmed by the concert’s program notes (Stockholm, Filharmoniska sällskapets arkiv, Statens musikverk). 23 Essential reading on the Stockholm exhibition still is Anders Ekström’s excellent doctoral dissertation (Ekström 1994). See also Ekström et al. (2006); Ekström (2008); Pred (1991). For primary sources see especially Hasselgren (1897) and Looström (1900) (available on archive.org). 24 The ceremony was partly filmed by one of the photographers of the firm Lumière; an excerpt is accessible on www.stockolmskallan.se [accessed 12 April 2017]. The program of the Kinématographe Lumière in Gamla Stockholm included other motives and was changed frequently (Pred 1991: 69). 25 The newspapers report numbers between 300 (Aftonbladet) and 400 (Dagens Nyheter) persons in the choir (15 May 1897).
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The cantata text first (part I) addresses the city of Stockholm: The city that succeeded in giving birth to a new city within its walls: “Wake up, you Stockholm—fanfares and joys are everywhere!”26 After this, a tenor welcomes—as a ceremonial master or priest—“the northern people” in a recitative, assuring them that the exhibition in front of them is “theirs” and that—with clear religious undertones—“the gate is high and the door wide” (part II: “I Nordens folk—Välkommen nabo”).27 The following part (III) of the cantata describes three “highlights” of the exhibition: the machine hall (“Till sina hallar, hör, arbetet kallar” / “To its halls, listen, work is calling”), the fine arts exhibition (“Konstens verk de höga talar utan tolk” / “Works of high art speak without an interpreter”), and a special retrospective exhibition called “Gamla Stockholm” (Old Stockholm). I will return to this part in greater detail below. A final full-fledged tutti part (IV) reinforces the invitation to the guests: “Ja, välkomna I alle till arbetets fest!” (“Yes, welcome you all to this feast of work.”)28 During the ceremony, the cantata was heard in two parts, between which King Oscar II gave a speech. Its central ideas were that the exhibition united the participants in a peaceful contest in the arena of “labor” (see Ekström 1994: 125). It is not far from ideas like these to the Olympic Games, which can be regarded as one of the offspring of the world exhibition movement (Ekström 1994: 18, 57). 29 Splendid opening ceremonies with specially composed musical works were a must
26 This and the following translations of the cantata text are based (with corrections) on the CD booklet in Stenhammar (1997). 27 “I Nordens folk, er väntar dessa salar. / För er är porten hög och dörren bred. / Så kännen här det sinnelag som talar/om arbetsära, enighet och fred! / Då våra flaggor nu i glad förening / härofvan blanda sina färgers sus, / Förnimma Sveas hela hjärtemening: / Välkommen, nabo—det är ock ditt hus!” / “You people of the north, these halls await you; For you the gate is high and the door wide / So feel here that mood that speaks / Of honorable work, unity, and peace! Now our flags, happily united / Streaming mix their colors high above us / Perceive the whole intent of Svea now: Welcome, neighbor—this is your house, too.” 28 “Ja, välkomna ni alle till arbetets fest, / till de vinkande murar, där minnet är gäst / och där skönheten bor! / Medan vimplarne blanda sin färgsymfoni, / sjunger våren att tvekan och köld är förbi / och försmälter, en enda och stor melodi, / i vår chor!” / “Yes, welcome all to this feast of work / To the beckoning walls where memory is guest / and where beauty dwells. / While the pennants mix their symphonic colors / The spring sings that doubt and chill are past / Dissolving in a single glorious tune / in our choir.” 29 On the connection of world expositions with Olympic Games, see Roche (2002).
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in the exhibition business expanding more and more in the second half of the nineteenth century, especially in the years around 1900.30 Two passages from Stenhammar’s cantata will now be examined in greater detail with a focus on the music’s relationship to the ideas of modernity framing the exhibition. What are people—here: composers—actually doing when participating in a project that describes their society as modern? Let us first examine the beginning of the cantata’s part III, dedicated to the machine hall. The two most important buildings, the machine hall and the arts hall, were erected side by side by Ferdinand Boberg, a renowned architect of the period and a friend of Stenhammar since childhood. The production of steel tools with the help of steam engines was one of Sweden’s most prosperous industry branches and was arranged to allow for spectacular exhibitionary sights (Ekström 1994: 141-4). The cantata lyrics acclaim the progress and welfare in everyday life achieved through this industry: Till sina hallar,
To its halls,
hör, arbetet kallar!
hear, work is calling!
På under det bjuder
Offering miracles
I stålblank prakt.
of noble steel bright.
Hör, ångan som hvisslar,
Hear steam that whistles,
Det kokar och sjuder!
it boils and shudders;
Maskinen gnisslar
machines whine
I dånande takt.
in thundering rhythms.
Se hur kraften brutit
See how power has broken
Genväg till sitt mål,
shortcuts to its goal,
Nya redskap gjutit
cast new tools
Av ett smidigt stål!
of supple steel.
Hur hon sinnrikt danat
How ingeniously it has been made
30 Some examples: Giuseppe Verdi wrote the Inno delle nazioni for the London exhibition of 1862 (Gerhard 2001), Dudley Buck A Centennial Cantata for Philadelphia 1876 (Loft 1951). Augusta Holmès composed her Ode triomphale for the centennial of the French Revolution in 1889 (Fauser 2005: 103-38; Strohmann 2012). For the Stockholm exhibition of 1866, Franz Berwald contributed the opening ceremony cantata on a text by crown prince Oscar Fredrik (later Oscar II) (Hallgren et al. 2010). For Kristiania 1914, Christian Sinding set a poem of Nils Collett Vogt (Vollestad 2005: 170-1, 261). For Malmö the same year, Hugo Alfvén based a cantata on a poem by Nils Flensburg (Asketorp 2007; Christenson et al. 1989: 87). More research on these and other musical contributions to the world exhibitions and the Nordic exhibitions is a desideratum.
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Allt för lifvets kraf
all for the needs of life.
Hur hon genomspanat
How it has searched through
Allt som jorden gaf.
all that the earth has given.
The author of these verses, Carl Snoilsky (1841-1903), was at that time well known among Swedish and Norwegian citizens, because his poem collection Svenska bilder (Swedish pictures) had been included in schoolbooks. Born into a noble family, Snoilsky had shown strong sympathy for liberal ideas, social reforms, and literary realism in the 1870s and 1880s. After long stays abroad he returned to his homeland in 1890. Thanks to his connections to Oscar II, he was awarded the position of chief librarian at the Royal Library in Stockholm. In his later years, he more or less took on the role of official court poet.31 The renowned Stenhammar scholar Bo Wallner assumed that the executive committee’s decision to commission the cantata from the old Stockholm poet Snoilsky and the young Stenhammar was a meeting between the older and the younger artists’ generations and thus an illustration of the exhibition’s integrative character. For this hypothesis, though, further evidence would be necessary (see Ekström 1994: 123, with reference to Wallner 1991, Vol. 1: 520). Snoilsky’s verses appear formally flawless and relatively straightforward. They give proof of his differentiated versatility in writing occasional lyrics. Stenhammar chose to characterize the piece by the ear-deafening sound of steam machines in his orchestration with gran cassa, piatti, and low brass instruments. The massive choir proclaims the uplifting message unisono in forte-fortissimo.32 (see music example 1) For the public attending the inauguration ceremony, choir and orchestra thus acted as guides not only to the visual but also to the aural sensations awaiting them. The music was a heroic presentation of the achievements of “labor” and “power” that provided helpful tools to lift up “all that the earth has given,” leading to better harvests and faster working processes. Concerning music’s relation to modernity, Till sina hallar is reminiscent of Richard Wagner’s Schmiedeszene from Siegfried. On the one hand, it demonstrates his awareness of Wagner’s compositional innovations; the young Stenhammar—like so many others in his generation—had studied Wagner’s operas and had special admiration for the Siegfried score (Wallner 1991, Vol. 1: 299-300).
31 Snoilsky even wrote the lyrics for the celebration of Oscar’s twenty-five-year jubilee on the throne (Lewan 2003-6; Michanek 1979; Björck 1946). 32 Score (autograph). Stockholm: Statens musikverk, Musik- och teaterbiblioteket, Kungl. Teaterns samlingar.
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Music example 1: Machine hall, beginning. [III, mm. 1-24]:
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Source: Stenhammar. 1897. Kantat vid öppnandet av Allmänna konst- och industriutställningen i Stockholm 1897 af Carl Snoilsky för soli, kör och orkester af Wilhelm Stenhammar. Klaverutdrag med text . Piano reduction, Stockholm: Abraham Hirsch, no. 2228.
Furthermore, Stenhammar here chose a similar stance within a milieu of modernity. Lutz Köpnick has convincingly pointed out that Wagner, under the guise of ancient myth and heroism, pictures Siegfried as representing the then newly perfected production process of cast steel, compared to the old-fashioned materials and working processes of the blacksmith, which Mime in vain tries to defend (Köpnick 1994: 201-3). In the final bars of the exhibition cantata, Stenhammar gives the steam explosions the last word: They accelerate more and more until a final explosion with the overall prescription forte-fortissimo possibile sempre. This results in a sensational contrast effect when the next part begins. There, in the soprano aria presenting the arts hall, Stenhammar’s music draws the listener into a lyrical, “timeless” sphere matching the text’s ideas on the universality of art. When the choir accompanies the soprano soloist a bit later, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and all its layers of timeless humanist values are included in the subtext. Stenhammar reinforces the contrast between arts and industries. The civilizational achievements of industry and art—which are programmatically united in the exhibition’s name—are praised with two historically different musical languages. United through the poem’s formal continuity and the attacca succession of the movements, though, Stenhammar’s work in general enhances the poem’s general vision of heroic modernity.33 In the last movement of part III, the focus shifts from the present to “the past.” As mentioned earlier, this movement addresses the exhibitionary sight of Gamla
33 Concerning heroic modernity, Janz has pointed out that many modernists never refrained from the hope to retain possibilities of heroism. See Janz 2011: 13.
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Stockholm. This reconstruction of a part of the exhibition’s “own” city in an earlier form was another typical attraction of the turn-of-the-century exhibitions (Nordin 2009), 34 even though it was a latecomer in the exhibition alphabet. 35 One important model for this was Alt-Wien (Old Vienna), first built on the occasion of the Vienna Theater and Music Exhibiton in 1892 and one year later successfully transferred as the Austrian contribution to the Columbian Centenary Exhibition in Chicago (Kos/Rapp 2004; Nussbaumer 2005; Wörner 1999). The visitors to Gamla Stockholm, like those to Old London in 1884 (Smith 2015), Vielle Anvers in 1894 (Korn 1999: 144), and Alt-Berlin one year earlier at the international Gewerbeausstellung of 1896 (Geppert 2010; Zelljadt 2005),36 had to pay separately for this attraction, and many of them did. For Gamla Stockholm, we know of up to 12,000 sold tickets per day (!) during the five months of exhibition opened to the public. Gamla Stockholm consisted of an ensemble of approximately 120 buildings that “‘in the ultra-modern Stockholm’ should represent a reconstruction of the capital under the Vasa kings. As reconstruction it should be as correct and authentic as possible” (Ekström 1994: 171; my translation). For this reason, the scenery was animated by people in period costumes, and there were concerts and theatre events as well as arranged scenes like the famous “Gamla Stockholm brawl.” It was arranged by stage director Emil Grandinson to produce an “authentic” historical effect. Several visitors went into the trap and tried to stop it, which documents that Grandinson succeeded (Ekström 1994: 172). According to the arrangers, architect Fredrik Lilljekvist and riksantikvarie (national antiquarian) Hans Hildebrandt, the bias of Gamla Stockholm was twofold: To give a “historically correct culture impression [kulturbild],” and even “to provide a diverting [lustfylld] contrast to the ultra-modern Stockholm of 1897 characterized by the rest of the exhibition fields” (Nordin 2009: 229; my translation). As perfect examples of “invented tradition” or “commodified history,” it is easy for us today to unveil the assemblage of historically loosely-connected buildings reconstructed after old copperplate reproductions or models from other cities (see Pred 1991:
34 For a comparable case (Alt-Berlin, for the Kunst- und Gewerbeausstellung 1896) see Geppert (2010) and Zelljadt (2005). 35 This feature is not to be confused with the tradition of the national pavilions or reconstructions of old villages. It is merely a reflection of the changes the greater cities suffer in the era of George-Eugène Haussmann and other city planners, which led to groundbreaking new city plans. 36 On the Berlin Gewerbeausstellung, see also Kaeselitz (1996). Several members of the executive committee of the Stockholm exhibition went to Berlin for study purposes; many had visited the world exhibitions in 1889 at Paris or 1893 at Chicago.
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69-70), and even find researchers showing indignation or disgust for such projects (see e.g., Tegethoff 2002). With the question of self-description of the actors as modern in mind, another approach, such as that proposed by Jonas Nordin (2009: 233-7) seems more adequate. Nordin describes the role of Gamla Stockholm in another way. He emphasizes the active role of the public and the heterotopic37 qualities of the reconstruction. The area enabled visitors to participate in some sort of “rite de passage.” The entrance via a bridge to a medieval ensemble gave the sense of a separation from the present. The then-reached Helgeandsholmen gave a feeling of “time laboratory.” Entering into the main area, the Stockholm of the old castle Tre Kronor and small-scale reconstructions of historical buildings equipped with cafés, restaurants, shops, and replicas of paintings from the sixteenth century—with people in period costumes walking around—the space was experienced as “historical now.” This “now” was architecturally equated with the Swedish Renaissance. The message was clear: The Middle Ages were over, and Sweden had gained sovereignty from the medieval Kalmar union with Denmark and Norway. This was symbolized—in a way perhaps a bit hard to digest for Danish visitors—by a copy of John Börjeson’s monumental statue of King Karl X Gustav (inaugurated in the center of Malmö one year earlier, 1896, with a commissioned poem by Snoilsky), who had conquered southern Sweden (Skåne and Blekinge) from the Danish crown in the seventeenth century. Just at the time of the exhibition, the Renaissance style was à la mode for several newly built bank palaces in the city of Stockholm (Nordin 2009: 229). The last section of Gamla Stockholm was a place where “borders between history then and history now were blurred.” On the threshold back to the future-oriented modernity of the main exhibition, two hypermodern technical innovations had been integrated into Gamla Stockholm. In one exhibition house, you could check your bags for their content in an experimental arrangement with X-rays. And in another building—only two years after the première at Paris in 1895—the “old” walls veiled a Kinematograph Lumière, one of the first public cinemas in Sweden, where visitors could see an eight-minute-long film showing impressions from Stockholm and the exhibition (Jülich 2006: 229-71).38 After this highly self-
37 The terms “heterotope” (“a place that in form and aim was qualitatively separated from other places,” Nordin [2009: 231; my translation]) and “chronotope” (“Chronotopes are fictional sites where different times and spaces are brought together,” Geppert [2010: 245]) are related to writings by Michel Foucault and Mikhail Bakhtin and are frequently used in research on historical ensembles at exhibitions. 38 Eight minutes from the film are accessible online at www.stockholmskallan.se/Soksida/
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referential experience (the film showed people approaching the main buildings of the exhibition by boat and horse tramway, a part of the inauguration ceremony, and scenes from Gamla Stockholm), the visitor left the chronotope with the conviction that “a way back to the situation before the transition and before the contact with the new media no longer was desirable” (Nordin 2009: 237; my translation). Thus, Nordic history emerged in the end as a controllable part of the modern Swedish nation, even if it had been at first depicted as unreachable and unintelligible (Nordin 2009: 237). Let us now see how Stenhammar’s cantata addresses Gamla Stockholm. It is divided in two parts, first sung by the four soloists, then by a minor choir and a small section of the orchestra. The text of the first part reads as follows: Hur den unga tidens skaparifver
How the creative urge of youthful times
in på nya banor slår.
ploughs in new fields,
Minnets bro dock ingen sönderriver
yet no one destroys the bridge of memory
mellan gammal tid och vår.
between the ancient times and ours.
Ha vi makt att trolla fram på stunden
If we are able at this hour to produce
syner af fantastiskt prakt,
sights of high magnificence they are
underlaget är den gråa grunden,
founded on a grey foundation
den som våra fäder lagt.
that was laid down by our ancestors.
This is one of the more complex stanzas of the cantata.39 The message itself is relatively clear: There is no future for us without a foundation in our common past. But
Post/?nid=28971 [accessed 21 September 2016]. Following the comments by Holger Ellgaard on this site, the photographer was Alexandre Promio. The film is listed in the Catalogue
Lumière
(http://catalogue-lumiere.com/entree-du-chateau-dans-le-vieux-
stockholm [accessed 21 September 2016]). Jülich shows that the local entrepreneur Numa Peterson was behind both X-rays and the kinematograph attractions of Gamla Stockholm and that public presentation of both in combination had already happened at the local Malmö industries and arts exhibition of 1896 (Jülich 2006: 245-50). 39 Stenhammar was enraged when after the work’s completion he learned that the cantata was to be performed outside, because at the time of the commission it was—as usual at international exhibitions—to be performed in the industry hall, which often used to act as an official representative building as well (Wallner 1991, Vol. 1: 522). Yet, even for inhouse use, he had envisaged a grand choir and a respectable brass section. Thus, in the first movement, the listeners were met by a powerful full ensemble sound, and the effect
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just to read the text for its message is not sufficient. When we consider the music and the performative situation, this part takes a distinctive turn away from the ritual and the exposition in general. Stenhammar reduces the musical forces dramatically and sets the whole atmosphere at a blurred distance, perfectly in line with Snoilsky’s text. As a consequence, the Stockholm exhibition, formerly directly addressed (“Awake, Stockholm!”), vanishes into something dusty, imaginary, visionary (“sights of high magnificence”). The exhibition, which in the preceding parts of the cantata was painted with colorful and partly heroic emphasis, is described here as a dream, an illusion. Text and music point to the transitory status of the exhibition: All buildings were to be removed after the closing days, following the established dramaturgy for international exhibitions. What remains is the “grey foundation” of history. It is no pleasure for the eyes, compared to the sensations of the exhibition. But history, laid by “our ancestors,” emerges as an inerasable point of reference. Contrary to its use in Gamla Stockholm as a transitional representation of a manageable other of the modern Swedish nation, it remains in Snoilsky’s and Stenhammar’s work a common heritage, a safe ground, even if on a fragile basis. In the moment of performance, the music refrains praise and acclaim the exhibitionary sensations, even if the solo quartet begins to sing as a lyrical “we” and thus might continually serve as ritual identifier for the listeners. But, as described above, the invitation to “the past” forces the listener to make himself independent of the exhibition’s sensations. This marks a remarkable distance from the ceremonial context, the exhibition ideology, and the ideas of those responsible for Gamla Stockholm, in spite of the references to several of its symbols (the bridge; “sights of high magnificence”). At one point, Stenhammar makes the changed point of view directly audible in the music. After that the sights of magnificence have been illuminated by a “late romantic” orchestral cantilena, he briskly interrupts the melodic line and continues with a prosaic declamation for the last two verses (the “grey foundation”). In the final bars of the movement, Stenhammar displays fragments of one of Sweden’s highest musical symbols of that time: The patriotic song “Du gamla, du fria, du fjällhöga nord” (Thou ancient, thou free, thou mountainous North) (Danielson/Ramsten 2013).40
was, as named above, that the public should feel like a parish community within a ceremony lead by the exposition arrangers. The Swedish text after Ekström et al. (2006: 124). See also Stenhammar 1997: 27. 40 On “Du gamla, du fria” as patriotic symbol in Oscarian Sweden, see also Björck (1946: 149-52) and Eyck (1995).
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Music example 2: Gamla Stockholm, first part [III, mm. 147-176]
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Source: Stenhammar 1897.
In Stenhammar’s reading, on the “grey ground” of history, even musically colorful symbols become reduced to minor (even in harmonic terms “minor”!) pieces. In conclusion, Snoilsky addresses Gamla Stockholm in short verses: Hägring i sagoljus,
Mirage of fabled light,
Tider som farit!
that at times has been
Fäste och gafvelhus,
fortress and gabled house,
Stockholm som varit!
Stockholm of yore
Famnadt af ekars krans
held by a wreath of oaks,
Skimra i minnets glans!
bright in the light of memory
Dröj, en romantisk dröm!
stay, a romantic dream!
Spegla i stilla ström
Reflect in the gentle water
tinnar och torn och torg
spires and towers and marketplaces,
Vasarnes borg!
castle of the Vasa dynasty!
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The illusionary quality of the exhibition and the double illusion of Gamla Stockholm (illusion within the illusion) are highlighted in the formulation “Skimra i minnets glans”: Only in the light of memory is this “romantic dream” of a reconstructed city shimmering, visible, and accessible (Pred 1991: 67).41 The use of the term “romantic” is especially significant, since in literary debates of the later nineteenth century, “romantic” often served as a symbol for illusionary, obsolete aesthetic ideals not matching the new times and their creative urges. Obviously, Snoilsky suggests no rite de passage, and he does not bridge the gap from the past back to modernity. Stenhammar’s music reinforces Snoilsky’s distanced reading of the exhibition ideology of visual overwhelm. He even takes up phrases and harmonies from the cantata’s introduction. There, they had assumed a visionary, future-looking quality, associated with the long-awaited exhibition and its possibilities. In the Gamla Stockholm part, Stenhammar uses them instead to point to the imaginary, transitory character of the project. “Hägring i sagoljus” sounds like an angel choir, a message from another world. It conforms to the oratorio-like characteristics of the cantata, but in performance at the opening ceremony, it lacked a ceremonial subject because it took neither the priest’s nor the parish’s voice. The fragmented “Du gamla, du fria” has the last word. Stenhammar’s use of this melody opens up several meta-references. Besides the fact that “Du gamla, du fria” supposedly was played at the ceremonial inauguration supper later that evening (see Svenska dagbladet, 16 May 1897), it was, within the exhibition sphere, easy to predict that “Du gamla, du fria” was going to be frequently sung and heard to be performed by visitors (Ekström 2012)—according to familiar exhibition habits, even by visitors from other countries. 42 To the ironies of history belongs the fact that just the Gamla Stockholm part of the cantata probably suffered most from the plein-air performance imposed on the work post festum (Wallner 1991, Vol. 1: 522).
41 Allan Pred speaks of the “illusion of all exhibitionary illusions” (Pred 1991: 67). 42 On Stockholm’s reports on people singing national anthems at the restaurant Hasselbacken, see Ekström (1994: 127).
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Music example 3: Gamla Stockholm, second part [III, mm. 177–206]
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Source: Stenhammar 1897
III. CONCLUSIONS How does all this contribute to the question of music, and to Nordic modernity in Stenhammar’s music? First, the conventional dichotomy of “functional” versus “autonomous” music, often applied to so-called “occasional works,” is misleading.43 Composers do not simply serve the exhibition ideology with their music. They rather read it and comment on it. Music is loaded with meaning—and obviously not only in its lyrics. It is enhanced by meanings that stem from self-referential musical techniques in production, performance, and reception. Meanings are ascribed to it by performers and listeners, in the same way as the visitors loaded the visual exhibition spaces with meaning. This is even more important to be
43 Concerning secular cantatas, the problematic distinction “functional” vs. “autonomous” has already been criticized by Konold (1975: 107-8).
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remembered, because some exhibition scholars from other disciplines do not believe that music can take a stance on its own at all—which leads to unhistorical value judgments if opening cantatas and their counterparts are compared to normative models of modernity and autonomous work and deemed insufficient (examples for this are Pred 1991 and Ytreberg 2014). Brigitte Schroeder-Gudehus has in an insightful article commented on exhibitions as fields of ideas and agents of partly oppositional forces (Schroeder-Gudehus 2002; see also Geppert 2010; Großbölting 2008; Zelljadt 2005). The executive committee was no single power that controlled everything. Rather, the exhibitionary field was characterized by a multitude of diverging agents. Their ideological, political, and practical agendas were at times only very loosely connected, at times even opposed or entirely separated. Architects, poets, and composers were working as commissionaires, but also as urban, regional, and national citizens. As cultural mediators to their respective publics and with their transnational experience and their respective interpretative agents (choirs, soloists, conductors, etc.), they had artistic choices—and they used them. It is revealing that the protocols of the executive committee only state that Stenhammar and Snoilsky were commissioned to create the cantata—and that they were awarded the respectable sum of 1,000 crowns each, what a first-prize winner in the arts exhibitions received (Stockholm, Riksarkivet: Utställningsbestyrelser [U7: förvaltningsutskottets protokoll]). There are no traces of external influences upon the compositional process other than small text alterations in connection with the official invitation to Russia. Within the space of modernity of the Nordic Arts and Industry Exhibitions, the term “Nordic” has been loaded with different layers of meaning: (1) “Nordicness” is a category meant to allow for global and international exchange. The official exhibition report mentions resonances from Africa, Asia, America, and even Australia via press excerpts, with the exhibition’s claim to represent Nordic modernity. But “Nordicness” also serves regionally as the basis for inter-“Nordic” business relationships between the exhibitors. In this respect, even the “Oriental” elements in Fredrik Boberg’s acclaimed architecture were no contradiction to this image of modern Nordic world openness.44 (2) At the same time, the self-image as “Nordic” and “modern” was part of the Swedish politics of hegemony in the region, with the aim to tie Norway more closely to the Swedish state.
44 See international reports on the exhibition collected in Looström (1900, Vol. 1: plate 25, after page 134): “Uttalanden i verldspressen rörande utställningen. Facsimile”.
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(3) The concepts of “Nordic” and “national” in relation to modernity are thus entangled in an ambiguous way. On the one hand, the exhibitions at Stockholm and Copenhagen were regarded by the public and organizers as a sequence of common “Nordic” (= “Scandinavian”) “modern” events, with much symbolic public participation and central events in Stockholm’s urban life (e.g., the Nordic Music Days), recalling the heyday of Scandinavism in the 1860s. On the other hand, the exhibition created its own distinctive imaginary and legitimating history of exclusively Swedish “Nordicness,” as Gamla Stockholm illustrates.45 Thus, the meaning of “Nordic” in this specific Swedish modernist milieu of the 1897 exhibition bears international collaborative, dynasty legitimating, national patriotic, and urban self-assuring traits (Henningsen 1997; Østergård 1997). As we have seen, Stenhammar in his music reads this Swedish interpretation of Nordic modernity in his own way. Still, one can recognize traces of all these layers in the music, most clearly in the striking passage at the end of the Gamla Stockholm part, with fragments from a patriotic song soon to be elevated to a national hymn with direct connection to the city of (Gamla) Stockholm containing the text “Thou ancient, thou free, thou mountainous North.” Is Stenhammar’s music modern? To pose the question in this way seems problematic. It presupposes that music could be substantially modern—or not. Substantiating musical modernity “in the notes” has in earlier times often implied using master narratives from various avant-garde movements. Referring overtly or covertly to post-World War II aesthetics (with Adorno as point of reference), “modern” music often was defined as music protesting against inhumanity and abuse of power, using certain “modern” compositional techniques. Around 1900, though, as we have seen, composers, musicians, and audiences experienced their access to a web of temporalities, both inside and outside the exhibition business, as one of modernity’s primary characteristics. It thus seems fruitful to look for layers of “specific historicities” 46 within composers’ creative decisions, rather than to rely on heavily burdened analytical categories, such as “advanced” (vs. “conservative”) composition techniques. Music analysis sensitive to multidimensional intra- and extramusical references might contribute to answering this
45 It is revealing that, at the Malmö exhibition of 1914, where after the dissolution of the union with Sweden in 1905, Norway was no longer welcome, the label “Nordic” could easily be replaced by “Baltic” to form an adequate international anchor for this (basically regional) event. The exchange of labels allowed for inviting Russia with Finland and Germany to participate. It naturally even facilitated aspirations for international status in a city a long distance from Sweden’s capital (Widenheim 2014). 46 Yamauchi in this volume: 326.
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question while taking specific cultural milieus into account. In-depth examination of techniques of allusion and distancing, which in my analysis could be only touched upon, might help scholars to come to terms with compositions from around 1900 with their loaded, multilayered aesthetic ambitions and historical consciousness.47 According to people from Stenhammar’s own time and milieu, the music for the cantata was decisively modern, at the most advanced position within the current state of the art, youthful, and promising for the future of Swedish musical life. Music critic Magnus Josephson praised the cantata in the journal Ord och bild (after listening to both the inauguration ceremony and the second performance at the Royal Opera one day later) for its instrumentation, its formal cohesion, and the highly personal and convincing way Stenhammar alludes to elements from “folk songs,” which leads to music in “nysvensk anda” (a neo-Swedish spirit). In the concluding paragraph Josephson makes a direct connection between the orchestral mirroring of the steam engines’ “wizzling and groaning” in the machine hall and the “effervescing” arrival of a young generation of Swedish composers, with Stenhammar in the forefront (Josephson 1897: 37; my translation).48 Modernity at the exhibition and modernity in music, in the view of Stenhammar’s coevals, walk hand in hand.
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Widenheim, Cecilia. 2014. “Förord/Preface.” In Baltiska speglingar: Malmö Konstmuseums samling. Tiden kring Baltiska utställningen 1914, eds. Cecilia Widenheim and Martin Sundberg, 10-5. Lund: Bokförlaget Arena. Widenheim, Cecilia and Martin Sundberg, eds. 2014. Baltiska speglingar: Malmö Konstmuseums samling. Tiden kring Baltiska utställningen 1914. Lund: Bokförlaget Arena. Wörner, Martin. 1999. Vergnügung und Belehrung. Volkskultur auf den Weltausstellungen 1851-1900. Münster/Tübingen: Waxmann. Wurdak, Rudolf Dieter. 1996. “Trade Fairs and Industrial Exhibitions in the Baltic Region.” In The Baltic Sea: New Developments in National Policies and International Cooperation, eds. Renate Platzöder and Philomène Verlaan, 51-84. Den Haag: Springer. Ytreberg, Espen. 2014. En forsvunnet by: Jubileumsutstillingen på Frogner 1914. Oslo: Forlaget Press. Zelljadt, Katja. 2005. “Presenting and Consuming the Past: Old Berlin at the Industrial Exhibition of 1896.” Journal of Urban History 31, no. 3: 306-33.
Different Interpretations of Musical Modernity? Xiao Youmei’s Studies in Leipzig and the Foundation of the Modern Chinese Folk Orchestra Hannes Jedeck
SHIFTING VIEWS: CHINESE ACTORS AND THEIR ROLES IN EARLY TWENTIETH CENTURY MUSIC HISTORY This chapter focuses on the changes in the world of Chinese music with its specific conditions at the beginning of the twentieth century. The attempt is to shift the focus towards actors in China and their interaction with Europe, instead of starting with a Western-centered view by stressing a European “influence” (e.g., Lee 2007; Liang 1994; Nettl 1985) on China, which tends to imply a merely “passive” receiver. Actors, as understood here, can be persons, institutions, societies, associations and media, although in this chapter only the first two are considered in more details. These actors are by no means simple “transmitters,” bringing elements of musical modernity to another place without any transformation. The idea is rather, that certain aspects of musical modernity are consciously or unconsciously “interpreted,” “adopted,” “understood/misunderstood” and “transformed” in a different environment. Of course, China was in a way forced to deal with European modernity (Takeuchi 1948: 10). Also, it cannot be denied, that “influence” is an unavoidable part of artistic process contributing also to the “originality” of an artwork as Harold Bloom showed in his study of “intra-poetic relationships” in The Anxiety of Influence (Bloom 1973). Still, the main goal here is to reevaluate the impression that Chinese musical modernity resulted out of a passive form of reception and instead stressing the importance of active interpretation by concentrating on the Chinese context and
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Chinese actors, like it has been done recently by Gong Hong-Yu (Gong 2016) among others. In the first part of this chapter, Xiao Youmei’s [Hsiao Yu-mei] (蕭友梅, 18841940), Cai Yuanpei’s [Tsai Yuan-pei] (蔡元培, 1868-1940) and Liu Tianhua’s (劉天華, 1895-1932) contributions to the establishment of musical institutions like conservatories, associations, and music groups will be introduced. In particular, the link between Chinese musicians and Leipzig in Germany, will be considered. As at that time, Leipzig was an internationally renowned city with global connections in the field of academia and music education, Xiao Youmei’s experiences in this environment and his interaction with Hugo Riemann were highly important for later developments in China itself. In the second part, another form of musical “institution” will be explored: the Modern Chinese Folk Orchestra. Because the Chinese Orchestra can neither be considered to be a pure Chinese ensemble, nor is it identical to a Western symphony orchestra, the adoption of Western elements and their implementation in a context of Chinese folk music traditions and different other contexts made it a cultural hybrid contributing to a new and special multi-contextual form of “Chineseness” at the beginning of the twentieth century.
XIAO YOUMEI AND THE FOUNDATION OF MUSICAL INSTITUTIONS IN CHINA AT THE BEGINNING OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY The music educator and composer Xiao Youmei, who is also called “the father of modern Chinese music,” can be considered one of the central figures in the development of musical education, musical creation and the institutionalization of music at the beginning of the twentieth century in China. As he experienced specific features of European musical modernity during his stay in Leipzig, this journey played an important role in his later attempts to actively implement similar (infra-) structures for music in China. Born in Zhongshan County, Guangdong, Xiao came into contact with Western music in his early childhood in Macau, back then a territory under Portuguese administration.1 At the age of seventeen, like many of his young contemporaries, he left China for studies at the Tokyo Imperial University as an education major. At the same time, he attended elective courses in voice and piano at the Tokyo
1
For further and more detailed biographical information on Xiao Youmei see Liao (1993: 1-7) and Liu (2010: 99-115).
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School of Music, where he not only was introduced to the Western-Japanese shōka (唱歌, singsong) model with its simple melodic structures, but also to European music history and more complex forms of music theory (Gong 2008: 46). At this time, Japan served as a transmitter between Europe and China and much of the development in Asia has to be seen in the context of the triangle between China, Japan and the “West” (King et al. 2012). With the Meiji Restoration decades ago, Japan had been a frontier for modernization. As many works from the “West” were translated into Japanese and the country was both geographically and culturally closer to China, many Chinese intellectuals at the beginning of the twentieth century chose Japan over Europe and the United States of America for their studies abroad (Zhang 1999: 276-329). In Tokyo, Xiao met leading figures of the Chinese intellectuals, among them Sun Wen [Sun YatSen] (孫文 [孫逸仙], 1866-1925) who later became president of the Provisory Government of the Republic of China; Xiao also joined the Chinese Revolutionary Alliance (tongmeng hui, 同盟會). Returning to China in 1910, Xiao first served the Chinese government in the Ministry of Education before he got the chance to visit Germany. In 1913 he went to Leipzig to study music theory and composition at the Royal Conservatory of Music in Leipzig (Königliches Konservatorium der Musik zu Leipzig) as well as philosophy and education in the Leipzig University. His stay in Leipzig was of exceptional importance for later developments of musical institutions in China and shall thus be treated here in greater detail. When Xiao arrived in Leipzig at the beginning of the twentieth century, the city had the reputation of being the “music town” of Germany (“Musikstadt Leipzig”). As a “Musikstadt,” two institutions in Leipzig were of central importance: The Royal Conservatory of Music and the Gewandhaus concert hall with its attached orchestra, the “Gewandhausorchester.” During the nineteenth and early twentieth century, the Conservatory gained international reputation, accommodating students not only from Poland, Denmark, and Great Britain, but also from the USA and other countries outside Europe. The concentration on international students had been an important part of the Conservatory’s strategy from the start. Between 1843 and 1880, the percentage of new foreign students entering the Conservatory was around 40% (Wasserloos 2004: 66-9)—significantly higher than at Berlin’s Akademie der Künste or at the Hochschule für Musik founded by Joseph Joachim in 1869 (Keym 2011b: 145). Until 1914, the Conservatory had been an internationally leading institution in terms of foreign students (Keym 2011a: 137) and even talents from China were attracted by the German education system as can be seen from the visit of Xiao in Leipzig between 1913 and 1919.
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Besides the Conservatory, another musical institution was well known far beyond the borders of Leipzig: The Gewandhaus concert hall with its symphonic orchestra (Gewandhausorchester) and its tradition dating back far into the eighteenth century.2 Thus, when Xiao arrived in Leipzig in 1913, the musical infrastructure, the institutions and the concert life of the city that had been established over the past two hundred years had the highest standards. Especially the concerts of the Gewandhausorchester conducted by Arthur Nikisch, which in terms of artistic mastery, sound production and interpretation were exceptional in Germany, left a lasting impression on him: “I recall the history of the concerts at the Gewandhaus (name of the concert hall) in Leipzig. Although it has been established by a musical society of university students, now there are twenty-two symphony concerts (Symphonie Konzert [sic]) and ten chamber concerts hold every year that are the most famous concerts in Germany. For foreigners coming to Germany to study music, it is necessary to listen to the concerts at the Gewandhaus, only then can one judge music.” (Xiao 1920a: 158; my translation)
In his description of the performances of the Gewandhaus orchestra, Xiao explicitly mentions that they were perceived as the “most famous concerts” in the country and that “foreigners coming to Germany” needed to listen to them in Leipzig to have an idea of how high the bar for music creation and reproduction could be. This shows his opinion concerning the value of European music and concert traditions. European music and musical infrastructure were seen as a standard by Xiao (“only then can one judge music”), setting a certain bar that had to be reached. This view is also dominant in his dissertation written in Leipzig (see below). In another article published in 1920 in China, Xiao describes the conditions to create an experience of music similar to the one at the Gewandhaus in detail. There, he mentions the musical instruments of the orchestra that had a sufficient volume to be heard throughout the whole concert hall, an aspect that was important for the establishment of the Modern Chinese Orchestra later. He further points out that there were certain rules of behavior and social conventions connected to Leipzig’s concert life, e.g., that the audience wasn’t allowed to leave the concert hall during a performance, left their coats outside, and respected the numbered seats at the concert hall. In his view, “the above matters appear to be trivia, but when there is no attention paid to them, (even) if it is a good concert, they can harm the special atmosphere” (Xiao 1920a: 158; my translation).
2
For more information on the history of the Gewandhausorchester see Hanneberg 1992.
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Not only concert life in Leipzig appears prominently in his reflections on his time in Germany. Xiao stresses the fact that musical education had been well thought-out both from the system of examinations and the overall structure of departments and classes at the conservatory. He describes the division into departments of “music theory and composition,” “key instruments,” “instruments used in musical ensembles,” and “voice” and the necessity to learn more than only music theory or one instrument (Xiao 1920b: 144).3 Being also enrolled at the University of Leipzig, Xiao had the chance to get a comprehensive insight into the structure of the German education system, which served as a role model for many institutes worldwide. A main source to understand the thoughts of Xiao is his Ph.D. dissertation that he wrote in Leipzig, entitled Historical Analysis of the Chinese Orchestra until the Seventeenth Century (Eine geschichtliche Untersuchung über das chinesische Orchester bis zum 17. Jahrhundert) (Xiao 1920c). It was written under the supervision of Hugo Riemann (1849-1919), Karl Johann Konrad Weule (1864-1926), and August Conrady (1864-1925). Whereas Weule’s specialty was geography of Eastern Africa and he later became a full professor in ethnology, August Conrady’s research interests probably were closer to the topic of Xiao’s dissertation. Conrady was professor of sinology and in 1911 established what was internationally called the “School of Leipzig” (Leipziger Schule) among scholars in East Asian studies. Under his leadership and in collaboration with Karl Lamprecht (1856-1915), sinology was transformed into a general study of culture in China, in contrast to the tradition of philological studies of the Chinese classics. Xiao’s dissertation thus fit in the broader culture-oriented direction of the Leipzig sinology department. Hugo Riemann on the other hand had been a dominant figure in the field of musicology. He became professor of musicology in Leipzig in 1905 and three years later became director of the musicological seminar (Collegium Musicum). The fact that Hugo Riemann supervised Xiao’s dissertation on the history of the “Chinese Orchestra” reveals an interesting side of Riemann’s relationship to music history in other parts of the world. Xiao Youmei’s dissertation is divided into two parts. The first, “A Short History of the Chinese Orchestra,” (“Kurze Geschichte des chinesischen Orchesters”)
3
The German manuscript of his dissertation was donated by Xiao’s son, the painter Hsiao Chin (蕭勤), to the Bailusi Culture and Education Foundation (白鷺鷥文教基金會), which then made a copy for the Graduate Institute of Ethnomusicology, National Taiwan Normal University. The author thanks Dr. Huang Yu-Chen for providing the copy.
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deals with the history of what he calls “the Chinese Orchestra;”4 the second part, “A short overview over orchestra instruments” (“Kurzer Ueberblick [sic] über die Orchester-instrumente [sic]”) provides an overview of different types of Chinese instruments up until the seventeenth century and their specific characteristics. In Xiao’s view, both topics haven’t been treated in detail in any “Western” language at that time: “No regular monographic work about Chinese music has yet been published in German language; the few [works] available, are loose articles in journals [and] merely petty publications. Also, from works in other languages, like English or French, no detailed image of Chinese music or, specifically the Chinese Orchestra, can be won […]. As valuable as some European attempts in forms of essays to gain scientific results on Chinese music might be, I nevertheless did not use them in this publication, instead, [and] to create a first basis on which further research can start, [I only used] sources of Chinese literature.” (Xiao 1920c: i; my translation)
Interestingly enough, Xiao describes the “Western” sources—although he did not use them—at least as “attempts to achieve scientific results,” whereas he calls the Chinese writings “Chinese literature.” From the beginning, he seems to be rather critically considering the extent of their content and reliability: “I had to evaluate the material, collected by my fellow countrymen, once more, as the Chinese sources were partly scattered, [and] almost all of them [were] non-uniform and nonsystematic. Also, I had to eradicate many prejudices, shown at least by the conservative ethicists; they condemned worldly music from the start and rejected to report about it.” (Xiao 1920c: ii; my translation)
In his view, the “conservative ethicists” he mentions, were more concerned about aesthetics than about systematical, fact-based history of music. His source-critical attitude shows connections to German musicology, where scholars started to fundamentally question musical and other written sources at least half a century before. As Xiao objects, both systematical order of sources and questioning of legends and passed on traditions were not common in most of the previous writings on music from China. When Xiao describes different stages in the history of Chinese orchestras, he always specifically mentions the sources he used, such as the
4
This term is used here for Chinese music in ancient times in a different way than it is used in China in the twentieth century and the kind of ensembles that would develop in China later on, during the 1930s (see below).
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“Rites of the Zhou” (zhou li, 周禮), which he refers to in his Chapter II on the music during the Zhou dynasty. In the beginning, Xiao points out that there were major differences between the history of the Chinese orchestra and the history of the orchestra in a Western sense. In his view, unlike the Western term “orchestra” in ancient Greek, which first implied a place for performances and only later in Central and Southern Europe developed towards the practice of a certain ensemble of musicians that played compositions for an audience on a stage, in Chinese history, “orchestra” would simply mean a gathering of instrumentalists, nothing more: “But in China, the word ‘orchestra’ always had only one meaning, namely the sum of instrumentalists. Even though the word itself, depicting an orchestra, changed time after time, it was still and always related to the instrumentalists. In general, the term orchestra corresponds to the word ‘yueh’ [sic] (樂, music) in China.” (Xiao 1920c: iv; my translation)
He points out that there was no specific difference between the word “orchestra” and the general term “music” itself, contradicting his previous statement, that “orchestra” just meant the sum of instrumentalists. There might have been a general use for the word “orchestra” as music and a more specific one for “orchestra,” meaning a number of different instrumentalists. In his introduction to the dissertation, Xiao stresses the strong link between the ruling state, music, and musical ensembles in Chinese history as a second difference between China and the West. In his view, the major disturbing factor in the “development” of Chinese music5 in the past had been the changing regimes and with them a certain unsteadiness: “In contrast to [those in] Europe, China’s orchestras played a more important role, as they were not only utilized to create music and, connected to it, joy, but at the same time served as a kind of state-institution of even political importance. […] Every new dynasty created a new [kind of] music, implemented music-administrations and orchestras, [and] commissioned additional compositions[.]” (Xiao 1920c: ii-iii; my translation)
Although underestimating the role of royal dynasties for the history of European music, the erasure of the previous musical traditions once a new ruler took over at the beginning of a new dynasty, mentioned here, has certainly been a specific characteristic of Chinese music.
5
As another factor for an “undeveloped Chinese music,” he mentions the Confucian traditions in China (Xiao 1920c: iii; my translation).
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In the main part of the dissertation, Xiao’s descriptions on the different stages of music from 3000 BCE to 1700 CE show a lot of chronologization and sober systematization. He provides detailed lists of the instruments of ensemble formations in different times, such as the hung-up instrumental formations during the Zhou dynasty (Xiao 1920c: 4) or the two “big” and “small orchestra” formations during Song dynasty (Xiao 1920c: 34). Also, music education takes an important part in his descriptions, including different ministries and institutions and their changing influence over the centuries. This being said, one has to have in mind that a major goal of his was to understand why there were differences between Western and Chinese music and that he was following an agenda to “improve” Chinese musical practice and education for the future at the beginning of the twentieth century. His statement about music education during the Zhou dynasty thus appears in a different light: “It is true, that the disposition of stately order of the Zhou dynasty didn’t only serve as a role model back then, but in many respects could also serve as one today. Therefore, Professor Carl Lamprecht called this time ‘the first golden age of world cultural history’.” (Xiao 1920c: 4; my translation)
On the other hand, the dominant view of a superiority of Western music can be spotted in many parts of the text, e.g., when Xiao writes about the music after Song and Yuan dynasty: “From there on, orchestral music in purely instrumental pre-, inter- and postludes also occasionally showed polyphony. But in no way, one can find the kind of polyphony parallel in two or more voices or within the same kind of instruments; a development towards the style of motets, canons or fugues did not take place in Chinese music.” (Xiao 1920c: v; my translation)
His point of view becomes even more obvious, when he concludes about the Chinese instruments: “Although the Chinese possessed—as the oldest and well-known wind instrument—the sheng, with its complex layout and metal latches, one doesn’t find any applied pads on other wind instruments yet[.] Brass instruments are missing valves and sliders. The string instruments don’t have a silencer, and unfortunately, the Chinese weren’t able to build a keyboard-instrument on their own, which is of highest importance, when it comes to musical education.” (Xiao 1920c: 132; my translation)
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Here, an (hidden) agenda seems to be revealed, namely to modify and modernize Chinese instruments and Chinese music. Xiao’s dissertation can be seen as an attempt to understand the deep roots of the Chinese past with the goal of drawing the right consequences from it and learning from it for the future. In the second part of his dissertation about the Chinese musical instruments, he already divides those into “rhythm instruments” (“Rhythmische Instrumente, Tanzattribute und Schlaginstrumente”), “wind instruments” (“Blasinstrumente”), and “string instruments” (“Saiteninstrumente”) foreshadowing the sectional subdivisions of instruments in “Chinese Orchestras” developed later on. From the perspective of musical modernization within China, his dissertation—although it only covers its music history until 1700 BC—can be considered a key source. Table 1 shows Xiao’s division of Chinese instruments. Also other authors explored the division of instruments in Chinese ensemble structures around the same time, among them Wang Guangqi [Wang Kwang-Chi] (王光祈), a former activist and founder of the Young China Association (shaonian zhongguo xuehui, 少年中國學會). After finishing his bachelor’s degree in law in 1918, Wang started to work for different journals in China, like the Weekly Critic (meizhou pinglun, 每週評論) and the New Youth (xin qingnian, 新青年). When he decided to move to Germany in 1920 “to study Western modernity” (Gong 2016: 91), his life took an unexpected turn. In his 16 years abroad, he dedicated his life not only to the understanding of political and economic issues in Germany, but also to the study of music. Throughout the 1920s, Wang Guangqi began to publish a series of articles on Western music and its relationship e.g. to poetry, theatre and society (Huang 2015: 196). Later, he started to write articles about Chinese music, its tonal system (1925), its meaning in Chinese society (1926), its notational system (1928) and metrical system (1929) (Huang 2015: 201-3). Wang’s research culminated in his famous History of Chinese Music (zhongguo yinyueshi, 中國音樂史) from 1934, in which the classification of instruments played an important role. Having studied under Erich Moritz von Hornbostel (1877-1935) in Berlin, he gained deep insight in comparative musicology with all its implications and doubted the usability of the traditional Chinese way to systemize instruments in eight categories (bayin, 八音) (Wang 1934: 148-9). Already some years before Wang Guangqi published his History of Chinese Music, Xiao Youmei returned to China. It was in 1920, the time of the New Culture Movement, with the May Fourth Movement in 1919 and its pursuit of Western democracy and science still at present. Xiao returned with a Ph.D. in the field of musicology and broad knowledge of the German musical education system. This was rather exceptional, as many of his contemporaries thought he would have learned “all Western musical instruments” (Xiao 1920b: 144) in Germany. With
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Table 1: Division of instruments in Xiao Youmei’s Ph.D. dissertation
Source: Xiao 1920c
Xiao’s background it would have been easy for him to get a secure position in the Chinese government. Still, he chose another way to use his comprehensive knowledge. His first stop was Beijing, where he met another prominent reformer, Cai Yuanpei, who had studied philosophy, psychology, art history, and ethnology in Leipzig between 1907 and 1912, with teachers such as the historian Karl Lamprecht, the psychologist Wilhelm Wundt (1832-1920), and as for Xiao, Karl Johann Konrad Weule. In China at the beginning of the twentieth century, it was due to Cai that aesthetic education (meiyu, 美育) was implemented as one of five points on the agenda of the Provisory Government of the Republic of China and
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later appeared in the curricula of preschool and middle schools. Following a Confucian ideal of self-cultivation, music, for Cai, was an essential part of moral and ethical education. In 1916 a group of students at Beijing University had founded the Music Group of Beijing University (beijingdaxue yinyuetuan, 北京大學音樂團), which was in the beginning a loose group interested in performance and discussion of Western and Chinese music. They had no concrete plan of study, nor a constitution that would set ground rules or define topics of interest. Only when Cai became interested did the group’s character change and become more scientific. Cai decided to call the group Research Society for Music Theory (yueli yanjiuhui, 樂理 研究會) and wrote a constitution for it himself. It was much due to Cai’s efforts that the research society could become a research and teaching institute affiliated with Beijing University—the Society for Music Research of Beijing University (Beijing daxue yinyueyanjiuhui, 北京大學音樂研究會). Cai, being the principal of the society, was responsible for the staff and the curriculum. He invited musical educators who had studied in Japan such as Wang Lu (王露, 1878-1921), a qin player who had graduated from the Tokyo School of Music, and Chen Zhongzi (陳 仲子), who was responsible for adding Chinese poetry, psychology, music theory, music teaching methodology, and aesthetics as new subjects of study to the curriculum (Liu 2010: 82). In this context Xiao, newly returned from Germany, was hired for both administrative and artistic responsibilities. Due to his experience in Leipzig, he decided that not aesthetic education with moral and ethical self-cultivation in a Confucian sense but the “fostering of musical talent” (yangcheng yuexue rencai, 養成樂學人才) should be the central goal of music education. With him as a new (quasi) leader, the society changed its name once more, to Institute for the Promotion and Practice of Music (yinyue chuanxisuo, 音樂傳習 所), translated in Xiao’s own writings as “Conservatory of Music” (Xiao 1923: 207), which can be interpreted as a sign of its relationship to Leipzig’s conservatory (Gong 2008: 47). Xiao Youmei and Cai Yuanpei were leading figures in the promotion of a new musical infrastructure in Beijing who had experienced the aesthetic, social, and infrastructural musical system in Leipzig. Although they didn’t directly copy the educational system of Leipzig, they actively engaged in the process of building up musical societies, journals, and the Institute of Music with teachers from outside of China. Later they became the founders of the first conservatory of music in China, the Shanghai Conservatory of Music (shanghai yinyuexueyuan, 上海音樂
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學院), grounded in 1927.6 Their attempt to supply musical and educational standards connected to the European ones nevertheless was compatible with the sociopolitical environment of China at the beginning of the twentieth century and can be considered an act of adoption, interpretation, and transformation of important parts of European musical modernity.
THE “MODERN CHINESE FOLK ORCHESTRA” With the developing interconnections and an intensified exchange between China and Europe (also via Japan and the Soviet Union as intermediaries), not only the institutional basis for music education changed in China at the beginning of the twentieth century, but also the musical system itself, the role of musicians and composers, and the outline of ensembles and even of musical instruments. The Modern Chinese Folk Orchestra, which is neither completely Western nor completely Chinese, is a manifestation of these interconnections. Its development has to be seen in a context of political and social change, in which certain actors found ways to grasp erstwhile foreign ideas and interpret them within a Chinese context, thus contributing to its specific transformation. It cannot be reduced to “Western influence” used in most of the literature on the Chinese Orchestra (Han/Gray 1979; Tsui 1998; 2002; Wong 2009), as the interaction of several contexts and actors were important for the ensemble’s uprising. One of the main actors in respect to the development of the Chinese Orchestra was the composer and renovator of Chinese music Liu Tianhua, who learned to play both Western and Chinese musical instruments as a child. After playing trumpet and flute in a marching band in middle school, Liu took piano and violin lessons while he was working in Shanghai at the Music Group of Ten Thousand States (wanguo yinyuedui, 萬國音樂隊) affiliated with the Kaiming Drama Society (kaiming jushe, 開明劇社). When the society closed down, Liu returned to his home province, Jiangsu, in 1914. There he started to learn the Chinese twostringed fiddle, erhu (二胡), and the lute, pipa (琵琶), from local masters of the instruments. This kind of musical education had been the common model before the institutional changes of the early twentieth century. In Jiangsu, he got in contact with local folk music traditions, especially the music of Jiangnan sizhu (江 南絲 竹 ), literally translated as “south of the river silk and bamboo music.” Jiangnan sizhu, together with Fujian nanyin (福建南音), Taiwan nanguan (台灣
6
For more detailed information concerning the history of the Shanghai Conservatory of Music, see Schimmelpenninck/Kouwenhoven (1993) and Melvin/Cai (2004: 95-100).
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南管), Chaozhou music (潮州音樂), and the music predominant in Guangdong (廣東音樂), belongs to the kind of musical practices dominated by string and flute. Its instrumentation is flexible, although it mostly consists of the chordophones erhu, pipa, xiao sanxian (小三線) and yangqin (揚琴), the aerophones dizi (笛子), xiao (簫) and sheng (笙), the ideophone bangu (板鼓), and the membranophone diangu (點鼓). As all the participants play only one melody, improvisation on and ornamentation of the main melody, called “adding flowers” (jiahua, 加 花), is an important element of the performances of Jiangnan sizhu music. A heterophonic sound created by “idiomatic differences among the instruments and sometimes by each player’s free interpretation” (Witzleben 2002: 223-6) is a typical feature of this kind of music. Liu’s contact with Jiangnan sizhu was crucial, as he would later develop an early form of the “Chinese Orchestra” that was based on a sizhu ensemble structure. In 1922, Liu Tianhua joined the Institute of Music led by Cai Yuanpei and Xiao Youmei in Beijing, where he taught the erhu and got the chance to be actively involved in the process of “modernization” of Chinese music. At Beida (Beijing University) he founded the Society for Improving National Music (guoyue gaijinsh, 國樂改進社) and issued a musical journal called New Music Tide (xin yuechao, 新樂潮). In the first edition of the journal, he published two articles on the current situation of Chinese music and the newly founded society, entitled “The Origins of the Society for Improving National Music” and “My Plans for the Society.”7 Liu Tianhua, like many Chinese intellectuals of his time, was convinced that Chinese music had to be renewed by integrating elements of Western music on the one hand and preserving Chinese folk music traditions on the other hand: “We want to introduce Western music to help to improve [Chinese music]. Moreover, we want to learn from Western music and its harmonic system and use Western instruments to raise Chinese music to the level of music of the world.” (Liu 1927: 185; my translation)
The sentiment was often repeated, that Chinese music was “backward” compared to Western music and the solution was to renovate it by means of adopting Western elements, in different writings on Chinese music at that time. In Liu’s view, progress could only be made by a combination of Chinese and Western musical elements:
7
For more information on the articles, the society, and Liu Tianhua’s activities in Beijing, see Chen 2010, Peng 2011, and Wong 1988.
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“It is necessary to take the essence of a country’s heritage on the one hand and to incorporate influences from outside on the other hand. Out of the mixture and synthesis of East and West, a new way can be achieved. Not until then can one talk about ‘progress’.” (Liu 1927: 185; my translation)
Especially the Society for Improving National Music, consisting of 35 members, including professors from the Institute of Music and university students, provided him with a sufficient basis for some of the “plans” he had in mind. Being a skilled player of the Chinese fiddle, he transferred playing techniques of the Western violin like vibrato, glissando, and tremolo to the erhu and standardized the tuning of the two strings according to the interval of the fifth (Liang 1996). In the pieces Liu composed for the technically “improved” instrument, he used the Western notation system, which had been unusual for Chinese folk musical instruments. Attached to the Society for Improving National Music was a music group consisting basically of the instruments of a Jiangnan sizhu ensemble. Liu, being the leader of the ensemble, began to experiment with new formations by duplicating the instruments—an approach that had not been common in sizhu music before, as every player had the chance to independently “add flowers” to a given melody. He furthermore established the erhu as a leading melodic instrument equal to the Western violin in its status. These changes can be seen as a basis for the later developments of the Chinese Orchestra consisting of a mixture of Chinese folk music ensembles and Western musical practices. Attempts to enlarge Chinese musical ensembles were also made by Zheng Jinwen (鄭覲文, 1872-1935) in Shanghai, the leader of the Great Unity Music Society (Datong yuehui, 大同樂會) in the late 1920s. His idea was to reintroduce court music, yayue (雅樂), from the Tang dynasty to China. For this purpose, he combined instruments of sizhu music with ancient instruments like the da hulei (大忽 雷) and xiao hulei (小忽雷), two plucked string instruments from the Tang dynasty, and the shuangqin (双琴), a plucked string instrument from Han opera music in the Qing dynasty (Chen 2012: 70). Zheng Jinwen—despite having a different purpose than Liu Tianhua—also duplicated certain instruments in his ensemble and divided them into sections of bowed strings (xian yue, 絃樂), plucked strings (tanbo yue, 彈撥樂), wind instruments (chuiguan yue, 吹管樂), and percussion (dagu yue, 大鼓樂), thus providing the basis for other forms of orchestra-like ensembles. The pieces played by the ensemble were mostly arrangements made by members of the Great Unity Music Society, such as Moonlight Over the River Spring (chunjiang huayueye, 春江花月夜) arranged by Liu Yaozhang together with Zheng Jinwen.
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An important aspect concerning the development of the Modern Chinese Orchestra was the “improvement”8 of instruments. The modification of Chinese instruments and the invention of new ones can be seen as a reaction to the changing aesthetic standards that were part of the normative aspects of European musical modernity. Xiao Youmei and Cai Yuanpei had been to Germany, and at least for Xiao there is lot of evidence that he listened to the concerts of the Gewandhausorchester, which at the beginning of the twentieth century under the Hungarian conductor Arthur Nikisch was a representative par excellence of these standards. The Chinese instruments sounded “noisy” and “impure” in comparison with the Western ones heard by Xiao in Leipzig. The “Chinese” sound had its advantages, e.g., in Jiangnan sizhu music, in which inflections and varied timbre were desired, but had its disadvantages in an orchestral formation with the goal to create a homogeneous sound. Thus, “improvement” was directed toward equal temperament and timbre for a better “blending,” as well as accurate intonation and increased pitch range of the instruments.9 It began in the 1920s and continued after the first “Chinese Orchestra” had been established in 1935 at the Central Broadcasting Station in Nanjing. For the string instruments, one of the first “improvements” was to replace the traditional silk strings with metal strings to create greater string tension and as a result, a clearer and stronger tone as well as an extended pitch range. In the 1920s, Lü Wencheng (呂文成, 1898-1981) constructed a soprano version of the erhu, the gaohu (高胡), by raising its tuning by the interval of a perfect fourth, which was possible with metal strings. Later in the twentieth century, a cello-like instrument, the gehu (革胡), was invented with the intention to have the full scope of string instruments from soprano to bass. The same was done with the plucked lute ruan (阮), resulting in a daruan (大阮, large ruan), zhongruan (中阮, medium ruan), and diruan (低阮, low ruan). Furthermore, the frets of the struck lutes were all changed to chromatic and tempered arrangements. Also, new flutes were made of wood instead of bamboo and more holes were added to them, making it possible to reproduce a full chromatic scale. During their performances, the Chinese Orchestra established in 1935 in Nanjing adopted certain features of Western musical practices such as following the lead of a conductor and playing the music from scores. It might be due to the ambiguity of the character of the Chinese Orchestra, missing the “authenticity” of Chinese ensembles yet not being part of an
8
The term is used here as the English translation of the Chinese term gaijin (改進).
9
For more information on the development of the Chinese Orchestra, see Brace 1992: 23855; Chen 2012; Han/Gray 1979; Thrasher 2000: 88-92; Tsui 1998; 2002; Utz 2014: 12-4.
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international avant-garde music, that it is seen rather critically among different scholars (e.g., Utz 2014: 13-4). Although it seems tempting to reduce the development of the Chinese Orchestra to being a “copy” of the Western symphony orchestra, which has been done in most of the early writings on the ensemble (e.g. Gao 1965: 87), various other contexts have to be taken into account for a comprehensive understanding of its very character. In her doctoral dissertation, Chen Ching-Yi examines at least three important contexts “within China”: The performance groups in the Russian exile in Harbin, of which some consisted of mandolin, saxophone, guitar and several Chinese instruments, Western musical activities and performances held in cosmopolitan Shanghai at that time, especially the Municipal Orchestra under the Italian conductor Mario Paci (1878-1946) and a “gradual synthesis of domestic and foreign instruments” (Chen 2012: 60-2). Also, for the early formation period of the Chinese Orchestra, the role of international exchange and its manifestation in institutions like the Institute of Music attached to Beijing University and the Chinese Orchestra should not be underestimated.10 In the 1930s, the very early phase of the Chinese Orchestra, composers first had to get used to the possibilities of the new ensemble. Nie’er (聶耳, 1912-1935), for example, did not yet make use of Western harmonies in his early works. His arrangements from this time are stylistically still far away from the compositions of the era after 1949 summarized under the term “pentatonic romanticism” (Mittler 1997: 33), which contributed to the image of “Chinese Orchestra music being a copy” of Western music. In Nie’er’s works like Wild Dance of the Golden Snake11 (jinshe kuangwu, 金蛇狂舞), changes of “register” between the different instrument sections play an important role, that leads to changing timbre and variety. Variety, bianzou ( 變 奏 ), on the other hand, is a distinct feature of Jiangnan sizhu music (Thrasher 1993: 4-20), although especially the kind of variety that implies that every performance is different, because notes are added spontaneously, is (paradoxically) undermined by a fixed score. Other attempts to contribute to the development of orchestral music for the new ensemble were
10 Research on connections between the Great Russian Orchestra founded by Vasily Andreyev in 1881 and the establishment of the Chinese Orchestra could be also illuminative, as during the early twentieth century the exchange with the Soviet Union had been intensified in the field of music (although mainly being one-directional). 11 Based on an original recording from 1934. At this time members of the ensemble had to play more instruments each, as the number of participants was very limited. For more information see Wang (2001). Mr. Wang participated in the ensemble led by Nie’er and provides valuable information about the genesis of the piece.
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made by Ren Guang (任光, 1900-1941) with his Coloured Cloud Chasing the Moon (caiyun zhuiyue, 彩雲追月) from 1932, or Beautiful Flowers on a Full Moon (huahao yueyuan, 花好月圓) in 1935 by Huang Yijun (黃貽鈞, 19151995).
CONCLUSION Of course, China had been under pressure to “modernize” at the beginning of the twentieth century, which did not happen on a voluntarily basis. In Takeuchi’s famous article on “modernity” from 1948, he speaks of a “forced modernity.” “The modernity of Asia is the result of a force by Europe and was induced by it.” (Takeuchi 1948: 10; my translation) Takeuchi points out, that it was the longing of Europe for Asia, which made it expand. In his interpretation of Lu Xun’s (魯 迅) fictional figure of the “slave,” he dialectically juxtaposes Europe and Asia as two sides of the same coin by quoting the Chinese author with his words: “A slave and a master over a slave are both the same.” (Takeuchi 1948: 37; my translation) Despite Takeuchi’s view of a Chinese modernity that came by “force,” it has to be taken into account that there was still room for individual responsibility and the chance to actively think and decide, which way would be the best way for China given the circumstances as they were at the beginning of the twentieth century. The decision of the Chinese students in Germany to grasp foreign elements and by this trying to adopt to a changing environment at home, seems plausible even looked at from today’s perspective. Keeping in mind that one of the main actors of institutional change in Beijing, Xiao Youmei, experienced the Gewandhausorchester in Leipzig and wrote his dissertation on the history of Chinese music under the supervision of Hugo Riemann. It is obvious, that he brought new ideas to China, where they began to spread. It can be said, that he incorporated different contexts and interpreted them according to the sociopolitical situation in his home country. The duplication of instruments in the sizhu group within the context of Beijing University, led by Liu Tianhua, and the application of techniques from the Western violin can also be seen as attempts to make use of aesthetical and technical concepts that were only becoming accessible at that time, paving the way for new hybrid musical styles and a hybrid new form of “Chineseness.” The actors of Chinese musical modernity had the chance to actively grasp elements that had been foreign to them before and by this actively shaped the outline of China’s musical world.
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REFERENCES Bloom, Harold. 1973. The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry. New York: Oxford University Press. Brace, Timothy Lane. 1992. Modernization and Music in Contemporary China: Crisis, Identity, and the Politics of Style. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Texas. Chen, Ching-Yi. 2012. Musical Hybridity: Guoyue and Chinese Orchestra in Taiwan. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Sheffield. Chen Jingya (陈婧雅). 2010. “Liutianhua minzuyinyue sixiang yanjiu” (刘天华 民族音乐思想研究, Research on Liu Tianhua’s Concept of Folk Music). Yinyuetansuo (音乐探索) 2: 37-40. Gao Ziming (高子明). 1965. Xiandaiguoyue. (現代國樂, Modern National music), 2nd ed. Taipei: Cheng Chung Bookstore (正中書局). Gong, Hong-Yu. 2008. “Music, Nationalism and the Search for Modernity in China, 1911-1949.” New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies 10, no. 2: 38-69. ———. 2016. “An Accidental Musicologist – Wang Guangqi (1892-1936) and Sino-German Cultural Interaction in the 1920s and 1930s.” In The Strange Sound. Proceedings of the International Symposium on Chinese Musicology in Bonn, October 3–4, 2014, eds. Mariana Münning et al., 87-123. Bonn: Ostasien-Institut e.V. Han Kuo-Huang and Judith Gray. 1979. “The Modern Chinese Orchestra.” Asian Music 11, no. 1: 1-43. Hanneberg, Fritz. 1992. Das Leipziger Gewandhausorchester. Frankfurt a.M.: Insel Verlag. Huang Yu-Chen (黃于真). 2015. Ershi shiji shangban ye. Zhongguo yinyueshi xiezuomailuo tanxi (二十世紀上半葉中國音樂史寫作脈絡探析, An Analysis of the Writing Contexts of Chinese Music History in the First Half of the Twentieth-Century). Ph.D. dissertation. National Taiwan Normal University. Keym, Stefan. 2011a. “Das Leipziger Konservatorium als internationaler Ausbildungsort: Einführung.” In Musik in Leipzig, Wien und anderen Städten im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert: Verlage—Konservatorien—Salons—Vereine—Konzerte (Musik–Stadt. Traditionen und Perspektiven urbaner Musikkulturen, Vol. 3), eds. Stefan Keym and Katrin Stöck, 137-41. Leipzig: Gudrun Schröder Verlag. ———. 2011b. “Leipzig oder Berlin? Statistik und Ortswahlkriterien ausländischer Kompositionsstudenten um 1900 als Beispiel für einen institutionsgeschichtlichen Städtevergleich.” In Musik in Leipzig, Wien und anderen Städten im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert: Verlage—Konservatorien—Salons—Vereine—
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Konzerte (Musik–Stadt. Traditionen und Perspektiven urbaner Musikkulturen, Vol. 3), eds. Stefan Keym and Katrin Stöck, 142-64. Leipzig: Gudrun Schröder Verlag. King, Richard et al., eds. 2012. Sino-Japanese Transculturation: Late Nineteenth Century to the End of the Pacific War. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Lau, Frederick. 2008. Music in China: Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture. New York: Oxford University Press. Lee, Wendy. 2007. Chinese Composers, Western Piano Works: Unpacking Aspects of Musical Influence. Saarbrücken: VDM Verlag Dr. Müller. Liang Maochun. 1996. “Tianhua Liu—A Contemporary Revolutionary of the Erhu.” Sonus 17, no. 1: 44-52. Liang, Yongsheng. 1994. Western Influence on Chinese Music in the Early Twentieth Century. Ph.D. dissertation. Stanford University. Liao Fushu (廖辅叔). 1993. Xiao Youmei zhuan (萧友梅传, A Biography of Xiao Youmei). Hangzhou: Zhejiang People’s Fine Arts Publishing House (浙江美 术出版社). Liu Ching-chih. 2010. A Critical History of New Music in China. Translated by Caroline Mason. Hong Kong: Chinese University Press. Liu Tianhua (刘天华). [1927] 1997. “Guoyue gaijinshe yuanqi” (国乐改进社缘 起, The Origins of the Society for Improving National Music). In Liu Tianhua quanji (刘天华全集, Collected Writings of Liu Tianhua), ed. Liu Yuhe. Beijing: People’s Music Publishing House (人民音乐出版社). Melvin, Sheila and Cai Jindong. 2004. Rhapsody in Red: How Western Classical Music Became Chinese. New York: Algora Publishing. Mittler, Barbara. 1997. Dangerous Tunes: The Politics of Chinese Music in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and the People’s Republic of China Since 1949. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Nettl, Bruno. 1985. The Western Impact on World Music: Change, Adaptation, and Survival. New York: Schirmer Books. Peng Wei (彭薇). 2011. “Liutianhua guoyue gaijinshe yuanqi manlun” (刘天华< 囯乐改进社缘起>漫论, Desultory Remarks on Liu Tianhua’s ‘Origins of the Society for Improving National Music’). Neimenggu yishu (内蒙古艺术) 1: 62-5. Schimmelpenninck, Antoinet, and Frank Kouwenhoven. 1993. “The Shanghai Conservatory of Music: History and Foreign Students’ Experiences.” CHIME 6: 56-91. Takeuchi, Yoshimi. [1948] 2005. “Was bedeutet die Moderne? Der Fall Japan und der Fall China (1948)”. In Takeuchi Yoshimi. Japan in Asien.
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Geschichtsdenken und Kulturkritik nach 1945, ed. and trans. Wolfgang Seifert and Christian Uhl, 9-55. München: IUDICIUM Verlag. Thrasher, Alan. 1993. “Bianzou: Performance Variation Techniques in Jiangnan Sizhu.” CHIME 6: 4-21. ———. 2000. Chinese Musical Instruments. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. Tsui, Yingfai. 1998. “The Modern Chinese Folk Orchestra: A Brief History.” In Tradition and Change in the Performance of Chinese Music (Musical Performance: An International Journal 2, no. 2), eds. Basil Tschaikov and Penyeh Tsao, 19-32. Singapore: Harwood Academic Publishers. ———. 2002. “Ensembles: The Modern Chinese Orchestra.” In East Asia: China, Japan and Korea (The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, Vol. 7), eds. Robert C. Provine et al., 227-32. New York: Routledge. Utz, Christian. 2014. “Introduction: Neo-Nationalism and Anti-Essentialism in East Asian Art Music since the 1960s and the Role of Musicology.” In Contemporary Music in East Asia, ed. Hee Sook Oh, 3-31. Seoul: Seoul National University Press. Wang Guangqi (王光祈). [1934] 2005. Zhongguo yinyue shi (中国音乐史, History of Chinese Music), Nanning: Guangxi Normal University Press (广西师 范大学出版社). Wang Weiyi (王为一). 2001. Nie’er de jinshe kuangwu (聂耳的《金蛇狂舞》, Wild Dance of the Golden Snake). Renmin yinyue (人民音乐) 1: 20-22. Wasserloos, Yvonne. 2004. Das Leipziger Konservatorium der Musik im 19. Jahrhundert. Anziehungs- und Ausstrahlungskraft eines musikpädagogischen Musiklebens. Hildesheim: Olms. Witzleben, Lawrence J. 2002. “Jiangnan Sizhu.” In East Asia. China, Japan and Korea (The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, Vol. 7), eds. Robert C. Provine et al., 223-6. New York: Routledge. Wong, Isabel. 1988. “From Reaction to Synthesis: Chinese Musicology in the Twentieth Century.” In Comparative Musicology and Anthropology of Music: Essays on the History of Ethnomusicology, eds. Bruno Nettl and Philip V. Bohlmann, 37-55. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wong, Samuel Shengmiao. 2009. “Hua Yue: The Chinese Orchestra in Contemporary Singapore.” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Sheffield. Xiao Youmei (萧友梅). [1920a] 2004. “Shuo Yinyuehui” (说音乐会, Talk about Concert). In Xiao Youmei quanji diyijuan—wenlunzhuanzhujuan (萧友梅全 集第一卷——文论专著卷, Collected Writings of Xiao Youmei. Vol. 1, Essays and Monographs), eds. Chen Lingquan and Luo Qin, 157–59. Shanghai:
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Shanghai Conservatory of Music Press (上海音乐学院出版社). [Originally published in Yinyuezazhi (音乐杂志) 1, no. 5/6] ———. [1920b] 2004. “Shenme shi yinyue? Waiguo de yinyuejiaoyu jiguan. Shenmeshi yuexue? Zhongguo yinyue jiaoyu bu fada de yuanyin” (什么是音 乐?外国的音乐教育机关。什么是乐学?中国音乐教育不发达的原因, What Is Music? Foreign Musical Institutions. What is Musicology? Reasons for China’s Backwardness of Musical Education). In Xiao Youmei quanji diyijuan—wenlunzhuanzhujuan (萧友梅全集第一卷——文论专著卷, Collected writings of Xiao Youmei. Vol. 1, Essays and Monographs), eds. Chen Lingquan and Luo Qin, 143–47. Shanghai: Shanghai Conservatory of Music Press (上海音乐学院出版社). [Originally published in Yinyue zazhi (音乐杂 志) 1, no. 3] ———. 1920c. Eine geschichtliche Untersuchung über das chinesische Orchester bis zum 17. Jahrhundert. Ph.D. dissertation. Leipzig University. ———. [1923] 2004. “Yinyue zhuanxisuo duiyu benxiao de xiwang” (音乐传习 所对于本校的希望, Hopes Concerning the Institute for the Promotion and Practice of Music). In Xiao Youmei quanji diyijuan—wenlunzhuanzhujuan (萧 友梅全集第一卷——文论专著卷, Collected Writings of Xiao Youmei. Vol. 1, Essays and Monographs), eds. Chen Lingquan and Luo Qin, 207–9. Shanghai: Shanghai Conservatory of Music Press (上海音乐学院出版社). Zhang Qian (張前). 1999. Zhong ri yinyue jiaoliushi (中日音乐交流史, A History of Musical Exchanges between China and Japan). Beijing: People’s Music Publishing House (人民音乐出版社).
Traditional Music, Alternative Modernity, and Internal Colonialism Reassessing the Campaigns for National Music and Folk Songs in Taiwan Kam Lap-Kwan
PURSUING ALTERNATIVE MODERNITY WITH TRADITIONAL MUSIC Provincializing Europe (Chakrabarty [2000] 2008) and Asia as Method (Chen 2010): These two programmatic and provocative book titles published at the dawn of the twenty-first century could be seen as the two sides of the same coin, encapsulating a century’s struggle since World War I.1 One side of that is the emancipation from Western hegemony by historicizing and thus relativizing Europe’s stature as the standard-bearer of modernity; the other is the empowerment of former colonized regions such as Asia to emerge from being an object of study in the Western academia to become a subject of knowledge production with inter-Asia discourse, e.g., the advocacy of the Asianization of Asian studies. The basic intention of both books should be the overcoming of center-periphery politics and epistemology bred by imperialism and colonialism under the auspices of modernity. Yet in spite of its colonialist and exploitative stigmata, the aspiration for modernity is “more often perceived as lure than as threat,” as Dilip Gaonkar observes (Gaonkar 1999: 17), and “people (not just the elite) everywhere, at every national or cultural site, rise to meet it, negotiate it, and appropriate it in their own fashion.”
1
Chen’s Asia as Method, orig. 2006 in Chinese, is inspired by Takeuchi Yoshimi’s lecture “Asia as Method,” orig. 1960 in Japanese (Takeuchi [1960] 2005: 149-65).
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Therefore a global feature of postcoloniality is the quest for “alternative modernities,” a notion proposed early on by Charles Taylor, that should “relate both the pull to sameness and the forces making for difference,” to be attained through “creative adaptation using traditional resources” (Taylor [1995] 2001: 182-3). One of the resources commonly used is traditional music, and this chapter sets out to contextualize and to reassess two seminal but somehow estranged campaigns in postcolonial Taiwan after Japanese rule from 1895 to 1945:2 first, the modernization of national music (guoyue, 國樂) since the 1950s—here the national connotes less the nation and natives than the representative and presentable; and second, the collection of folk songs (minge, 民歌) a decade later—here the folk connotes less the people and populace than the archetypal and authentic. 3 The premise of considering national music and folk songs under the same heading of traditional music is warranted by the understanding of the International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM), formerly the International Folk Music Council (IFMC) until 1981, to update and widen its vista to embrace all the “folk, popular, classical and urban” (1981: section 2).4 But while popular and urban music, either local or imported, was denounced unanimously as decadent by both the elderly national music and the youthful folk song camps (Liang 1955: 3, 6; Chiu 1968: 58-9), the latter criticized the former as inept, conservative, and ignorant of music among the people (Chiu 1968: 59-60). The two camps were nonetheless likeminded in their endeavors to counteract Eurocentrism with certain implicit “alternative modernities.” The one was about modernizing national music as classical
2
Whether this historical juncture signals the decolonization of Taiwan is problematized in this study; therefore, the term “postcolonial” is used in this text without hyphen as practiced in the related studies to denote the persistence of colonialism.
3
There was another “folk song” movement from the mid-1970s to the 1980s and after, named variously as combining Modern/Chinese Modern/Campus (xiandai/zhongguo xiandai/xiaoyuan, 現代/中國現代/校園) with Folk Song/Ballad (minge/minyao, 民歌/ 民謠). Its appeal was not the archetypal and the traditional, but rather the authentic, the down-to-earth and up-to-date (but the lyrics are mostly in Mandarin, the language of the exiled government from China enforced upon the majority of the population in Taiwan during the martial law period). The word min (民) in this context refers apparently less to the folk as nation (minzu, 民族) than the populace (minzhong, 民眾); therefore, it will not be further explored in this study (see also Han [1979] 1981). More on the terminological ambiguities in Chinese see the section “Songs of Which Folk?” below.
4
Since the latest amendment of its statute on 15 July 2017, however, the loaded notion of the “folk” is totally erased from the key document of this organization (International Council for Traditional Music 2017).
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music, ancient but not backward, on an equal footing in the modern concert hall and international cultural arena; the other was about collecting folk songs as the cornerstone of an authentic but advanced modern music with native elements and aesthetics. Here the influence of Wang Kwang-Chi (王光祈, 1892-1936), one of the first Chinese intellectuals with an European doctorate in musicology, is evident (Zheng 2001). Disillusioned after the failed May Fourth Movement of 1919, Wang postulated during his sojourn in Germany that by “sorting out firstly the ancient music of our nation on the one hand, and collecting laboriously the widely circulated folk songs and music on the other, then utilizing the scientific method of Western music,” the long-lost Chinese national music could be re-created—“a kind of music that should be good enough to broaden and heighten a nation’s upward spirit, at the same time whose value is worthy of international recognition” (Wang [1924] 2009: 358, 377). The campaigns for national music and folk songs have left far-reaching legacies on the musicological research of modern Taiwan (e.g., Hsu et al. 2001; Hsu 2002; Wang 2002).5 Yet more recent studies have been coming out that amended the historical records (e.g., Liao 2004) or analyzed the conception and sentiment of the campaigns (e.g., Tsai 2014). By rereading the seminal texts and reconnecting with overlooked contexts, this chapter questions whether these campaigns were ultimately more anti-Western than anticolonial; whether the zeal for cultural differences against the West had mutated into an internal colonialism that suppressed the diversity of vernacular music; and whether historiographers are aware of the de facto settler colonialism practiced by both camps toward the indigenous and autochthonous music cultures in Taiwan.6 To be sure, settler colonialists in Taiwan include not only those who came from different provinces of China with the Kuomintang (KMT, 國民黨, in full the Nationalist Party of China, zhongguo
5
Note that the latter two essays on Taiwan are grouped tendentiously under “Music in Chinese Society” and “Music of China’s National Minorities” in the same volume on East Asian music (Provine et al. 2002); there in the preface it is claimed that “although political boundaries have changed over time, this division has needed [sic] to cover all historical periods, so that the section on China includes Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Tibet” (Killick 2002: xvi). But if there is the need to “cover all historical periods,” there is even more the need for historical differentiation and recognition: When were Austronesian indigenous peoples in Taiwan part of “China’s national minorities”? See also Kam (2004: 123-5).
6
According to Gausset et al. (2011: 135), “[t]he term indigenous tends to be used for people who are already marginalised, while autochthonous is generally reserved for people who are dominant in a given area but fear future marginalisation.”
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guomindang, 中國國民黨) that was defeated in the Chinese Civil War by 1949. About 85% of today’s population are so-called Taiwanese peoples of Hoklo or Hakka ancestry who migrated from southern China since the late seventeenth century, but these autochthonous cultures were also marginalized by the minority of newcomers in the name of a Chinese national music (on settler colonialism in Taiwan see also Shih 2011). Neither did the Folk Song Collection Movement avoid imposing the straitjacket of Chinese culture on the music of indigenous peoples, which dwindled unfortunately to just about 2% of the total population currently. One may not go so far as Arif Dirlik to declare the search for cultural differences a “fetishization” or “obsession” (Dirlik 2013: 6),7 but these two influential campaigns—notwithstanding the constraints imposed by an authoritarian regime— should not be left unexamined due to the injustices involved in the “creative adaptation using traditional resources” to claim alternative modernities.
BETWEEN DECOLONIZATION AND INTERNAL COLONIALISM Colonialism and imperialism, as targeted in the subtitles of the abovementioned two books—Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference (Chakrabarty) and Toward Deimperialization (Chen)—are also closely related operations: beyond the imperial extension of dominion, colonialism usually involves territorial domination by a foreign minority. Strictly speaking, therefore, the colonial era that lasted some five hundred years did come to an end at the close of the twentieth century with the handovers of British Hong Kong and Portuguese Macau to China in 1997 and 1999 respectively. The hangovers of imperial structures and practices, however, still plague most former colonized territories, being kept alive through the globalization of capital and culture, media, and market. Already in the 1960s, Kwame Nkrumah, Ghanaian nationalist leader and controversial first head of state after independence, talked about the phenomenon of “neocolonialism” and saw it as “the last stage of imperialism” (Nkrumah 1965). Since the 1970s, the notion of “internal (or domestic) colonialism” has been widely adopted to depict the development of exploitation and center-periphery relationships within, rather than beyond, a country’s boundary (e.g., Blauner 1972; Hechter 1975).
7
An implicit critique of certain identity politics that has been current in Taiwan could be read from Dirlik’s paper, as it was last given as a conference keynote in 2002 at Academia Sinica, Taipei.
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To neutralize these colonial hangovers, Chakrabarty suggests deconstructing the old imperial and colonizing center by “provincializing Europe.” Yet the derogatory and somewhat retaliatory connotation of “provincializing” has irritated several European scholars (e.g., Osterhammel 2011: 110; Sachsenmaier 2007: 486). But Chakrabarty’s theory is in the main a turn from the temporal to the spatial; “that thought is related to places is central to my project of provincializing Europe” (Chakrabarty [2000] 2008: xviii). In response to the criticism of Carola Dietze (2008), Chakrabarty further elaborates that “to provincialize Europe was precisely to find out how and in what sense European ideas that were indeed universal were also, at one and the same time, drawn from particular intellectual and historical traditions that could not claim any universal validity” (Chakrabarty 2008: 96). He also denies being “a thinker of radical historicism,” inheriting the legacy of Herder, as Dietze regards him to be (Dietze 2008: 745). For he does acknowledge the significance and influences of European modernity and argues that the particular and the universal should “keep calling each other constantly into question” (Chakrabarty 2008: 94). Therefore, modernity should not be understood as a narrative of progress on a universal timescale; both the expectation and the anxiety of a “backward” periphery to catch up with the “advanced” center must be re-contextualized. That should be the implication of “historical difference” in the subtitle of Chakrabarty’s book. Indeed, the overcoming of Eurocentrism is far from the overcoming of inequalities at large, as demonstrated by the ideologies of Japan’s “Pan-Asianism” or China’s “Chinese nation/people/race” (zhonghua minzu, 中華民族) since the end of the nineteenth century. Both countries claimed the promise of modernity, but both replaced Western hegemony with center-periphery subjugation in the form of subimperialism or internal colonialism (for a recent criticism on the nation building of Japan and China see Fogel 2004). But while the former came to a halt in 1945 with the surrender of Japan at the end of World War II, the latter becomes more and more a menace to the ethnic and civic cultures in, among other places, Xinjiang, Uygur, Tibet, Hong Kong, and last but not least, Taiwan. Such repercussions of colonialism, imperialism, and the Cold War are the targets of Chen Kuan-Hsing’s project. The advocacy of “Asia as Method,” however, does not build on the triumphalism of “Asian values” over the “decline of the West” (Chen/Chua 2000: 9; for a clarification on the related discussion of “Asian values” see Chan 1997). On the contrary, Chen closes his book with a reflective and self-critical epilogue on Han Chinese racism: “As a Han Chinese, I find the task of critically engaging the oppressive aspects of the Chinese empire to be central to the de-imperialization movement […] the problem of
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racism in the Han-centric worldview is located within the structure of the imperial order” (Chen 2010: 257).8 Just as Chakrabarty’s “provincializing Europe” project has been suspected by many of excess and “moralizing the issue” (Osterhammel 2011: 110), there are concerns about Chen’s rhetoric on de-imperialization that “tends towards a moralizing style that may alienate some of his readers” (Duara 2011: 222). But such tones might be pardonable by the urgency and anxiety of the concrete situations. Foreign domination was certainly a central major concern of the two major music campaigns in Taiwan since the 1950s. However, a critical awareness of the peril of internal colonialism in the name of alternative modernity has been almost absent during the campaigns or in their reception. “The population of an internal colony as such,” according to the survey of Raju J. Das and Simon Chilvers, “faces severe discrimination in civil society, violence (as broadly defined), and restricted access to the state resources” (Das/Chilvers 2009: 189). As in the case of domestic violence, the replacement of an external subjugation by an internal one is no less awful even if it’s lawful: Witness the history of enforcing Mandarin Chinese as the official language of Taiwan. Despite the genealogical or geographical proximity, internal colonialism is not lighter colonialism, especially for those oppressed in both circumstances.
MUSIC OF WHOSE NATION? The national music campaign was launched in the 1950s by musicians exiled with the defeated KMT from China to Taiwan. The umbrella organization of the campaign was the Chinese Classical Music Association (zhonghua guoyuehui, 中華 國樂會, literally “Chinese National Music Association”), founded in 1953. By replacing the literal translation of “national” with the value-laden “classical” in its English name, it indicated the conviction of what Chen Kuan-Hsing calls “civilizationalism,” that “perhaps only by bringing out a higher and larger category—civilization—can we the formerly colonized psychically rediscover ourselves and compete with the West” (Chen 2010: 92). Indeed, earlier calls for a new national music could be traced back to China right after the frustration of the
8
As a prominent leftist in Taiwan, however, Chen leveled most of his criticism of the Han Chinese problem at Confucian Taiwan rather than communist China. “Some may also see the blame game being played a little unfairly,” observes Duara (2011: 222), “tilting more against the Japanese and the Taiwanese versus the mainland [China] and Korea […].”
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Boxer Rebellion at the dawn of the twentieth century, and were further pursued during the May Fourth Movement of 1917 to the 1920s (Wong 2002: 379-81). Large-scale implementation of national music was also started by the exiled KMT in order to secure its hold on Taiwan. Exile and Rebuild The programmatic texts of the campaign were written by two of the seven cofounders of the Chinese Classical Music Association and published in Taipei. The author of Introduction to National Music (guoyue gailun, 國樂概論, 1955) was Liang Tsai-Ping (梁在平, 1911-2000), a Yale-trained transportation officer and amateur zither (zheng, 箏) player of top caliber (Han 2001a). The author of Modern National Music (xiandai guoyue, 現代國樂, 1959) was Kao Tzu-Ming (高子 銘, 1907-73), a professional player of Chinese flute (di 笛) and mouth organ (sheng 笙) etc. as well as a founding member of the earliest Modern Chinese Orchestra since 1935, then under the Central Broadcasting System in China (zhongyang guangbodiantai 中央廣播電台); he retreated with the orchestra under the reorganized Broadcasting Corporation of China (zhongguo guangbogongsi, 中國 廣播公司) to Taiwan in 1949 (Tsui 1998; on the Modern Chinese Orchestra see also the chapter by Hannes Jedeck in this volume). The two directions in this government-endorsed national music campaign could be read from the title of Kao’s book: the modern and the national. Discontented with just sticking to the old ways (Liang 1955: 17; Kao 1959: 83, 104), they believed the pressing task was to modernize: • the instrumentarium (e.g., invention of wind and bass instruments, homogeneity
within each instrument family, state-certified instrument manufacture), • the ensemble playing (e.g., standardized tuning and seating plan, playing from a score, conductor as leader, rigorous rehearsals), • the training curriculum (e.g., sight reading instead of learning by ear, ergonomic and elegant posture: “do not use the body to suit the flute […] like a monkey” [Kao 1959: 18]), and • the concert protocol (e.g., punctuality, formal dress, soundproof venue without extravagant decorations, “august atmosphere, solemn feeling” [Huang 1955: 20]). Apparently, all these initiatives were mostly attempts to emulate European models (Kao 1959: passim; Liang 1955: 17-8; for a representative example of modern Western concert culture see Johnson 1996: 165-236). Indeed, the second and last appendix in Liang’s book, “Guidelines on Holding National Music Concerts,”
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written by another cofounder of the Chinese Classical Music Association, Huang Ti-Pei (黃體培, 1927-76, see Huang 1955: 19-21), and Kao’s final chapter, “How to Catch up with the World Music Circle” (1959: 104-7), reveal fully the anxiety of feeling ancient, venerable but falling behind, of being peripheral in relation to the Western world. This sense of urgency led to the rapid establishment of student clubs for national music (guoyueshe, 國樂社) in almost every public school since the 1960s, and of independent departments for national music (guoyuexi, 國樂系) in the then Western music-dominated academia, the first in 1969 at the private Chinese Culture College (zhongguo wenhuaxueyuan, 中國文化學院, renamed University in 1980). That was headed by Chuang Pen-Li (莊本立, 1924-2001), also a cofounder of the Chinese Classical Music Association and author of “Research on Temperaments,” the first appendix in Liang’s book (1955: 18-9). An electrical engineer by training and profession, Chuang devoted much of his life to studying temperaments, improving, and inventing instruments, and reviving Confucian rituals and music (Han 2003). A decade later, the first public and professional ensemble for national music (guoyuetuan, 國樂團), the Taipei Chinese Orchestra (this official English title leaves out the “national”; the original is taibe shili guoyuetuan, 台北 市 立 國 樂 團 , literally “Taipei Municipal National Music Orchestra”), was founded in 1979. Thereafter, compositions for traditional only or “East-West” mixed settings were widely commissioned (Wang 2015: 10-7). While the first direction of the campaign was about rivaling the modern West by modernizing the glorious past, the second was about essentializing the music of the central court and literati as the bone fide national music. Here “national” is understood not exactly as the race, the people, but rather as the state, the country, where orthodoxy and representativeness are paramount. Therefore, “lighter” music transmitted from southern China much earlier to and thus more popular in Taiwan was considered provincial and dialectal (Kao 1959: 2; Liang 1955: 3, 6; see also Tsai 2014: 49-51). In Liang and Kao, these claims were normative and ideological rather than supported by detailed evidence and analysis. In the introductory chapters of their books, the meaning of national music is also assertively defined but not discussed. For Liang, national music is, “according to [his] own interpretation,” one which could “express the thoughts and philosophy of our Chinese race, and accord with the spiritual life of us Chinese” (Liang 1955: 1). For Kao, it is “grand and peaceful” music that reflects the character of “our Chinese race,” that is, “loyal, considerate, sincere, generous.” Appropriating Wang Kwang-Chi, Kao also excludes explicitly the “decadence” music for entertain-ment, such as that
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from Suzhou (tanhuang, 灘簧, narrative singing), Beijing, and Tianjin (shidiao, 時調, trendy tunes) (Kao 1959: 2-3).9 Crisis and Reaction The quest for the right kind of national music should be understood in the larger context of KMT’s governmental pursuit. At a time when the prospect of reclaiming political legitimacy in China was becoming less and less realistic, the project of claiming cultural orthodoxy of the Chinese heritage became more and more pressing (for a skeptical view on the effectiveness of ancestry and cultural identity to nation building in Taiwan see Brown 2004). One emblematic undertaking was the establishment of the National Palace Museum (guoli gugong bowuyuan, 國立 故宮博物院) in Taipei, stocked with priceless artifacts of artistic and/or legal significance that were evacuated from the imperial collection in Beijing after the KMT was defeated in the civil war by the Communist Party in China. The opening of the museum, initially named after the “Father of the Nation,” Sun Yat-Sen, as “Chung-Shan Museum” (zhongshan bowuyuan, 中山博物院),10 was scheduled on 12 November 1965 to commemorate his ninety-ninth birthday. Then on the centenary of Sun’s birthday in 1966, the Chinese Cultural Renaissance Movement (zhonghua wenhuafuxing yundong, 中華文化復興運動) was launched by the then President and Party Director-General Chiang Kai-Shek. By all accounts, this large-scale promotion of Chinese tradition was KMT’s reaction to the iconoclastic Cultural Revolution that had broken out earlier that year in communist China.11 One highlight of the Chinese Cultural Renaissance Movement was the Year of Music 1968/69, organized by the Cultural Bureau of the Education Ministry, amid the escalation of confusion and violence across the Taiwan Strait, and indeed the surging protests of 1968 in the world at large. As it promoted music that is representative, patriotic, educational, and virtuous, it is not surprising that seven out of the nine cofounders of the Chinese Classical Music Association were summoned to serve on the Year of Music Advisory Committee (1969: 190).
9
Kao’s whole second chapter, “Commentary on the Meaning of National Music” (guoyue shiyi, 國樂釋義), except a few interpolations, copies verbatim without acknowledgment from Wang Kwang-Chi ([1924] 2009: 377-8).
10 Zhongshan (中山), was Sun’s pseudonym surname during his Japanese exile. 11 The Cultural Renaissance Movement was also partly a resuscitation of the KMT’s New Life Movement (xinshenghuo yundong, 新生活運動), launched in 1934 but aborted in 1949 because of the Civil War; see Dirlik (1975).
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To conclude, the campaign to modernize national music constituted an imperial assertion that elevated the central above the periphery. On the other hand, it was also a colonial maneuver that occupied the mainstream by the minority of powerful newcomers over the majority of vulnerable natives in a society. Even more, when any ambition of KMT to recapture and return to China was given up after the United Nations and the United States switched diplomatic recognition from Taipei to Beijing in 1971 and 1979 respectively, Taiwan was made a permanent Han Chinese settler colony (on settler colonialism as the epistemological basis of Taiwan see Shih 2016). The languages, arts, and cultures of the indigenous peoples, the Hakkas and the Hoklos—from the earliest inhabitants to the largest ethnic groups of Taiwan—were discriminated against in publishing and broadcasting and at schools, temples, churches, cinemas, and concert halls until the lifting of martial law in 1987. Moreover, the Chinese Cultural Renaissance Movement co-occurred with the oppression of leftists, liberals, and dissidents during the so-called White Terror period in Taiwan. Seen from this perspective, the campaign for a modern and yet national music became a part of the wider campaign for a foreign nation enforced by the neocolonizer at the cost of the colonized.12
SONGS OF WHICH FOLK? Also sitting at the Year of Music Advisory Committee with the elderly national music circle were the two leaders of the so-called “Folk Song Collecting Movement.” But when these younger generation of musicians and scholars such as Shih Wei-Liang (史惟亮, 1926-1977) and Hsu Tsang-Houei (許常惠, 1929-2001) started to seek a native voice, one might wonder why they bypassed the ancient and classical national music and turned instead to grassroots folk music, a field not of their métier in art music. The reason seems to be multiple: While Hsu was born in Taiwan and might have cultivated a certain localism, he and Shih were trained in Europe and should have inherited the romantic longing for the pastoral and the nationalistic fascination with folklore. Bound by the Nation However, a genuine interest in the natives and the minorities of Taiwan was unlikely, since Shih and Hsu shared almost the same Chinese patriotic rhetoric with Liang and Kao. A few months after the last and largest folk song collecting trip of
12 “Cost” also in the sense of public funding; see Guy (2005: 11-42) and Wang (1996).
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the summer 1967, Shih and Hsu presented their fieldwork reports in January and April 1968 respectively (Shih 1968; Hsu 1968). Yet between them the most comprehensive and critical account was published in the legendary but short-lived nativist journal Prairie Bimonthly (caoyuan zazhi, 草原雜誌)13 by a young member of the team, Fred Chiu Yen-Liang (丘延亮, born 1945) (Chiu 1968). A pupil of Hsu in composition since 1962, Chiu had made previous study trips to the indigenous territories as a student of the Taiwan Adventist College, a valuable experience for the folk song collection fieldwork. His later anthropological training at National Taiwan University also equipped him intellectually to write this substantial report.14 In it the national music campaign is strongly denounced for its limited vision and ineffective policy, and that its belief was more in esotericism than science, lacking openness and innovativeness (Chiu 1968: 59-60). In an interview almost half a century later, however, Chiu revealed a mundane reason for the rupture with the earlier camp: Since most of the national music people were senior and higher-ranking musicians and scholars in the urban centers and not very welcoming to the younger generations, they had to go to the rural regions to expand their arena. Chiu compared it, perhaps not without irony, with the Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside Movement (shangshanxiaxiang yundong, 上 山下鄉運動) in China around that time (Chiu 2015: 63-4). It is conceivable that in order to bypass censorship, the folk song camp had to be just as patriotic in its rhetoric as the national music camp, permeated with Sinocentric, thus imperialist, pathos. Indeed, the movement was carried out in succession under the banner of the China Youth Music Library (zhongguo qingnian yinyue tushuguan, 中國青年音樂圖書館) and the China Folk Music Research Center (zhongguo minzuyinyue yanjiuzhongxin, 中國民族音樂研究中心). Funding was also partly provided by the governmental and militaristic China Youth
13 The first issue appeared in November 1967, the second February 1968, the third and last June 1968. 14 Chiu eventually earned a Ph.D. in anthropology from the University of Chicago at age 46 in 1991. His exceptional life included the imprisonment in 1968 together with thirtysix accomplices of the Democratic Taiwan Alliance (minzhu taiwan lianmeng, 民主台 灣聯盟), among them the prominent leftist writer Chen Ying-Zhen (陳映真, 19372016). Chiu was sentenced to six years but released in midterm plausibly due to his family’s in-law relation with none other than Chiang Kai-Shek. Even so, official funding for collecting folk songs almost waned at the same time; and as if by mere coincidence, after Chiu’s arrest on 6 June 1968, Shih absented himself from Taiwan two weeks later with the reason of setting up the Chinese Music Center in Bonn. On Chiu and the leftist circle see Chi (2015: 74-122).
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Anti-Communist National Salvation Corps (zhongguo qingnian fangong jiuguotuan, 中國青年反共救國團), which operated under the Ministry of National Defense at that time.15 Again, given the political constraints in those days, this could have been the only way to get covered financially and politically. Nonetheless, both Shih and Hsu did confess earlier to be inspired during their European sojourns by the patriotic writings of Wang Kwang-Chi (Liao 2004: 1242). Their strong patriotism and vague anti-Western sentiment could be read in an open dialogue between them in 1962, which eventually brought about their later collaboration in the folk song project. In a four-part review of the 1962 Viennese Festwoche for a newspaper in Taiwan, Shih put forward a rhetorical question with the voice of an agitated Chinese expatriate: “Do we need to have our own music?” (Shih 1962: pt. 2 of 4). Three weeks later, Hsu responded in an open letter to Shih with a definitive “yes,” and also from a Chinese standpoint: “We need to have our own music. We need to have a music culture of China.” (Hsu 1962: pt. 3 of 3) The whole discussion about the crisis and chances of Chinese music echoes the words and tones of Liang and Kao of the national music camp a few years earlier, in spite of explicit denials of nationalism or patriotism by Shih (“I am definitely not a nationalist,” Shih 1962: pt. 2 of 4) and Hsu (“There is no need to be a nationalist or a patriot […] not a narrow-minded conservative nationalism,” Hsu 1962: pt. 1 of 3). As for Taiwan, it came up only seven times in Shih’s four-part reportage, without being assigned any cultural significance. Hsu, who was not born in China like Shih and had grown up mainly in Taiwan and was writing from there, did not mention it even once.16 The Suppressed Nations To be sure, the music of Austronesian Taiwanese aborigines was collected alongside that of earlier Han Chinese settlers (Hoklos and Hakkas) during the field trips. And of the three early reports mentioned above, Shih’s version focused solely on
15 Established in 1952, it ended the affiliation with the Defense Ministry in 1969 and became an NGO in 1989; in 2000 it dropped “Anti-Communist” from its title and called itself since then simply as the China Youth Corps in English, leaving even the aspiration to “save the nation” (jiuguo, 救國) only in the Chinese name (jiuguotuan, 救國團). 16 Chiu claims that Hsu witnessed closely KMT’s political repressions in late-1940s Taiwan but had chosen to keep silent on these issues most of his life; see Chiu (2015: 63). Only in Hsu’s late sixties and under the “Taiwanization” policy of then President Lee Teng-Hui did he compose a piece in 1993 to commemorate the 228 incident and comment on it in public; see Hsu (1996: 212-5; 1999: 237-40).
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the indigenous repertoire (Shih 1968). In it he was scholarly enough to acknowledge that whether the indigenous peoples are of Chinese or Austronesian origin was still unsettled among ethnologists, and to recognize them as the earliest inhabitants of Taiwan with their own history and culture (Shih 1968: 88). Yet Shih still abides by the official ideology to subsume the Taiwanese aborigines as an ethnic group under the Chinese race (Shih 1968: 91). In his opinion, indigenous music is after all a valuable but tiny component of Chinese music, therefore the purpose of collecting and studying it is not for its own sake, but ultimately to enrich the nation’s music so that it can—following the example of Béla Bartók’s work on Hungarian music—get rid of foreign bondage and stand on a par with the rest of the world (Shih 1968: 94-5, 106). Furthermore, the Folk Song Collection Movement was carried out with a certain colonial gaze comparable to the Japanese. The third and shortest report of early 1968 is by Hsu, a brief four-page informational account in spite of being titled a “general report” like Chiu’s of 36 pages (Hsu 1968).17 Decades later, Hsu wrote in his book on Taiwan’s music history about the folk song collection as continuing and expanding on the surveys done during Japanese rule from the 1910s to 1943, which were part of the policy to “manage the savages” (lifan, 理 蕃). Remarkably, this section on the Folk Song Collection Movement is not in Part I of the book, “Indigenous Music,” but in Part III, “Western Music” (Hsu 1991a: 325-7; see also Fan 1994: 38-48; 2015: 44-50). Japan Current and Leftist Connection Unlike Shih’s open attitude, Hsu repeatedly maintains that basing on musical evidence, Taiwanese indigenous peoples cultures originated not from the south-tonorth “Kuroshio Current” (heichao, 黒潮, Black Current, also known as the Japan Current), since “none of the musical characteristics of this region, such as its gong ensembles, its music dramas and puppet shows, and its pentatonic scales, is present in Taiwan’s aboriginal music.” Its roots, according to Hsu, are rather to be found among the west-to-east “Lucidophyllus Forest” (laurel forest, zhaoye shulin, 照葉樹林), for “polyphonic singing is prominent in all these regions” (Hsu 2002: 523). While this claim is not without empirical support, genetic evidence for matching cultural traits and ethnic origin is unsettled. Hsu’s view rather alludes
17 That it was written for Youth Literary (幼獅文藝), a magazine geared to the young readership, may explain its brevity. In the postscript, Hsu also remarked that numerous passages in his text were taken from Shih’s report that was published earlier that year (Hsu 1968: 50).
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to a predisposition toward China, underscored by his deliberate extension of the boundary of Forest Culture set by the botanist Nakao Sasuke (中尾佐助) to include Taiwan (see illustrations below). Again, this pan-Chinese stance of the folk song campaign is excusable given the institutional support and supervision of the authoritarian KMT regime at that time. Therefore, the inclusion of the Austronesian Taiwanese under the notorious designation of the Chinese race (zhonghua minzu, 中華民族) since the very first reports of the project is also not so unexpected (Shih 1968: 91, 105-6; see also Fan 1994: 45-6). On the other hand, the Black Current as the Japan Current also links Taiwan northward with its former colonizer for half a century. Furthermore, the color black was associated with the anarchist Black Youth League (heise qingnian lianmeng, 黑色青年聯盟), which emerged during the Taishō democracy period in the 1920s Japan and spread immediately to its colonies Korea and Taiwan (Hwang 2010: 110-1). The symbolism is crystallized in the Black Current Collection (heichaoji, 黑潮集), a set of short poems written in 1927 by the young writer Yang Hua (楊華), at that time a political prisoner accused of involvement in the Black Youth in Taiwan (Wang 2005: 107-12; there the connection of the poetic Black Current with Yang’s participation in the political Black Youth is neglected or ignored). These dissentient connotations of the Black Current might still have been politically too risky for Hsu and others not to avoid it as far as possible.18 All the more intriguing is Fred Chiu’s late confession in 2015 that his (and Hsu’s?) involvement in the Folk Song Collection Movement were not inspired by the fieldwork on Taiwanese indigenous music by Kurosawa Takatomo (黑澤隆朝, 1895-1987) during the wartime in 1943, but by those of Tanabe Hisao (田邊尚雄, 1883-1984) during the leftist Taishō democracy in 1922 (Chiu 2015: 62). Since the 1990s, however, Tanabe has become the main target of postimperial and postcolonial criticism by a host of younger musicologists in Japan; “ethnomusicology becomes the handmaiden of imperial science” is the onus of introspection (Hosokawa 1998: 7; see also Wang 2017: xxix). In any case, the folk song camp had to conceal its leftist aspirations throughout the martial law period (Chiu 2015: 63, 70).19 That
18 Recently, the political scientist Wu Rwei-Ren attempted to link the Black Current and the earlier Black Youth Movement with the Black Island Nation Youth Front (heise daoguo qingnian zhenxian, 黑色島國青年陣線) that led the 2014 Sunflower Student Movement (taiyanghua xueyun, 太陽花學運) in Taiwan (Wu 2016: 338-40). 19 Wang Ying-Fen also remarks (without speculating on its cause) that Hsu first mentioned Tanabe in his writings only in 1975, and just briefly (Wang 2008: 17, n. 14).
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Illustration 1: Kuroshio oceanic cultural sphere according to Kano Tadao
Source: Hsu 1994: 20; arrow indicating Taiwan added by the author
could also explain the incongruity between the zealous allegations brought by Chiu against the “flooding” of popular music both local and imported,and the “Down to the Countryside” and “Going to the People” spirit inspired by the populist Russian Narodniks of the 1860-70s (Chiu 1968: 72; 2015: 62-3).
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Illustration 2: Laurel forest cultural sphere according to Nakao Sasuke, with lighter shaded area added by Hsu
Source: Hsu 1994: 22; arrow indicating Taiwan added by the author.
Compositional Legacy The paradox of collecting the people’s music and rejecting the music mostly accepted by them must also be traced back to the romantic elitism that set up the antagonism between folk and pop, rural and urban. An early statement was made
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by Anton Friedrich Justus Thibaut in his Über Reinheit der Tonkunst of 1826: “I therefore consider the study of folk songs, i.e., songs that do not have a short life span like those popular tunes, but constantly flourish among the people, something very important.” (Thibaut 1826: 77; see also [with faulty bibliography] Dahlhaus 1989: 107) This pathos was carried through to Bartók, who attempts to dissociate Magyar music from Gypsy music. “The music that is nowadays played ‘for money’ by urban gypsy bands,” declares Bartók, “is nothing but popular art music of recent origin. The role of this popular art music is to furnish entertainment and to satisfy the musical needs of those whose artistic sensibilities are of a low order” (Bartók [1931] 1947: 241). Shih and Hsu both became spiritual heirs of this lineage during their studies in Europe (Liao 16-22, 40-2). However, Chiu attributed the contempt against popular music and the nationalistic bias of the folk song camp mainly to Shih (Chiu 2015: 63, 70). Yet even Hsu’s claim to follow Bartók’s example of incorporating folklore as a creative stimulus did not really materialize. From the not too modest œuvre of this Taiwan-born composer, only one orchestral movement, the finale of Ode to the Motherland no. 1 (zuguosong zhiyi, 祖國頌之一), and one piano miniature, Catching Crabs (zhuo pangxie, 捉螃蟹), No. 4 from Piano Pieces on Chinese Folk Songs vol. 1 (zhongguo minge gangqinqu diyiben, 中國民歌鋼琴曲第一 本), could be traced for sure to musical elements of the indigenous peoples (Shaw 2006).20 Nevertheless, the Folk Song Collection Movement alone without the campaign for modern national music was widely credited with the search for a native modern music. Han Kuo-Huang, for example, states that: “the early 1970s witnessed the awakening of an interest in native culture. The Taiwanese folk song collecting projects […] became an inspiration for the Modern China Music Bureau [zhongguo xiandai yuefu, 中國現代樂府] and the Cloud Gate Dance Theatre [yunmen wuji, 雲門舞集] […] the latter […] became internationally known for its high level of performance, its depiction of native experiences and the commissioning of music by Taiwanese composers.” (Han 2001b)
As Hsu boasted after listing 28 compositions by himself and 11 other Taiwanese composers (not counting Chou Wen-Chung and Doming Ngok-Pui Lam) used by the Cloud Gate in the first five years of its existence (1973-1977), however, the “nativeness” they championed was inspired mainly by the Chinese tradition rather than folk songs collected in rural Taiwan (Hsu 1978: 108-9).
20 Thanks to Dr. Shaw Chih-Suei (蕭植穗) for confirming this information.
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Musicological Confusion One last aspect of the Folk Song Collection Movement to be considered is its impact on musical scholarship in Taiwan, even though the primary vocation of Shih and Hsu was composition rather than musicology. Since the 1980s, research programs in traditional and indigenous music have been set up at universities and public institutes. Scholarly societies were also founded, foremost the ones initiated by Hsu since 1979, which have undergone a series of renaming. Table 1: Musicological Societies in Taiwan initiated by Hsu Year
Name
Name in English
1979- Zhonghua minsuyishu jijinhui 中華民俗藝術基金會
Chinese Folk-Arts Foundation
1983- Minsuyinyue yanjiuhui 1991 民俗音樂研究會
Folk Music Research Association* (affiliated under the above)
1991- Zhongguo minzuyinyue xuehui 1997 中國民族音樂學會
Chinese Society for Ethnomusicology
1997- Zhonghuaminguo minzuyinyue xuehui 中華民國民族音樂學會
The Society for Ethnomusicology, R.O.C.
2006- Taiwan minzuyinyue xuehui 2017 台灣民族音樂學會
Taiwan Ethnomusicological Society* (cooperated by and coexisting with the above)
2017- Taiwan yinyue xuehui 台灣音樂學會
Taiwan Musicological Society*
Source: Chinese Folk-Arts Foundation 2016, Taiwan Musicological Society n.d. * official translation unknown; here provided by the author
Two observations could be made from the overview. The attention paid to folklores and native Taiwan cultures by the establishment of the Chinese Folk-Arts Foundation in 1979 reflected a gradual refocusing away from China, after Taiwan has lost the recognition of the UN and most countries as the legitimate government for China in the 1970s. Thereafter, the renaming of succeeding academic
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associations from “China/Chinese” to “ROC” (Republic of China) in 1997 to “Taiwan” in 2006 paralleled the developing democratization with a certain sense of political correctness. However, the last change to “Taiwan,” by itself not (yet) a widely recognized political title but rather a geographical one, could be understood as a prudent act of depoliticization. Of more serious consequence to the discipline, the translation of ethnomusicology instigated the confusion or ambivalence resulting from the Chinese language itself as well as a mixture of patriotism and nativism. Due to the pliability of Chinese word segmentation, the common rendering of ethnomusicology in Chinese minzuyinyuexue, 民族音樂學, which should mean ethno-musicology, minzuyinyuexue, 民族-音樂學, has been generally misread as minzuyinyue-xue, 民族音 樂-學, meaning folk/native music research; while the former focuses on the music of other ethnicities, the latter focuses on the music of one’s own. This misunderstanding was already in place when none other than Hsu gave a speech at the first conference of the newly formed Chinese Society for Ethnomusicology on 8 September 1991. Titled “The Emergence and Development of Ethnomusicology in Taiwan,” the talk was all about minzuyinyue-xue, 民族音樂-學, the study of music tradition within one’s own nation (Hsu [1991b] 1994). This view became widespread among scholars and students, not least through the textbook on ethnomusicology written by him (Hsu [1985] 1993: 11-45).21 The understated change of the title from minsu (民俗, folk customs) to minzu (民族, nation, race) in the same year also sanctioned the charge of shifting the meaning of ethnomusicology to the study of national music.
THE ALTERNATIVE WITHOUT THE UNIVERSAL? The goal of decolonization should be the recognition of cultural authenticity, alongside political autonomy, of the colonized people (see Taylor et al. 1994). But the typical revival and rediscovery of native traditions in the process of decolonization is often reduced to mere anti-Western sentiment. The “universal” conception of modernity that pursues equality in both the cultural and the political spheres is all too readily dismissed as hegemonic and Eurocentric, and “alternative” modernities are promoted as resistance in certain “postmodern” philosophies of difference.
21 This part of Hsu’s book is basically a verbatim translation with minor adaptions of the New Grove article “Ethnomusicology” (Krader 1980).
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Considering that martial law was lifted in Taiwan only as late as 1987, it seems too much to ask for more liberal thinking from musicians and scholars of that time. Even though democratization and Taiwanization had been pursued actively in other progressive circles during the period under study, not everyone should be expected to pay such a high price as Lei Chen (雷震, 1897-1979),22 Peng MingMin (彭明敏, born 1923),23 or even the abovementioned Fred Chiu. Guido Adler’s principle that musicology should pursue “nothing but the truth, whether it concerns the living or the dead” seems too positivistic to be sensible (Adler [1885] 1998: 352). Therefore, this reassessment aims not to reproach the protagonists of the past, but rather to provide crucial contexts for future historiographers to evaluate how much excuse could be allowed to people working under an authoritarian regime, and how much empathy could be felt toward the discriminated and underprivileged. My idea is that Michael Walzer’s moral argument in his book Thick and Thin (Walzer 1994) can be extended from “at Home and Abroad” to “Now and Then.” That means, historians “here and now” should consider what “thin” (universal) morality is legitimate in evaluating “thick” (particular) events “there and then.” After rereading the texts and contexts of the two music campaigns in Taiwan’s post-World War II history, can we rightly ask whether the national music or the folk song circles, in spite of their anticolonial assertions, undertook the decolonization project conscientiously to promote cultural autonomy and diversity, or did they just replace the old center with a new one in the form of internal colonialism, so much so that musical culture and resources in Taiwan were dominated by the minority of nationalist Chinese? Did their search for identity in tradition come with “recognition of difference,” or was it essentialist and hegemonic, such that the music of the indigenous peoples in Taiwan must be subsumed under Han Chinese nationhood? And does the particularistic pursuit of cultural recognition overrule the universal pursuit of social equality, which is the imperative of the modernity project? As Taylor points out, “not every mode of cultural distinctness is thereby justified and good” (Taylor [1995] 2001: 185). Dirlik further argues that
22 A former high KMT official, Lei edited the magazine Free China (ziyou zhongguo, 自 由中國) that challenged the authoritarianism of the government; his attempt to form a new political party got him a ten-year imprisonment from 1960 to 1970 (see also Jacobs 2012: 36-44). 23 Peng was professor and head of the Political Science Department at National Taiwan University; he and two of his students were arrested in 1964 for printing a manifesto advocating democracy. Sentenced to eight years in prison, Peng eventually escaped to live twenty-two years in exile (see also Jacobs 2012: 106-18, and Peng 2017).
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“[i]f the search for alternative modernities is to achieve anything other than parochial ethnic, national or civilizational interests, or serve as an ideological cover for social inequality and political injustice, it cannot dispense with universal visions of its own that address questions that of necessity are global in scope” (Dirlik 2013: 37).
Thus, to overcome colonialism both external and internal, whether in politics or culture, we need to care more and not less about the universality of modernity to hold in check the pursuit of alternative modernities.
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Reflexivity as Method A Historiographical Comparison of Finnish Pelimanni Music and Taiwanese Hakka Music 1,2 Hsu Hsin-Wen
INTRODUCTION Trained as an ethnomusicologist, I recognize the importance of both “cultural relativity” and “contextualized universality” (Ricœur 2001). I have conducted both research that highlights the uniqueness of individual music cultures and cross-cultural comparison that examines the relatedness among cases with a wish to contribute to our understanding of overarching issues. In pursuing scholarship that is likely to transcend peculiarity, I have explored modes of comparison, one of the oldest research methods in musicology and its neighboring fields such as
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This article is made possible thanks to the encouragement and feedback of many mentors and colleagues on earlier drafts. I am especially indebted to Chien-Chang Yang, Tobias Janz, Sue Tuohy, Daniel Reed, Jason Baird Jackson, Portia Maultsby, and Susan Lepselter for their comments and suggestions. All responsibility for any error in the presented chapter remains my own.
2
My published article titled “Comparison as Reflexive Practice: Old Paths and New Approaches to Comparative Studies in Ethnomusicology” (Hsu 2018) has presented a discussion on the major approaches of cross-cultural comparison in ethnomusicology and my theory of “reflexive comparison.” The presented work summarizes the theorization process and the characteristics of my model, and it further elaborates the ways I used the method to construct meaningful relations between the institutionalization of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music, to gain new understanding of the two histories, and to theorize the process of institutionalization.
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anthropology, sociology, and folklore studies. Informed by criticism on the epistemological and methodological problems of existing comparative studies in these fields, as well as discussion on the dynamic process in the interpretive move of comparison, I have developed a method of “reflexive comparison.” Scholars have defined reflexivity in different fashions. For example, Barbara Babcock defines reflexivity in terms of competence; she defines reflexivity as “the capacity of language and of thought—of any system of signification—to turn or bend back on itself, to become an object to itself, and to refer to itself,” or in terms of “subjective experience” as the framing process in which people render experience meaningful (Babcock 1987: 235-6). In a similar vein, Charlotte Aull Davies defines reflexivity as “a turning back on oneself, a process of self-reference” (Davies 1999: 4). In addition, reflexivity is sometimes understood as the consideration of the ways by which cultural knowledge can be best represented. It can also refer to the recognition of the “political and epistemological forces” that condition writings about culture (Nazaruk 2011: 81). Another prominent understanding has been elaborated in Pierre Bourdieu’s discussion, which is also concerned with the role of reflexivity in knowledge production and regards reflexivity as a tool to help us overcome biases that shape our research findings (Wacquant 1992: 39-40). In this chapter, I regard reflexivity as a mechanism of competence that leads one’s attention to the unique situations of others, from which one further notices the particular formation of one’s own situation. In my understanding, reflexivity helps in reevaluating the existing modes of conception that people have taken for granted and provokes curiosity about new modes of understanding. It is also beneficial for creating a conceptual framework that can apply in multiple situations/contexts. I applied this notion of reflexivity in comparing the social organization of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music, with a hope of discovering the common and distinct ways by which the music categories and related performing practices were socially constructed. This chapter begins with a discussion of the reasons why cross-cultural comparison still matters in musicology. I indicate the growing attention to reflexivity in recent anthropological works on comparison. Then I introduce my model of reflexive comparison, with an emphasis on its explorative, inscribing, and dialogic nature, and the three strategies that I found useful for eliciting reflexivity. I discuss my use of the strategies and show how they have been useful for creating a series of comparisons between the two cases and thus connecting the two histories. In addition, I analyze the ways by which reflexive comparison challenges existing conceptions and helps constructing a new understanding of the two histories and their common threads.
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COMPARATIVE METHOD REVISITED Comparison has been a major research method widely employed across fields of cultural analysis. Scholars in musicology, anthropology, and folklore studies began conducting comparative research when their disciplines were still being established.3 The intellectual history of musicology, for example, has witnessed the flourishing of comparative research when the discipline was institutionalized in Europe in the late nineteenth century and in other continents later in the twentieth century. The so-called Berlin School of comparative musicology established itself at the intersection of musicology, acoustics, sensory physiology, psychology, anthropology, and ethnology, for the purpose of proving theories such as cultural evolutionism and diffusionism (Schneider 2006: 241-2). However, scholars in these fields became hesitant to pursue comparative research presumably due to the paradigm shifts taking place in these disciplines across the twentieth century. Specifically, ethnographers have problematized the ignorance of internal diversity in early works of comparative studies, and they have emphasized the significance of paying attention to contextual variation and determinacy in local understandings.4 In addition, some have criticized the assumption that cultures could be conceptualized as discrete wholes or partitioned into discrete units for scientific comparison (Bowen/Petersen 1999: 6; Gatewood 2000: 299; Munck 2002: 14). A deeper question is whether or not cultures are comparable, based on the perspective that a given culture is neither a homogeneous whole nor a collection of separate parts. Many ethnographers, as a result, problematize the possibility and necessity of comparing cultures. Some suggest
3
In the field of anthropology, Aram Yengoyan indicates that comparative research in sociocultural anthropology also began with the very beginnings of the discipline in the late nineteenth century. Since then, both American cultural anthropologists and British social anthropologists have engaged in comparisons across different societies or cultures (see Yengoyan 2006: 6). In the discipline of folklore studies, Alan Dundes notes that the “Finnish method,” also known as the historic-geographic method—a comparative approach proposed by Finnish folklorist Julius Krohn (1835-1888) and refined by his son Kaarle Krohn (1863-1933) based on the comparative method—dominated early folklore scholarship in Europe and the United States (see Dundes 1986: 133).
4
For example, Aram Yengoyan argues ethnographers must always be concerned with “the problem of time and space” and cannot dismiss that problem for the sake of theoretical clarity (see Yengoyan 2006: 2, 9). In addition, Thomas Scheffer and Jörg Niewöhner have emphasized the necessity of “thickening contextualizations” in comparative studies (see Scheffer/Niewöhner 2010: 4).
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replacing “explicit comparison” with “implicit comparison,” which may still “involve a minimum amount of systematic comparison” between cultural practices in different contexts, but the goal is primarily to highlight the distinctiveness of a single culture rather than to construct a macro understanding of a phenomenon across multiple cases (Fox/Gingrich 2002: 20). Music researchers, especially those who adopt an ethnographic approach, have discussed problems in early scholarly works of comparative musicology. For example, Mantle Hood (1960) criticized the arbitrary contrast and interpretation of music elements from different cultures without any contextualization, and Mervyn McLean (2006) discussed the fallacy of ideas such as cultural evolutionism and diffusionism that were embedded in early works of comparative research—the former mistakenly attempts to distinguish the levels of development among different music cultures, while the latter misguidedly attempts to discern the spreading of a culture from a center of origin to other areas. Influenced by theories and methods in anthropology, since the early 1960s many ethnomusicologists have promoted “cultural relativism,” which emphasizes the principle that an individual group’s beliefs and activities should be understood by others in terms of that group’s own interpretive framework. In general, ethnomusicologists have tended to focus their explorations on individual cultures and avoid dealing with issues in relation to cross-cultural comparison from the second half of the twentieth century onward.5 Why Comparison Still Matters Despite the strong doubts about the commensurability between cultures and explicit comparison, a group of musicologists who believe in the value of comparative research have been keen to promote it, and some have even promoted the development of comparative methodology. For example, Alan P. Merriam (1982), Bruno Nettl (1973 and 2010), Jonathan P. J. Stock (2008), and Martin Clayton (2003) have emphasized the significance of comparative studies. Merriam states that although studying music in cultural contexts through fieldwork is undoubtedly important, he cannot agree with those who deny the effectiveness of comparative research and argue that in-depth study of individual cultures is superior to research attempting to make generalizations through comparison. He notes the danger of only recognizing the value of research that follows the principles of cultural relativism by citing Gopala Sarana’s (1975) view that “cultural relativism
5
Ethnomusicological emphasis on cultural relativism can be read in accounts such as Hood 1960, Nettl 1973, Merriam 1974, and Myers 1993.
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is merely one of anthropology’s notable contributions,” and “extreme or arch-relativism, if accepted and practiced generally, becomes an impediment in the development of any scientific discipline” (Merriam 1982: 184). He argues that comparison is important because careful comparison leads to an understanding of the ways music is both a unique and a shared expression of people. In a similar vein, Nettl indicates that even though a strong suspicion of the validity of comparison has been prevalent in the field of ethnomusicology over the past half century, “a large proportion of the most significant research depends on comparison of one sort or another for its identity and effectiveness,” and “some of the concepts of greatest currency in recent scholarship—e.g. ‘world music,’ universals, evolution, diasporas—require, for their development, some kind of comparative approach” (Nettl 2010: 71). Clayton notes that “understanding both the importance and problems of comparison is an important part of any cultural study of music” (Clayton 2003: 57), and Stock regards “the revisit of comparison” as one of the seven most prominent themes in the disciplinary renewal of ethnomusicology (Stock 2008: 204-5). Collectively these remarks are a reminder of the problem of extreme relativism and the danger of failing to see the forest for the trees in the name of pursuing deep understanding of a single case. Comparison as Reflexive Intervention Significantly, in the last two decades a growing number of scholars in anthropology have addressed methodological issues in relation to comparison, and many of them coincidently view comparison as a reflexive and creative process. For example, Clifford Geertz (1996) once explained that finding the difference between two places is never his major purpose. Instead, he aims at developing “a mode of inquiry” that helps address questions of modernity the two sites are facing and provokes reflections on issues of anthropology, fieldwork, and ethnographic writing. In a similar vein, Aram A. Yengoyan argues that comparison helps destabilize what we consider natural, and it exposes new and unforeseen implications that are as important as new findings (Yengoyan 2006: 27). “Through comparison, the initial assumptions from the original case can be questioned and rethought, and this forces us to ask why some features exist in some cases but not in others.” (Yengoyan 2006: 11) In addition, Michael Herzfeld notes that his comparative projects aim to “disclose new insights” rather than merely to “increase a typology” (Herzfeld 2001: 264). He indicates that ethnographic research is made possible due to the functioning of comparison and reflexivity, and argues that the linkage of the two is central to the empirical understanding and ethnographic writing of culture. He notes that reflexivity benefits comparison by guiding researchers to
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become “self-conscious with their questioning of so much that […] [they] take for granted” (Herzfeld 2001: 260-1) and suggests that through reflexivity, one can relate the subjects of comparison to different contexts (Herzfeld 2001: 269). In my comparison of the social organization of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music, I constantly recognized the fact that comparison is never merely “noting similarity or dissimilarity between subjects,”6 but rather like a process of “reflexive intervention.” No resemblance or disparity exists self-evidently; instead, comparison always involves engagement in processing different data sets. As Thomas Scheffer and Jörg Niewöhner indicate, comparabilities among subjects are never found “out there” but are produced along with ethnographic fields, in the research process, and through “thickening contextualizations” (Scheffer/ Niewöhner 2010: 4). In my comparison of the social organization of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music, it was through going back and forth between Finland and Taiwan, through intentional collection and accidental acquisition of data in relation to a series of research problems that are simultaneously relevant, and through the mutual reference, analogy, and differentiation of the two data sets that I could relate the two organizational processes and further develop a theoretical model of institutionalization. Based on my experience, I regard comparison as characterized by the following three dynamic processes. First, comparison is best described as an explorative process searching for the best ways to make sense of the relations between two or multiple cases in different contexts. While some might argue that particular cases have better potential for comparison in terms of subject matter, my experience shows that stronger comparability between cases is never destined by nature but only made possible with careful justification. In the course of ethnographic or archival research, comparison almost always involves data processing such as data juxtaposition, selection, categorization, analogy, and interpretation. In a comparative project, the focal points of analysis are very likely still pending before the comparability between cases is fully developed and justified by data. When I developed the research proposal for my comparative project and did fieldwork in Finland and Taiwan, I was very often asked the reasons of choosing Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music. Many wondered why I had not just chosen cases for comparison within Taiwan or East Asia, where I am from. My choice was neither casual nor predetermined. On the one hand, it was made according to my personal interests and the evidence available, just like many other comparative projects. On the other hand, it was not made in advance; the reality is that the comparison had once been
6
The New Oxford American Dictionary (3rd ed.) defines comparison as “to estimate, measure, or note similarity or dissimilarity” between subjects.
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very premature. A large number of unconnected data grew but did not say much. Finally it became a more tempting task alongside my continuous archival and field research, during which I found it meaningful to compare the two cases not in terms of their geographic or ethnic relatedness but rather in terms of the structure of historical formation, the logics of social participation, and the networking in everyday performance practices. Informed by studies of institution and institutionalization in sociology, anthropology, and ethnomusicology, I developed a series of comparabilities, including 1) the creation of origin myths and typical performance; 2) property objectification and systemization; 3) the diversity of music practices. Through the exploration of these comparabilities, I could better realize the relatednesss of the two cases, as well as the possible contribution of this project to broader issues such as the implications of institutionalization and the ways of doing context-informed comparison. Later in this chapter I will elaborate how these comparabilities provided threads for weaving a narrative on the institutionalization of musical forms in a global perspective. Second, comparison entails connection-making and meaning construction, and thus is also an inscribing process. In historical, ethnographic, or scientific writings, comparison involves the reorganization of data sets that document different modes of consciousness, sensuous experiences, accidental encounters, and procedural happenings into linear narratives. In this process, reflexivity plays a significant role: While one’s habitus filters his or her prior experience and understandings to retrieve his or her best mode of interpretation available, reflexivity validates the interpretations by initiating the mechanism of reevaluation. Reflexivity helps one check the validity and accuracy of linear interpretations, through which one could not only become more aware of one’s bias but also make better judgment in accordance with objectivity (Davies 1999: 4). In my comparison of the social organization of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music, one of the greatest challenges was to problematize the conventional mode of thinking, to indicate the values behind particular artificial constructions, and to suggest an alternative to the perceptual tendencies for the naturalized discourse with a new mode of conception that could make sense for practitioners and scholars of pelimanni music and Hakka music. It is difficult because I was culturalized with the existing perceptual tendencies in my study of Taiwanese and Finnish music and culture. To conquer the challenges, I heavily relied on the three strategies of reflexive comparison discussed later. Through these strategies, I developed a perspective of institutionalization for interpreting the social organization of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music, which helps reconcile the conflicts between the essentialist and constructivist discourse around the two kinds of music.
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Lastly, I regard comparison as a dialogic process. In his contrast of the “dialogic” and the “monologic” work of literature, Mikhail Bakhtin notes that the former is characterized by an intentional stratification of different “languages” whose juxtaposition presents specific dialogic relations (Bakhtin 1981: 356-60). Comparison could be regarded as a dialogic process because in historical, ethnographic, or scientific comparison for any purpose (making binary oppositions, creating typologies, highlighting inter- or intragroup diversities, uncovering longitudinal, diachronic, or asynchronic differences), one always faces the task of dialogic imagination: to intentionally juxtapose and engage distinct situations and make sense of them by specifying relations among them. In ethnographic comparison, for example, one constantly faces the challenge of reconciling the so-called “emic” and “etic” perspectives in explaining the ways a specific cultural group perceives and participates in the social world. In some particular cases, one engages in an even more complicated dialogic process when the goal of comparison involves presenting a cross-case framework that could map the distinct contexts, logics, and modes of behavior of the cases under comparison.
PROVOKING REFLEXIVITY: THREE STRATEGIES Although almost all comparative projects involve a certain degree of reflexive intervention, I suggest that the methodological use of reflexivity could better guide researchers to find new and unforeseen implications in the course of comparison. In my study and comparison of the social organization of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music, I have developed three strategies for provoking reflexivity: 1) problematizing existing normative discourse 2) contrasting diachronic developments 3) comparing the diversity in synchronic distributions
I employed these strategies in my comparison, through which I problematized existing writings about the history of pelimanni music and Hakka music and further developed a series of comparabilities between the two cases and the relativities among them. Specifically, through the first strategy I noticed the gaps between the normative claims and pre-institutionalization activities in relation to the definitions of Hakka music and pelimanni music, and I focused on the coinage of “typical traits” in comparing the two cases and rewriting the two histories. Through the second strategy I examined the historical formation of the two music cultures
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and found that they share many commonalities in terms of institutionalization. I thus chose to focus on objectification and systemization, two notions that have been presented in studies of institutionalization (e.g., Tolbert/Zucker 1983), to characterize the common processes the two histories shared, and use them as comparabilities to show the distinctiveness of the two paths to institutionalization. Last, through the third strategy I noticed the multiple performance practices of Hakka music and pelimanni music. I further developed a conceptual framework based on social interaction to examine the relativities of the two heterogeneous cultures and used the following four dimensions of the framework as comparables to map the contemporary heterogeneity of the two cases: 1) organizational milieu; 2) social logics; 3) social relations; 4) discursive acts. In the following section I discuss the ways the three strategies benefited the methodological use of reflexivity in my comparison and the ways the comparables mentioned previously helped construct a new understanding of the two histories. Strategy 1: Problematizing Existing Normative Discourse More than a decade ago when I first encountered historical writings about pelimanni music and Hakka music, I noticed that many descriptions of the music cultures involved social—either ethnic, folk, regional, or national—imaginations, and that they were very often expressed in a normative form with an emphasis on what the music culture “is” or “ought to be.” For example, Erkki Ala-Könni indicates that pelimannis were musicians who played dance tunes at ceremonies and musical events across social classes, ranging from festivals and private parties at landlords’ mansions to common weddings and carnivals. Significantly, while AlaKönni managed to write this article in an objective tone, his enthusiasm for discovering and promoting the arts of pelimannis as a folk heritage across Finland is still discernible. Ala-Könni contrasts pelimannis to musicians trained in Western conservatories, and he portrays pelimannis as versatile performers, with amazing skills on multiple instruments and the ability to adapt to different styles (AlaKönni 1972). In a similar vein, Yang Zhao-Zheng (楊兆禎) notes that the “Hakka people is a major branch of Han Chinese people, i.e., the majority of the Chinese population. They originated in the Zhongyuan (中原, literally the Central Plain) area of China, and migrated southward to Guangdong, Guangxi, Fujian, Hainan, and overseas areas to avoid the impacts of wars and riots”; he suggests that “Hakka folk song is emotional expression of Hakka people from their battles for survival” (Yang 1979: 8; my translation). These descriptions are intriguing, as they idealize the music culture in question and the subjects of the cultures as simultaneously ordinary and mysterious, humble and phenomenal.
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Alongside my study of archival materials in relation to the two cultures, I became even more curious about the representations in existing writings, as historical documents show the two music cultures used to be evaluated totally differently one century ago; musicians who played what are regarded as pelimanni music or Hakka music were marginalized by their society, and their music was even criticized as a catalyst facilitating social crimes such as indulgence and obscenity.7 The contrasts between archival materials and more recent descriptions that had respectively appeared in writings about pelimanni music and Hakka music triggered my interest. Thus when I began comparing the social organization of pelimanni music and Hakka music, one of my foci was their respective trajectories of discursive evolution. I found that the construction of the two music cultures is similar in terms of the coinage of “typical traits.” For example, pelimanni music has been conventionally characterized as Finnish folk dance music that accompanied everyday celebrations and life ceremonies of the past and had been prevalent across Finland since the seventeenth century. Specifically, scholars have defined pelimanni music as a “new strata” in the history of Finnish folk music, shaped by Protestant Christian and folk dance music from neighboring countries, in contrast to the vernacular and archaic musical expressions of the “old strata” such as Kalevalaic singing, laments, cattle calling, music of the mouth harp, shepherds’ aerophone, the kantele, and the jouhikko (Asplund 1997: 112; see also Asplund 1981 and Laitinen 1994). Despite the wide acceptance of this narrative in Finland, significantly, my problematization of existing normative discourse led me to recent studies of Finnish folk music history and new research on the social construction of Nordic folk dance (e.g., Vedel/Hoppu 2016). These scholarly works provide clues for rewriting the history of pelimanni music. For example, Timo Leisiö and Simo Westerholm hint that the word of pelimanni was presumably a new coinage; the earliest record that documented it was published in a newspaper advertisement in Vaasa, Finland, in 1913. The advertisement called for people’s participation in a folk music competition in the name of preserving folk music. Leisiö and Westerholm argue that words such as “pelimannis” (pelimanneja) and “old folk pelimannis” (wanhat kansan pelimannit) were not yet commonly used in Finnish-language contexts at the time, since the words were put in quotation marks in the advertisement to indicate that they were slang (Leisiö/Westerholm 2006: 452).
7
For study on negative representations of Hakka musicians and actors in Taiwan in archival materials, see Hsu 2000: 36-43; for study on negative representations of dance musicians in Finland in archival materials, see Huuskonen 2001: 56.
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My investigation of the early appearance of discourse about pelimanni music also supports this hypothesis; in studying the broadcasting records preserved in the archives of the Finnish Broadcasting Company (YLE), I found the term pelimanni rarely mentioned in media programs in the first half of the twentieth century; the amount of video footage labeled as pelimanni activities increased only slowly during the first half of the century (two entries during the 1920s and 1930s, two entries during the 1940s, and six entries during the 1950s), but dramatically (40 entries) during the 1960s.8 Some might argue that the genre has already existed for much longer even though the term pelimanni might be new, as the word pelimanni was coined through the translation of spelman in Swedish and equivalent words in other Scandinavian and Germanic languages, and activities of spelman musicians were documented as early as the mid-sixteenth century.9 Indeed, scholars have relied on archival materials that were deemed to be documentation of spelman music activities to claim the longevity of pelimanni music. My research, however, shows that the adoption of the word spelman to refer to folk dance music in Finland and other Nordic countries such as Sweden was also recent. First, the term spelman used to be only one of the ways to label dance musicians in the Swedish realm, and its meaning only expanded to cover the meanings of other terms as a result of the discursive efforts of activists such as Otto Andersson, a key specialist and promoter of Swedish culture in Finland at the begining of the twentieth century. Andersson once indicated that in the Middle Ages, musicians accompanying dance sessions and ceremonies in the Swedish realm were primarily named either pipare (pipe player), lekare (minstrel), or fiddlare (fiddler) (Andersson 1963: xxv), and the term spelman in early sources referred to “the conductor of a music group” (Andersson 1963: xxvi). Significantly, Andersson showed interest in favoring the term spelman and making it an umbrella category through delicate inference when
8
I used key words such as pelimannimusiikki and pelimanni to locate relevant footage produced and broadcasted from 1926, when YLE Radio was established, to the end of the 1960s. I was able only to check video footage in relation to pelimanni music because the archive catalog for sound footage was not available when I did my research at YLE Radio 1 on July 25, 2011. I thank Sirkka Halonen of YLE Radio 1 for her kindness in helping me access the YLE archive catalog.
9
Ann-Mari Häggman indicates that earliest spelman activities in Finland date back to the mid-sixteenth century when musicians, wind, and stringed instrument players traveled from Sweden to Åbo castle (Turku castle today) in Finland to accompany dance activities at court and for parties thrown by the nobility. Later these minstrels were also hired to play for the church and bourgeois parties (see Häggman 1976: 82-9).
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he mentioned that “[pipare, lekare, and fiddlare] were traveling spelmän (spelman in plural form) invited by kings and important people to ‘perk up’ their feasts and to accompany the dances” (Andersson 1963: xxv). Second, the term spelman only began to be appropriated and used to refer to those who were designated as “tradition bearers” at the turn of the twentieth century. Leisiö and Westerholm indicate that it was not until the rise of the Finnish nationalist movement in the nineteenth century that Swedish-speaking activists in Finland began to associate spelman with a named genre of folk music, and applied it to construct an image of the Swedish musical heritage in Finland as historical and highly developed (Leisiö/Westerholm 2006: 449). Another clue showing the trajectory of discursive evolvement is the name change of the third anthology in the collection of Suomen kansan sävelmiä (Finnish folk tunes). Published at the turn of the twentieth century by the Finnish Literature Society (Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, abbr.), this collection is a primary source of sheet music of historical folk music in Finland. The third anthology is a special volume dedicated to folk dance tunes. When the first edition was published in 1893, it was titled Kansantansseja (Folk dance) (Krohn 1893). However, when the second edition was published in 1975, the anthology was renamed Vanhoja pelimannisävelmiä (Old pelimanni tunes) (Kolehmainen 1975). It contains a new introduction written by its new editor, Ilkka Kolehmainen; both the tunes included and the ways these tunes are transcribed and represented are identical to those in the first edition. Given the name change, it is presumably reasonable to infer that pelimanni music only became a prominent concept to refer to folk dance music between 1893 and 1975. The actual reason Kansantansseja was renamed Vanhoja pelimannisävelmiä is still unknown. However, the change was understandable, as in the first half of the twentieth century the Finnish word kansantanssi (folk dance) connoted both positive and negative meanings,10 while the newly coined word pelimanni was associated with mostly positive meanings, such as self-taught, versatile musicians. Through the strategy of problematizing existing normative discourse, I was able to identify the fact that the social category of Hakka and the music category of Hakka music are also relatively new constructs that only became a shared reality in Taiwan in the twentieth century. As mentioned previously, earlier writings about Hakka music defined it as the music of the Hakka people, described as a
10 Finnish folk dance has been celebrated as a rich tradition and a tool for public enlightenment since the late nineteenth century. However, the performances of folk dance in organizational activities such as the educational programs of the youth societies have been criticized as overly stereotyped since the early twentieth century.
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branch that belongs to the community of Han Chinese (e.g., Luo 1973; Chen 1978). Significantly, in recent decade scholars in Hakka studies have argued that the social categories such as kemin (客民, Hakka folk), keren (客人, Hakka people), kehu (客戸, Hakka family), and keji (客籍, Hakka descendant) that have been widely regarded as synonyms of kejia (客家, Hakka in Mandarin Chinese), actually refer to guest, exiled, or non-native persons who were not accounted for in the local household registration system; not until the early nineteenth century did these terms begin to be used to refer to a social group who speak a common language (Shih 2013: 1-2). In addition, in the beginning Hakka was a term for outsiders rather than for self-identification. However, soon Hakka activists also adopted it and used it as an identity marker. In addition, scholars have noted that Hakka ethnicity was deliberately constructed at the turn of the twentieth century by people who self-identified as Hakka when they negotiated for social and political resources with non-Hakka. In discursive disputes between the Hakka and the non-Hakka over the origin of the Hakka, the Hakka people deliberately emphasized their association with Han Chinese and the achievements of their ancestral fellow men (Lin 2013). Even though scholars and writers on Hakka music argue that it has been practiced in Taiwan for more than four centuries, since Hakka people immigrated to the island in the seventeenth century, I argue that Hakka music was a new music category that only appeared in the mid-twentieth century alongside the prevalence of the social category of Hakka. Archival materials show that music activities of keren were not called Hakka music until in the 1950s. Rather, early music that is regarded as the major expression of Hakka music today was mostly termed “tea picking” (caicha, 採茶). And even though as early as 1936 an article in the Central Daily News (Zhongynag ribao, 中央日報) introduced tea-picking opera as the “theatrical performance of Hakka mountain songs,” it was not until the early 1960s that more media and scholars began to write about Hakka folk songs and opera. The presented discussion shows that problematizing existing normative discourse helps provoke reflexivity and facilitate meaningful comparison; such examination enacts what Edmund Husserl terms “bracketing” (or epoché in Greek), which refers to being aware of the normative effect of existing discourse on shaping our conception of individual cases and facilitates further clarification of actual practices. In analyzing the problems of existing norms and searching for answers, we gain opportunities to examine the construction of the normative discourse and a new understanding of the cases in comparison.
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Strategy 2: Contrasting Diachronic Development Contrasting the diachronic development of the two cases is the second strategy that benefited my methodological use of reflexivity in comparing the social organization of pelimanni music and Hakka music. The major goal is to construct comparisons by evaluating the temporal dimension of the subject matter. The evolution of the cases over time is thus the main target of investigation. In contrasting the historical processes of the cases, I found it useful to provoke reflexivity by using my understanding of one case as reference for analogical reasoning and critical differentiation. The provocation involves what Mattei Dogan (2002) termed “conceptual homogenization” and the “binary comparison” of selected homogeneities. First, one selects or creates a concept capable of mapping the essential dynamics of the historical processes of the cases in comparison. One could consider features that allow meaningful juxtaposition and contrasts of the cases in terms of what Dogan terms “functional equivalence” (Dogan 2002: 74). Then one indicates a series of homogeneities between the cases based on the selected concept for binary comparison and interprets the relative similarities and differences. The process is akin to the comparison of two persons; we could use standards such as height, weight, and gene expressions to indicate their ranks in specific scales, but we could also use physical characteristics—from “long-lasting characteristics” such as shades of skin color and body proportions to “characteristics made out of particular experience” such as hair styles or possession of tattoos, and “temporary characteristics observed at the moment” such as energy status— to evaluate the relative appearance of the other person. As Dogan indicates, binary comparison of two subjects naturally “enhances one’s interest in each one” because “it stresses the main characteristics and the originality of each situation.” In addition, binary comparison could increase our knowledge of the cases and contribute to a theoretical reflection on broader issues (Dogan 2002: 70). In my comparison of the diachronic development of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music, I noticed that the two music histories witness similar processes of “objectification” and “systemization” through which pelimanni music and Hakka music became represented and managed as cultural property respectively in Finland and Taiwan. I thus selected the two processes as concepts for conceptual homogenization and binary comparison. By objectification I refer to the way an unknown phenomenon became represented as an existing or real thing or even historicized as a long-lasting reality (Handler 1984: 56; see also Hsu 2013: 15-6), and by systemization I mean the way something is made a part of preexisting or emerging structures of cultural reproduction. In light of the concepts of objectification and systemization, the histories of pelimanni music and Hakka
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music share commonality, as both cultures gained nationwide currency only in the postwar era and thrived through organizational activities that emerged as responses to social changes. The particular notions of pelimanni music gradually became “objectified” and widely known across Finland in the 1960s after local master musicians such as Matti Haudanmaa, Friiti Ojala, Kustaa Järvinen, and the Kaustisen Purppuripelimannit (Potpourri Pelimannis of Kaustinen) were promoted as “pelimannis” by music specialists in academia, radio programs, and public events. Individuals who greatly influenced the objectification of pelimanni music include music scholars such as Armas Otto Väisänen, Erkki Ala-Könni, Martti Pokela, and Anneli Asplund, as well as media workers such as Viljo S. Määttälä of Yleisradion Keski-Pohjanmaa (The Central Ostrobothnian Regional Radio Station of the Finnish Broadcasting Company) and Paavo Helistö of Yleisradio (Finnish Broadcasting Company). Being active in local music scenes, these musicians soon achieved nationwide fame and were designated as tradition bearers through a series of individual and organizational promotions. Alongside the popularity of the Kaustisen Purppuripelimannit in the 1950s, many music groups renamed themselves with the term pelimanni. Salonkylän Pelimannit, which became active as early as the 1910s as a string quartet and was named Salonkylän jousiorkesteri (The string orchestra of Salonkylä) in the 1930s, presented itself as Salonkylän Pelimannit (pelimanni of Salonkylä) in a radio program on Yleisradio as early as 1959.11 After the famous television broadcast of the showcase of Kaustisen Purppuripelimannit in the first Kaustinen Folk Music Festival in 1968, there was a significant increase in the number of music enthusiasts who organized local bands using similar instrumentation, two fiddlers, one harmonium, and one double bass, which became a typical combination that amateur musicians across Finland adopted in regional pelimanni ensembles. Likewise, the particular notions of Hakka music also became objectified as a long-lasting reality in Taiwan as late as the second half of the twentieth century. After the Kuomintang (Nationalist) regime’s defeat to the Communists in 1949, approximately 960,000 followers, most soldiers, officers, and their families, fled to Taiwan. Among them were Hakka mainlanders who had been familiar with the public debates between the Hakka and the non-Hakka in the mainland, such as Jiang Ping-Chen (江平成), the director of the Miaoli Branch Radio Station of the Chinese Broadcasting Company (CBC). Collaborating with Taiwanese Hakka
11 News coverage that was released on November 2, 1959, states that Salonkylän Pelimannit won a folk music competition in Saarijärvi. This is the earliest news about the band’s activities documented in the news archive of the Finnish Broadcasting Company.
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gentry and intellectuals, these Hakka mainlanders initiated a series of activities in the 1960s with the hope of promoting Hakka consciousness, such as organizing Hakka folk song singing contests, introducing Hakka culture and artists through radio programs, and publishing magazines dedicated to Hakka affairs. These activities not only brought excellent amateur Hakka musicians to the public; they also made Hakka music widely known and catalyzed more cultural production. The social organization of Hakka and pelimanni music was largely shaped by the efforts of individual actors, who could employ institutional resources to promote selective musicians and music practices. However, the two organizational processes were presumably not able to continue or further develop without connecting to preexisting or newly emerging structures of cultural reproduction, a process that I should term systemization. It was largely because of the ties with structures of cultural production, which remain for maintaining specific functions in broader institutional environment and provide sustaining resources and supports, that Hakka and pelimanni music events could continue and practitioners could motivate themselves to be active. For example, when pelimanni music gradually became a concrete notion and a musical form with ethnic, regional, and national significance in Finland, it became a major feature or even the exclusive focus of a growing number of folk music festivals and competitions that were organized to promote local economy and strengthen cultural identity, such as Kaustinen Folk Music Festival (1968-), Pispala Sottiisi Festival (1970-), Eteläpohjalaiset Spelit Festival (1972-), SataHäme Soi Music Competition and Festival (1972-), and Sepän Soitto Music Competition (1976-). Some of these festivals also organized educational programs, in which musicians learned new repertoire and even how to play new instruments in addition to socializing with old and new friends. In addition, in 1974 the Finnish Ministry of Education established the Folk Music Institute in Kaustinen, a small village famous as “Finland’s cradle of folk music.” Later in 1986 Tallari emsemble, the only folk music group that received regular and full financial support of the Finnish government, was established to promote pelimanni music and other forms of Finnish folk music. In addition, in relation to the transmission of pelimanni music, the Department of Folk Tradition at the University of Tampere began to offer courses on pelimanni music since the mid-1960s under the directorship of Erkki Ala-Könni. And Martti Pokela began to teach the kantele, the Finnish version of the Baltic psaltery, at Sibelius Academy since 1975 (Johnson 2003: 440). Since the establishment of the Department of Folk Music at Sibelius Academy in 1983, the pelimanni tradition has been taught as part of the core curriculum. Institutions that provided civic education also began to offer courses on pelimanni music from the 1970s onward.
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Lastly, since the late 1960s several nationwide organizations dedicated exclusively to pelimanni music were established, which enhanced the identity and social networking of the community. For example, Suomalaisen Kansantanssin Ystävät (SKY, Finnish Folklore Association) supported the establishment of Pelimannikilta (PML, Pelimanni Guild) as a nationwide organization for pelimanni musicians in 1965. Later, in 1968, Suomen Pelimanniyhdistys (SP, Finnish Pelimanni Society), was established with the support of Suomen Nuorisoseurojen Liitto (SNL, Finnish Youth Society). SP was renamed Suomen Kansanmusiikkiliitto (SKAL, Finnish Folk Music Association) in 1980 and continued to be the largest nationwide umbrella organization of pelimanni musicians in Finland. Right after its establishment, Finlands Svenska Folkdansring (FSF, Swedish Finns Folk Dance Organization) facilitated the foundation of Finlands Svenska Spelmansförbund (FSS, The Association for Swedish-Speaking Spelman Musicians) as a nationwide umbrella organization of the Swedish-speaking spelman musicians in Finland in 1969. These organizations have been of great importance for maintaining the collaborative relationships among regional pelimanni/spelman societies and individual music groups and promoting pelimanni/spelman performance practices across Finland. They also have served as representatives of Finnish musicians in international networking agreements and gatherings, such as Nordlek (Federation for Nordic Folk Culture), Nordisk Folkmusikkomite (Nordic Folk Music Committee), and Nordisk Forening for Folkedansforskning (the Association of Dance Researchers from Nordic Countries) (Koiranen 1993: 22-4). In a similar vein, the social organization of Hakka music in Taiwan was not merely shaped by efforts of individual actors and organizations; it has also relied on organizational initiatives embedded within preexisting or emerging structures of cultural reproduction. For example, the growing amount of discursive activity on Hakka music and culture in Taiwan from the 1980s onward presumably has to do with intellectuals’ responses to then President Chiang Ching-Kuo’s pen-t’uhua (本土化, literally “indigenization” and roughly “Taiwanization”) political reform in the Kuomintang Party in the late 1970s, the emerging debates over the significance of Taiwanese consciousness, and the growing number of creative practices that were later labeled as hsiang-t’u (鄉土, homeland) literature and the arts. Situated in such a milieu of political, social, and ideological transformation, and informed by theories of overseas Hakka studies that were introduced to Taiwan in the 1970s (specifically Hong Kong scholar Luo Xiang-Lin [羅香林]’s theory on Hakka origin), Hakka writers such as Chen Yun-Dong (陳運棟) and Xia Zhong-Jian (夏忠堅) began to publish monographs on Hakka history and culture (see Chen 1978; Xia 1973). In addition, presumably aware of the emergence of local writings in Hakka studies, music scholar Hsu Chang-Hui (許常惠), who had
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paid attention to Hakka folk song performance from the 1960s onward, encouraged his students at the Graduate Institute of Musicology at National Taiwan Normal University to study Hakka music with an emphasis on local expressive forms. Under Hsu’s advisement, Cheng Rom-Shing (鄭榮興) and Chen Yu-Chang (陳雨 璋) received their degrees with theses on Hakka bayin ensemble music and Hakka three-role tea-picking opera in 1983 and 1985, respectively. Amid the indigenization wave in which the exploration of Taiwanese cultures and identities mattered, Hakka music and culture became among the most prominent cultural properties and subject matters in structures of cultural reproduction such as publications, education, and cultural performance. As a result, studies of Hakka music continued to grow and flourish; Hakka music and culture became a popular theme in festivals organized by central and regional governments; and courses and workshops for the transmission of Hakka folk song singing, narrative performance, tea-picking opera, and bayin (八音, eight instruments) ensemble music rapidly increased in the following decades. Thus far I have demonstrated how contrasting diachronic development has benefited the provocation of reflexivity and helped generate conceptual frameworks such as objectification and systemization. The two frameworks allow for mapping the commonalities between the histories of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music in terms of social organization and for detailed contextualization of individual cases. Strategy 3: Comparing the Diversity in Synchronic Distributions The third strategy that benefited my comparison of the social organization of pelimanni and Hakka music is contrasting the internal heterogeneity of the cases. The strategy comprises three steps: 1) identify the patterns of internal heterogeneity of individual cases; 2) connect the patterns of individual cases; 3) rethink the differences in apparent similarity as well as the commonalities in apparent difference. This strategy has been useful, as it helps identify the nuances and subtleties of individual cases and indicates the resemblance and difference between the cases. It benefited my comparison by presenting a context-informed account of the diversity of pelimanni music and Hakka music performance practices and forging a cross-case interpretive framework that could relate the two musical ecologies in terms of a series of criteria. In identifying the patterns of internal heterogeneity in the case of pelimanni music, I notice scholars have discussed pelimanni music by locating it in a variety of space, ranging from homes to centers for civic education (Järviluoma 1997), competitions, festivals (Austerlitz 2000), and music conservatories (Hill 2009;
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Ramnarine 1996; 2003). They have also exemplified the diversity of pelimanni music performance practices in their discussion of the variety of music instruments and modes of instrumentation involved. In addition, scholars such as Paul Austerlitz and Tina Ramnarine have indicated that pelimanni musicians have received great influences from new sounds such as polka, jenkka, and foxtrot music (Austerlitz 2000: 192; Ramnarine 2003: 153). Most existing studies, however, have not provided a conceptual framework for depicting the diversity in performance practices of pelimanni music. Juniper Hill has presented a typology of Finnish folk musicians with three main categories: 1) professional conservatory-trained musicians who play contemporary folk music; 2) amateur hobbyists (harrastajat), often referred to generically as pelimannit (literally, folk musicians—but with certain connotations regarding repertoire and style); and 3) master folk musicians (mestari pelimannit) and runo singers (runolaulajat). She notes that “all three groups have somewhat differing ideologies, performance practices, performance contexts, and transmission processes that were developed in different historical layers of Finnish folk music” (Hill 2009: 226-7). Significantly, in differentiating what she termed “amateur hobbyists” (harrastajat) from those designated mestari pelimanni (master folk musicians), she comments: “The few surviving master folk musicians and runo-singers learned orally and informally from families with strong folk music traditions and represent the oldest continuous living layers of historical folk music. […] Many amateur hobbyists largely continue to play according to the repertoire, values, and ideologies that developed during the Romantic Nationalist and Public Enlightenment Movements of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and during the Folk Music Revival of the 1960s and 1970s, which may include the use of published notated transcriptions of archive recordings for repertoire; instrumental training from Finland’s conventional music school programmes (and sometimes self-teaching); ensemble playing; involvement with civic organizations and festivals; and strong national sentiments, including a preference for performing in national costumes.” (Hill 2009: 227)
Here, Hill compares the so-called “master” and “amateur hobbyist” pelimanni musicians in terms of their learning process and repertoire, and analyzes the value, ideology, and preference of the “amateur hobbyists” in terms of performing style, activity context, and dress code. Hill’s typology could benefit our understanding of the patterns of internal heterogeneity in the case of pelimanni music. Her characterization, however, somewhat risks underestimating individual difference (in terms of both personality and experience) and ignoring cross-category participation. In addition, while the expressions of “amateur hobbyists” are indeed shaped
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by particular ideologies, the commentaries on each category are presumably also shaped by particular values, such as the idealization of the performance of those who were designated as “master folk musicians,” the suspicion about the notion of “public enlightenment,” and the hostility to the use of folk costume. To be aware of such kind of dual construction is important, because this reflection could help us become more aware of the judgments we ascribed to our research subject, and in so doing we might avoid essentializing them. This awareness also helps us avoid the influence of popular stereotypes and focus more on actual performance practices in conceptualizing the internal diversity of the music culture.
FORGING A CROSS-CASE INTERPRETIVE FRAMEWORK THROUGH HETEROGENEITY IN SOUNDSCAPE Thus, in developing my model for mapping the diverse performance practices of pelimanni music in contemporary Finland, I focused on distinct modes of environments, motivations, actions, and interactions. The following model (Table 1) comprises four “soundscapes” that are central to the contemporary pelimanni music scene. Borrowing Arjun Appadurai’s notion of “scape” (Appadurai 1996: 33; see also Appadurai 2001: 5), I characterize specific organizational milieus, shared values, modes of interaction, and discursive acts prominent in the genre configuration of pelimanni music. In addition, people, concepts, and mode of behavior are highlighted as objects in motion and nodes in specific networks. The criteria used to make categorizations for this model include: 1) the organizational milieu wherein certain pelimanni music activities take place (OM); 2) the social logic by which musicians are involved in these sorts of music activities (SL); 3) the social relations within the organizational milieu (SR); and 4) the discursive acts through which music actors approach the audience, supporters, and potential comrades (DA). The proposed criteria are based not on a specific theoretical presupposition or existing models, but instead based on my focus in applying Appadurai’s notion for theorizing my ethnographic findings. In using these criteria, I aim to avoid the almost inevitable bias of classifying musicians in terms of the repertoire they play, the sociopolitical ideologies they hold, or the artistic achievement displayed in their performance, and I intend to map the diversity in the contemporary pelimanni music scene by focusing on different socio-spatial conditions, poetics, and main themes of collective actions that are formed fundamentally by historical incidents and discourse. Significantly, even though the musicians active in a particular field share similarity in terms of modes of action and interaction, they are heterogeneous
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Table 1: Model 1. Four Soundscapes of Pelimanni Music Making Quadrant II
Quadrant I
OM: Gatherings of musicians’ own
OM: Festive and ceremonial occasions;
groups/societies/associations
specifically folk dance events
SL: Egalitarian logic; “everyone has the
SL: Supportive logic; to facilitate the rep-
possibility to play music”
resentation of folk traditions
SR: Societal purpose; musicians contrib-
SR: Musicians involved as accompa-
ute to community events
nists/assistants
DA: Self-cultivation; cultural right
DA: Connecting to the past
The diversity of pelimanni music performance Quadrant III
practices
Quadrant IV
OM: Educational programs and
OM: Live/mediated performance and re-
activities held in/beyond schooling sys-
lated publications by music professionals
tems SL: Expressive logic; differentiation SL: Developmental logic; alternative but valuable learning resources
SR: Musicians collaborate with peer musicians and other music professionals
SR: Individual and group learning; collaborative exploration
DA: Connect to the “community;” balance between social imagination and personal
DA: Pedagogical innovation;
originality; emphasis on individual versatil-
intercultural experience
ity
subjects and may have quite different ideas and experiences. Some of them are also active in moving across scapes and playing for multiple goals. Elsewhere I proposed an earlier version of the model and elaborated the considerations that shaped my conception (Hsu 2014). Due to limited space here, I only introduce the
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updated model with emphasis on the characteristics of OM, SL, SR, and DA in each soundscape. Four Soundscapes of Pelimanni Music Making OM I features pelimanni music for festive and ceremonial occasions that pelimanni musicians have typically been associated and defined. Pelimanni accompanying folk dance is arguably the major type of event in these occasions. Despite the conventional academic association of pelimanni music with folk dance and life-cycle ceremonies, the role of pelimanni musicians in contemporary folk-dance events and ceremonial processes has been ignored in scholarly works. Taking the thoughts and activities of the musicians in this soundscape into consideration is important for our understanding of the contemporary formation of pelimanni music, as this performance practice dates back to the early history of this music culture and is distinct from other performance practices in the contemporary era. The trend of inviting pelimanni musicians to accompany ceremonial processes has declined for decades, although it is not uncommon for people to invite musician friends to play at their weddings or parties. Today the majority of organizational events in this soundscape are folk dance events and the representations of old ceremonial processes. Prominent organizations that initiate this kind of event include, but are not limited to, the SNL, SKY, FSF, and the Föreningen Brage, as well as their respective member organizations. Significantly, these organizations were established in related but distinct contexts; they also have different goals. Some might suggest these organizations share interests in “public enlightenment” in the early twentieth century, which promote the “civilization of ordinary people.” Indeed, historically, these organizations commonly employed folk dance and folk song as major forms to convey certain aesthetics and values, as means to approach their participants and audience. However, since the earlier nationalistic context has changed, it is difficult to say that the notion of public enlightenment is still relevant, especially given the changing nature of their participants, for whom the notion of public enlightenment is neither valid nor the reason for their involvements. It may be more accurate to say that today many people participate in these societies because they support local affairs and regard these activities as beneficial for cultural identity and social cohesion. Another prominent feature of this soundscape lies in participants’ intention to reconnect music to dance. Participants in most activities exhibit an interest in working with folk dancers. This notion has gradually become a point of articulation for redefining pelimanni music and recruiting other musicians to participate.
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OM 2 is a domain that features activities largely for pelimanni musicians themselves, primarily in places such as 1) musicians’ homes; 2) regional centers for civic education; 3) annual meetings organized by nationwide associations related to pelimanni musicians such as the SKAL, PML, and FSS; and 4) festivals and music competitions that largely focus on pelimanni music. In comparison with the first soundscape, the subjectivity of musicians is much more highlighted; they do not play to accompany folk dances or ceremonies as assistants or supporters, but instead for their own group. In fact, the egalitarian atmosphere is one of the primary reasons people participate in this kind of activity. Many of those I interviewed said they enjoy playing with peer musicians, learning from mutual support, and contributing music together to community events. They considered participating in music activity, or “musicking,” in Christopher Small’s (1998) terminology, as a form of cultural right, and playing music with cohort members enhanced their self-cultivation. To my understanding, the so-called “master folk musicians” and “amateur hobbyists” belong to this soundscape, and to some degree there is no need to differentiate them because in reality they play together. Above all, the title of “master folk musicians” (mestari pelimanni) is an honor designated by the organizing committee of the Kaustinen Folk Music Festival for musicians or singers mastering a rich repertoire of pelimanni music or folk songs and having made remarkable contributions to the promotion of the music (Asplund et al. 2006: 498-9). The honor is certainly meaningful for many musicians, but the title is not meant to distinguish the selected musicians from their peers. OM 3 is a domain that features educational programs and activities in or beyond school systems. Individual musicians and music educators such as Mauno Järvelä and Jonas Borgmästars began to bring pelimanni music to the younger generations and broader music learners in the 1980s. In addition, Sibelius Academy began to offer degrees in folk music in the mid-1980s, and a few music schools have offered courses on folk music since the 1990s. Significantly, folk music promoters such as SNL, SP, and the Folk Music Institute in Kaustinen organized workshops or camps on pelimanni music long before schooling systems began to do so. The majority of participants in OM 3 are either students or music teachers; on some occasions, parents also participate in the activities with their children. These practitioners become involved primarily for a developmental purpose. In this soundscape, pelimanni music is regarded as an alternative but valuable learning resource that brings general conservatory-trained teachers new stimuli for innovating their pedagogy and provides students opportunities to learn types of music different from what they usually play, such as classical, pop, or jazz. Both teachers
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and students gain intercultural experience through this process. In these activities, the transmission between teacher and student is based on oral instruction, the use of sheet music, or a mixture of both methods. In addition, students do not just follow their teachers but are also encouraged to learn from elder and peer musicians. Lastly, OM 4 is a domain that features either live or mediated performance, as well as various forms of publications related to pelimanni music. In this soundscape, musicians constantly collaborate with peer musicians and other music professionals. Activities include but are not limited to 1) general concerts; 2) showcases in festivals and media programs; 3) record production; and 4) promotional productions that feature pelimanni music. The actors in this soundscape may come from quite different backgrounds and have diverse ways of conceptualizing and using this music. However, to employ pelimanni music as a sensible element in their performances or publications, they are often requested to tackle issues about their definition of, relationship to, and approach to it: What are the pelimanni ways of making music? What are their personal relationships to pelimanni music? How does their interpretation of pelimanni music matter in the particular context of performance? And in addressing these issues, musicians in this soundscape frequently highlight an expressive logic. That is, while some may emphasize their affiliation with a particular community, most prioritize the presentation of their original interpretation, through which they differentiate their music from others’ and foreground their unique artistry. Four Soundscapes of Hakka Music Making The model for locating the diversity of performance practices mentioned previously serves as a cross-case interpretive framework for my exploration of the contemporary heterogeneity of Taiwanese Hakka music with the same criteria—OM, SL, SR, and DA, which can be read in Table 2. OM 1 of Model 2 is a domain that features Hakka music for festive and ceremonial processes, with which the so-called “traditional” Hakka music has typically been associated. Nowadays both professional and amateur music groups belong in this domian. The two kinds of occasions share an intention of connecting to the past. The first kind is gathering for meeting conventional needs in Hakka social worlds, including musical activities for calendrical events (e.g., celebrations of deities’ birthdays and annual harvests), personal celebrations, or to redeem a vow. Like those who provide musical service in Quadrant I of pelimanni music, Hakka musicians playing on this kind of occasion usually play a supporting role; they facilitate the continuation of events and ceremonies
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Table 2: Model 2. Four Soundscapes of Hakka Music Making Quadrant II
Quadrant I
OM: Gatherings of musicians’ own groups
OM: Festive and ceremonial processes
SL: Ethnic logic; “Hakka people’s musi-
SL: (1) Supporting logic: to facilitate the
cal expression”
process and experience of ceremonies; (2) Demonstration logic: to present an “au-
SR: Societal purpose; musicians contrib-
thentic” mode of practice
ute to community events SR: Musicians participate as (1) cultural DA: Cultural revival; self-cultivation
mediums; (2) cultural speciallist DA: Connecting to the past
The diversity of Hakka music performance Quadrant III:
practices
Quadrant IV:
OM: Educational programs and
OM: Live or mediated performance of
activities held in/beyond schooling sys-
music professionals
tems SL: Expressive logic; to show the various SL: Developmental logic; teaching with
experiences of Hakka people and the di-
alternative learning resources
versity of Hakka music
SR: Group learning, with relatively clear
SR: (1) Musicians collaborate with peer
instructive guidelines
musicians and other music professionals; (2) Musicians rely on sponsorship
DA: Pedagogical innovation; intercultural experience
DA: Connect to the “community”; balance between social imagination and personal originality; emphasis on group affiliation
and assist the participants’engagements in such processes. The second kind is music events that display traditional performance practices on stage in modern settings, such as artsfestivals, concerts, or television studios. This kind of event,
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which is often termed as wen-hua-chang (文化場, cultural performance events), aims to present and promote the traditional ways of making Hakka music. In contrast to the first kind of music activities, Hakka musicians performing at wen-huachang take center stage; they serve as cultural specialists, demonstrating the “authentic” mode of practice. OM 2 of Model 2 features rehearsals and public performances of Hakka civil society organizations (CSOs). By Hakka CSOs I refer to nongovernmental organizations established to promote social engagement, cultural rights, and other collective interests of Hakka people. The Hakka CSOs began to organize educational programs for the promotion and transmission of Hakka language and culture in the first half of the 1980s. Today, such educational activities take place in spaces such as local temples, schools, and centers for civic education. The content depends very much on the preference and music capability of the instructor, but most include both traditional and popular Hakka songs. A small portion of programs focus on bayin and other instrumental music, shuo-chang (説唱, narrative songs), and the three-role tea-picking opera. In general, most participants are motivated to engage in these music activities by an enthusiasm highlighting Hakka ethnicity and ways of music making. However, there are also participants who remain to develop their music interests, gain opportunities to perform in an official musical setting, or simply hang out with friends in a musical setting. OM 3 of Model 2 features music activities affiliated with programs in Hakka language and culture across different educational systems, specifically in elementary and secondary school systems. This kind of activity is mainly organized in school during school hours. In addition to schoolteachers who know Hakka music, some Hakka music masters and educators such as Cheng Rom-Shing are invited to teach. The majority of participants are pupils. Students learn to sing Hakka folk or popular songs with teaching materials and guidelines provided by their instructors. Some programs also teach Hakka shuo-chang narrative and theatrical performance. In some cases music teachers may also adapt existing tunes and train students to sing Hakka folk or popular music in chorus. These learning resources provide opportunities for students to learn music different from the music they hear often, such as Mandopop, J-/K-pop, and Western classical music. They also stimulate teachers’ innovation in their pedagogy. However, these resources are not necessarily appreciated, as many students feel they were forced to take such courses and would rather spend time on more “practical” subjects. OM 4 of Model 2 is a domain that features activities of either live or mediated performance, as well as various forms of publications related to Hakka music. In this setting musicians collaborate with peers or other music professionals to advance their productions. Activities in this soundscape include but are not limited
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to general concerts, showcases in festivals and broadcast media programs, and record production that features Hakka music. In theory, music actors in this soundscape include those who have played traditional forms of Hakka music and those who are presented as specialists at cultural performance events. However, two other groups particularly deserve attention. The first is formed by those who arose and are labeled as musicians of Hakka popular music, and the other is formed by those who have been famous in other music fields, such as the mainstream popular music industry and circles of jazz and classical music, and are invited to compose or perform Hakka music for increasing its popularity. These two groups of music actors are worth attention because they shared a common aim to express the various experiences of Hakka people and the diversity of Hakka music. The emergence of this soundscape results from the institutionalization of Hakka affairs and the establishment of media agencies for making Hakka voices heard. Alongside politicians’ recognition of the cultural rights of Hakka people in Taiwan, the Hakka Affairs Council (HAC), a ministry-level government institution, was established in 2001 to promote Hakka language, heritage, and citizenship. Soon individual departments of Hakka affairs were also established in local governments. In addition, Hakka TV, a nationwide, free of charge, 24-hour public television service, was founded in 2003. These public-sector institutions demand a large number and variety of Hakka performances. They invited music specialists who meet their needs to perform on various institutional occasions and in showcases, festivals, and media programs, and musicians and actors of OM 4 are often invited because they do not hide and even are enthusiastic about disclosing their Hakka affiliation. Their music works are regarded as more effective in catching the attention of both Hakka and non-Hakka audiences. Significantly, while some music actors receive exclusive public resources from institutions in relation to Hakka affairs, many have meanwhile been marginalized in the public sphere: They have difficulty finding opportunities to present themselves through general platforms for cultural production such as the mainstream mass media; they also receive much less funding from general organizations promoting the performing arts, such as the Ministries of Culture and Education. The Hakka affiliation thus becomes a burden for some, and the presentation of it sometimes become a dilemma or a situated choice. Similar Formation, Different Rationality Thus far I have used OM, SL, SR, and DA to map the contemporary heterogeneity of Finnish pelimanni and Taiwanese Hakka music and to connect the two music cultures. Here I would like to indicate the importance of double checking
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before making any conclusion in reflexive comparison, as there could be great differences in apparent similarity or commonalities in apparent difference between cases in comparison. For example, as mentioned previously, the transmission and performance of Finnish pelimanni music and Taiwanese Hakka music had deep roots in organizational activities greatly relying on institutional supports. Nevertheless, it seemed to me that the “instructional effect” of Finnish central and regional governments (municipalities) on music practitioners was much smaller and less direct than governmental efforts in Taiwan. It seems to me that in comparison with Taiwanese Hakka music groups, most Finnish folk music groups began with self-financing. In addition, many Finnish folk music groups have relied less on governmental subsidies than on membership fees and other incomes. Furthermore, even though Hakka music and pelimanni music are similarly categorized as “folk traditions,” the meaning of “folk musicians” and what they are supposed to do is perceived quite differently in Taiwan and Finland. Taiwanese people regard “folk traditions” as those expressive forms with a canonized history of practice and overt performance standards. Performance standards—once shaped primarily through the interactions of music practitioners—have in recent decades been defined more and more by scholars or authoritative institutions based on academic research on the repertoire, styles, learning experiences, and performance practices of certain “maestros.” The transmission of these expressive forms, in either more traditional or modern settings, usually involves a more serious “master-apprentice relationship” and a more comprehensive training process in which an apprentice learns from a master not only the techniques but also the aesthetics and ethos of the practice. In contrast, I found that even though the conceptualization of “folk traditions” in Finland has been associated with similar criteria (i.e., a particular canonized history, the identification of performance standards, and the recognition of maestros), the transmission of folk traditions is embodied through a quite different mode of interaction: Both teachers and students recognize the importance of egalitarian participation. To better recognize the difference in apparent similarity and the commonalities in apparent difference in comparative research, we need not only “thick description” (Geertz 1973) but also “thick comparison” (Scheffer/Niewöhner 2010), a comparison that pays attention to the demonstration of “the conditions and the limits of comparabilities” (Scheffer/Niewöhner 2010: 5).
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CONCLUSION Thus far I have examined recent reflections on comparative methods in musicology, anthropology, sociology, and folklore studies. I have also discussed the model of “reflexive comparison” and proposed three strategies for the methodological use of reflexivity in comparison and contextualization. I have shown how these strategies could benefit our historical and ethnographic writings by guiding us to reevaluate what has been taken for granted. This paper aims to contribute to both comparative methodology and the studies of Hakka music and pelimanni music. Specifically, I hope to show how the reflexive method could benefit researchers by giving them new understanding of the cases under comparison. In adapting to the new institutional environment, Hakka music and pelimanni music practitioners did not merely follow rules passively; on the contrary, they showed great expectations and enthusiasm, and they have managed to fulfill their distinct goals and maximize their interests creatively. The writing of pelimanni or Hakka music history thus involves the contextualization and interpretation of imagination, anticipation, and aspiration (Appadurai 2013). Through reflexive comparison I was able to contextualize the two histories in a relative framework and better evaluate the meanings of the imagination, anticipation, and aspiration in both cases. To conclude, conducting reflexive comparison as an explorative, inscribing, and dialogic process is never an easy task; however, it is very likely to bring unforeseen and unique result. This is why it is still worth a try.
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Nonsimultaneity of the Simultaneous Internationalism and Universalism in Postwar Art Music until the 1970s Christian Utz The music history of the twentieth century is radically polyphonic. It disintegrates into different cultures, which no Zeitgeist can mediate. (Meyer 2011: 27; my translation)
1. INTRODUCTION: SIMULTANEITIES VS. NONSIMULTANEITIES IN POSTWAR MUSIC HISTORY In this chapter, I review the multiple forms in which composers, musicians, and musicologists conceived of and discussed the phenomenon of global music making and composition in the decades following the Second World War, with special emphasis on the situation in Europe and North America. I distinguish the periods and tendencies in fields of discourse spanning internationalism and universalism (with their correlates or complements cultural essentialism and [neo-]nationalism) in the three decades between 1945 and 1975 (with the Munich Olympic Games of 1972 marking a broadly reestablished awareness of globalized contexts in Western Europe extending far into popular culture). I shall also discuss how these tendencies interacted with simultaneous developments in East Asia. In doing so, I aim to reveal “nonsimultaneous” developments in the different regions of the world where art music was considered relevant in public discourse and awareness. This situation provoked a “time lag” of music-historical narratives, prompting a complex entanglement of aesthetic and political ideas in a historical period when globalization had become an inescapable framework of artistic practice. The materials discussed in this chapter thus may also contribute to broader questions, which
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merit music historiography that may draw from recent theories in historical studies such as “entangled history” (Werner/Zimmermann 2006) and “multiple” or “alternative modernities” (Conrad/Eckert 2007; Eisenstadt 2000; Gaonkar 2001; Janz 2015). The focus on “nonsimultaneous” processes also alludes to the notions of relationality and synchronicity as discussed in recent historical scholarship (summary in Conrad 2013: 22-4). Whereas relationality signifies the observation that in modernity no region or nation is the sole agent of its history, that the emergence of modern societies is deeply connected to an interactive process among regions, nations, or cultures (Goody 1996), synchronicity stresses the fact that “synchronous” (largely synonymous with “simultaneous”) global processes in modern history often engendered interdependent changes in different areas of the world (Harvey 1989). While these approaches suggest a more emphatic perspective on the project of a “world history” by bringing local developments together into a common framework, this chapter confronts this framework with those “nonsynchronous”/“nonsimultaneous” aspects of postwar (music) history that resist the project of a unified “world (music) history.” The precondition and challenge, therefore, is to understand any local, national, or regional music-historical process not in isolation from global processes but as (frequently unconscious and/or unreflected) consequence of inter- or transnational dynamics, including (but not limited to) political and social contexts such as Cold War policies and political ideologies as well as postcolonial power structures, images, and mentalities. Local or national dynamics and processes that do not match an overarching historical narrative must still be acknowledged. Reflecting this tension, the notion of a “nonsimultaneity of the simultaneous” (Ungleichzeitigkeit des Gleichzeitigen) as coined by art historian Wilhelm Pinder (1926) and made famous by Ernst Bloch’s in-depth Marxist analysis of rising fascism in the 1930s (Bloch 1935; see Schwartz 2001) springs to mind. In Bloch’s social theory, the “nonsimultaneous” designated the “different times, the different ‘nows’” of European societies during the first decades of the twentieth century, which Bloch determined “using the coordinates of age, class, and geography” (Schwartz 2001: 58): The unemployed youth, the peasantry, and the rising urban middle class all lived in different “nows” but shared a common impulse to reject the modernist present, making them susceptible to extremist ideas and movements. A literal transfer of this theory to music history is surely not viable and is not my principal aim. Rather, I am curious about how the “radical polyphony” of twentieth-century New Music, invoked by the quote from Andreas Meyer in the epigraph to this chapter, can be understood against the background of Blochʼs theoretical framework. The challenge thus is not to resort to the common stereotype of a simple “stylistic pluralism” in music since 1945 or to the trope of non-Western
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areas experiencing an “asynchronous delay” to Western centers, connected to an implicit or explicit pressure to “catch up” with Western standards (though this was a common, if often short-sighted demand articulated by many non-Western reformers in early postcolonial periods; see Mishra 2012: 14; Utz 2016: 135). The repeated emphasis on “nonsimultaneity” rather shall point to the fact that postwar music (throughout the immediate postwar period until the 1970s) is much less subject to one linear historical narrative than has often been understood. Employing Cold War politics as such a dominating music-historical narrative, as is done most explicitly in volume five of Richard Taruskin’s Oxford History of Western Music and a considerable number of following publications (see below), surely has its merits in revealing blind spots in earlier historiographies and forcing the ubiquitous politicization of aesthetic judgments in the postwar period “into consciousness as a necessary prelude to exorcism” (Taruskin 2010: XX). As it stands, however, the restriction to this new “master narrative” itself turns out to imply a considerable number of blind spots, which this chapter aims at revealing. To start, one might simply take an almost arbitrary snapshot of compositions created and/or premiered during the years 1958-59 and ask how the “simultaneous” occurrence of these works could be explained without advocating either their immediate global impact or, conversely, a mere “isolation” of local or biographical coincidence: Edgard Varèse’s Poème électronique, John Cage’s Concert for Piano and Orchestra, Igor Stravinsky’s Threni, Giacinto Scelsi’s I presagi, György Ligeti’s Apparitions, Karlheinz Stockhausen’s Zyklus, Benjamin Britten’s Missa brevis, Paul Hindemith’s Pittsburgh Symphony, György Kurtágʼs String Quartet Op. 1, Dmitri Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 11 (celebrating the Russian revolution of 1905), Elliott Carter’s Second String Quartet, Toshirō Mayuzumi’s Nirvana Symphony, Isang Yun’s Musik für sieben Instrumente, Chen Gang and He Zhanhao’s Butterfly Violin Concerto … Describing such works simply as products of a “cultural Cold War” is at the same time necessary and insufficient: Such an interpretation highlights the new situation of global interconnectedness and the polarization of (political, aesthetic, musical) freedom and control in which the composers, performers, and audiences of these works found themselves; however, it overlooks the considerable impact of “nonsimultaneous” historical and aesthetic preconditions that frame the origins of these works. This “nonsimultaneity” is so obvious in the aesthetic experience, the sound, and the reception of these works, as to defy any uniform explanation for their simultaneous appearance on the historical stage. Considering the historical situation after 1945, in which the entire continent of Europe was at the center of a global conflict between the new “superpowers,” the United States and the Soviet Union, the described tendency to understand all
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manifestations of art or culture as having an implicitly global or international impact was particularly strong in Western Europe. The fact that the most influential trend in Western European postwar music, 1950s serial music, drew considerably on the idea of a “pure” (and therefore potentially “apolitical”) structure accords with this all-encompassing public and political role often attributed to music and the arts in postwar societies. Indeed, the fact that music, and New Music in particular, was part of this power struggle and was consciously conceived of as a medium or even “weapon” in the “cultural Cold War” (Shreffler 2005: 237) has been highlighted in a number of recent studies, though the extent to which this explicit political context shaped aesthetic and stylistic developments and decisions remains contested. On the one hand, it has been argued that the dedicated attempts of influential institutions such as the Darmstadt Summer Courses (in its beginnings co-funded by the US government; Beal 2006) to avoid overt political topics or influences can be seen as a counter-reaction to the politicized artistic doctrines of Soviet “socialist realism,” reimplemented by Andrej Zhdanov in early 1948 and in Hanns Eisler’s Prague Mani-festo of the same year, adopted by the Second International Congress of Composers and Music Critics (20-29 May 1948), modifying but also affirming the Zhdanov doctrine (Carroll 2003: 37-49; Kovács 1997: 118-9; see section 2 in this chapter). On the other hand, Richard Taruskin has argued—grounded on the conviction that there is no such thing as “apolitical” music—that the aesthetics of serial music, as developed in the context of the Darmstadt courses as well as in their contemporary counterpart in American academia, exposes a particular obvious dependence on Cold War mentalities and ideologies (Taruskin 2010: 1-173; Taruskin 2009; see also Schmelz 2009). Anne C. Shreffler has partly confirmed this by demonstrating that crucial political ideas and ideologies of the period, namely freedom and control, were negotiated inside compositional technique, most notably in the musical works of determinate serial as well as aleatoric music during the 1950s and 1960s (Shreffler 2005; 2015). In both Western Europe and the United States, the at times naïve idealization of scientific thought—amply exemplified by serial music theory—and the optimistic image and use of technology for experimental means (see 3.2) were further indications of a close relationship of Western New Music with capitalist modernism, eventually resulting in a reacademization of musical composition, most famously instigated by Milton Babbitt’s efforts to install a Ph.D. program in composition at Princeton University (Taruskin 2010: 153-73). And while technological progress had equally positive connotations in the Soviet-dominated sphere, the aesthetic appropriation of the social prestige connected with the sciences in art music during the postwar period was unique to the project of the Western avant-garde.
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In European research, the proposition of such a close entanglement between music and politics is usually met with suspicion, and the ambiguity of musical meaning is highlighted (see Shreffler 2015; Hiekel 2016: 61; Zenck 2017: 64-70). Martin Zenck has argued that the very experience of the political and aesthetic misuse of music prompted a young composer such as Pierre Boulez to “compose a kind of music which in no way could be made subservient to political intrigues” (Zenck 2017: 66; my translation). In addition, Zenck urges historians to integrate aspects of performance and reception history of serial works such as Boulezʼs Structures Ia (1951) into a more coherent and encompassing analysis, taking into account a basic “variability of the kernel of historical time [Zeitkern] implicit to the respective work, evolving in postwar history” (Zenck 2017: 69-70; my translation). While I am sympathetic to Zenck’s argument, I can also see its limitations, as it to some extent reclaims the blind spots that Taruskin and others have tried to reveal and overcome. The general politicization in large parts of the musical world during the 1960s and 1970s was closely connected to world political events and developments, particularly in divided countries such as Germany (Jungmann 2011; Noeske 2007) and Korea (Howard 2006; Killick 2013). More generally, the tremendous effect of the Cold War in East Asia with the Maoist revolution in 1949, the withdrawal of the nationalist Chinese forces to Taiwan, the Korean War, and the division of Korea suggests that, from an Asian perspective, cultural or musical statements in this region were equally considered implicitly political, all the more since a concept of “musical autonomy” had not been established in Asian countries on a broader basis before 1945. This does not mean that musical works in postwar East Asia were explicitly political in general; quite to the contrary, the majority of Western-oriented East Asian composers, like most of their Western colleagues far into the 1960s, tried to stand aloof from political engagement. Although global politics obviously served as a considerable factor of synchronization and interconnection in postwar music history, “Cold War ideologies” are a too crude and inflexible framework for grasping the complex effects of musical works and performances on the diverse historical processes in different countries and regions of the world. Moreover, it seems inadequate and insensitive to the complexity of historical constellations and processes to place the aesthetic appropriation of scientific trends of the Cold War (even if they might have been based on or implied a certain authoritarian worldview) in (Western) serial music and the simultaneous patronizing of composers and musicians in totalitarian regimes on the same level. In sum, “simultaneous” discourses or processes should not be simplified by tracing them to a common (in this case political-ideological) origin; rather, one has to keep the “nonsimultaneous” character of local music-related
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discourses in mind when trying to sketch the entanglements of global music making in the postwar period. By focusing on “internationalism” (section 2) and “universalism” (section 3) as the two most prominent concepts of global entanglement after 1945—and by attending to the controversial debates to which they gave rise—I intend first to demonstrate how an increasing awareness of acting as an “agent” in an international or global context affected (local) compositional technique and aesthetics substantially (though in different ways), and how the “simultaneity” of such an increasingly globalized musical communication still implied many “nonsimultaneities” between global and local, Western and non-Western music aesthetics or “realities.” I suggest that these “nonsimultaneities” in particular might offer a key to understanding the music-historical dynamics of this period. This will provide a background for three short case studies introduced in section 4, which relate compositional ideas and techniques from a US-American, a Japanese, and an Italian composer to a prominent international event of the “cultural Cold War.”
2. INTERNATIONALISM The dedicated internationalism of twentieth-century music predated the Cold War period by several decades and was the result of both political-militarist confrontation and a certain social isolation of “modernist” music in European societies. The trend toward internationalization had in fact already been a main global characteristic of political movements in the second half of the nineteenth century, including the First International, founded by Karl Marx in 1864; the Second International, founded in Paris in 1889; the International Council of Women founded in Washington, D.C., in 1888; and international pacifism, emerging from the Universal Peace Congress in Paris (1889) and the Conventions of Geneva (1864) and The Hague (1899, 1907), as well as the first steps toward the establishment of international law. In general, the decades around 1900 saw a proliferation of international nongovernmental organizations in many areas, particularly in the social and political domain, which became decisive action spaces for the globalization process (Osterhammel 2009: 723-35). Not least, this tendency accelerated a normative universalization of economy, communication, and technical standards such as measures and weights—but it also led to an increasing internationalization of cultural events as marked by the revitalized Olympic Games in 1896 (Osterhammel 2009: 732). World exhibitions in London (1851/62/86), Paris (1855/67/78/89, 1900) and elsewhere celebrated “world peace” and “social harmony” as presumably brought about by Western civilization (Osterhammel 2009: 41-2); some had
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profound impact on cultural and musical processes and innovations (Fauser 2005), suggesting a thin boundary between imperialist strategies of appropriation and modernity-skeptical cultural pessimism (Born/Hesmondhalgh 2000). In addition, the internationalization of the world did not exclude the (mis-)use of international communication for nationalist agenda (Osterhammel 2009: 733). The International Society of Contemporary Music (ISCM) was founded in 1922 to overcome the national isolation of musical scenes and institutions resulting from World War I, and the largely nationally defined infrastructure of nineteenth-century musical institutions that had been deeply involved in musical “nation building.” Inspired by the League of Nations founded in 1919, and the Club of Poets, Essayists, Novelists (PEN) founded in 1921 (Nonnenmann 2016: 2846), the ISCM was to represent and to support composers, performers, and amateurs of contemporary music “of all aesthetic directions and tendencies—irrespective of citizenship, race, religion, or political beliefs” (Haefeli 1982: 53; my translation). Although nationalist and aesthetic conflicts arose within the ISCM early on, the organization remained a platform for a relatively nonideological though clearly Western-oriented international exchange—Soviet and communist countries never applied or were considered for membership. 1 Indeed, Eisler’s manifesto envisioned the foundation of a counterorganization (Kovácz 1997: 118). The countries under Soviet control during the decades until 1991 were dominated by the powerful Union of Soviet Composers under the general secretary Tikhon Khrennikov, although the repression of Western-oriented aesthetics varied considerably, with Poland and later former Yugoslavia and East Germany establishing particularly close ties of musical exchange with the West. In the immediate postwar period, “internationalism” usually had positive connotations when used by Soviet-oriented writers, based on the idea of solidarity among nations fighting for a common cause against capitalist exploitation (see Kovácz 1997: 116-39). Most notably, this “internationalism” was based on the preservation of national identities and characteristics, in declared contrast to Western capitalist “cosmopolitanism,” which was considered to erode these characteristics and was also a propagandist invective used during the concealed Stalinist anti-Semitic campaign between 1949 and 1953 (Azadovskii/Egorov 2002). In Eisler’s Prague Manifesto, these terms were connected with the diagnosis of a “serious crisis” of contemporary music, contributing to a much-repeated trope in postwar music-related discourse and indeed, in the discourse on modernity in general
1
Russia has been a member of the ISCM since 2005, China since 2012. Japan joined the ISCM in 1935, South Korea in 1957, Hong Kong (Hong Kong Composers’ Guild) in 1983, Taiwan in 1989.
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(Meyer 2011: 39-40). In both popular and art music, the reason for this “crisis” was believed to lie in the “individualism” and “subjectivism” of the Western composer or performer. Leftist artists living in the West usually defended the freedom of individual expression. They included Hermann Scherchen and most prominently René Leibowitz, whose book L’artiste et sa conscience (1950) features a critique of his former student Serge Nigg’s inclination toward the program of the Prague Manifesto (Carroll 2003: 116-31; Sprout 2009). Some were more explicit in their support of Eisler’s program, such as the prominent scholar and critic Hans Mayer, one of the most influential speakers during the first five years of the Darmstadt Summer Courses (1946-50). Mayer sought to reconcile socialist realism with musical modernism, including a positive assessment of Schoenberg and the Viennese School attuned to the rhetoric of a “crisis” of bourgeois culture attributed to an increasing gap between art and “reality.” For Eisler and Mayer, the origins of modernism’s crisis were to be seen in the “emancipation from the religious-cultic to the cultural-civil” and the implied processes of individualization and anticollectivism. In contrast to the official Zhdanov doctrine, however, Mayer was skeptical about a preservation of “national characteristics” and associated “formalism” with Stravinsky’s and Hindemith’s neoclassicism rather than with atonality and dissonance. The audience and press reception of the early Darmstadt Summer Courses demonstrates how such “moderate” positions during the years around 1950 increasingly gave way to a more polarized rhetoric, especially documented in East German press reviews that idealized nationalist and folkloristic styles, of which Béla Bartók was considered exemplary, while denouncing “international” and “formalist” tendencies, particularly associated with American composers such as Edgard Varèse, whose lifelong fight against “formalist” aesthetics in this context obviously remained unnoticed. Thus, in Soviet-influenced rhetoric the term “international” had changed from positive to negative within a few years while the Darmstadt Courses, in turn, increasingly claimed to represent a true “international” platform, not least marked by the remarkable change of name from “Ferienkurse für internationale neue Musik” to “Internationale Ferienkurse für neue Musik” in 1948. In the following decade, the proportion of non-German participants increased from 4.3 percent in 1948 continuously to a peak of 70.4 percent in 1961 (Kovács 1997: 62). Musical trends and works from that period, in which traits of such new “internationalism” materialize, may be found most prominently in interwar, wartime, and postwar neoclassicism, which from the beginning had been declared an “international” trend with profound influences on pre- and postwar musical history in Russia, France, Eastern and Northern Europe, and Latin America. The aware-
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ness of writing for a broad international audience, however, informs many politically imbued works of the period beyond a more decidedly neoclassist repertoire, such as Arnold Schoenberg’s A Survivor from Warsaw (1948)—which instigated a particularly broad and controversial discussion on political music in postwar Europe (Calico 2014; Carroll 2003: 116-31; Shreffler 2015: 53-4), Karl Amadeus Hartmann’s postwar Symphonies Nos. 3 to 8 (1945-62) (Mosch 2014), and Hanns Eisler’s paradigmatic Deutsche Symphonie (1935-57) (Wißmann 2012: 107-26). In their idioms and programs as well as their genesis and performance history, these pieces mirror particular concrete facets of wartime and postwar history, as do the well-known examples of Shostakovich’s Symphonies Nos. 9 to 13 (194862) and Stravinsky’s Symphony in Three Movements (1943-45). Most composers (including the three prominent cases introduced in section 4 below), even if they did not react to the political situation or the terrors of the recent past in similarly explicit terms, in consequence tended to conceive of their potential audience as a “global” community, which, not least, in many cases may have helped to overcome local resistance to their musical innovations. This “global audience,” naturally, in a way turned out to be an imagined community and was not dissimilar to the “mankind” Theodor W. Adorno had in mind when he termed Beethoven’s symphonies “public addresses to mankind” (“Volksreden an die Menschheit”; Adorno 1962: 281). Against this background, postwar musical internationalism and universalism arguably have to be considered not only as counter-reactions to the nationalist discourses of the recent past but also as evidence of an increasing awareness of global interconnectedness—including the awareness that many trends in Cold War policies were threatening to push the world back into localist or regionalist isolationism. The two music-historically most influential tendencies in this context were the invention of serial music and its structuralist universalist claims (3.3) as well as forms of ethnically accentuated multi- or transethnic universalism (3.4) occurring later on.
3. UNIVERSALISM Whereas “internationalism” merely seems to signify a complex of global or transnational networks, often implying the wish to overcome restrictive nationalist thinking and agency, “universalism” clearly indicates a more emphatic and usually optimistic world-embracing concept, aiming at transcending the limits of national or culture-specific discourse, heading toward “world music,” “world literature,” “world art,” etc. (Fillitz 2015; Heile 2009; Huang 2013; Utz 2002: 26-43). Universalism in the European context is foremost a product of Enlightenment thought,
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in the area of music reflected in the well-known quote attributed to Joseph Haydn, assuming that his “language” can be understood throughout the whole world— and as such has been criticized and met with skepticism already in many areas of nineteenth-century aesthetics (Dahlhaus 1977: 220; see Janz 2015: 147). At the same time, universalism served as the principal founding ideology of nineteenthcentury colonialism and imperialism and is thus heavily involved in political history and ideology: “In the same period when most political philosophers began to defend the principles of universalism and equality, the same individuals still defended the legitimacy of colonialism and imperialism. One way of reconciling those apparently opposed principles was the argument known as the ‘civilizing mission,’ which suggested that a temporary period of political dependence or tutelage was necessary in order for ‘uncivilized’ societies to advance to the point where they were capable of sustaining liberal institutions and self-government.” (Kohn 2014)
In music historiography and comparative musicology, Eurocentric universalism dominated the early decades of the disciplines almost exclusively. Even though findings by comparative musicology early on criticized Eurocentric music-theoretical and music-historical methodologies (Utz 2015), the search for musical universals continued to shape (and confine) later studies in global music history, such as Walter Wiora’s Die vier Weltalter der Musik (Wiora 1961; see Janz 2015: 130; Utz 2014: 44-8). The idea of musical universals still figures in the (predominantly ethnomusicologically based) discourse on “world music” to a certain extent, which tends toward a notion of “music” that encompasses all kinds and genres worldwide, seemingly without introducing hierarchies (see Janz 2015: 148): “Whether musical systems leak at the borders or not, languages are not all that coherent, being subject to constant change, and failing in the test of precise geographic borders. Whether there is something still to be said for the concept of music as the universal language of mankind, and whether enjoying the sounds of a foreign music is identical with understanding may be argued. The issue is not ‘one’ or ‘many,’ but in what ways the notion of music and musics provide insight. A history of world music should, if it does not come down on one side or the other, show how the two perspectives provide different interpretations of what happened.” (Nettl 2013: 25)
It is obvious (and has been explained by many authors) that universalism is dialectically tied to the concepts of (cultural) essentialism, particularism, and relativism. The latter concepts tend to deny the possibility of universal forms of artistic
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(or political) articulation and to emphasize cultural uniqueness and the (partial) incompatibility or alterity of a “culture” or “nation” with other comparable entities. Relativism, in particular, seems to function basically as a critical counterpart of universalism, exemplified by some approaches in postcolonial studies. Nonetheless, cultural and national essentialisms are deeply embedded in the history of modernity and intrinsic components in the process of nation building as well as the basis of most claims for cultural difference (see, e.g., Zhou 2010). At the same time, we can recognize that essentialism and universalism are not mutually exclusive but rather interdependent concepts: the universalist has to presuppose basic— cultural, national, racial, political, aesthetic, stylistic—essential differences that he or she will “universalize” or “transcend” in an act of “synthesis,” “syncretism,” “integration,” etc. Thus, the idea of essential entities is a shared assumption of both universalism and essentialism. Therefore, a reasonable and careful discussion about whether different forms of music, art, religious ideas, or social structures, etc. are (partly) compatible or not might easily fall back into ideological forms of opposition or even become the basis of new kinds of radicalized thinking or political misuse, as for example in diverse forms of neonationalism. Such reclaiming of identities seems to recur in waves. The term “neonationalism,” for example, has been used in describing European music history of the 1910s and 1920s (pre- and post-World War I affirmations of national identities, as in Stravinsky’s “Russian” ballets or in Bartók’s idealization of peasant music; Brown 2000; Taruskin 1996; see Utz 2014: 53-6). However, it can be applied equally to dimensions of transnational history of the early 1990s (post-1989, post-Cold War reclamation of national identity especially in Eastern European countries but also in East Germany, as well as a first wave of right-wing populist parties and politicians) and of the present period (the reaffirmation of national interest and xenophobic sentiments throughout Europe and in many Asian and American countries as an obvious counter-reaction to migration and economic changes resulting from globalized political and economic dynamics). In Asia, (neo-)nationalist tides have proved influential on music history, as can be traced in many areas of twentieth-century music of Japan, Korea, and China (see Utz 2014: 115-216). In European music from the 1940s to 1970s, there are at least four basic forms of universalism, which I label “religious” or “spiritual universalism,” “technological universalism,” “structuralist universalism,” and “transethnic” or “transcultural universalism” and will try to characterize below. All categories arguably are crossrelated to the Enlightenment idea of “art” and music in particular as a universal phenomenon, understood as a “collective singular” with the composer acting as a kind of high priest of an “art religion” with potentially global impact. The
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following categories therefore do not exclude one another, but rather interact in a mosaic of universalist concepts. From this perspective, the different types of musical universalism potentially appear as a particularly apt exemplification of the “nonsimultaneity of the simultaneous” in postwar music history, which will become ultimately evident in the three case studies in section 4. 3.1 Religious and Spiritual Universalism Religious thought is universal by definition, prompting the political impact of Enlightenment universalism and the universalism of political theories and ideologies such as Marxism as a necessary consequence of a critique of religion (eventually itself taking on many features of a religion). The “sacred” implications of musical performance and reception became particularly pertinent in nineteenth-century “art religion,” eventually motivating composers to conceive an all-encompassing reform of musical presentation and reception modes, the most prominent example being Richard Wagner. The decades around 1900 saw a wave of highly influential post- or pseudo-religious universalist theories such as Theosophy and Anthroposophy, many of which incorporated fragments of mystic Asian traditions. An important Russian-American-Italian trajectory in this respect leads from Alexander Scriabin and Ferruccio Busoni to Dane Rudhyar and Giacinto Scelsi (Celestini 2012; Reish 2001; Utz forthcoming). Olivier Messiaen’s outline of a “theological” music was deeply informed by such individualized mystic universalism, as it was cultivated during the 1930s in the groupe La Jeune France by André Jolivet, among others (Borio 2011; Gut 1977), while the inspiration drawn from the Renouveau catholique movement also included considerable culture-conservative elements (Lindhorst 2013). Messiaen’s Indian-inspired rhythms, however, were not used to evoke Indian music (in contrast to the clearly audible evocation of gamelan music in the Turangalîla Symphony, 1946-48, or of gagaku in the fourth movement of the Sept Haïkaï, 1964), but rather represented a “timeless,” primordial theological world order, thus also connecting to the “quadrivial” European tradition of religiously based number rationalism and symbolism (Bruhn 2006). Influenced by Messiaen’s religiously based universalism, Karel Goeyvaerts and Karlheinz Stockhausen during the early 1950s were very attracted to the idea of a “pure structure” (Sabbe 1981). Stockhausen early on grounded his activity on the idea of being sent on the compositional path by a divine message (Blumröder 1993: 73), claiming that his music was merely “translating” divine vibrations (Blumröder 1993: 89). Stockhausen also proposed more explicitly culturally or ethnically defined universalist ideas: Inspired by a 1952 Paris concert with Balinese and Tibetan music, Stockhausen (retrospectively) claimed to have decided to
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“make a kind of music that relies on the tradition of music from the entire world” (Stockhausen 1962: 133; my translation), a claim that acquired neo-imperialist undertones and thus aroused heated debate in a later formulation, in which Stockhausen proposed to write “not my own music but the music of the whole earth, of all countries and races” (Stockhausen 1966/69: 75; my translation). The mystic tradition of religious intuition as a basis of the compositional process, with the composer acting as a “medium” between divine forces and the sounding matter in Stockhausen’s case can be linked to at least two major traditions of thought: Messiaen’s “theological” aesthetics, in which mystic universalism already had been closely linked to the reception of non-Western musical traditions harking back to Debussy’s, Roussel’s, and Delage’s “submerged exoticism” around 1900 (Locke 2009: 214-44; Pasler 1994; 2000); and substantial influences of Catholic thought on Stockhausen’s conception of music, which resulted in a characteristic simultaneity of rationalism and mysticism (Gutknecht 1999; Ulrich 1999; Utz 2002: 141-4). 3.2 Technological Universalism The argument that technological innovation, usually considered a driving force of modernity if not its main constituting factor, has led to the “time-space-compression” (Hall 1992: 300-2) typical of globalization processes, is familiar from our immediate present where the high-speed internet, Google, and YouTube seem to contribute to a readily available and continuously expanding archive of “world cultures.” The essentialist, materialist, and technocratic conviction that a musical recording has the capacity to “represent” a specific culture; the misconception that technology is a culture-independent force, transcending traditional forms of encultured communication and articulation; and the optimistic enthusiasm that saw the use of new technologies as a symptom of a “new era” can all be detected clearly in many areas of European music of the 1950s and 1960s (Utz 2002: 1478). Marshall McLuhan’s trope of the “global village” offers the best-known theorization of this overt technological optimism (McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy, 1962, German translation 1968; Understanding Media, 1964; The Medium Is the Message, 1967; War and Peace in the Global Village, 1968; see Heile 2009: 1056). McLuhan’s theory was sparked by sensational technological innovations during the 1960s, culminating in the first satellite communication in 1969 (Siebert 2014: 86). Many of Stockhausen’s statements suggest close ties to McLuhan’s ideas, as he repeatedly invokes the metaphor of the “global village” (Stockhausen 1968: 81; my translation); indeed, McLuhan is quoted once in Stockhausen’s essay “Ein Mundstück” from 1969 (Stockhausen 1969: 300). In a 1968 interview on his electronic composition Telemusik, realized in the NHK studios Tokyo 1966,
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Stockhausen offered particularly evident examples of how this technological universalism may be put into compositional practice: “Overcoming time and space at a speed that the time delay and the distance become almost zero has become possible only by applying these modern technical possibilities of communication. They make it possible for the first time that this world becomes one world. And for us musicians the tools for this are microphones and magnetophone tapes. They may produce other tools that improve those first possibilities. This is the beginning of universalism. The integrating force is expressed in the technical devices we use. The possibility of me phoning to Africa to order a tape recording, the parts of which I then combine with electronic sounds that I make in Tokyo, is an outrageous fact that makes it possible to relate things that were previously completely unrelated. In the past it was only possible to listen to music from Africa if you travelled there. And who had that opportunity? […]. You just shouldn’t try to level things. I do not strive for a ‘synthesis’ in which everything merges into a huge mishmash, on the contrary: One still has to support the characteristic structures in a chosen context. I don’t want to destroy anything, but I want to preserve the independence of the individual phenomena in the sense of the mentioned polyphony. After all, individual moments of a structure are related to other individual details.” (Stockhausen 1968: 83; my translation)
This skepticism toward synthesis, however, does not fit well with the affirmative synthetic universalism of Stockhausen’s electronic composition Hymnen (196567), based on forty different national anthems, in the fourth “region” of the work culminating in the anthem of the imaginary country of Hymunion (part of the cosmic Harmondie) led by Pluramon (see Siebert 2014: 88): the universalist claim, based merely on the technological availability of sound documents and their collage-like presentation, is filtered into an “original” composition, superseding pluralism and reinstalling the genius composer as a universalist, “global” agent empowered by technology (Revers 1998: 192-6; Utz 2002: 165-71). This becomes even clearer in Stockhausen’s Telemusik, in which—in contrast to the composer’s emphasis on a diversity of musical styles that should not be distorted by creating a “superstyle” but rather retain their diversity—Stockhausen’s procedures finally do not provide a prominent role for the articulation of cultural difference but appear firmly rooted in the aesthetics and techniques of Western Europe’s electronic music of the 1950s and 1960s (see the analyses in Erbe 2004; Hünermann 2015; Kohl 2002; Utz 2002: 53-165). The cultural difference of the recorded music—Telemusik employs both synthetically generated sounds from sine and triangle generators and recordings of traditional art and folk music from Japan, China, Vietnam, Bali, sub-Saharan Africa, Amazonian Indians,
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Spain, and Hungary—is transformed and filtered into a musical context in which their uniqueness is almost completely erased. Stockhausen’s Pluramon concept, which strives for a balanced relationship between pluralism and monism (Cott 1974: 144; Shimizu 1999b), is hardly put into practice here—the “monism” of Stockhausen’s compositional style clearly predominates. When fragments of the traditional music recordings become audible, they are heard in a blurred, sometimes even grotesquely distorted manner that seems to mock the original performance style. Even if Stockhausen’s reluctance to render the qualities of the traditional music genres used might have been rooted in the wish to respect their “original” form by not quoting them literally, the question remains why he actually decided to make use of them in the first place. The analysis shows that the reasons for this decision do not stem from the specific musical qualities of the recorded music, nor from its acoustic properties (Maconie 1976: 207); rather, Stockhausen’s conventionally Western conception of the composer as universalist and “discoverer,” based on nineteenth-century art religion and Catholic faith, probably should be considered the main reason. 3.3 Structuralist Universalism Messiaen’s and Stockhausen’s cases make obvious how religious and structural universalism interrelate. The assumption of the presumably universal, culturefree, or transcultural properties of serial structure is an oft-quoted trope, although it was employed in most cases with reservation and, more importantly, articulated in quite different ways by different composers and authors. In the contexts of both Cologne and Paris, the impact of universalist linguistic theories should be noted (Saussurian and Lévi-Straussian structuralism in Paris and Meyer-Eppler’s information-theoretical research into an artificial hyperlanguage in Cologne). Although the common understanding of a “global” structure in which “everything is contained,” supposedly reflecing a “universal, planned order” (Stockhausen 1953: 467; my translation), rarely was connected to explicit cultural or ethnic claims during the 1950s, the interpretation of serial technique as a “culturally neutral” basis of postwar musical language was emphasized retrospectively in Dieter Schnebel’s 1972 essay “New World Music.” This text was written for the catalogue of the Munich Olympic Games 1972, entitled World Cultures and Modern Art: The Encounter of Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century European Art and Music with Asia, Africa, Oceania, Afro- and Indo-America: “The music produced after the Second World War, especially in Europe, marked a new beginning. The new music was distinguished from the old in that it lacked to a large extent
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both the traditional rules and regional coloring. We can almost talk of the birth of a futuristic world language. Although the new compositions stemmed from Western music, they did not necessarily demand a knowledge of it for their understanding. They were the creations of composers hailing from all the industrialized countries, without more than hidden regional reminiscences: the serial music of a Korean has as little of the Oriental about it as that of a Swede has of the Nordic. This rather uncharacteristic and seemingly traditionless world music of a technological age at first avoided employing the customary apparatus of the bourgeois era. The usual operatic and concert forms were scorned and the compositions were written for unorthodox ensembles.” (Schnebel 1972: 338)
Considering that the catalogue included both a “postcolonial” criticism of aesthetic (and political) universalism (Lissa 1972) and seemingly “neutral” descriptions of how Western artists used “non-Western material” (Pelinski 1972a, 1972b; Raab 1972a, 1972b; Schnebel 1972), this period today appears as a transition phase from a structurally to an ethnically rooted universalism while at the same time the deep problem inherent to musical universalism slowly came to be disputed more consciously, especially in the wake of Stockhausen’s essay “Weltmusik” from 1973, which can be considered a peak of his universalist aesthetics, summarizing ideas since the 1950s (Siebert 2014: 41-92) and particularly building on a Darmstadt seminar on “meta-collage” from 1970 (Siebert 2014: 45).2 The postwar “ideology” of a nonpolitical role of art and music here takes on the increasingly esoteric and vague language Stockhausen had developed since at least the late 1960s, denying any postcolonial impact in favor of a “process of inner renewal”: “The argument that Europeans have transformed what was previously territorial colonialism into cultural colonialism is often to be heard today. In other words, tourists are conquerors and exploiters in another form. But people overlook the fact that beneath the surface humanity is affected by developments emerging in all cultures. One cannot talk about the separate problems of some island culture without taking into account the currents linking this
2
The essay was written by Stockhausen on 8 April 1973, for Musik international. Information über Jazz, Pop, außer-europäische Musik (Die Garbe, Vol. 5), eds. E. Pütz and H.W. Schmidt, 1975. Excerpts first appeared in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung on 17 November 1973. Printed unabridged in Musik und Bildung 6/1 (1974) and in Universitas 31/6 (1976). Published in Stockhausen’s Texte zur Musik, Vol. 4 (see Stockhausen [1973] 1978). An abridged English translation by Tim Nevill was published in Towards a Cosmic Music (1989), London: Element Books. A full English translation is available at www.stockhausen.org/world_music.pdf (see Stockhausen 1974).
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culture with all others. The process of inner renewal is getting under way more or less simultaneously in all cultures.” (Stockhausen 1974: 3)
It is surely characteristic that Stockhausen recognized some crucial features of the globalization process early on, when he emphasized the interconnectedness and entanglement of global regions, while his belief in a deterministic convergence and “inner renewal” of decaying and perishing cultures shows clear traits of early twentieth-century cultural pessimism in the style of Dane Rudhyar’s writings of the 1920s and 1930s, which in turn were influenced by politically proto-fascist writings such as Oswald Spengler’s Der Untergang des Abendlandes (Ertan 2009: 18-21; see Utz forthcoming): “Cultures also destroy themselves from within. They are overripe and in that state of decay destined to change into something new. The outcome of this rapid process of dissolution of individual cultures is that they all flow into a more unified world culture.” (Stockhausen 1974: 2)
This decline sets the stage for the “savior-composer” who has given up the chimera of a “personal style” (Stockhausen 1974: 4); he “literally embrace[s] the world,” and sets out to create “new structures […], unifying a large number of stylistic qualities.” Only to this end is the “preservation of the largest possible number of musical forms from all cultures” deemed necessary (Stockhausen 1974: 5). The complex interrelation between presumably declining cultures—both Western and non-Western—serving as a justification for the individual genius composer’s task of taking up the “invigorating” forces of global musical traditions; the call for a preservation of traditional musical cultures (to be freely used as material in new compositions); and the assignment of a key role to the composer, staged as a preserver of traditions and innovator transcending them at the same time, is a paradox that lies at the heart of globalized art music’s universalist tendencies from the 1960s up to the 2000s (Utz 2016: 145). It recurs, for example, in Tan Dun’s intermedial cello concerto The Map (2002), which integrates video footage of music from southwestern Chinese minorities into a conventional Western orchestra with a cello soloist. In this work, Tan Dun seems to be playing two roles simultaneously, each coming from a different ideological standpoint: that of the preserver of vanishing cultures, specifically as an ethnically Chinese artist; and that of the innovator of the modern Western orchestra, a citizen of the world and practitioner of Western art (Young 2009: 86; see Yang 2014).
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3.4 Transethnic Universalism Stockhausen’s arrival at an explicit transethnic universalism was undoubtedly instigated by his increasingly international success as a composer, which included performances, commissions, and invitations from the United States (1958, 1961, 1965, 1966-67) and Japan (1966, 1970, 1976-77), among others. The multiple mutual influences between Stockhausen and the American “Experimental Tradition” before, during, and after his professorship at the University of California (Davis) in 1966-67 remain a desideratum of future research (see Heile 2009: 106). In contrast, the impact of Stockhausen’s trips to Japan have been highlighted by both Stockhausen himself (Stockhausen 1972) and several studies (Gutknecht 1995; Shimizu 1999a; Utz 2002: 148-53). Historically, the concept of transethnicism had developed in North American music in the early twentieth century with proponents such as Percy Grainger, Henry Eichheim, Dane Rudhyar, Henry Cowell (see 4), Colin McPhee, Harry Partch, Lou Harrison, Alan Hovhaness, George Crumb, and John Cage (Nicholls 1996)—although Cage’s universalism is arguably better described as a complex synthesis of structural and ethnic or cultural components. Transethnic universalism in music was no new idea in the 1960s. It had been discussed controversially in the early twentieth century, sparked by the concept of a new “exoticist musical style,” testified in the theory of Georg Capellen that was destined to overcome the “crisis” of modern music with its “rejuvenating” forces (Capellen 1905; 1906/07; 1907/08). Capellen’s approach shows obvious parallels to Stockhausen’s, suggesting that the idea of “stagnation” of both European and non-European cultures—to be “revitalized” by the genius composer—and the idea of a necessary (static) “preservation” of non-Western cultures by documentation are archetypes of transnational modernity discourse, recurring in waves (Revers 1998). Representatives of early comparative musicology were horrified by the “specter” of a “Universalmusik” to which one might listen “with the same excitement on Fifth Avenue as in the Kalahari” (Hornbostel 1910: 67-8; my translation), a position expanded and intensified in critiques and polemics surrounding Stockhausen’s “Weltmusik” concept amply documented and analyzed in earlier studies (Heile 2009: 109-15; Fritsch 1981; Siebert 2014: 43-4; Utz 2002: 136-71). The impact of an explicit, ethnically oriented universalist thought around 1970 in both US and European musical contexts can hardly be overestimated, with many approaches reacting directly or implicitly and often critically to Stockhausen’s “Weltmusik” ideal (Borio 2010, 2011; Heile 2009; Nicholls 1996; Utz 2002). Mauricio Kagel, Peter Michael Hamel, Hans Zender and Helmut Lachenmann in Germany, Giacinto Scelsi, Luciano Berio, Alvin Curran in Italy and the United States, Pierre Boulez, Jean-Claude Eloy and Georges Aperghis in
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France, Benjamin Britten in Great Britain, and, largely neglected by research, Henri Pousseur in Belgium (Heile 2009: 113), as well as the aforementioned North American composers and a considerable number of Asian composers (including most prominently Pan-Asiatic tendencies in works by Mayuzumi Toshirō, Nishimura Akira, Miki Minoru, José Maceda, and Isang Yun), all included intercultural ideas prominently in their compositional aesthetics during this period, sometimes in an explicitly universalist manner close to Stockhausen (e.g., Pousseur), sometimes in a decidedly opposing approach (Boulez, who, as a young man, wanted to study ethnology and was in close contact with anthropologist André Schaeffner throughout the 1950s to 1970s; Borio 2011: 117-8, Zenck 2017: 63-4). The reason for this broad attempt at an identification with non-Western cultures, though frequently linked to a rigorous criticism of modernized non-Western musical practices, might very well be found in the precarious social situation of New Music, necessitating the creation of aesthetic and cultural alliances and solidarities that transcend the limitations of the immediate (local) “realities” and constraints (Meyer 2011: 34).
4. THREE CASE STUDIES: HENRY COWELL, MAYUZUMI TOSHIRŌ, AND LUCIANO BERIO IN THE CONTEXT OF THE TOKYO EAST WEST ENCOUNTER CONFERENCE 1961 3 Both internationalism—as a form of composers’, performers’, and audiences’ awareness of global interconnectedness and interdependence—and universalism—as the more or less open attempt to reach beyond the limitations of national or local musical confinements, guided by religious, technological, structural, or ethnic ideas and categories—may be understood as countermodels to the ubiquitous construction of composers as representatives of specific national or cultural identities by media, historians, and audiences. How did the different facets of international and universal composition interact in the sense that simultaneous works and discourses reveal “nonsimultaneous” preconditions and entangled “(pre-)histories”? Three short case studies shall address this question by way of a summary and conclusion, focusing on the involvement of three prominent composers from diffeent countries (United States, Japan, Italy) in a key event of the “cultural Cold War.”
3
A more detailed version of this section was published in German as Utz 2018.
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The term “international” figured prominently in most activities and events hosted or supported by the Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF), a CIAsponsored organization that existed between 1950 and 1967 and played a crucial role in enhancing international relations in music and other arts during the 1950s and 1960s, pursuing a decidedly anticommunist agenda (Beal 2006; Carroll 2003; Giroud 2015; Parsons 2003; Saunders [1999] 2013; Sheppard 2008; Shreffler 2005; Utz 2016: 144-5). By funding large music festivals in Paris (1952), Rome (1954), Venice (1958), and Tokyo (1961), the CCF aimed to demonstrate the unlimited freedom of style and expression in contemporary music in the West as counterexample to the Soviet bloc’s “patronized music” (“gegängelte Musik,” Adorno 1953).4 This is clearly documented in the introduction by the CCF’s secretary general, the Russian-American composer Nicolas Nabokov, to the 1952 Paris festival: “During this coming arts festival, dedicated to l’Œuvre du XXe siècle, we will not hear any scores that do not owe their qualities, their very soul, to the fact that they are the music and the art of men who know the value of liberty. […] And those who live today know this value of their times better because they have seen it. […] If a music festival has a purpose and a virtue, it must be to combat hopelessness and discouragement. […] Totalitarian ideologies […] cannot diminish one inch the masterworks that speak for themselves—and for the civilization that gave them birth.” (Nabokov 1952: 8; quoted after Parsons 2003: 59)
A peak of the CCF’s dedicated internationalism was the Tokyo East West Music Encounter Festival and Conference in April 1961, cofunded by the Rockefeller Foundation and local Japanese organizations (Giroud 2015: 329-31), purportedly aiming at closing the gap between the musical “East” and the musical “West.” Both festival and conference attracted high-profile attendees from the United States, Europe, and East Asia, including composers such as Elliott Carter, Henry Cowell, Colin McPhee, Lou Harrison, Alan Hovhaness, Iannis Xenakis, Luciano Berio, Bruno Maderna, and Boris Blacher as well as a group of leading Japanese composers of the time (Borio 2010: 109-10; Fukunaka 2008; Giroud 2015: 32932; Sheppard 2008; Utz 2016: 141-5; the conference program and a list of conference participants are provided in the appendix to this chapter). Though largely
4
Adorno’s essay “Die gegängelte Musik” was written in 1948 in immediate response to Eisler’s Prague Manifesto and was first published in 1953 in the Berlin journal Der Monat, which was supported by the CCF (other journals supported by the CCF included Encounter in London and Preuves in Paris) (Saunders 2013: 26, 85-7, 138-58; see also Shreffler 2005: 225-9).
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obscured by the propagation and endorsement of “freedom” in the arts, the submerged political motives of the CCF activities, mainly its aim to “contain” leftist or more explicitly pro-Soviet tendencies, were obvious to many commentators and participants in Tokyo (Fukunaka 2008; Hayashi 1961) as well as in the earlier European events, even though the CIA funding was revealed only in 1966. Many of the composers participating in the Tokyo conference on the surface shared Europe-skeptical viewpoints, envisioning a new “universalist” musical idiom—as designed in a piece such as Henry Cowell’s Ongaku (1957)—independent from dominating European trends such as serialism, while arguing for “preserving” non-Western traditions, saving them from the threat of a contaminating Western influence (see Cowell 1961; Rao 2004; Sheppard 2008). During the conference, ethnomusicologists and composers therefore unanimously demanded the preservation of “non-Western” traditional musical practices, which to them appeared under acute threat in the rapidly Westernizing Asian countries.5 This focus on the preservation of musical traditions did not occur “by coincidence” but was part of a larger trend in US foreign cultural politics of the time: “Especially at the time when the Vietnam War, civil rights movements, and revelations about covert cia interventions in Africa, Asia and Latin America shattered faith in liberal universalism in favour of cultural relativism, [Ford Foundation] administrators considered investment in local heritages as a tactic of soothing those who criticised the American modernization programmes for being too one-sidedly focused on economic and political development at the expense of the indigenous traditions they sought to sustain.” (Langenkamp 2012: 221)
This policy led to real institutional consequences emerging from the Tokyo conference. A memorandum issued at the end of the conference drafted the foundation of an International Institute for Comparative Music Studies, which was materialized two years later in the International Institute for Comparative Music Studies and Documentation (IICMSD; after 1991: International Institute for Traditional Music) in West Berlin, funded by the Ford Foundation, with Alain Daniélou acting as its first director (the institute was closed in 1996). Despite these contexts, it would clearly miss the point to attribute the international or even universalist claims of both serial music and countertrends such as Henry Cowell’s ethnically defined universalism exclusively to institutional and political history and to degrade these largely unpopular styles as corrupted by the
5
“Non-Western” within this conference denotes “Asian” exclusively, since African and Latin American music were conspicuously absent from the discussion.
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ideologies of their day: “It is easy to dismiss the musical styles that we never liked anyway, if we can convince ourselves that they only existed as part of a CIA plot.” (Shreffler 2015: 59) However, such contexts reveal the important insight that “advanced music is not neutral (autonomous) or even necessarily critical, simply by virtue of its idiom” (Shreffler 2015: 59). A closer look at three composers involved in the 1961 conference and festival shall elaborate this point, while hinting at their “nonsynchronous” motives and presumptions: Henry Cowell (1897-1965), Mayuzumi Toshirō (1929-97), and Luciano Berio (1925-2003) participated in (or can be at least associated with) the 1961 Tokyo Festival and Conference, with the sixty-four-year-old Cowell being promoted as a major figure by the American coorganizers. The personal participation of Mayuzumi in the conference at present cannot be confirmed, as he was on a six-month stay in the United States around that time; however, a piece by him was performed during the festival (see below). Far beyond the conference, the “entanglement” of all three composers with Cold War-related institutions was significant for their careers and artistic development, despite their different ages, social status, and roles in their respective countries’ musical scenes. Thus, their unlikely “encounter” at the Tokyo 1961 festival provides an apt example of the “nonsimultaneous” impact of simultaneous events in postwar music history. During the Cold War, transethnic universalism was a concept actively propagated by US governmental organizations such as the CCF (Sheppard 2008), making Henry Cowell’s overt form of transethnic universalism an obvious model. Between August 1956 and September 1957, Cowell had made a world round tour through many parts of Europe, North Africa, and Asia (Sachs 2012: 429-30), generously funded by the Rockefeller Foundation, which since 1955 had actively supported the “cultural Cold War,” especially in a key region such as Asia (Sachs 2012: 469-70). Toward the end of this trip, Cowell had composed Ongaku for orchestra, in which he had adopted (and mixed) structures from the Japanese court music gagaku (雅楽) and the nineteenth-century urban chamber music sankyoku (三曲), synthesizing two historically and socially distinct Japanese traditions and aiming “not [at] an imitation of Japanese music, but an integration of some of its usages with related aspects of Western music” (Cowell’s program note, quoted in Sheppard 2008: 509). At the Tokyo conference, Cowell strongly defended “hybrid music” as an antidote to the loss of “vitality” in Western “symphonic music” since the late nineteenth century (Cowell 1961: 72) but also to “chauvinistic attitudes” in both West and East (Sheppard 2008: 509). Although Cowell’s “universalism and attempts to synthesize East and West in his music, however benign in motivation, worked hand-in-hand with U.S. Cold War efforts to form political bonds with Asian nations, particularly with Japan” (Sheppard 2008: 507), it seems
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advisable to refrain from simplistic political interpretations of his music. Whereas after Cowell’s Japan tour in 1961, which followed the East West Encounter Festival and Conference, the director of the American Center in Japan, E.J. Findlay, congratulated Cowell “for all you did in Japan to win the cultural cold war” (quoted after Sachs 2012: 474), the basis of Cowell’s universalism had already been developed during the 1920s and 1930s (see Cowell 1933), and thus his music of the 1950s cannot simply be interpreted as a linear result of the postwar geopolitical situation. It is true, however, that Cowell’s moderate idiom of the postwar period, distancing itself from both American and European avant-gardes, was a welcome model for diplomatic and political interests at an audience-friendly musical “encounter” that, for example, John Cage’s poetics of silence could never have provided despite its equally “cross-cultural” implications. During the 1961 Tokyo festival, Mayuzumi Toshirō’s Bacchanale (1953), a virtuosic orchestral work in a neoromantic Western idiom, was performed by the New York Philharmonic under Ozawa Seiji, following up its New York premiere (13 April 1961), after Cowell had withdrawn one of his pieces from the concert program in favor of Mayuzumiʼs (Sachs 2012: 473-4). The neonationalist turn in Mayuzumi’s work during the late 1950s has been interpreted by Steven Nuss as a reaction to an anxiety of European influence. Nuss argues that Mayuzumi’s turn to Japanese traditions was a “conscious decision in the late 1950s and early 1960s to reject or subjugate the considerable influence on him of contemporary Western (particularly French) compositional techniques and styles and to draw instead on his profound knowledge of Japan’s traditional musical genres for musical inspiration” and thus a “clear attempt to take what he saw as the West’s insidious (musical) colonialism and flip it on its head” (Nuss 2004: 86-7). At the same time, Mayuzumi was establishing contacts in the United States: From December 1960 on he spent half a year in New York on a grant from the Ford Foundation; in 1961 he received a commission from George Balanchine and the New York City Ballet, for which he composed his orchestral work Bugaku, finished in March 1962 and premiered in New York in 1963 (Mayuzumi 1963). Following earlier successful pieces that made use of traditional Japanese practices such as the Nirvana Symphony (1958), the Mandala Symphony (1960), and Bunraku for solo cello (1960), Mayuzumi might have felt further motivated to pursue this path by the 1961 Tokyo Conference and its support of compositional appropriation of traditional Asian practices. In contrast to the explicit modernist idiom of the earlier pieces, however, Bugaku shows a strange mixture of an “ethnological” approach to composition (an almost transcription-like imitation of Japanese tōgaku [唐楽] opens the piece) and a blatant, emphatic neoromanticism resembling Mayuzumiʼs film scores.
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During this period, Mayuzumiʼs nationalism became increasingly explicit. Works such as the symphonic poem Samsara (Reincarnation) (1962) and the cantata Geka (Pratidesana) (Public confession) (1963) “mirror his nationalist partiality through the use of Japanese elements and in some cases overtly nationalist messages” (Cook 2014: 105). Mayuzumi’s nationalism was closely tied to cultural essentialism. In 1964, he wrote that “the Oriental has a deeper sensitivity to delicate timbres than has the Occidental” (Mayuzumi 1964: 38) and, like many other Japanese composers of the time, developed a substantial interest in Tsunoda Tadanobuʼs abstruse biologist theory that the “Japanese brain” was particularly susceptible to sounds of nature and the rich timbres of traditional Japanese music. Mayuzumi turned to an explicitly political nationalism after the suicide of his friend the writer Mishima Yukio (1925-70), continuing Mishima’s increasingly radicalized path toward an emperor-oriented right-wing nationalist ideology (kokumin-shugi, 国民主義). From 1981 to 1991 Mayuzumi was in charge of the nationalist organization Nihon wo mamoru kokumin kaigi (日本を守る国民会議, National Conference to Defend Japan, after 1997 Nippon kaigi (日本会議, Japan Conference) that—denying Japanese war crimes—attempted to reinstall the fundamentals of the Japanese tennō empire (Havens 2006: 258). It is precarious to evaluate Mayuzumi’s positive reception of the European avant-garde in the early 1950s and his later explicit musical nationalism and to situate these opposing tendencies in the context of postwar music history. The label “nationalist” seems inadequate for Mayuzumi’s refined, modernity-driven form of synthesis between Japanese and European practices and traditions in some of the works around 1960 mentioned above. But this kind of synthesis, not dissimilar to Cowell’s but technically more advanced, exhibited clear affinities with the kind of emphatic universalism propagated by US institutions during the “cultural Cold War.” This shows not only that, due to a considerable “nonsimultaneity” of local and global discourses, one and the same composer or work could be interpreted as “universalist” or “nationalist” depending on the temporal and geographical situation of the receivers or interpreters but also, as Mayuzumiʼs turn to a more “accessible” orchestral idiom in Bugaku and later works suggests, that the transethnic universalism (as implied in American cultural politics) was ultimately to be based on the European tradition of symphonic writing and (extended) tonal harmony. Luciano Berio, finally, took part in the Tokyo East West Encounter Conference shortly before he moved to the United States, where he spent most of his time from 1962 to 1974. Although “transethnic” composing had not been the focus of his music before 1961, he would increasingly develop strategies at integrating diverse materials, culminating in the “collage” techniques applied in famous works
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such as Sinfonia (1968) and Coro (1975-76) that for some researchers make Berio appear as a “model composer for America’s cultural Cold War battle” (Kuo 2011: 139). Indications of Berio as a “model composer” of the Cold War, apart from the increasingly obvious fact that the increasing heterogeneity of Berioʼs materials during the 1960s in many ways mirrored the diversity of US society in particular and the ideal of a universalist aesthetics in general, may also be found in the attenuation of politically loaded content in Berio’s works, which had led to conflict with the US administration in the mid 1960s. In Sinfonia, Berio refrained from explicit political messages—in contrast to earlier works such as the experimental music theater pieces Passaggio (1961-62) and Traces (1965) and following conflicts with the US administration during a canceled performance of his Traces scheduled at the Library of Congress (Kuo 2011: 33-94). He evoked the name of Martin Luther King simply by reducing the sung text of the second movement to the syllables of the civil rights activist’s name: “As an Italian-born American resident who garnered financial resources in academia, from private foundations, and from performing arts organizations, Berio reciprocated his gratitude with a sanitized and apolitical text in the second movement of Sinfonia to prove his allegiance.” (Kuo 2011: 139) It would be short-sighted, however, to interpret a highly complex work as Sinfonia merely as the result of a politically corrupted aesthetics. That Berio refrained from explicit political statements, rethinking and developing the achievements of serial music and Sprachkomposition to a new dimension, aiming at a decidedly “public” statement, maybe even reconfiguring the tradition of symphonies as “public addresses to mankind,” might be understood as a means to emancipate his music from one-dimensional political discourses rather than affirming a Cold War policy of nonpolitical universalism. In sum, the three case studies demonstrate: During the 1950s and 1960s, many composers conceived of composing in a global political context quite consciously; and this awareness of “international” relations provided fertile ground for universalist concepts, even if they might have appeared in a “neonationalist” guise, as in Mayuzumi’s case. However, Cowell’s Ongaku, Mayuzumi’s Bugaku, and Berio’s Sinfonia respond to this situation with striking differences and peculiarities that cannot be subsumed under a common historical label. Cowell’s American model of a “hybrid music,” an idealized model of transethnicism; Mayuzumi’s Japanese neonationalism, optimizing traditionalist structures through Western means; and Berio’s politically abstracted form of universalist montage, to which we might add Stockhausen’s emphatic “world music” ideas, occurred “simultaneously” on the historical stage but testify to radically different local, individual, political, and aesthetic preconditions involving compositional craftmanship, structural and timbral organization, performance, and reception. At the same time, all three com-
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posers were inclined to understand their music as particularly “public,” linking their compositions to many of the other works mentioned earlier in this chapter, to which one might add idiosyncratic pieces like Luigi Nono’s Intolleranza 1960 (1960), Takemitsu Tōru’s November Steps (1967), Bernd Alois Zimmermann’s Requiem für einen jungen Dichter (1967-69), or Alfred Schnittke’s First Symphony (1972). Despite the evident political impact of all these works, it appears to be a clear underestimation of their semiotic diversity and ambiguity to reduce them to mere (if partly unconscious) reactions to (or results of) political discourses. By continuously reframing and reconsidering established concepts of identity, all these composers ultimately contributed to challenging the global hegemony of established Western concepts of music. Despite the various nonsynchronous processes involved in the political and musical layers of their musical aesthetics, the antitraditionalist impulse of the Western postwar avant-garde and its paradoxical allegiance to so-called “traditional” musics reveal a basic ambiguity in postwar music history, which in its best moments provided impressive proof of the public relevance of art music. Considering the worldwide marginalization of art music’s role in today’s commercialized and digitalized societies, one cannot help but see this public impact as the most outstanding quality that distinguishes the globalized music of the postwar decades from that of our present.
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Giroud, Vincent. 2015. Nicolas Nabokov: A Life in Freedom and Music. New York: Oxford University Press. Goody, Jack, 1996. The East in the West. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gut, Serge. 1977. Le Groupe Jeune France: Yves Baudrier. Daniel Lesur, André Jolivet, Olivier Messiaen (Musique-musicologie, Vol 4). Paris: Honoré Champion. Gutknecht, Dieter. 1995. “Stockhausen und Japan.” In Lux oriente: Begegnungen der Kulturen in der Musikforschung. Festschrift Robert Günther zum 65. Geburtstag (Kölner Beiträge zur Musikforschung, Vol. 188), eds. Klaus Wolfgang Niemöller et al., 271-84. Kassel: Bosse. ———. 1999. “Das Geistliche im realen Kompositionsprozeß Stockhausens. Tradition und neuer Ansatz.” In Internationales Stockhausen-Symposion 1998, eds. Imke Misch and Christoph von Blumröder, 9-18. Saarbrücken: Pfau. Haefeli, Anton. 1982. IGNM: Die Internationale Gesellschaft für Neue Musik. Ihre Geschichte von 1922 bis zur Gegenwart. Zurich: Atlantis. Hall, Stuart. 1992. “The Question of Cultural Identity.” In Modernity and Its Futures, eds. Stuart Hall et al., 273-316. Cambridge: Polity Press. Harvey, David. 1989. The Condition of Postmodernity: An Enquiry into the Origins of Cultural Changes. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Havens, Thomas R. H. 2006. Radicals and Realists in the Japanese Nonverbal Arts: The Avant-Garde Rejection of Modernism. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Hayashi Hikaru (林光). 1961. “Tokyō sekai ongakusai wo meguru futatsu no tachiba” (東京世界音楽祭をめぐる二つの立, Two Opinions Over the Tokyo World Music Festival: II).1961. Ongaku geijutsu (音楽芸術) 19, no. 4: 44-6. Heile, Björn. 2009. “Weltmusik and the Globalization of New Music.” In The Modernist Legacy: Essays on New Music, ed. Björn Heile, 101-19. Farnham: Ashgate. Hiekel, Jörn Peter. 2016. “Angekommen im Hier und Jetzt? Aspekte des Weltbezogenen in der Neuen Musik.” In Lexikon Neue Musik, eds. Jörn Peter Hiekel and Christian Utz, 54-76. Stuttgart/Kassel: Metzler/Bärenreiter. Hornbostel, Erich M. von. 1910. “U.S.A. National Music.” Zeitschrift der Internationalen Musikgesellschaft 12, no. 3: 64-8. Howard, Keith. 2006. Creating Korean Music: Tradition, Innovation and the Discourse of Identity. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing. Huang, Yu. 2013. “Constellating World Literature.” Neohelicon 40, no. 2: 561-80.
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Saunders, Frances Stonor. [1999] 2013. The Cultural Cold War. The CIA and the Worlds of Arts and Letters. New York: The New Press. Schmelz, Peter J. 2009. “Introduction: Music in the Cold War.” The Journal of Musicology 26, no. 1: 3-16. Schnebel, Dieter. 1972. “New World Music.” In World Cultures and Modern Art: The Encounter of 19th- and 20th-Century European Art and Music with Asia, Africa, Oceania, Afro- and Indo-America, ed. Siegfried Wichmann, 338-42. Munich: Bruckmann. Schwartz, Frederic J. 2001. “Ernst Bloch and Wilhelm Pinder: Out of Sync.” Grey Room 3: 54-89. Sheppard, W. Anthony. 2008. “Continuity in Composing the American CrossCultural. Eichheim, Cowell, and Japan.” Journal of the American Musicological Society 61, no. 3: 465-540. Shimizu, Minoru. 1999a. “Stockhausen und Japan. Licht und Schatten.” In Internationales Stockhausen-Symposion 1998, eds. Imke Misch and Christoph von Blumröder, 87-94. Saarbrücken: Pfau. ———. 1999b. “Was ist PluraMonismus?” In Internationales Stockhausen-Symposion 1998, eds. Imke Misch and Christoph von Blumröder, 112-25. Saarbrücken: Pfau. Shreffler, Anne C. 2005. “Ideologies of Serialism: Stravinsky’s Threni and the Congress for Cultural Freedom.” In Music and the Aesthetics of Modernity (Festschrift Reinhold Brinkmann), eds. Karol Berger and Anthony Newcomb, 217-45. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ———. 2015. “Cold War Dissonance: Dahlhaus, Taruskin, and the Critique of the Politically Engaged Avant-garde.” In Kultur und Musik nach 1945. Ästhetik im Zeichen des Kalten Kriegs. Kongressbericht Hambacher Schloss 11.12. März 2013, ed. Ulrich J. Blomann, 46-59. Saarbrücken: Pfau. Siebert, Daniel. 2014. Musik im Zeitalter der Globalisierung. Prozesse—Perspektiven—Stile. Bielefeld: transcript. Sprout, Leslie A. 2009. “The 1945 Stravinsky Debates: Nigg, Messiaen, and the Early Cold War in France.” The Journal of Musicology 26, no. 1: 85-131. Stockhausen, Karlheinz. [1953] 1963. “Zur Situation des Metiers (Klangkomposition).” In Texte zur Musik, Vol. 1, ed. Dieter Schnebel, 45-61. Cologne: DuMont-Schauberg. ———. [1962] 1964. “Nr. 13: Momente für Sopran, 4 Chorgruppen und 13 Instrumentalisten (1961/62).” In Texte zur Musik, Vol. 2, ed. Dieter Schnebel, 130-3. Cologne: DuMont-Schauberg. ———. [1966/69] 1971. “Telemusik.” In Texte zur Musik, Vol. 3, ed. Dieter Schnebel, 75-7. Cologne: DuMont-Schauberg.
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APPENDIX: TOKYO EAST-WEST MUSIC ENCOUNTER CONFERENCE: PROGRAMME AND PARTICIPANTS (Source: Executive Committee for 1961 Tokyo East-West Music Encounter 1961) Program (17-22 April 1961) 17 April Inaugural Session 18 April The Difference in Musical Notions of the East and the West The Eastern Musical Traditions • The Music of India • The Music of Indonesia Music as a Liberal Art: Its Place in the Life of the Community • Religious Music (Liturgical and Religious Music) • Operatic and Ballet Music • Concert Music 19 April Musical Interaction Between the East and the West Western Studies of Eastern Music • Asian Music under the Impact of Western Culture • Problems of the Sino-Japanese Musical Tradition Today • Problems of the Indonesian Musical Tradition Today • Problems of the Indian Musical Tradition Today • Oriental Influence on Western Music Western Music in the East • Western Music in Japan • Western Music in India • Western Music in the Philippines • The Composer in Japan Today
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20 April Music and the Listener. Panel Discussion Instruction in Music as Part of General Education 21 April Expression and Technique in Contemporary Music: Renewing the Musical Language • Extending the Classical Syntax • Electronic Composition • Stochastic Music • Refreshing the Auditory Perception • The Philosophy of Style • An Eastern View Theme: Patronage of Music • Patronage of Music in the East • Patronage of Music in the West • Presenting the Eastern Tradition under Conditions of Mass Distribution • Situation of Creative Art in the Industrial Society 22 April Critics’ Forum Conference Participants 1. Arima Daigorō 2. Arisaka Yoshihiko 3. Bekku Sadao 4. Bhatia, Vanraj 5. Brejc, José 6. Carter, Elliott 7. Cowell, Henry 8. Crossley-Holland, Peter 9. Cvetko, Dragotin 10. Daniélou, Alain 11. Draeger, Hans H. 12. Frankenstein, Alfred 13. Garfias, Robert 14. Glock, William
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15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51.
Gostuški, Dragutin Grimaud, Yvette Harewood, The Earl of Harrison, Lou Hirashima Masao Hood, Mantle Kelemen, Milko Kitazawa Masakuni Maceda, José McPhee, Colin Miyagi Mamoru Moroi Makoto Murata Takeo Nabokov, Nicholas [sic] Nomura Koichi Nomura Yoshio Pajoro, Eliseo Roy, R. L. Ruppel, Karl H. Sakka Keisei Schrade, Leo Schuh, Willi Seefehlner, Egon Shiba Sukehiro Singh, Thakur J. Stuckenschmidt, Hans H. Thomson, Virgil Tōyama Kazuyuki Tran Van Khe Usmanbaş, İlhan Valenti-Ferro, Enzo Vatsyayan, Kapila Viswanathan, T. Vlad, Roman Xenakis, Iannis Yoshida Hidekazu Yuize Shinichi
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Selected further participants of the East-West Music Encounter Festival, Tokyo, April 17– May 5, 1961 not mentioned in Conference Proceedings: Ali Akbar Khan Berio, Luciano Bernstein, Leonard Blacher, Boris Einem, Gottfried von Fukui Naoaki Kontarsky, Aloys/Alfons Maderna, Bruno Milanov, Zinka Ozawa Seiji Prey, Hermann Rostand, Claude Stern, Isaac New York Philharmonic Japan Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra Gagaku Ensemble Gamelan-Ensemble (Bali) Royal Ballet (UK) Royal Dancers of Thailand Kathakali Dance Group Kerala (India)
Synchronizing Twentieth-Century Music A Transnational Reflection Yang Chien-Chang
I. INTRODUCTION In 1989, the year when an end was put to the forty-year Cold War, an anthropological conference entitled Working in the Present took place in New Mexico and was dedicated to the question, as the editor of the compiled volume of resulting papers, Richard G. Fox, later recalled: “How can anthropologists work in and write about the world at present?” (Fox 1991: 1) Today, in a world claimed to be global, such a question would sound bemused. Fox’s question testified to the dilemma pointed out a few years earlier by another anthropologist, Johannes Fabian, who criticized a general academic practice of “allochronism,” or the “denial of coevalness”—meaning that scholars tend to place “the non-Western other” into a historical past and thus fashion the civilized society (usually “Western”) to possess an unquestioned advantageous position in a linear historical narrative (Fabian 1983). Indeed, as the postcolonial critic Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak remarked years later: “The subaltern is in our present, but kept premodern, as if the underived and unacknowledged private is only situated in a teleology.” (Spivak 2013: 280) And the teleology of such a historical narrative has usually tacitly been modeled after a Euro-American time scale, replicating the colonial power structure since the nineteenth century (Blaut 1993). The practice of allochronism, i.e., the denial of coevalness to “the other,” might have originated in an imagined communal synchronicity. In the same year of Fabian’s volume, an equally penetrative analysis was presented in Benedict Anderson’s now classic Imagined Communities, in which modern nationhood, defined within a shared frame of time and space, demands a sense of synchronicity
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along a pseudo-linear narrative1 (Anderson 1991). In other words, it is this modernist, imagined synchronicity of nationhood extended to an imagined community of the “civilized world” that has overshadowed true global coevalness; it also allows the exercise of inclusiveness and exclusiveness in the name of modernity, deciding what and whom to be coexisted with, and where. One of the contributors to the above-mentioned volume, Arjun Appadurai, however, proposes in his essay that “the landscapes of group identity—the ethnoscapes—around the world are no longer familiar anthropological objects, insofar as groups are no longer tightly territorialized, spatially bounded, historically unselfconscious, or culturally homogenous” (Appadurai 1989: 191). 2 As a consequence he invests in the notion of alternative modernities, realized as a new cosmopolitanism in the transnational context. Thus, a standard time frame in favor of industrial development and its cultural accompaniments in Western Europe and North America loses its monopoly, when migrating and trafficking cultures define the cultural dynamics of the current “deterritorializing” world (Appadurai 1989: 192-3). Indeed, the modern migrant ethnoscapes along with the flow of global capital have become part of daily life since the late twentieth century. Consequently, it is more and more difficult to maintain a singular view on either national culture or modernity. In recent years, continuous debates have cross-examined the question regarding whether there exists a singular modernity shared around the world, or multiple modernities denoting different processes of modernization (e.g., Eisenstadt 2002; Jameson 2002). To be sure, there is no longer a simple explanation for the so-called “modernity” that can provide a way to understand the world, including music. This paper stems from years of discontents teaching twentieth-century music in a “non-Western” university. Such frustrations originate indeed from an omnipresent postcolonial dilemma: On the one hand, the modern notion of music has its apparently undeniable “origin” since the European Enlightenment and the subsequent industrialization and institutionalization. On the other hand, the meaning of music translated through such institutionalization and its practices has to be reconciled in the global context. In other words, although the current notion of “music” may have been derived from the West, and music history itself has been a European enterprise, yet under the spell of globalization, a provincialized remaking of Europe is greatly in demand and thus, alternative historiographical practices on music are also expected (Chakrabarty 2000). To put it in a nutshell,
1
A concise analysis is provided in Keya Ganguly’s Temporality in Post-Colonial Critique (in Ganguly 2004: 169-70).
2
Appadurai’s paper later became a chapter in his renown Modernity at Large (1996).
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should the music of the world be treated on the same time scale, in synchronicity, and how? As noted by Yamauchi Fumitaka in the current volume, at least in East Asia, the translated notion of music can be as complex as the problem of world history itself. This historiographical dilemma in music has recently drawn attention from the German historian Jürgen Osterhammel. By singling out the history of music, especially the history of European “classical music,” as an art form rapidly developed over the course of the nineteenth century, Osterhammel intends to epitomize the problem of the one-sided cultural traffic from Europe to the rest of the world (Osterhammel 2012). To serve as a corrective, he summarizes a few technical and institutional parameters that appear to be idiosyncratically “Western.” These include tonal, formal, genre, and instrumental particularities; they also include sets of binary oppositions such as sacred/secular, musica prattica/musica theorica, notation/performance, and professional/amateur. These features, as he suggests, can be compared systematically with extra-European traditions such as those of Asia or Africa (Osterhammel 2012: 99). He also takes note of occasions to be further analyzed that have facilitated contacts between European music and the other parts of the world. In addition to the widely recognized influence on European music from Arabic and Jewish traditions during the Middle Ages, these contacts include the practices of exoticism and colonialism, the mobility of musicians, and finally the invention of recording technology that has enhanced the trafficking of music without transporting the musicians (Osterhammel 2012: 102-3). However, while Osterhammel’s liberal attitude should be welcome, as it invites possible contributions to “provincializing Europe,” he hardly challenges the idea of European music as a whole and the basic ontology of music as European. His example therefore pinpoints the common difficulty in the historical analysis of modernity between the receptionist approach emphasizing a history of effects (Wirkungsgeschichte) and the relativist method accentuating the incommensurability among world musical cultures. Both these strategies further reaffirm the problematic binarism between Europe and the other. 3 Such imbalance, nontheless, existed over the history of art music in the twentieth century, when contacts among different global locations had been minimized. Curiously, this part of history demonstrates most extensively the aforementioned
3
This type of history on the one hand challenges the “music exoticism” inherited from the nineteenth century in Europe; on the other hand, it maintains the East-West division that was the origin of such an ideology, represented by recent works such as Born/Hesmondhalgh (2000) and Everett/Lau (2004). Timothy Taylor, however, is aware of this problem (Taylor 2007: 6f.).
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allochronism, by focusing and emphasizing on the transfer of technology, particularly musical modernism, from Europe to the Americas, Africa, and Asia (or anywhere else in the world). In this history, a non-European musical response to modernity was destined to be a latecomer, following the Euro-American path assumed to be more technologically advanced. Although some recent efforts have attempted to view the history from a relativist perspective (Ishida 2005, Komiya 2002), Eurocentric narratives have dominated the writings on Asian music history in the twentieth century. As a consequence, new musical compositions in East Asia have usually been measured against the “technology” of Euro-American avant-gardes, and these compositions have to be channeled through some kind of “national tradition” in contrast with the European “mainstream.” In short, an unchallenged binarism of “modern Europe” versus “traditional Asia” has been the backbone of this type of history. Further, the fixed association between (Western) modernism and technology tends to favor an avant-gardist approach to music and thus hinders us from approaching the other contemporaneous, “less advanced” varieties even among the repertoires in Europe (Yang 2015: 40). The above assumption, however, is highly questionable even within the context of European music history. For instance, how should we evaluate two contemporaneous pieces by Richard Strauss (Vier letzte Lieder) and Pierre Boulez (Second Piano Sonata), one stylistically signaling a long romanticist ending and the other pointing to a completely new age, both created in the immediate postwar period in 1948? And if we should agree that technical features in these two examples would not favor either one or the other in terms of their rich artistic and historical characteristics, how about another contemporaneous composition by a Japanese composer? A case in point is Hayasaka Fumio’s (早坂文雄) Four Unaccompanied Songs on Satoh Haruo’s Poetry (Haruo no shi ni yoru yottsu no mu-bansō no uta, 春夫の詩に拠る四つの無伴奏の歌,), composed right before the end of the war in 1944. The first song, Uguisu (うぐいす, Sea Wabler), tells a story of a man at a seaside inn listening to the solo singing of a nightingale accompanied by the ocean roars (see also Yang 2015: 40-2). The melody evokes a mimesis after shakuhachi and traditional Japanese chanting that might be apparently tonal, yet its non-strophic, free-flowing melodic gestures moving in and out modality and chromaticism are no less “modern,” situated in a world falling apart, deteriorated by war machines. We might ask, should these three pieces be placed in three different times, following Reinhard Koselleck’s famous notion of “the non-contemporaneity of the contemporaneous” (Ungleichzeitigkeit des Gleichzeitigen), or should they be considered coeval so that their historical significance may be considered
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together? Simply put, among contemporaneous events, should we practice allochronism, or synchronize the coevalness of these events? By presenting recent theoretical discussions in comparative historiographies, especially on the semantics of historical time, this chapter proposes a transnational viewpoint treating twentieth-century music history in a relational manner that aims at reaching a compromise between a universalist and a relativist approach. Furthermore, this chapter cites not only Euro-American sources but also perspectives from East Asia (especially from Japan), particularly the idea of dōjidai-shi (同時代史, history of the contemporaneous) presented in recent Japanese historiographical discussions, to demonstrate the entanglement of powers in postwar music history.
II. BEYOND THE POSTCOLONIAL? THE COMPARATIVE, THE TRANSFER, THE TRANSNATIONAL, AND THE ENTANGLED How can history telling be valid in a global context free from the constraints of a conventional national history, especially under the prevalence of an uncritical Eurocentric model?4 Indeed, defining a national history can never be only about the addressed nation itself, because nation building always involves drawing boundaries between self and other, e.g., inside and outside of a given territory. For that very reason, as the historian Prasenjit Duara points out, “Nationalism is rarely the nationalism of the nation, but rather represents the site where very different views of the nation contest and negotiate with each other.” (Duara 1995: 152) As recent studies have contended, the idea of a homogeneous nation is usually no more than a modern act of myth-making (Anderson 1991: 5-6; Hobsbawm 1990). Therefore, it is critical to pay due attention to those histories that have hardly been valued along with those we are used to. As mentioned, postcolonial theorists such as Appadurai have argued for the importance of globally migrant, deterritorializing “ethnoscapes.” In her contentions of “Can the subaltern speak?,” Spivak recounts, for instance, exactly how often the history of the “less significant” was suppressed in favor of the historical framework of more privileged groups. During World War II, a “synchronic commitment to Axis and Allies in
4
A different approach was intentionally taken by Anderson (1991). See also Duara’s proposal to define the concept of nation through investigations into a “transnational region” of East Asia (Duara 2002: 33).
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Pakistan” took place, because of the country’s divided interests in both camps 5 (Spivak 2013: 277). Thus, no matter how many nation states still possess a stronghold today, an effort for the real “internationalization of international histories” in most of the Euro-American histories is needed (Iriye 2012). One of the most resilient myths to ponder and challenge is, indeed, allochronism. Recent historical studies have shown that the modern sense of time—the global “synchronicity” of time—emerged only since the nineteenth century. In his study on the global transformation through adaptations to the modern industrial system, Christopher Hill argues that such challenges, including new temporal experiences, were faced not only in Asian countries such as Japan and China but also in Europe and the newly established United States (Hill 2008). Similar arguments are proposed in Vanessa Ogle’s recent acclaimed study on The Global Transformation of Time: In the second half of the nineteenth century, through worldwide communicative and industrial network building, it became almost impossible for any part of the world (except some specific regions) to remain intact from the so-called modern technology created by the Industrial Revolution (Ogle 2015). Historical studies such as Osterhammel’s monograph on the nineteenth century and Sebastian Conrad’s study on labor imports from Asia in nineteenth-century Germany also show that the map of a unified world had been well established by the year 1900 (Conrad 2006; Osterhammel 2009), if not earlier, as portrayed in the seventeenth-century maritime global trade in Timothy Brook’s classic study through the paintings of Johannes Vermeer (Brook 2008). These recent historical studies can be seen as representing a revival of “comparative historiographies” in response to the current postmodern and postcolonial conditions, particularly conspicuously addressed by cultural studies and social sciences that go beyond comparisons between nation states. This new historical consciousness about comparative methods also recognizes a globally defined transnational migration of peoples and cultures, a history of the transfers between cultures, and an entangled history (histoire croisée, Verflechtungsgeschichte) that share “a common interest in the crossing of borders between nations, regions, continents or other spaces, in all kinds of encounters, perceptions, movements, relations and interactions between them, and in the way they perceived, influenced, stamped and constituted one another” (Kocka/Haupt 2009: 19-20; see also Cohen/O’Connor 2002: 23-40).
5
The case of Pakistan might not be so different from the grotesque Taiwanese experience—fighting for the Axis during the war, then suddenly turning into Allies overnight upon Japan’s surrender.
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These theoretical reflections were inaugurated in the 1990s in North America and then followed by scholars in Europe (mainly Germany and France).6 In particular, one branch of historical transnationalism is promoted by historians who originally specialized in East Asian histories, such as Jürgen Osterhammel, Dominic Sachsenmaier, and Sebastian Conrad, whose works pay special attention to the historical formation of European history that has links with the other end of the Eurasian continent not so apparent on the surface.7 For Osterhammel, “Here Transnationalism describes a special category of social relations that especially resist the curtailment of pre-existing limitation of nation states.” (Osterhammel 2009: 39-51) Osterhammel makes it clear that national history cannot be the only preferred object but must be part of a network to be analyzed. He also recommends considering more geographical domains and breaking down the EastWest division. Especially he prefers to see non-Western society as active in a history of cultural transfer rather than a passive recipient (Osterhammel 2009). 8 Conrad, on the other hand, echoed Duara’s thesis that national history, for Conrad German history in particular, should be viewed from global and especially from “extra-European” perspectives (Conrad 2002: 146; 2009: 53). He thus recommends a method of histoire croisée that echoes Fabian’s criticism of the “denial of coevalness.” And eventually Conrad proposes a “shared history” (Gemeinsame Geschichte) as resistance to the “refusal of coevalness” (Conrad 2002: 153; 2009: 57). Simply put, while Osterhammel provides guidelines to avoid a narrow and limited practice of national history, Conrad proposes to imagine a shared world history to begin with. For instance, Conrad documents and cross-analyzes the postwar historical debates in both Germany and Japan (Conrad 1999); he also discusses the influences of nineteenth-century Chinese migrant workers in both
6
One of the major debates on comparative methods in historical writing was initiated in the journal American Historical Review in 1991. The German reflection on related issues can be found in the journal Geschichte und Gesellschaft around the year 2000, and subsequently over the online forum geschichte.transnational hosted by the Universität Leipzig. Several invaluable collections of essays were subsequently published showcasing the debates on the two continents. See Haupt/Kocka (2006) and Cohen/O'Connor (2002).
7
Together with Dominic Sachsenmaier and Sebastian Conrad, Osterhammel has recently inaugurated influential works based on a new comparative method between Europe and Asia. See for instance Sachsenmaier (2007; 2011), Conrad (1999; 2010), Osterhammel/Petersson (2003) and Osterhammel (2010).
8
See a different presentation focused on the diffusion of migrants in global spaces by Susanne-Sophia Spiliotis (2001).
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China and Germany in light of a global economic network (Conrad 2006). As he writes in a volume called Competing Visions of the World: “Parallel to this transition toward a more multipolar global economy, the ‘Hellenistic Period’ of Western civilization may come to an end. Today, the global appeal of Eastern food and other aspects of daily life indicate the cultural flows no longer lead from the West to the rest.” (Conrad 2010: 5) And indeed this was the objective of the forum Inter-Asia Cultural Studies, inaugurated with the conference Problematizing “Asia” in 1998 and a journal bearing the same name started in the year 2000.9 Initiated by scholars working in Asia, this forum aims at critically responding to an Asian “triumphalism” on the rise since the mid-1980s (Chen/Chua 2000: 9). In addition to efforts coordinated by scholars in the region (mainly East and Southeast Asia), it cooperates with writers from North America oriented in cultural and postcolonial studies, such as Stuart Hall and Naoki Sakai.10 One of the representative works comes from the founder and editor of the journal Chen Kuan-Hsing (陳光興), whose Asia as Method pursues the decolonization movements “in the domains of culture, the psyche, and knowledge production” (Chen 2010: vii). As a title, however, “Asia as Method” comes originally from a 1966 essay by one of postwar Japan’s most critical voices, Takeuchi Yoshimi (竹内好), who questions Japan’s preoccupation with obtaining equal status with the West since the late nineteenth century, crystallized in the term “overcoming modernity” (Takeuchi 2005). Such a preoccupation, in Takeuchi’s view, was doomed to failure from the very beginning and led to Japan’s final defeat in World War II (Takeuchi 2005). Following the critical path taken by Takeuchi, the Japanese-American scholar Naoki Sakai (酒井直樹) has characterized the modern national history of Japan as constructed to counter the threatening European imperialist powers—a process of “translating” Japan into the discourse of the modern world. Other individual Asian countries share the same anxiety toward “the West” (Sakai 1997; 2000). In short, the apparent selfenclosed modern Asian nationhood always carries an equally pervasive colonial undertone.
9
The journal Inter-Asia Cultural Studies was only one of the collective efforts from nonWestern-based scholars. See Tejaswini Niranjana’s account of her similar effort in “creating a critical space for ongoing conversations between intellectuals in different thirdworld locations” in the first issue of the journal (Niranjana 2001: 97).
10 Sakai, a Japanese-born scholar teaching and active in North America (at Cornell), plays a key role in the issue of Japanese scholarships. His idea of “translated modernity” has been well received in Japan as well as in other Asian scholarly communities.
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One of the most significant projects in Chen’s book is to reexamine and to deconstruct the embodied power structure in contemporary knowledge production. He proposes to view Asia as transborder, transregional, and intercontinental, which recognizes Western elements as becoming integrated entities. That means Asia and the imagined West are never mutually exclusive but embodied in and entangled with each other. Chen also envisions a new view of Asia in practice, that means, by interrogating Asia as a way of living and a way of epistemological reconstruction. In sum, Asia as method is far from circumscribed within a fixed geographical or cultural domain; it is thus opposite to the old “area study” of Asia, which was a political economic term derived from the Cold War ideology (many area studies after the war were initiated and financially supported with political agendas, mostly by the U.S. government). Rather, Asia here functions as a problematic, a critical exercise of reevaluation (semiosis). Without one-sidedly accepting or rejecting the legitimacy of the concept Asia (or any other epistemological object), we can also ponder the process and dynamics of geographical and cultural inclusiveness and exclusiveness embedded in the term’s historical and living practices.
III. MUSIC AS METHOD? COEVALNESS IN CONTEMPORARY TWELVE-TONE MUSIC HISTORY The method I am proposing here is not a “comparative” model in the conventional sense, but a new venture as Jürgen Kocka has observed, one that is not interested in the similarities and differences between two entities, but “rather in the processes of mutual influencing, in reciprocal or asymmetric perceptions, in entangled processes of constituting one another. In a way, the history of both sides is taken as one, instead of being considered as two units for comparison.” (Kocka 2003: 42) The debates on transnational methods and possibilities for writing a global history have received less attention in musicological circles than in other academic disciplines.11 One might speculate on a few reasons for this: First of all, the transnational nature of music was readily evident in Europe’s earliest written music
11 A recent project directed by Reinhard Strohm and sponsored by the Balzan Foundation, Towards a Global History of Music (2013-2016), pioneers a program that “is not intended to create a global history by itself, but to explore, through assembled case studies, parameters and terminologies that are suitable to describe a history of many different voices.” https://www.balzan.org/en/prizewinners/reinhard-strohm/research-projectstrohm [accessed 21 January 2019].
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histories, by Johann Nikolaus Forkel, Charles Burney, and François-Joseph Fétis (Janz 2015; Osterhammel 2012: 92-3). Not only church music was transnational in Europe even before the foundation of modern nation states; theatrical music such as Italian opera established itself along with the rise of national languages and has been practiced within a pan-European context, in which musicians migrated in early times almost as extensively as today (see Osterhammel 2012: 90). Furthermore, if we exclude the early comparative musicology that was somehow disdained for its colonialist ties, recent ethnomusicological study, just like anthropology, seems to be already functioning as a decolonizing and transnational discipline.12 For instance, since the dawn of the current millennium, studies on migrating musicians and music in diasporas have become mainstream topics among ethnomusicologists.13 And finally, although the study of social factors of music has been legitimized in recent years, the belief in an autonomous realm of art music has been retained even by a materialist theory of art. Adorno defined in his Aesthetic Theory, “Art’s double character as both autonomous and fait social is incessantly reproduced on the level of its autonomy.” (Adorno 1997: 7; emphasis original) Such an image of musical autonomy presents vehement resistance to the “extramusical” factors. As stated by Barbara Mittler on new Chinese music’s international characteristics, “Each of these composers writes his or her own personal music, creating something beyond the traditions (Chinese or otherwise) that are being used.” (Mittler 2004; cited in Utz 2014: 28) As a response, Philip Bohlman and Federico Celestini recently wrote, “At all geographical sites formed from mobility there is a long history of exchange and inbetweenness. In some cases, as in the encounter resulting from the spread of empire and colonialism, patterns of musical exchange are disruptive and destructive. Music shaped under conditions of violence and misunderstanding bears witness to musical exchange that is skewed toward those with power. Still, musicological exchange also stimulates other responses to the cultural flow generated through geographical contact zones.” (Bohlman/Celestini 2014: 2)
We might ask, although recent (ethno-)musicological study has already responded critically to the global deterritorialization, can it answer Osterhammel’s question
12 The connection between colonialism and musicology was not solely a European business, see Hosokawa (1998). 13 There are more than abundant examples of scholarly studies in this direction, such as: Um (2004), Monson (2003), and more recently, Zheng (2010) and Bohlman (2013).
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about the seemingly irreversible importation of Western classical music into the extra-European world? Particularly for a global history of twentieth- and twentyfirst-century art music, how should musicologists consider perspectives from different parts of the world? It is no exaggeration to say that before the 1990s, general histories on twentieth-century music from Europe and North America were quite ignorant about the development of New Music in the “non-Western” territories, despite the enormous fame gained by composers in Japan such as Takemitsu Tōru and Mayuzumi Toshirō. Descriptions of modern art music from the non-Western world are scarcely found, with little emphasis. This situation continued even in the postwar era, when serialism and the so-called Webern Cult became dominant in almost all historical writings. One typical example can be seen in Paul Griffiths’s Modern Music, in which Webern and serialism become central to postwar music’s technology and ideology (Griffiths 1981). Other writings such as Robert P. Morgan’s History of Modern Music, one of the Norton series of studies of music history, simply excludes the developments outside of Europe and North America (Morgan 1991). And even in excellent surveys such as Richard Taruskin’s Oxford History of Western Music and Joseph Auner’s Norton textbook on music from the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, non-Western compositions were hardly mentioned14 (Auner 2013; Taruskin 2005). Only recently has this imbalanced situation started to be challenged. For instance, the Cambridge History of Twentieth-Century Music (Cook/Pople 2004) devotes a chapter to modern art music in Africa (Scherzinger 2004; see also Klein 2007). In their introduction, Nicholas Cook and Anthony Pople observe that “‘Western music,’ clearly located around 1900 in the urban centres of Europe and North America, has become a global currency in the same way as the hamburger, and one sometimes has the impression that the ‘art’ tradition flourishes more in East Asia, Israel, and parts of South America than in its former heartlands.” (Cook/Pople 2004: 9) Such a situation, in which “distinction between centre and periphery becomes increasingly fuzzy,” prompts Björn Heile to reexamine the ambiguity of the concept of Weltmusik in the early works of Stockhausen and propose to reevaluate the tension between exoticism and universalism in the early history of the postwar avant-garde (Heile 2009).
14 Tan Dun was taken as a Chinese composer and mentioned once in the last chapter of Taruskin’s text (Taruskin 2005: 524). Some composers from East Asia were mentioned in Auner’s text, such as Takemitsu, Chou Wen-Chung, Tan Dun, and Chen Yi, despite the fact that the last three are actually naturalized American citizens (Auner 2013: 274-6).
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More extensive reflections have been made by Christian Utz, a composer himself with direct contacts with Asian composers, to develop such a project in both his dissertation and his most recent monograph (Utz 2002; 2014). In terms of postwar musical compositions, Utz takes a much more evenhanded position by introducing together the two musical traditions from East Asia and the West; he is also careful not to rely on common essentialized notions of either “Western” and “East Asian” (Utz 2002: 49-66).15 For instance, he observes acutely that the quotating of the Chinese folk song Mo-Li-Hua (茉莉花) in Tan Dun’s Nine Songs was an adaptation from Puccini’s Turandot rather than from the “real” Chinese folk tune16 (Utz 2003: 11). He makes tremendous effort to trace the trajectories of intercultural interactions in new musical compositions from the two geographical categories, including the new trend of using Asian instruments by both Asian and EuroAmerican composers (Utz 2014: 217-58). Hybridity and interculturality are the two keywords in Utz’s comparative works, and he has proposed a “reflexive globalization” to reconsider the effects of art music in recent decades. Regarding the key question for a future of “music as art from the interpretation and compositions of the non-Western world,” he writes, “Numerous composers from Asia, Oceania, Africa, Latin America, but also from North America and Europe have been looking for answers to these questions for more than 100 years, but before radically different socio-political conditions that shaped these responses.” (Utz 2014: 19, my translation) Utz’s plead for new globalist creativity in music may well be expected from the next generations of composers; in the meantime, from the perspective of historians, some of the historiographical assumptions can also be reconsidered. First of all, as demonstrated earlier, the historical meaning of a musical composition should be allowed to go beyond the conventionally defined standards of how “advanced” a technology it employs. And if we look further into the discussion of postwar serialism as a “technique,” it is evident that even when the twelvetone method was being invented, it had never been measured against simply technical standards. This is shown clearly in the aforementioned comment made by Boulez, who devalues any aesthetic approach other than the twelve-tone method as useless and historically irrelevant, because he moralizes musical serialism and excludes any non-follower from such a history proper, reiterating the position of
15 As far as Anne Shreffler’s concern in the year 2000, this postwar historiography of the empty ground “Zero hour,” had been taken as the base, “without taking the quite different American situation into consideration” (Shreffler 2000: 33). See also Cook (2013). 16 Tan Dun also uses the same harmonized tune in his Heaven Earth Mankind (Symphony 1997).
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his mentor René Leibowitz as stated in the famous Schoenberg et son école (1947) and L’artiste et sa conscience (1950). A similar standpoint was taken in Adorno’s Philosophie der neuen Musik (1948) against Stravinsky, echoing Schoenberg’s evangelical claim for his own twelve-tone method. One might be tempted to interpret Boulez’s position as simply a polemical statement from an enfant terrible facing the postwar historical vacuum, yet the story turns even more intriguing when we investigate why and how the rise of serialism after the war was so immediate and dominant in European countries (and subsequently in the United States and elsewhere). As some recent studies have documented, behind the façade of the technological advancement in postwar serialism was strong ideological backup by the United States, in order to counter the aesthetic views of the Soviet Union (Carroll 2003; Ross 2007). Supported by empirical data of academic privilege, performances, and publications, Joseph Straus, however, has argued since the late 1990s that the twelve-tone method was far from the sole dominant school in the United States but was limited to particular institutions, such as the Princetonian circle surrounding Milton Babbitt (Straus 1999). Subsequently Straus proposes to investigate more deeply the specific contexts of the American adaptation of musical serialism since the 1920s, intending carefully not to equalize it with the European model (Straus 2008). Straus’s thesis further confirms the strength of “the myth of serial ‘tyranny’ in the 1950s and 1960s” (Shreffler 2000). At least it should now be clear that it is a serious historical oversight when we lose the many varieties of contemporaneous events to the European avant-gardes, not only the music of Richard Strauss and Jean Sibelius (whom Leibowitz named the worst composer in the world). Nevertheless, the history of art music during the Cold War era is surely not only about what happened in the NATO countries. While in the “West,” serialism bears the image of artistic freedom and at the same time was promoted by American political force, it was regarded as a symbol of artistic freedom behind the “iron curtain” (Schmelz 2008: 19-20).17 As a political partner of the Soviets, the Chinese shared a similar sentiment in the sense that the twelve-tone method symbolized the antirevolutionary West and had to be criticized: Atonal music such as Sang Tong’s (桑桐) Ye jing (夜景, Night scene) for Violin and Piano was written in 1947 but waited more than thirty years to be published in 1981. Luo Zong-Rong (羅忠鎔), the composer who wrote the first twelve-tone piece in China, She jiang cai furong (涉江採芙蓉, Picking lotus flowers along the riverside, 1979), learned
17 Schmelz is aware of the danger that the repressed image of Soviet composers during the Cold War period was a Western romanticization (see Schmelz 2008: 13-6).
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about the method through a translated Soviet propaganda document on “Music Serving the Anti-Revolutionary” (Rao 2002: 229).18 To spotlight the ideological context of a compositional technique such as serialism is by no means to reduce the method to simple ideology. Rather, it aims at “provincializing” or decentering the meaning of such a technique within a specific historical context. To be sure, serialism is both an ideology and a compositional technique, but the artworks using serial method cannot and should not be determined simply by such an ideological technology, just like those works that do not use it. One hint comes from Anderson’s description of modern nationhood, for which an imagined community has to be supported by some type of technology, i.e., the modern institutionalization of communal readerships such as newspapers and magazines that have made the synchronic time possible (Anderson 1991). In other words, we recognize that the serial method should be contextualized historically within a certain period of time and space, i.e., its evaluation cannot be as absolute as Boulez has asserted, and its application to the world outside of Europe can also be seen relationally. Parallel to the cases of Europe, the United States, the Soviet Union, and China, for instance, a history of twelve-tone music in Japan would have to incorporate the postwar situation and the listening condition of Japan’s society around that time; it would also have to consider the transnational exchange of such a technology. In other words, a history of impact or reception (Wirkungsgeschichte, Rezeptionsgeschichte) tells only part of the story. Just like the United States, Japan introduced the method of twelve-tone composition since the interwar period. The method was mentioned in the early 1930s and described in details since the mid 1930s through translation of Schoenberg’s own articles (Chōki 2010: 136-50). In his in depth study of this part of the history, Chōki Seiji (長木誠司) argues that composers in Japan adopted the twelve-tone method in different manners, not only passively but as both a response to and a negotiation with their historical contexts, just like any composer in “the West.” And the difference can be told from the efforts of Mitsukuri Shūkichi (箕作秋吉) in incorporating a twelve-tone method compatible with the pentatonic system19 (Chōki 2010: 178-80). Mitsukuri’s work
18 The piece was first performed in 1979 and published in 1980 in the journal Yin yue yi shu (音樂藝術, Musical Art). Luo suffered in the Cultural Revolution. Yet he secretly continues the work of translating Paul Hindemith ’s The Craft of Musical Composition and A Concentrated Course in Traditional Harmony; both translations were published in 1983 (Rao 2002: 228). 19 Mitsukuri’s effort was later taken over by Shibata Minao (柴田南雄) after the war. See the contribution of Tobias Janz in this volume, 295.
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cannot be seen as only an adaptation of a new compositional method, but rather as an attempt to reconfigure the listening possibilities of the Japanese people. Such an effort can also be seen in Tanaka Shōhei’s (田中正平) monumental work in inventing a system of junseichō (純正調, just intonation) and a new instrument— harmonium—that can accommodate Japanese music and for that matter Japanese listening (Shinohara 2013). Musically, this negotiation between the pentatonic system and the twelve-tone system can be seen in a representative work by Matsudaira Yoritsune (松平賴則), whose Theme and Variations for Piano and Orchestra (1951) applies the twelve-tone technique to the theme Etenraku (越天楽), which was itself historically loaded as a part of Japan’s wartime music history20 (Shinohara 2013: 207-10). Postwar Japan became a part of the West under the U.S. occupation. On the one hand, despite events such as the 1961 Tokyo East-West Music Encounter Conference supported by the Congress for Cultural Freedom sanctioned Japan as the Western representative in East Asia, there was severe open criticism against the United States from the intellectuals and musicians due to the U.S. Security Cooperation treatise that reconfirmed American military privileges in Japan. On the other hand, Western technology has also been taken as an object of study. As in the case of the twelve-tone method, Chōki’s careful study shows that, in music circles, there was serious distrust toward the serial method as well as distaste in the 1950s during the immediate postwar years (Chōki 2010: 150-1). And yet a dramatic change happened as the 1970s approached; the most prominent proponent, Irino Yoshirō (入野義朗) treated the method as a “technique that has to be studied,” “because the composition of the 12 sound is a technical problem of the pure composition, among musicians, it is hard to really understand a compositional technique when he is not considerably a person of composition” (Chōki 2010: 150; my translation). In Chōki’s interpretation, it was Irino’s intention to make the technique a part of authentic study of the West in Japan (Chōki 2010: 163). Irino’s de-politicized
20 Matsudaira’s newly composed piece was published as Tema e variazioni sul tema di Etenraku per pianoforte e orchestra (ピアノと管弦楽のための「越天楽」による 主題と変奏, Piano to kangengaku no tame no “Etenraku” niyoru shudai to hensō). The theme Etenraku was originally a gagaku piece, which was turned into an orchestral arrangement by Konoe Hidemaro (近衛秀麿), who conducted the Berliner Philharmoniker during the 1930s; Konoe Hidemaro was also half-brother to the Japanese prime minister during 1930-1942, Konoe Fumimaro (近衛文麿). Etenraku, according to Kumazawa (2012: 24-6), was performed over fifty times in Europe during the interwar period.
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position was in contrast with the prewar attitude toward the West; a music critic remarked in 1953 that “nationalistic method was abandoned in favor of the way of the twelve-tone” (Chōki 2010: 177; my translation). Despite being regarded as the leading figure of the twelve-tone method in postwar Japan, Irino was by no means the only one. The history and its complicated implications require further study, not only in terms of reception but also to investigate how to respond to a situation created during a particular historical period. And once “serialism” has been relativized as one of the possible historical options, we may be able to apply a viewpoint ready in musicological studies. Carl Dahlhaus’s “structural history” was theorized in his Grundlagen der Musikgeschichte (1977) and practiced in the discussion on the complex and usually entangled history of the conception of absolute music (Dahlhaus 1978), a method that lays out the “system of systems” in association with events in different historical contexts: “The structures (be they institutions, modes of thought or patterns of behavior) that coexist at any given time, interacting to constitute or determine an historical circumstance, differ from each other not only in respect of their age, […] but also in the rate at which they alter.” (Dahlhaus 1983: 131) Dahlhaus used this method in his discussion of the idea of absolute music, in which he contextualized the term, concept, and practice in all transformations within networks of history, similar to an entangled history that can deal with the traffic and transformations of historical objects (Dahlhaus 1978). Dahlhaus’s structural history offers the possibility for different historical intersections in different temporal structures. Indeed, Dahlhaus’s structural history took inspiration from Reinhart Koselleck’s idea of “the non-contemporaneity of the contemporaneous,” invented in the 1930s by Ernst Bloch and made well known in the 1960s by Koselleck21 (Hölscher 2013: 144). Yet they differ in one critical insight of Koselleck: The semantic meaning of the historical description of time. Dahlhaus’s use of this concept in his structural history appears to be neutral.22 In Koselleck’s interpretation, time in history was not only about the standardized measurement of events but also about the historian’s projection of the future through the past. In other words, the narrative strategy of time in history is embedded semantically depending on the historian’s position. For Koselleck, there is natural time indeed, but it is not equal to the so-called linear time that is functional and necessary for the documentation of life experiences and for daily purposes. “Historical time, if the term is to have a meaning, is tied to social and
21 Yet maybe quite typical of Dahlhaus, he never mentions the source of this concept. 22 For this apparent neutrality might suggest some type of aesthetic preference, as warned about by Tobias Janz in this volume, 286.
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political units of action, to particular acting and suffering human beings, and to their institutions and organizations.” (Koselleck 2002: 110) Koselleck’s insight can be easily used to demystify the moral imperatives advocated by Boulez for serialism or any type of “advanced technology.” Simply put, a technology being designated as “advanced” has something to do with its use for a linear or evolutionary narrative of human history, and almost all historians would agree on its limitations.
IV. CONTEMPORANEITY VS. COEVALNESS: THE CASE OF JAPANESE DŌJIDAI-SHI One of the central difficulties in fighting allochronism is its prevalence not only in European countries but also common in East Asia23 (Dirlik 1996). The case of Japan is particularly indicative: From the Meiji Restoration (1868) through the prewar time, the general atmosphere in Japan can arguably be represented by Fukuzawa Yukichi’s (福澤諭吉) Datsu-a ron (脱亜論)—to escape from the Asian immovable time and to join the modern progressive time of the European Enlightenment. After the Russo-Japanese War (1904-1905) and the aggression into China, the growing militarist sentiment turned decisively different, and Japan’s antiWestern rhetoric during the wartime can be represented by Moroi Saburō’s (諸井 三郎) statement at the famous Overcoming Modernity symposium held in 1942 in Tokyo.24 In July 1942, just after Japan started the Pacific War, leading Japanese intellectuals gathered in Tokyo and proposed different strategies of “overcoming modernity” in a forum whose texts were later collected and reprinted (Calichman 2008). Among the original participants was the composer and music scholar Moroi, who considered contemporaneous Western music in decay because of its emphasis on human sensibilities, displayed in both impressionism and expressionism. And it was the task of Japanese musicians to overcome Europe’s musical modernity already in crisis. Moroi singled out two essential premises: First, it was important to take a critical attitude and reject blind imitations of European music. And at the same time, it was urgent to relearn Japanese traditions. Second, it should be impossible, however, for Japanese composers to bypass the develop-
23 See also the contribution of Yamauchi Fumitaka in this volume. 24 Moroi is representative because he was the only participant with a music specialty in the famous Overcoming Modernity symposium held in Tokyo in 1942. The English translation of Moroi’s speech was taken from the book collected afterward in 1943. See Moroi’s Our Standpoint in Calichman (2008).
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ment of European music, because it is indeed a modern problem and must be cured only through the re-creation of Japanese tradition together with an attitude of “restoration is renewal” (Calichman 2008: 74). Yet Japan’s eventual defeat seems to have made a decisive change again. After the war, despite he was still in charge of governmental commissions in music education and had continued his output as an author on various musical topics, Moroi was basically silent in addressing the historical position of Japan. In his Ongaku no hanashi (音楽のはなし, Words on Music, 1949), Moroi confessed that losing the war made it time for a new beginning, to reeducate society with new types of music suited to the “Jiyū na jidai” (自由な時代, age of freedom) (Moroi 1948: 1). The work reads as though these intellectuals take Japan’s military loss to the United States also as a loss in the arts, including music. One exceptional voice came from Kikkawa Eishi (吉川英史), a scholar in Japanese music: “The classical tradition in the United States is still strong with composers such as Stravinsky and Paderewski living in the United States. But the American jazz music cannot be as strong as Japan’s Noh, koto, and shamisen music. Likewise, high-rises in New York cannot be better than the architecture such as Katsura imperial villa (Katsura Rikyū, 桂離宮). Therefore, their art is not superior to ours, but their science is.” (Kikkawa 1946: 23; my translation) Kikkawa thought that although jazz as music is nice, in terms of the higher status of art, only Bach and Beethoven qualified (Kikkawa 1946: 24). Yet despite the immense amount of literature on twentiethcentury music published in the two decades after the war, a historical account of Japanese composers was really rare. 25 Influential writers such as Shibata Minao (柴田南雄) and Yoshida Hidekazu (吉田秀和) inaugurated a common practice of introducing “modern music” from a Eurocentric model, then appending it with final words (not a chapter) with minimal comments about Japan’s contemporary scene26 (Shibata 1959; 1965; 1967; Yoshida 1957).
25 One very interesting work is authored by Tanabe Hideo (田辺秀雄), whose Modern Music: Music of the Twentieth Century (1948) includes not only discussions on modernist concert music but also a whole chapter on popular music (called “newly emergent music” by Tanabe). Without citing particular Japanese composers, Tanabe mentions that one of the new directions in twentieth-century music was the influence of folklore that brought oriental music, together with other national trends following nineteenthcentury Romanticism, into the scene (Tanabe 1948: 72-5). 26 Akutagawa Yasushi (芥川也寸志), Shibata and Yoshida formed the Twentieth-Century Music Research Institute that played a major role in postwar promotion of New Music in Japan.
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Efforts were made after the 1970s to address the imbalance of history as the winners’ game, especially who were unsatisfied with the American occupation in Japan. In terms of music history, several accounts of twentieth-century music from Japan have attempted to view music from this period as a response to Japan’s musical history itself, rather than to the West. For instance, Ishida Kazushi (石田 一志) proposes to view modern Japanese music as an active acceptance of nonEast Asian musical cultures in order to become multicultural, and Japan’s new music history should not be regarded as a latecomer after the West (Ishida 2005: 434; see also Komiya 2002). Ishida’s view then seems to echo Shibata’s late approach in his Ongakushi to ongaku-ron (音楽史と音楽論, music history and music theory), in which parallel events from Japan and “the world” (actually, only those from the Western world and early Chinese music history) were placed side by side (Shibata 1980). One particularly interesting viewpoint was presented by a political scientist Yano Tōru, (矢野暢), who specialized in Southeast Asian studies and also published a few books on modern music. Yano proposed a music history of the contemporaneous dōjidai-shi (同時代史, history of the contemporaneous) in order to evoke a specific way of viewing Japan’s position in its contemporaneous world, often in relation to the Western hegemonies in Europe and the United States, but also as a practice to accommodate the increasing close contact of the world’s musical cultures (Yano 1992). The term dōjidai-shi (lit. contemporary history) was not invented by Yano but was used since the interwar Taishō period, as more or less equivalent to “contemporary history” with a touch of personal history in a subjective manner. This type of writing was inaugurated by the historian Miyake Setsurei (三宅雪嶺) in his three volumes bearing Dōjidai-shi as the title (Yasuda 2013: 56-8). Without citing Koselleck, Yano understands the past as a projection of the authors’ sentiments and cannot be isolated from the present. (Yano 1992: 1-2). As a social scientist, Yano also proposed to see “music as institution (制度 としての音楽, seito toshite no ongaku)” and to regard different musical cultures as dialogues among differently institutionalized regulations (Yano 1992: 268-9). For him, the current imbalance in music history comes exactly from an institutional bias that favors a European definition of arts even in a non-European state such as Japan. For him, art has been one-sidedly institutionalized and thus becomes a danger (Yano 1992: 278-9). He proposes, instead, to view music in a contemporaneous history with the awareness of the globe as a historical space. (Yano 1993: 23) Very recently, dōjidai-shi has become a method discussed among historians in Japan. One of the main proponents was Yasuda Tsuneo (安田常雄), who characterizes dōjidai-shi as follows: “While dealing mainly subjects in Japan, it is
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opened for the world; and [it] must be open towards the future while fixing its eyes on the past.” (Yasuda 2003: 208; 2008: 3; my translation)27 And for Yasuda, in constructing the epistemological foundation of the method, it is most important to ensure the “position of speaking (katari no ichi, 語りの位置,),” that is, the Aktualität (アクチユアリティ, akuchuariti) that makes all the difference (Yasuda 2003: 211). He differentiated dōjidai-shi from gendaishi, (現代史, contemporary history) in that there is a sense of contemporaneity, and specifically for postwar history and its actuality. It challenges the apparent objectivity of history as the past and emphasizes the subjective way of interpretation (Yasuda 2008: 4). It also challenges history as the past and its apparent objectivity and emphasizes the subjective way of interpretation. Thus, for Yasuda, dōjidai-shi has three salient features: It is a history of the participants, the history of detailed personal memories, and the meeting of reality and fiction (Yasuda 2008: 8-11). Although he does not state it explicitly, Yasuda’s notion of dōjidai-shi echoes some of the insight that Koselleck has used to argue for the semantic undertones in historical records. Yano’s dōjidai-shi of music, on the other hand, bears the same personal touch that corresponds to the sense of actuality in Yasuda’s theoretical formulation. Yano recommends a historical interpretation from the individual’s sense of the contemporaneous world, which is supposed to be pluralist and resistant to a universalist view (Yano 1992: 16). To be more specific, this sense of contemporaneity, or coevalness, is the foundation of the concept and practice of dōjidai-shi. It is a subjective inquiry into the center-periphery paradigm in a decentralized manner. As Yano pronounces it, “dōjidai-shi is something that is not accurate but a rough draft (粗視化, soshika).” (Yano 1992: 16). In other words, although there might be an “official” or standardized historical development of art music in the twentieth century authorized by the Western countries, for Yano, there is on a personal level a historical interpretation with multiple angles. Two examples exemplify Yano’s practice of musical dōjidai-shi. In discussing the idea, he cited the recent discovery of Boulez’s and John Cage’s correspondence, showing the close relationship between the two leading figures in the postwar avant-garde who at first were considered unrelated but are connected in the sense of an “engagement contemporain” (Yano 2005: 36). The second example was about the American composer Steve Reich, whose music illustrates how important it is for non-Western musical cultures to contribute to the world musical scene. Yet the parallel of contemporaneous was between
27 Yasuda founded the Society for Dōjidai-shi in 2002, with an affiliated journal Dōjidaishi kenkyū (同時代史研究, contemporary history research) that was inaugurated in 2008.
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Reich and Yano himself, the person who wrote the history and was born in the same year as the composer. On the one hand, Yano’s historical criticism announces the rise of non-Western influence in Western mainstream music, but on the other hand, Yano also laments that the power structure of colonialism makes it difficult for a “non-Western” composer to steer the historical trajectory. (Yano 2005: 32) The dōjidai-shi in Yano’s notion is a comparative method that does not require a fixed standard. Nevertheless, these composers at some point in history were all contemporaneous—they wrote music at the same historical time. It is rather a sense of simultaneity (or synchronicity) that makes dōjidaishi not favorable to any coeval party. In sum, Yano’s dōjidai-shi is a practice rather than an idea. Such a practice depends on an episteme (episutēmē, エピステーメ), inspite of its subjective orientation, generated on a sharable foundation (Yano 1992: 17). In viewing the musical avant-garde in the twentieth century, once the blind spot of an advanced technology from the West has been removed, a history of simultaneity may begin. It could be a transnational comparison between Japan’s and Germany’s postwar historical debates as shown by Conrad or an investigation into the parallel, although apparently disconnected, Pan-Asianism in Japan and Pan-Islamism in the Ottoman Empire from the mid-nineteenth century through the end of World War II (Aydin 2007). This kind of parallel has been termed by the Chicago historian Michael Geyer a comparison of “historical trajectories”: “In spite of the fact that there was only a thin deck of intertwines, despite different geopolitical positions and despite the lack of common cultural traditions, the trajectories of these two national states at the other end of the northern hemisphere were parallel and precisely this parallelism and synchronicity of the two nations calls for an explanation. Was it the result of an imitation—which, however, should have begun? Was it the same social or political behavior despite different internal and external starting conditions? Or did both nations follow a similar developmental logic independently of each other?” (Geyer 2006: 77)
Geyer’s observations might have applied to Germany and Japan, which took similar paths in world history, yet not surprisingly, there are also candidates in the realm of music history for this type of transnational comparison. For instance, the past history of musical neoclassicism was generally focused on Igor Stravinsky’s incomparable achievements that made neoclassicism one of the two most important trends in the prewar musical world. It is less known, however, that during the 1930s, an alternative neoclassicist approach denounced Stravinsky’s “international neoclassicism”: this alternative trend sought its classical heritage in cultural traditions in a nationalist rhetoric that brought it in close contact with actual
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politics—namely, political and cultural fascism. Furthermore, even less attention was paid to the fact that such a link between musical neoclassicism and political fascism developed simultaneously in Japan’s cultural politics.
V. CONCLUSION: THE ACTUALITY OF MUSIC Several terms are used in this chapter alluding to the sense of temporal simultaneity: synchronicity, contemporaneity, and coevalness. This chapter addresses how to synchronize simultaneous events in different parts of a co-eval world as objects of analysis. Yet this synchronization was used more or less as an action of will— a subjective effort to impose the contemporaneous sense of coevalness among the parties participating in music making in the twentieth century. As remarked at the beginning, the coevalness of “being at the same time” was itself a modern technology of inventing nationhood (Anderson 1991). Recent discussions on the historicity of temporality also show that there is never a clear-cut answer regarding the sense of time in history: Even the concept of “being at the same time” was invented and actualized since the late eighteenth century (Hölscher 2013: 145-6). And after all, just like the recent discussion of dōjidai-shi in Japan, the sense of contemporaneity has to face the challenge of “actuality”; it is a subjective choice to justify an ethical practice of historical writing, realized as whether “allochronic” or “co-eval” practices should be used. Ironically, we seem to have returned to the same condition faced by the historians of the immediate postwar period: The choice is nothing more than “ideological.” And yet, the situation is decisively different because such an awareness of the methodology employed can warn us not to misuse it. As exemplified, this chapter proposes that we reexamine contemporaneous trends and events in twentieth-century music, regardless of their geographical locations, with the belief that this simultaneity deserves to be analyzed and understood through contextualizing its technological framework. Nevertheless, when addressing issues such as “technique” and “technology” through artworks, caution must be taken to remember that these technologies are relative and relational to different social and cultural contexts. In other words, the so-called “multiple modernities” can be better understood when they are regarded, even with apparent contradictions, as manifestations of different layers of a (singular) modernity, networked in a complex of cultural/sociological/political webs. Last but not least, transnationalism can be a method not so much to cross borders geographically, but to cross epistemological blocks and institutional constraints. Without assuming a central reference point, synchronized transnational
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events form a constellation allowing for multiple, nonhierarchical entries and exits in representation and interpretation, what Gilles Deleuze characterizes as a rhizomatic structure, as opposed to arborescent conception of knowledge in dualist, hierarchical categories (Heile 2009). In sum, Asia, Africa, or Europe, either geographically or culturally signified, can be rethought as a point of departure for understanding world cultures without presuming a centric definition of itself. Reaccessing these apparently separate geographical terms simultaneously, would in turn motivate border-crossings among multiple traditions of thought on music with its narrower and broader contexts. What Sebastian Conrad has proposed can also be seen as a mental mapping eager to be coeval with the others. Or one might turn Benedict Anderson’s book title into a quest for historical glances on music that screenshot the conflicts, contrasts, disharmonies, and yet of an intersecting and entangled, “imagined community” of the whole world.
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Multiple Musical Modernities? Dahlhaus, Eisenstadt, and the Case of Japan Tobias Janz
PART ONE: DECONSTRUCTING DAHLHAUS I. European Music History: Transnational, National, or Universal? The past decade has seen growing activity in the field of transnational history (see Janz/Yang in this volume: 11; 20-3). Historical musicology, as a historical subdiscipline, certainly cannot avoid being part of this process; the question then arises whether a change of perspective, from a rather national-oriented historiography to transnational history, would affect musicology, and how. For one thing, publications of the last 25 years in the field of music history show how transnationalism, far from being considered as a problem or a methodological challenge, has long since become a quite natural research approach. While several aspects of European intellectual life show a tight connection with national boundaries, the historiography of European music has often been keen to adopt a transnational perspective, beyond differences between singular national academic traditions. Traditionally, music history has been expressed by only one (historical) musicological discipline in contrast to the many philologies bound to the limits of national or regional languages. Then again, and not without reason, there is a certain persistence of the national perspective. Besides global issues, transnationalism becomes a challenge for historical disciplines particularly where a national focus appears justified in the first instance: i.e., concerning issues related to the organization, functionality, or ideology of nation states. For instance, the approach of histoire croisée, developed by historians Michael Werner and Bénédicte Zimmermann, dealt with aspects of unemployment or preacademic education in Germany and France, two realms with strong
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national features (Werner/Zimmermann 2002). Thus, their methodological discussion about “comparative history,” “shared history,” “transfer history,” or “entangled history” was not meant to level national specificities and differences, but rather to make them visible, with respect to the tendencies to ignore them either through false generalization or through the limitations of a purely national perspective. If a transnational approach is not supposed to replace the national one but rather to complement it, in order to better understand its entanglements with extranational aspects, the quest for appropriate approaches to a national history of music also arises. European expansionism brought the concept of nation state to a global level, and this has been connected with the well-known inclination toward considering national differences as natural or essential, identifying the nation state with race, ethnicity, or culture. In this context it is useful to distinguish between the nation state as an institution and organization and “nationalism” as imagined or even ideological intensification or exaltation of the national (Anderson 1983; Jansen/ Borggräfe 2007). Against this background, transnational history can be seen as a reaction against nationalistic historiography. But even in this context transnationalism isn’t necessarily concerned with replacing national history, rather with modifying and enhancing it. An informed transnational history will at least acknowledge the fact that the modern nation state still represents the common framework of human cohabitation in most parts of the globe, although its promises of a successful balance of constitutional state, capitalism, democracy, and culture, as well as its effectiveness for the problems of the twenty-first century, are questioned (Maier 2012; Reinhard 2014). Completely independent of such distinctions, however, the European concept of music has long been associated with the idea of the universal, already established with the cosmological concept of music in ancient Greece and broadened in the Middle Ages with Jacobus of Liège’s imagination of a universal musica coelestis. Far from remaining a purely discoursive concept without any impact on reality, universalism has affected the rational (= mathematical) foundations of music (intervals, tone system, durations) and musical notation. As a musical culture based on writing, Christian Europe for this reason forms a “homographic” and “homophonous” region1 bound by universalist terms or norms and differentiated but not fragmented by the emergence of modern European nations. What has been discussed or constructed as national difference in European music history mostly relates to differences within the shared “homographic” and
1
Here I am using and adapting the terminology introduced by Yamauchi Fumitaka in this volume: 325-6).
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“homophonous” tradition. At the time when Latin, the lingua franca of the elites, was replaced by national languages, late medieval mensural music developed into different traditions and styles that have been labeled as national styles since the early modern era (even if the musical difference was de facto founded on regional and not national musical traditions). Musical nationalism of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries often came from an idealized concept of style purity and from criteria of ethnic superiority and inferiority; in contrast, the charm of the so-called national styles of the early modern era lay in the possibility of them being transferred and used regardless of the composer’s musical “mother tongue.” Georg Philipp Telemann became famous for his vermischter Geschmack (mixed taste) and for his pieces in the Musikarten aller Nationen (musical styles of all nations) (Zohn 2008); even Italian opera, linguistically bound to Italian, as an institution was part of the international web of court operas and the transnational kinship of the European aristocracy, more or less independent from the emerging nation states. Important composers of Italian operas—such as Händel and Mozart—were actually “foreigners.” In French opera too, foreign composers like Gluck, Spontini, or Meyerbeer became as important as native composers like Rameau, Auber, or Gounod. Entanglements of national traditions continued even when musicologists started dreaming of German music supremacy in the late nineteenth century (Hugo Riemann). Wagner is unthinkable without the experience of French grand opéra and Italian melodrama, and it is impossible to understand European fin-desiècle music without considering Wagner’s broad influence. From the perspective of reception history, a clear distinction between national histories or between independent music cultures becomes even less plausible. Considering this ubiquitous mingling of styles and traditions, every attempt to hypostatize national essences in European music has been and still is a futile task. Carl Dahlhaus thus concluded that the significance of the national in music history would rest more on its effect as an idea than on its reality content (Dahlhaus 1984: 2972). The idea of a national and, at the same time, nationalistic history of music had its heyday in the “age of extremes” between the high point of European imperialism and its collapse during the two World Wars. In contrast, efforts toward a transnational European music history are clearly recognizable among the generation of German musicologists that started their careers after 1945. By no coincidence, in the same years a similar aim shaped the political agenda of the treaties of Paris, Rome, and Maastricht, as part of the European integration project. Dahlhaus,
2
As will become clear below this paper is an attempt to re-write and deconstruct Dahlhaus’s article from 1984 (see also Janz 2016a).
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belonging to the generation not only of Boulez and Stockhausen but also of Jacques Delors, Helmut Kohl, and Hans-Dietrich Genscher, died while writing a European history of music. After his death, the two volumes of his and Norbert Miller’s Europäische Romantik in der Musik—a project started around 1970, including an investigation on entanglements of German and French romanticism in Liszt’s Symphonische Dichtungen—were published (Dahlhaus/Miller 1998/2007). Reinhard Strohm’s The Rise of European Music (Strohm 1993) about the beginnings of “European music” between 1380 and 1500 also belongs to this context yet marking a turning point. Although Dahlhaus and Strohm were then accused, respectively, of an alleged Germanocentrism and Eurocentrism (see Strohm 1996) by the younger generation of musicologists after 1989 (when post-Cold War globalization made a European perspective suddenly appear too narrow), it should not be forgotten how the idea of a European music history marked a true paradigm shift after the nationalism of the early twentieth century. But a national history of music hasn’t become obsolete, although European unification, as well as globalization, apparently speak in favor of transnational history. It is legitimate to investigate music in national terms where national boundaries matter. And even the crudest nationalism becomes an interesting object of study if historicized and contextualized. Thus, whether to write national or transnational music histories is not merely an unreflected ideological preliminary decision but depends on specific interests. Social-historical or sociological approaches tend to emphasize the national simply because of the close connection between society and its musical institutions. And this can be related to practical questions of making music, of listening, of musical subjectification. To sum up: The challenge of writing European music history as transnational history can be described as a way to investigate national features as such without losing sight of the characteristic transnationality of European music history. II. Multiple Musical Modernities? Carl Dahlhaus on Modern and Global Music History Quite interestingly, discussions about modernity—a concept historically closely bound to that of the nation state—only rarely referred to national imprints. But modernization occurred in different forms and times in different places. Art historians, for instance, usually make a distinction among centers of European modernism such as Paris, Vienna, and Barcelona. Nonetheless, the quest for modernity appears as a pan-European cultural phenomenon. This is due to the fact that modernity, meant as a constellation of “achievements”—fostered by a capitalist economy—like Enlightenment, democracy, technological progress, and wealth, is always perceived
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as a transnational project with universal claims,3 even within the institutional frame of nation states. Now, if we—following the main topic of this volume—turn toward a global historical perspective on music and question the transnational in global terms, the picture changes. Of course, entanglements of national and transnational factors aren’t confined within European borders: The implementation of the principle of the nation state and the modernization of societies has occurred on a global scale for at least 150 years. Nonetheless, the organizational form of the empire (“[Welt-]Reich,” Reinhard 2014: 18-22) superimposed upon modern nation statehood, namely the European (Western) and Asian colonial empires that existed until decolonization after 1945 or 1960 and in part still exist as postcolonial structures. In global terms, “transnational” in music history is thus tied to colonial regimes and to imperialism (Janz 2014: 457-514). Transnational music history thus deals with the (postcolonial) criticism of power relations. A theory of musical modernity should do justice to both meanings or facets of the transnational: The universal claim of modernity with its apparently paradoxical relation to the principle of the liberal nation state, and the so-called “darker side of modernity” in the shadow of colonialism and imperialism after 1500 (see Choi in this volume: 41-2; Yamauchi in this volume). Understanding music not (only) as an autonomous arrangement of sounds, forms, and gestures but as a social fact means displaying it possibly in three overlapping social framings at the same time. Music then is not national, transnational, or universal: It may be all three at once without leveling the differences. As a consequence, musical modernity should be understood not simplistically in universal terms but as a richly diversified phenomenon. But comparing different modernities, or different interpretations of modernity on a global scale, requires some standard of comparison. If I start with some considerations about European modernity related to music before dealing with Japanese music history and Japanese modernity, it should not be misunderstood as a discourse of origin. But it’s impossible to pluralize the notion of modernity without some sensitivity for the specificity of these “modernities.” Understanding music’s role and place in modern civilization means understanding the function it fulfills (or was supposed to fulfill) in the liberal modern nation state. Following Hegel’s definition of the liberal society as a balancing arrangement of capitalism, statehood, and culture, recent discussions among
3
This universal claim is actually, albeit involuntarily, confirmed by Sebastian Conrad’s attempt to liberate the idea of Enlightenment from its “eurocentrism” and to regard it as a global development in human history (Conrad 2016: 475-512).
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German intellectuals identify certain pathologies of contemporary society. In Hegel’s terms, the benefit of culture relates to something that the liberal state as such cannot guarantee. The main principle of the liberal state, and this has been a central idea of European modernity, is based on a self-limitation of the state that makes the individual freedom of its subjects possible in the first place—a freedom needed for allowing a capitalist economy but also for political participation, democracy, and liberal arts. But due to this self-limitation, the liberal state can neither control nor guarantee this freedom. While the bourgeois culture of the European nineteenth century confidently counted on the successful mediation between state, capitalism, and culture (through Bildung), today there’s much reason to be skeptical. Authors like Christoph Menke (Menke 2015) and Joseph Vogl (Vogl 2015) agree that the liberal state was incapable of keeping its essential promise to balance the antagonistic forces of capitalism with the claims of equality and justice. Music as a part of culture is certainly affected by this possible failure of the ideal liberal state. But if the feared failure of the liberal state is at the same time a failure of its culture, this can be used to understand the high expectations projected on culture in the idea and the age of political liberalism. Turning to music history, Carl Dahlhaus’s well-known and highly influential structural historical approach to the history of music is intimately associated with the sociological and political context of this bourgeois, liberal idea of culture. Even if he only marginally touches the sociological and philosophical background of this discussion in his Nineteenth-Century Music and the associated Foundations of Music History (see Geiger/Janz 2016), the moments of Dahlhaus’s fundamental Struktur von Strukturen (structure of structures, Dahlhaus 1977a: 142) are connected in many ways with the constellation of state, liberal democracy, economy, and culture. The relevant chapter, “Gedanken zur Strukturgeschichte” (Thoughts on structural history), of Foundations of Music History closes with one long sentence drafting the meta- or superstructure that Dahlhaus envisioned for his music history of the nineteenth century (see Urbanek 2016). According to Dahlhaus, ideas, institutions, and practices forming the “structure of structures” include: • the aesthetics of genius (instead of normative poetics) • the principle of autonomy (as opposed to the functionality of music) • the idea of understanding music (understanding musical logic, sympathetic un-
derstanding of the individuality of the musical work of art) • bourgeois (or civil) concert life (with its dialectics of the commodity character [Warencharakter] versus the autonomy of art music) • the emancipation of instrumental music
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• the musical canon and the appreciation of classical works (in a precarious rela-
tion to the principles of novelty and originality) • the renunciation of imitation and epigonality
Dahlhaus’s narrative has its roots in the nineteenth century, but it didn’t become obsolete with the modernist turn of twentieth-century music history. In many ways this sketch fits in with the functional meaning of culture in the liberal state and society in general. The aesthetics of genius, the autonomy of music, the emancipation of instrumental music (i.e., from drama, dance, and poetry but also from religious and political authorities) and the principles of originality and novelty— concepts that have been central for the contemporary discourse on art music (see Hentschel 2006; Sponheuer 1987)—can be related to the idea of free art in the liberal society. Together with the idea of musical Bildung (“understanding music”) they form a concept of music mirroring the Hegelian political concept (or utopia) of a liberal society constituted by free, autonomous subjects. The downside of these positive values are the antiliberal moments of a musical poetics bound by tradition, of music defined by nonmusical functions or its commodity character, of ritualized adoration of the classics, of the lack of independence in epigonal or imitative sorts of music. In all this, Dahlhaus seems to be well aware of the unsolved tensions between these sides when speaking of the “dialectics” between aesthetic autonomy and the commodity character of music or the “precarious relation” between the principle of novelty and appreciation of the musical canon. If it’s true that nineteenth-century political economy of art music didn’t disappear with the advent of New Music after 1910 or the avant-garde in the decades following 1945, it is also true that the picture only becomes complete by considering the dramatic transformations of society in the twentieth century. The cultural hierarchy in music shifted from art music and opera to the genres of popular music and film music, dominating recent consumerist culture; political liberalism, confronted with its inner tensions and moments of failure, has been challenged by forms of political totalitarianism or fundamentalism as well as by the movements of opposition and “counterculture” from the inside. The diversity of twentiethcentury music, in a way, reflects the increased complexity of the contemporary political order. Nonetheless, the idea of music as an autonomous art still exists, and writing the history of art music means to enter a highly debated political space (see the polemics in Taruskin 2006). Now, is this modern idea of music as a liberal art a national, transnational, or universal concept? Dahlhaus’s vagueness in this respect seems to be part of the problem. Musical life in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries was connected to the bourgeois society and thus always part of a specific (= national) state structure.
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In turn, the European discourse about art and music has been led transnationally, just as the music under consideration—from Viennese classicism to the music of the fin de siècle—has been disseminated and received transnationally. Finally, the idea of autonomous art music, like other ideas originated by the European Enlightenment, can only be understood as universal. But once we leave German bourgeois musical culture for a more transnational perspective (especially on the global scale outlined above), not discriminating among national, transnational, and universal becomes a problem. First, it is evident that the structure described by Dahlhaus and the discourse of art music in general are not limited to the European (or Western) context. An essential aspect of the cultural globalization since the nineteenth century has been the establishment of comparable institutions in parts of Asia, Latin America, Australia, and— to a lesser degree—also in Africa (see Osterhammel 2012). The globalization of Western music culture only became possible through the institutionalization of this musical culture in the frame of the nation state and in forms of bourgeois musical life such as concerts, music education, and the music economy. Nevertheless, one should be careful not to simply apply Dahlhaus’s structural history of European art music to East Asian contexts. A naïve universalism would not only risk ignoring historical imbalances (already highlighted by postcolonial studies) but also level the subtle distinction between musical cultures. Dahlhaus’s essay from 1984, “Nationale und übernationale Musikgeschichtsschreibung” (National and transnational music historiography) well displays this problem, since his historiographical thought—once applied to East Asia—leads to still unsolved problems. Once again, Dahlhaus commits himself to a transnational European music historiography: On one hand, he is well aware of the ideological fallacies of nationalist thinking in music; on the other hand he is strikingly skeptical in regard to a transnational and global music historiography. Dahlhaus’s skepticism can be traced back to the 1960s (Dahlhaus 1975; see Janz 2016a). It also includes harsh responses to global historical initiatives coming from beyond the iron curtain or from Western ethnomusicology. He criticizes a universalism that results from well-meant aims but too easily subsumes heterogeneous and incoherent materials under what could not be called a true structural history of music in Dahlhaus’s understanding (and quite obviously he is also concerned about the historiographical central position of European art music). For several of these reasons, the serious concern regarding this methodological problem becomes clear only at second glance in the following passage: “In the twentieth century, the parts and regions of the globe have merged under technical and economic pressure into a system of dependences and interactions, which imposes the
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idea of the ‘one’ world history upon a historian—albeit under different auspices—even though he might be skeptical about emphatic terms. And music is not excluded from this tendency toward the universal, although for the time being this tendency manifests itself primarily in the epidemic proliferation of European-American popular music. There is an urgent need to consider seriously why the worst kind of music that has been produced in Europe for centuries is so widely accepted in China and at the back of beyond [bei den Feuerländern]. Some of the reasons can be identified based on some ephemeral experiences in recent years. […] First, it seems that the dichotomy between composition and performance, which became a habit in Europe long ago, i.e., the separation of an avant-garde setting the tone within composition from the traditionalism dominating performance practice, is simply inconceivable for Asian musicians. Thus, one shouldn’t be surprised when they produce copies of Debussy or Sarasate while trying to assimilate European music seriously—copies that a European avant-gardist would instinctively classify as light music, even though they are meant to be creative efforts with artistic ambition. Second, the unreasonable demand to embrace music as an autonomous art is barely understandable to Asian listeners. The inevitable consequence is that if they try to receive European music, they turn to musical styles and genres with an all too obvious functionality. Film music is given priority over symphonic music, not only because the musical stupidity expressed in it communicates with the audience’s stupidity but also because film music serves an easily recognizable purpose. […] The idea of aesthetic autonomy was suspected of being an ideology within avant-garde itself. But this is nothing more than an internal complication and should not let one forget that it is just this configuration of autonomy and avant-garde that forms—from an exterior point of view—the essence of European modernity, an authority against the entanglement of functionality and traditionalism prevailing in popular music. […] If in the context of the ‘one’ world history, which seems to be the telos of musical development, the European share will be only partial—and to expect more would be presumptuous—it would not be the worst cultural politics to set the configuration of aesthetic autonomy and avant-garde, in which European modernity manifested itself when modernity still was what the name claimed to be, to the amalgamation of functionality and traditionalism, which prevails anyway and almost everywhere as a miserable European legacy.” (Dahlhaus 1984: 301-2; my translation)
Today’s readers might be surprised by the harshness of these formulations: How Dahlhaus bluntly judges popular music and avant-garde, relying on unshakable certainty; the cultural stereotype of using a precarious collective singular when he speaks of “the Asian musician” or “listener,” ignoring the diversity of modern societies and of inner Asia; the perspective on global history leaning on the clear
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distinction between Europe and the non-European space between China and the Feuerländer (an outdated Darwinist term referring not to the actual inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego but to the lowest level of human civilization in general). All this might foster reflection not only upon Eurocentrism but also upon the survival of ethnic or even latently racist thinking by leading intellectuals in Western Germany in the 1980s. With its crass polemics, the passage at least shows how lacking the treatment of East Asian music history was only one or two academic generations ago. Taken this way, Dahlhaus’s text becomes an informative source of transnational European-Asian music history. But despite all criticism, methodologically Dahlhaus declares himself not against but in favor of a global perspective on recent music history. And this is the point where our deconstruction of Dahlhaus’s argumentation can become fruitful for the current debate. Such a perspective should take into account how twentieth-century music history did not affect distinct regions or cultures separately nor produced an indistinguishable musical hyperculture but occurred in a “system of dependences and interactions” of nations, empires, and regions. Such dependences and interactions might then provide an explanation for the difference Dahlhaus points at with his statements about pop music, musical performance, and avant-garde. It is crucial, and it cannot be emphasized enough for what follows, that it is not about completely different and independent “musics” but about differences in a music that is shared transnationally or transculturally. It is about the perspective of perception, practice, or evaluation of pop music, avant-gardist music, musical performance, or film music, leading to what Dahlhaus—in his own perspective—could only interpret as a complete misunderstanding of European art music in Asia. That such differences in perception exist seems to be obvious. But the task should not be to confirm such differences (with the corresponding stereotypes) or to simply accept them in a relativistic manner, but to investigate them and to make them understandable. Dahlhaus himself comes quite close to this approach in an article published seven years earlier under the title “Historisches Bewußtsein und Ethnologie” (Historical awareness and ethnology) that belongs to the context of the Foundations of Music History and the Idea of Absolute Music (Dahlhaus 1978). Here Dahlhaus reflects upon possible connections between historical and comparative musicology or ethnomusicology (see also Klein 2011), starting with a description of the status quo: “Instead of histories (plural), i.e., the uncounted local and regional sequences of events, history (in the singular), which had been a mere idea or a presumption in earlier times, began to take real shape. […] Together with the ethnic conditions that carry the notion of the
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subject of history, its social implications are subject to change. The interest in subcultures means nothing less than that both ‘vertical ethnocentrism’ and ‘horizontal ethnocentrism’ lose the self-evidence that used to decide what belonged to music history and what did not.” (Dahlhaus 1977b: 217; my translation)
Again, the perspective of a global history of music is under consideration, albeit without the polemics of the later article. Quite the contrary: To state the fading of a “vertical” (= intra-societal) and “horizontal” (= cultural-comparative) ethnocentrism and to observe an increased interest in subcultures means to acknowledge the current transformation of society, and leads to establishing a new basis for the historiography of music. The global history of music becomes a challenge because the criteria that once legitimized the ethnocentric limitation of the narrative to European art music lost their self-evidence. This does not only change the frame of the historical narration but also its form, since the unity of the European tradition cannot ensure the unity of narration anymore. But this is not an unsolvable problem: “Continuity of narration is not the only principle of historical representation. No less legitimate than the description of sequences of events is (according to a more recent view of the historians) the structural historical description, the reconstruction of functional relations among the ideas, institutions, and techniques of a culture or age. And when drafting a model that is meant to elucidate the inner coherence of a cultural system of longer duration, the comparison of cultures—regardless of their continuity or discontinuity concerning the sequence of events—without doubt is not only heuristically useful but even objectively necessary.” (Dahlhaus 1977b: 217-8; my translation)
Dahlhaus’s consideration sounds like a compromise proposal to investigate music beyond the culture of European or Western art music without losing the sense of its specificity. This specificity is even expected to become much clearer in a comparative cultural perspective. What Dahlhaus envisions following his own idea of a structural history of music is quite compatible with this point of view: “Because one who tries to capture the music of a non-European culture in terms of a structural history feels instinctively obliged to build an ideal type (in the sense of Max Weber) in order to combine the scattered facts into a pattern, the distinction between essential and peripheral features, without which an ideal type would remain a mere accumulation of characteristics, requires the comparison of analogous relationships in different cultures.” (Dahlhaus 1977b: 217-8; my translation)
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The attempt to understand the facts of music history requires their combination into a pattern, one could say a context of meaning, an intelligible structure produced by historical interpretation. This sort of understanding—at least according to the quoted paragraphs—has a symmetrical, “intercultural” dimension, because the weighing of central and peripheral characteristics, distinguishing a Weberian ideal type from a mere accumulation of data, becomes clear only by culture-comparative reasoning. Modernity as Second Axial Age and the Case of Japan Shmuel N. Eisenstadt’s comparative approach to the sociology of modern societies from the beginning adopts the symmetrical perspective that Dahlhaus’s remarks on global music history only show to a minor extent. Being the approach of a sociologist, it has the advantage of combining structural and cultural analysis. He analyzes modern global diversity in terms of a theory of civilization, mainly based on the sociology of religion (Eisenstadt 1998; 2000; 2006a; 2006b). 4 Eisenstadt’s main concern is to think of modernity not as a singular phenomenon but as the result of a differentiation process on a global scale finally leading to different manifestations or interpretations of modernity in different regions of the globe. The theory of multiple modernities becomes therefore part of modernity’s selfreflection, a major trend in the philosophical or sociological discussion about modernization and modernity in recent decades (see Janz/Yang in this volume: 22-6). In this regard Eisenstadt’s differentiated universalism of modernity represents the opposite position to neo-Spenglerian imaginations like Samuel Huntington’s notion of the “clash of civilizations.” It belongs to the genealogy of current approaches of global or entangled history (see Wittrock 2012). Within the history of sociology, Eisenstadt is close to the approach of his academic teacher Talcott Parsons, but especially to Max Weber and his classic theory of modernization as rationalization and differentiation. Like Weber, Eisenstadt does not understand modernity as a period but rather as a process leading to the institutions and structures of modern society. Eisenstadt’s most genuine contribution to the theory of modernity is his explanation for the emergence of differences
4
Although his theory of “multiple modernities” has attracted great attention in sociology and beyond (see Sachsenmaier et al. 2002; Sachsenmaier 2011; Schelkshorn/Ben Abdeljelil 2012; Schwinn 2006) his theory of civilization, dealing with millennia of human history on a global scale, has also been criticized, partly with regard to the “big picture” Eisenstadt gives, partly because of a general skepticism about the notion of modernity, or in order to suggest alternative approaches, e.g., in transnational history (see Conrad 2013: 133-5, 174-92).
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and diversity within the constellation of global modernity. He postulates a close connection between the cultural breakthrough that occurred—according to the hypothesis of the axial age, which he tends to use as a heuristic instrument rather than a historical fact (see Assmann 2018: 264)—some 2,500 years ago in several civilizations of the Eurasian double continent, and the emergence of modern societies in some of the axial age civilizations. The breakthrough of the axial age involves several features forming what Eisenstadt and the supporters of this hypothesis call “axiality”: The disembedding of humanity through the establishment of a clear distinction between immanence and transcendence, a notion of absolute truth enabling the distinction between “orthodoxy” and “heterodoxy,” the development of thinking of higher order (“thinking of thinking” or metacognition; see Eisenstadt 2006a: 253-75; Joas 2017: 279-354). Through the idea of transforming mundane reality with a view to a transcendent ideality, civilizations of the axial age were able to unfold a specific dynamic of the civilization process. Eisenstadt explains the diversity of modernity through two modes of differentiation. Since the axial age breakthrough did not occur uniformly and synchronously in civilizations (Greece, Buddhism, China, Judaism, Islam), axiality manifests itself in different ways, according to single axial age civilizations. And then there is the crucial distinction between axial age civilizations and non-axial age civilizations (e.g., Maya). Japan becomes a highly interesting case in this regard. On the one hand, Japanese history was (and is) deeply entangled with civilizations or cultures of the Sinosphere (China, Korea, Vietnam) that belong to the axial age civilizations (through the traditions of Buddhism and Confucianism); on the other hand, Eisenstadt (1996) claims that in Japanese civilization axiality never fully displaced preaxial age forms of culture and their organization of society.5 Until today Japanese society, according to Eisenstadt, shows features of archaic societies, not in terms of folkloristic traditions but of foundations of society. This provides an explanation for the specific syncretism of shintō, Buddhism, and Confucianism in Japan; for several aspects of social hierarchy, interaction, and community up to the emperor cult; the relationship between change and tradition; and also the predominance of (sacralized) form over content that has been noted by Roland Barthes (Barthes 1970) and others. Regarding the parallelism and intertwining of axial age and nonaxial age features, Ann Swidler observes a certain similarity between Japan and the situation in some African societies (Swidler 2012). But Japan has also been one of the most dynamic and successful cases of the “second axial age,” the process of modern-
5
A similar argument has been proposed by Robert N. Bellah (2003).
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ization since the nineteenth century. For a long time, it seemed to be the only nonWestern country outside of the axial age civilizations that successfully modernized, and it even took the lead in global modernization after 1945. In a way Eisenstadt underlines the uniqueness of Japanese culture, coming close to discourses inside and outside Japan—especially the so called nihonjin-ron (日本人論, discourse of the Japanese).6 Coming back to Dahlhaus’s problematics, the question of an appropriate reflection on the modern Japanese history of music arises. Therefore, in the second part of this chapter I will briefly give an impression of the specificity of modern Japanese musical culture and then attempt to interpret the case of Japan historiographically against the background of Eisenstadt’s view of Japanese civilization.
PART TWO: HISTORICIZING JAPANESE MUSICAL MODERNITY I. In Search of Japanese Music History While musicological knowledge about Japan in German or English-speaking academia is certainly greater today than some 30 years ago, only a small part of what happened in Japan since the Meiji Restoration in the last third of the nineteenth century found its way into Western musicology. Apart from the relevant lexicon articles, only a few monographs in non-Japanese languages exist, and an insignificant share of the vast Japanese literature has been translated. The situation is similar in music production. A few Japanese composers and performers have gained an international reputation, but their international success seems to be bound to their activity abroad. Ozawa Seiji, Takemitsu Tōru, and Hosokawa Toshio are widely known internationally, while composers like Shibata Minao, whose activity has been limited to Japan, are mostly unknown. Whoever reads Japanese or has an interpreter at hand7 can obtain detailed information on Japanese (art) music history only of the past 70 years from the 500 pages of Chōki Seiji’s (長木誠司) Sengo no ongaku: geijutsu ongaku no poritikusu to poetikusu (戦後の音楽:芸術音楽のポリティクスとポエティクス, Postwar music: politics and poetics of art music, Chōki 2010) or the 1,000 pages
6
We will see how Eisenstadt distances himself from the nihonjin-ron (Eisenstadt 1996: 17). See also Bellah 2003, “Introduction”.
7
I would like to thank Lee Hui-Ping, Taipei, for assisting with literature research and translation.
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of the two volumes of the anthology Nihon sengo ongakushi (日本戦後音楽史, Japanese postwar music history, Japanese Postwar Music History Research Association 2007). Without appropriate language skills one must rely on the translation or mediation work of a small group of Western musicologists fluent in Japanese or of Japanese musicologists publishing in Western languages. 20 years ago, Luciana Galliano’s monograph Yōgaku (Western-influenced music by Japanese composers, Italian 1998/English 2002) was indeed a pioneer study, and so was Judith Ann Herds’s 1987 dissertation (see also Everett/Lau 2004; Nuss 1996). In 2008 Ashgate published a research companion about the multifaceted musical culture of Japan and its academic literature in concise chapters, with a focus on premodern traditional music (Hughes/Tokita 2010). Whereas the persistence of traditional music in modern Japan is discussed as an interesting partial aspect of Japanese musical culture (see also Menzel 2015) only two chapters (out of 23) are dedicated to genuine modern varieties of music in Japan (“Popular Music in Modern Japan” and “Western-Influenced Classical Music in Japan”), arguably the dominant ones now in the country. Pop music ranges from Japanese hit songs in the genre of enka (演歌, see Yano 2002) to the idiosyncratic varieties of J-pop and J-rock and transmedial subcultures and practices like visual-kei (ヴィジュアル 系, visual “line”) or cosplay (kosupure, コスプレ) and futuristic phenomena between the realms of anime and virtual reality like the fictional character Hatsune Miku (初音ミク) where digital music technology, capitalist music economy, and teenage fan culture merge (see Milioto Matsue 2016: 129-33). Classical music of Western origin in Japan—similar to but not identical with the situation in European countries—stands between the institutions of the family, the education system, and a communal musical life carried by the state, municipalities, and private actors on one side, by highly professionalized musicianship and a differentiated music market on the other side. Western lack of knowledge concerning Japanese musical culture can be explained not only by mere disinterest (with characteristic exceptions like the exoticist usage of instruments like shō (笙) or shakuhachi (尺八) in the New Music of the 1980s or 1990s; see Utz 2002; 2014) but also by opposite Japanocentric tendencies toward academic or cultural isolation. To sum up: Until today Japan has had a highly differentiated and in many ways idiosyncratic musical culture. How the coherence of Japanese plurality can be understood (i.e., how the main question of historiography might be answered) and how it can be embedded into a global historical perspective is anything but easy to answer. Despite all contrasts, it is not possible to assume a “Japanese difference” (Bellah 2003: 1-62) in the collective singular or to postulate a
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constant heterogeneity or hybridity of Japanese culture (see Eguchi/Toyasaki 2017 and Milioto Matsue 2016). The difficulties of a comparative historiography including Japan become obvious when returning to the two Japanese monographs or anthologies on Japanese postwar music history (Chōki 2010 and Japanese Postwar Music History Research Association 2007) cited above. First, they adopt a national framework, dealing with Japanese music history after 1945. As we have seen at the beginning of this chapter, this decision is neither necessary nor without alternative, it is per se part of the historical interpretation, showing the standpoint and interest of this decision. Whereas the transnational horizon in Europe stood for the renunciation of nationalist historiography, this cannot be simply transposed to the Japanese case. Japan has its own nationalistic tradition with great impact on the academic discourses (and impulses toward a transnational perspective can be traced in East Asian academia today). Nonetheless, the cited books are not about a “genuine” national musical tradition but clearly about Western-dominated Japanese musical culture. Making this culture the basis of a Japanese historical narration doesn’t mean claiming its independence from Western (or Soviet) narratives; it just means arguing that there was a discrete historical subject that can be treated monographically. Ishida Kazushi (石田一志) chose a different narrative frame in in his volume Modanizumu hensōkyoku: higashi-ajia no kingendai ongakushi (モダニズム変 奏曲:東アジアの近現代音楽史, Variations of modernism: the modern music history of East Asia, Ishida 2005) by discussing Japan, China, and Korea in a cultural-historical perspective. The explanation Ishida gives for singling out these three East Asian countries is related to the issue of modernity. Not only did these nations experience a dramatic and finally successful transformation into modern nation states, says Ishida; they also developed distinct manifestations (= variations) of modernity (for an early discussion about Japanese and Chinese modernity, see Takeuchi 2005). Ishida lists seven reasons for the “accomplishment” of modernity in Japanese, Chinese, and Korean music histories, which form the framework of a structural historical comparison (see Ishida 2005: 427-40): 1) a highly developed musical culture before the beginning of modernization; 2) music modernization “from above” as part of governmental agendas; 3) specialized musicians devoting themselves to the task; 4) the mastery of the conflict between Westernization and nationalism; 5) an extensive musical culture able to go beyond the imitation of Western music; 6) the connection of musical culture to a highly developed culture in general and the autonomization of modern music; 7) its international circulation.
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According to Ishida, East Asia appears as a transnational space of interaction, at least with regard to the premodern music history preceding Japan’s isolation during the Tokugawa period and Qing dynasty (seventeenth to nineteenth centuries), but also as a bracket for three different music histories, which tend to be independent due to East Asian modern political history, marked by colonialism, hot war, and Cold War. Ishida’s list shows how similarities within local declinations of musical modernity did not stem from inner Asian exchange and influence alone (if at all) but from the common relation to Western modernity. If the independence of Japanese music history is not overemphasized in the volumes by Chōki and in the collective study of music on postwar democratic Japan (Japanese Postwar Music History Research Association 2007), this is related to Ishida’s seventh point, the internationalization of modernized musical culture. The tables of contents display a substantial convergence of Japanese postwar music history with the developments in Europe or the United States, to the point that Japanese specificity tends to disappear. While Chōki arranges the material according to genre, compositional technique, and institutions, the anthology follows a chronology based on major political caesuras of the “American century”: 1945, 1967, 1973, 1989, etc. An almost one-hundred-page-long chapter is dedicated to twelve-tone music as an abstract fundament of international musical modernism, free from traces of respective musical traditions (see Yang in this volume: 258-61). For his part, Shibata Minao (柴田南雄) connects the twelve-tone technique to min’yō (民謡, folk song, Chōki 2010: 185-90), not as a hybridization of international technique and cultural tradition but rather as an attempt, following predecessors in the prewar era like Mitsukuri Shūkichi (箕作秋吉), to develop an abstract theory of music applicable without the orientalist distinction between East and West, thanks to the emancipation of music theory from the Western notational system. Japanese convergence with international trends also becomes clear in the two volumes of the anthology, dealing with turning points of the 1950s and 1960s in music history: the establishment of the international festival for New Music in Karuizawa, the organization of New Music courses modeled on the Darmstädter Ferienkurse, the so-called Cage shock of the early 1960s. But what—apart from the national framework and the Japanese language—makes Japanese postwar music history an independent music historical subject with inner coherence? Two aspects deserve further consideration: the search for Japanese originality or identity in music and particularities of institutions and social structures. The anxiety of balancing Westernization with the preservation of tradition is one of the leitmotivs of Japanese modernity, in and outside music history. The search for a modern Japanese music has been a major issue in Japanese music history since the
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beginning of the twentieth century, when, as a reaction against the rapid adoption of European and American music institutions after 1870, traditional music stepped out from the shadowy existence it had fallen into during the Meiji Restoration. The issue came to the fore between World War I and the Japanese defeat in the summer of 1945. It can be illustrated by two relatively independent phenomena— the shin nihon ongaku (新日本音楽, new Japanese music), a modernization initiative in the realm of traditional music; and contemporary symphonic music aimed at combining European symphonic composition with Japanese subjects and also with elements of Japanese music. Political phenomena such as increased nationalism, the emperor cult, and the Japanese tendency to expansionism contributed to an aesthetic brokenness that makes the problem of a divided musical culture perceptible but of little consequence for later developments (see Menzel 2015: Chapter II). Miyagi Michio (宮城道雄) modernized traditional koto music through instrumental extensions and through the adaption of European compositional techniques and formal structures. Miyagi’s compositions of the 1920s, like the trio ochiba no odori (落葉の踊, dance of the falling leaves) for koto, shamisen, and bass koto exhibit motivic-thematic correspondences, a rondo form, and a specific harmony evoking (according to Michel Flavin) a Western sense of “musical logic” (Flavin 2010: 116-7). The piece becomes an example of new Japanese music because its harmony—says Flavin—realizes what has been called “Japanese harmony” without losing a feeling of musical logic: It shows a harmony of triads based on a mode lacking the structural tension of cadences and tonality, which makes it possible to write music on par with Western art music without sacrificing the “Japaneseness” of the music. Miyagi’s piece turns out to be a late example of the so-called Meiji shinkyoku (明治新曲, new melody of the Meiji period), a modernist branch of koto music that came up at the turn of the century under the influence of popular Chinese models and the rhythmic style of military bands (Flavin 2010; Menzel 2015: 57-65). What was perceived as new Japanese music in the 1920s thus can be interpreted as a re-Japanization of already modernized traditions.8 Japan’s rich symphonic repertoire of the 1930s and 1940s is programmatically devoted to the splendor of the imperial house (real or imagined). This wasn’t necessarily combined with the search for Japanese musical identity, as can be demonstrated with pieces like Ōzawa Hisato’s (大沢壽人) Symphony No. 3 Kenkoku no kōkyōgaku (建国の交響楽, Symphony of the foundation [of Japan], 1938) or his Third Piano Concerto Kami kaze (神風, [alluding to a long-distance airplane],
8
Flavin points to the musical side of the phenomenon whereas Menzel focuses more its discursive background.
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1937). Ōzawa, having studied in Boston and Paris, wrote music in an international modern-symphonic style integrating elements of jazz and ragtime. Yamada Kōsaku, in contrast, whose symphonies Meiji Shōka (明治頌歌, Meiji ode, 1921) and Nagauta kōkyōgaku dai 3-ban “tsurukame” (長唄交響曲第 3 番『鶴亀』 Nagauta symphony No. 3 Tsurukame, 1934) belong to this context, tried to merge elements of traditional music with Western symphonic style. Such musical bricolage of Western more traditional and traditional Japanese musical styles wasn’t taken up after the Japanese defeat, partly due to its underlying nationalist ideology,9 but also because there has been too little aesthetic mediation between the sides. Chōki’s history of postwar music and the anthology (if not Ishida 2005) stress the importance of the 1945 defeat as a caesura in Japanese music by focusing only on postwar music history. With view to the search for a Japanese musical identity, the postwar period coined the distinction between hōgaku (邦楽, Japanese music) and yōgaku (洋楽, Western music), still valid today. The internationalization of Western music thereby has been the reverse of the preservation of traditional music as cultural heritage, strongly supported by the state. Consequently, postwar composers committed to finding new ways (compared to former generations of musicians) of blending the two musical cultures. Significantly, this also became possible because the Western musical idiom of the postwar avant-garde emancipated itself from the traditional foundations of European music, which had been the basis for the compositions of Yamada or Ōzawa. Due to the “self-exotization” of Western New Music (Janz 2014: 407), the once neglected and allegedly antiquated Japanese traditional music became a source of fascinating sounds and playing techniques. In this particular framework, younger Japanese composers like Takemitsu or Hosokawa required an impetus from the outside, from prominent Western composers and teachers like John Cage or Klaus Huber, to start integrating elements of traditional Japanese music and aesthetics in their compositions. This resulted in movements like the gendai hōgaku (現代邦楽, modern Japanese music) of the 1960s and 1970s, blending avant-gardist and traditional idioms, and in key works like Takemitsu’s November Steps (1967), whose international success to some extent is certainly based on an international audience’s desire for appealing combinations of modernism and exoticism. Despite such attempts toward synthesis, Japanese musical modernity displays a parallelism of (at least) two musical traditions: the Japanized Western art music tradition and the autochthonous music of Japan (connected with the greater
9
An interesting comparison is Richard Strauss’s Japanische Festmusik Op. 84 (1940), written for the would-be 2,600-year celebration of the imperial house.
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Sinosphere). One could say that today—150 years after the establishment of musical institutions based on Western models—the Japanese actual music history, with all its factions and parallel developments, finally accomplished the quest for its own musical identity. Communities connected with music making start with the family, kindergarten, and elementary school and end up with company choirs or company orchestras (Milioto Matsue 2016: Chapter I). Since the early Meiji period a rich repertoire of modern learning or playing songs etc. has been handed down, leaning partly on European or American models, partly on new compositions. A specific genre is the individual school hymn, distinguishing every elementary school or high school. Part of the collaborative, community singing is the utagoe (うたごえ, singing voice) movement, a kind of Singbewegung with leftist or communist orientation founded immediately after the war that started with workers’ or revolution songs and is cultivated until today in great regional variety. Another traditional Japanese institution are wind orchestras, extant since the Meiji period. They can be found in schools, universities, department stores, companies, and even in the Japanese “new religions.”10 Arising from the military orchestras of the nineteenth century, postwar wind orchestras perform a wide spectrum of original compositions next to arrangements of pop songs or film music. In many modern forms of collaborative music making there is a layer connecting them with premodern, still vivid forms of ritual singing or playing at village- or township-festivals that can still be observed in today’s Japan on many occasions. Two remarks are important in order to historicize Japanese musical modernity: First, such practices of musical communitarization can find their way into the narrower field of concert music and of course pop music.11 Professional singing and playing are connected, as a cultural practice, to forms of amateur music making in a wide range of social spheres beyond the concert hall. Second, the realm of professional composition is generally open to all these practices. Important avant-garde composers take part in these cultures by thematizing them in their compositions but also, more concretely, by composing school songs, pieces for music contests, etc., on very different levels of style, difficulty, and taste. Instead of clear borders between functional systems, there
10 Such as the prestigious Tōkyō Kōsei Wind Orchestra (東京佼成ウインドオーケスト ラ), founded by the Risshō Kōseikai (立正佼成会), a new Buddhist movement devoted to the establishment of justice and human relations. About the “new religions,” see Eisenstadt 1996: 79-80. 11 Cf. the example of AKB48, but also the inversion of the group-cohesion principle in the おたく (otaku) subculture, a Japanese variety of fan behavior often accompanied by extreme isolation.
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is a widely ramified network of musical practices and cultures. Composers like Yamada, Mayuzumi Toshirō (黛敏郎), or Takemitsu are not composers of art music, film music, or functional music; they act as agents on the nodes of the network that includes the European, American, or international New Music scene. II. Reflections on Japanese Musical Modernity A transnational history of music in a global perspective turns out to be a challenge: Methods or perspectives of European transnational music history may be useful but also lead to asymmetries and distortions. The approach of a comparative sociology of modernity appears therefore as an opportunity to understand musical facts and data as a cohesive structure and—following the newer, self-reflective interpretation of modernity as plural and diversified—to juxtapose East Asian modernity/modernities and European modernity in order to show their specificity. Dahlhaus’s “structure of structures,” which has been interpreted as a historiographical idea constructed around the liberal notion of art, served as an ideal-typical intensification of the European manifestation of musical modernity (for a much broader interpretation see Janz 2014; 2016b). Although it has been possible to draw connections from here to East Asian music history, this ideal type seemed to be too narrow and too specifically tailored to the European, liberal-bourgeois nineteenth- and twentieth-century musical culture to simply be universalized. Could Eisenstadt’s hypothesis of Japanese modernity as the modernity of a (partly) nonaxial civilization enable us to structure Japanese musical modernity as outlined above? Might it be possible to describe its specificity in contrast to not only the developments in Europe but also those in China or Korea? As Eisenstadt underlines the Japanese difference and particularity, some preliminary remarks seem necessary. Any discussion about the (supposed) Japanese particularity today must explain its position among the existing literature. Apart from the nihonjin-ron (日本人論) mentioned above, which constructs a particular Japanese identity in an often questionable manner, there is a Western discourse about Japan focusing on Japanese difference in its own way, moving from the older Orientalism toward contemporary visions of transculturality. With regard to music history, Kikkawa Eishi’s influential book on Nihon ongaku no seikaku (日本音楽の性格, The character of Japanese music, 1948), available in two German translations, might serve as an example for the nihonjinron. For Kikkawa the incommensurability of Japanese music and Japanese musical sensitivity was the key to an understanding of Japanese musical culture, however limited to traditional music, which Kikkawa tried to protect against the Westernization and the disinterest of the younger generation (thereby proving a clearly
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antimodern and anti-Western attitude). Kikkawa’s book, however, didn’t provide any ideas for an understanding of modern or modernized aspects of Japanese musical culture. After the 1945 defeat, such a contemplation on the “original” and the “essential” in Japanese culture might have been understandable; today it looks more like an act of repression and a conservative reaction (Menzel 2015: 207-20). However, Western publications of the war and postwar periods also focused on Japanese otherness. Indeed, Robert N. Bellah, the sociologist of religion who shared the axial age hypothesis and Eisenstadt’s interpretation of Japanese civilization in his later writings, scrutinized Japanese modernization in analogy to Max Weber’s essay on the ethics of Protestantism connected with the emergence of modern capitalism in his widely read Tokugawa Religion: The Values of Pre-Industrial Japan (Bellah 1957). But of greater influence were books like Ruth Benedict’s The Chrysanthemum and the Sword: Patterns of Japanese Culture (Benedict 1946), where the Japanese difference is stressed using the distinction between shame cultures and guilt cultures. European authors like Roland Barthes, who imagined Japan as a peculiar semiotic universe based on a logic of empty signifiers in his L’empire de signes (Barthes 1970), have been fascinated by the Japanese difference in their way. And even Japanese intellectuals of the postwar period tended to accentuate Japanese difference and incomparability rather than relativizing it.12
12 The anthropologist Umesao Tadao (梅棹忠夫) developed an ecological theory of civilization differentiating between zones of civilization based on ecological characteristics. His approach stated strong parallels between Japan and Western Europe on the one hand, clear differences between Japan and its East-Asian neighbors on the other hand (Umesao [1957] 2003); the psychoanalyst Doi Takeo (土居健郎) established the concept of amae (甘え, exceeding dependence), which served as a psychoanalytical explanation of forms of communitarization in Japan, from the mother-child relationship to specific group loyalty (Doi 1982); the social anthropologist Nakane Chie (中根千枝) analyzed in Die Struktur der japanischen Gesellschaft (Nakane 1970) the “specifically Japanese traits that distinguish this society from other complex societies” (Nakane 1970: 8; my translation). Nakane observed the predominance of vertical organization in social groups, a sort of social hierarchy already established in the premodern Tokugawa and Edo periods that didn’t change during the process of modernization, which would explain—similar to Bellah’s interpretation of Tokugawa religion albeit without the analogy to Weber’s ethics of Protestantism—the speed and the success of Japanese modernization (Nakane [1970] 1985: 156-7). The political scientist Maruyama Masao (丸山真男), one of the leading intellectuals of postwar Japan, discussed the Japanese difference in terms of the history of ideas, in a way typical of the postwar discourse,
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While this way of imagining Japan as the completely other dominated much of the intellectual discourses of the postwar decades, the attempt to overcome dichotomous thinking is now a growing tendency. Das Ende der Exotik (= The end of exoticism) was the title of a collection of essays published at the end of the 1980s by German Japanologist Irmela Hijiya-Kirschnereit, dealing with forms of exoticizing or self-exoticizing Japan. When political scientist Bernhard S. Silberman in 2002 spoke of the “disappearance of modern Japan,” meaning the disappearance of modern Japan as a distinct object of knowledge (Silberman 2002: 3178), he meant that the once shared imagination of Japan as an exotic other has been replaced by several pictures of modern Japan without a common ground of discussion. But Japan as a discursive object—according to Silberman—produces academic struggles rather than orientation. Indeed, the imagination of an autochthonous, incommensurable musical culture of Japan gave way to a polyphony of completely different interests in Japanese musical modernity. The only unquestionable fact seems to be that traditional Japanese music is part of (Japanese) modernity and, conversely, that traditional music itself would offer only a very limited picture of Japanese musical modernity.13 Eisenstadt’s approach from the mid-1990s has to be seen in the context of the developments just outlined. It doesn’t provide the solution for the aporias of the discourses about Japan, but one wouldn’t do justice to Eisenstadt’s concern by placing him close to the nihonjin-ron or an outdated Orientalism, two approaches he aimed to overcome (Eisenstadt 1996: 17). His interpretation tries to include insights of postwar discussions, still applicable without distortions of ideological or stereotypical thinking (see also Bellah 2003). He combines this with his sociological approach based on ideas by Carl Jaspers and Max Weber. To a certain degree, up to questions of wording, Eisenstadt’s interpretation is close to Maruyama Masao’s (丸山真男) point of view.14 Indeed, some remarkable
criticizing the Japanese tradition while at the same time presenting a perhaps idealized picture of Western modernity (see Bellah 2003: 140-9). 13 Only in the past three or four years have four non-Japanese books dealing with Japanese musical modernity been published. With regard to their methodological variety and the broad spectrum of content they don’t have much in common: an ethnomusicological study of Western-influenced music in Japan (Wade 2014), a music historical dissertation about traditional music in twentieth-century Japan (Menzel 2015), an introduction to Japanese music as “world music” with a focus on popular music and traditional music (Milioto Matsue 2016), and a collection of essays about musical cultures in prewar Osaka (de Ferranti/Tokita 2013). 14 This affinity with Maruyama, who is cited by Eisenstadt but not as an essential point of
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parallels can be observed: Maruyama, who had analyzed the Japanese history of ideas in numerous essays, came to the conclusion that crucial problems of modern Japanese civilization might be explained by the circumstance that modernization in Japan was mainly a formal process implemented from above (Maruyama 1988: 60) and that Japan at the same time “never had a strong tradition of thought as a spiritual axis (e.g., in contrast to Confucianism in China)” (Maruyama 1988: 278; my translation).15 Maruyama also explains the strong cohesion of Japanese society with reference to premodern underlying structures of Japanese history. Using the musical metaphor of basso ostinato, he tried to understand the remarkable continuity of such underlying structures or “patterns” in the history of ideas.16 Eisenstadt’s view of Japan is not as polemical and critical as Maruyama’s, and he does not tend to idealize Western civilization like Maruyama did in his criticism of Japanese society. On the contrary, Eisenstadt’s theory of modernity has to be understood as part of a criticism of Eurocentrism or a one-sided European understanding of modernity (Assmann 2018: 255-65). His extensive examination of Japanese civilization combines structural and cultural analyses and includes discourses about institutions, political organization, the regulation of conflict and protest, the legal system, traditions and structures of premodern Japan, and aspects of family and communal life. Eisenstadt’s key formula for understanding modern
reference, is particularly emphasized in Japanese commentaries on Japanese Civili-zation (Kimura 2004; Kobayashi 2008; 2013; Ohno 2013). Japanese Civilization has been published in Japanese translation as Nihon hikaku bunmei-ron-teki kōsatsu (日本比較 文明論的考察, Japan in civilization-theoretical comparison) in three volumes (2004, 2006, and 2010) by Iwanami Shoten, Tokyo. 15 Maruyama’s view of Japan has been criticized for its polemical, all too self-critical direction. Indeed, the results of the supposed lack of a spiritual axis appear in negative light. The Japanese tradition of ideology critique that developed early on is interpreted not as an enlightened skepticism but as nihilistic criticism lacking in overarching, transcendental norms and values (Maruyama 1988). The main argument of Japanisches Denken states that the Meiji constitution inserted the Tennō system, the nationalistically charged emperor cult with ramifications in all areas of Japanese society, as an artificial axis into this void. This serves as an explanation for what Maruyama calls “Japanese fascism,” a totalitarian state that started the Pacific War and only capitulated after the atomic bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima in the summer of 1945. 16 E.g., Maruyama observed such an age-old basso ostinato in the semantic network around the word matsurigoto (政事, government affairs) with the dramatic transformations of Japanese society as variations on the theme of a passacaglia (Maruyama 1988; see also Kimura 2004).
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Japanese society is: a “dynamic, controlled, but not totalitarian [society]” (Eisenstadt 1996: 141). Eisenstadt depicts in detail a society characterized by weak class consciousness (see also Nakane 1985: 128) and by an inclination toward a relative devaluation of the subject vis-à-vis its environment. In Eisenstadt’s interpretation this is directly related to the weak or nonexistent axiality in Japan—an aspect Maruyama already emphasized in comparison between European and Japanese modernity (Maruyama 1988: 56ff.). Maruyama’s starting point was the interrelation between modern epistemology or theory of the subject and political organization in Europe, “where the role of the subject at the base of the society due to the tradition of an absolute, transcendent god and due to the liberal and continuous ‘voluntary association’ of the citizen was a source of the permanent questioning of the state’s legitimacy” (Maruyama 1988: 57; my translation). If the freedom of the subject toward the state and the society is rooted in European metaphysics (Eisenstadt 1996: 329), this might explain why in Japan with its weakly pronounced logocentrism the subject possesses little autonomy vis-à-vis the state and the environment. The less pronounced logocentrism appears to be the reverse side of the much commented-upon Japanese worldliness that is responsible for the economic and technical dynamics, for the preponderance of “formal” (Maruyama 1988: 61) or “instrumental” (Eisenstadt 1996: 308) “rationality” over “value rationality” (Max Weber) oriented toward transcendental principles. In the realm of aesthetics, it affects what has been termed the “sacralization of form” (Ohno 2013), the aestheticization of many aspects of everyday life and presence up to the highest degrees of refinement. Compared with axial age civilizations, this sacralization of form, according to Eisenstadt, should not be understood as secular counterpart of transcendental values but in terms of a “mutual embeddedness” (Eisenstadt 1996: 318) of what tends to be more strictly separated in axial age civilizations. What has been outlined here is part of a discourse on modernity to be found not least in Japan itself. Apparently contradictory, it gives proof of the self-questioning and cultural critical reasoning whose absence it diagnoses at the same time. Together with Eisenstadt’s ideal typical approach, it should be used now for an interpretation of the musical side of Japanese modernity. Following this interpretation, culture in modern Japan turns out to have a different function compared to Western liberalism. Regarding the stabilization of community, it moves between the poles of class consciousness and group identity. While European bourgeois society of the nineteenth century fostered a highly class-specific musical culture, the flexible continuous restructuring of Japanese social spaces (Eisenstadt 1996: 157) and communities seems to superimpose what cannot be held together by the weak class consciousness.
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The position of the subject toward music also seems to be different, not so much regarding individual subjectification but general structural preconditions. The idea of developing autonomous, free subjectivity through culture and education has been (as stated above) one of the deep structures of the longue durée and was responsible for the self-reflexivity of European musical modernity. Modern subjectivity caused the “permanent questioning” not only of the social status quo but also of the state of the musical material, to use Adorno’s term, up to the disappearance of music as a distinct medium or form of art. From Romanticism onward, such self-reflection has been a driving force of (European or Western) musical modernity. Considering the position of the subject in Japanese modernity, squeezed between state bureaucratic rationality and premodern/modern principles of group identity/cohesion (Maruyama 1988: 66), it becomes possible to use the “affordances”17 related thereto to explain the distinct scope of action of Japanese composers: either (following Wade 2014) as particular orientation toward “the people” (in contrast to the exclusivity and social isolation of a closed elite of art in Europe), or (following Maruyama) as an escape from social pressure through the aestheticization of musical form and sound. Comparing musical sound between aestheticization (= depoliticization) and aesthetic resistance (Widerstand) in the works and poetics of the contemporaries Takemitsu Tōru (*1930) and Helmut Lachenmann (*1935) might be particularly instructive in this regard, especially when including the different conditions of listening. While Takemitsu’s music requires widening the limits of the self to embrace the spiritually loaded sensuality of sound, noise, and silence, Lachenmann (at least in his earlier period) aims to keep the listener at a distance through the resistance of the sound qualities of his music. Lachenmann’s music implies the modern willingness to change things; Takemitsu’s unfolds an aesthetics of being attentive to what is: nature, tradition, but also the fascination of the new.18 Is it again the “Japanese difference” we’re arriving at after all, that old difference that should be problematized? In a sense, the answer is yes, but it is by no means necessary to generalize or to essentialize the differences just stated or to underline them with ethnocentric value judgements. The task is rather to become aware of differences by comparing shared objects or traditions: the modern novel, bourgeois music education, musical communities, and avant-garde composition; and this shouldn’t be confused with the othering and stereotyping of the orientalist discourse. A theory of global musical modernity should be able to explain the difference between the avant-gardist musical language of Lachenmann’s
17 See Wade (2014), referring to James J. Gibson. 18 Of course, the reception (and Japanization) of John Cage’s aesthetics and its multiple sources in Japan since the early 1960s would have to be included in this discussion.
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Consolations I & II (1967-1969) or Klangschatten—Mein Saitenspiel (1972) and Takemitsu’s November Steps (1967) or Autumn (1973).
CONCLUSION If Yamauchi is right in considering East Asian music history as homographic and heterophonic, a difference regarding transnationality becomes visible if we go back to the beginning of this chapter. The universalism of the European concept of music, expanded institutionally through the one discipline of ethnomusicology on a global scale, apparently has no equivalent in Japan, and perhaps not in East Asia in general. There seems to be no premodern or modern tradition able to gather the heterogeneity and diversity of Japan’s musical cultures under the roof of one universal, cosmological, transcendental concept of music. Should the global history of music therefore abandon the universal concept of music? Regardless of how we answer this question, the institutional frame of the one musicology and its implicit or inherent universalism is itself part of (global) music history. For not only is musicology a de facto globalized discipline, but also the globalization of the European universal concept of music has left its traces in the form of mingling and entanglements from practical music up to the realm of academic institutions. Particularly when trying to bracket its inherent universalism, these entanglements should become an object of study and analysis. As stated at the beginning, there is no need to abandon the national narrative in music history in favor of transnational perspectives. A transnational history of music in East Asia (or of East Asia as a coherent region) should be rather complemented by a national perspective. Compared to European music history, East Asian music history might show fewer musical links between nations. In other words: The main topic of a transnational European music history would be the differentiation of a shared and universal concept of music, while the main topic of a transnational East Asian music history would be the dispersion of heterogeneous musical traditions over a cultural space held together by nonmusical concepts and perhaps universalisms. The long and richly diversified tradition of art music in Japan on the one hand, and the weak axiality of Japanese modernity as underlined by Eisenstadt, Bellah, Maruyama, and others on the other hand, then raise the question whether it is not only the universalism of the concept of music but also the universalism of art that has to be relativized with regard to the so-called art music— geijutsu ongaku (芸 術 音 楽 )—in Japan. Sociology and cultural history seem again to suggest a “Japanization”—even though the Japanese history of composition and musical
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interpretation might not lead to this conclusion at first glance. 19 But perhaps one should ask whether the contemporary situation of art music in Europe still fits the liberal concept of art in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. During the past few decades, Western musical culture seems to have gotten closer to Japanese modern musical culture, as described above. Twenty-first century Western musical culture between consumption and the music industry, with its acceptance of heterogeneity and hybridity, corresponds with Japanese reality much more than with the liberal ideal of bourgeois modernity. The “Japanese difference” in this perspective didn’t disappear because it never existed, but perhaps because late modernity (or postmodernity) on a global scale took on postaxial characteristics as well (see Reckwitz 2017). Arguably, Alexandre Kojève was the first to recognize postmodern characteristics in modern Japanese society. In his interpretation of Hegel he spoke of a Japanese “end of history” (Kojève 1969: 161-2, see also Eisenstadt 1996: 435). His diagnosis of the disappearance of the subject, written in the 1950s, meant the Hegelian “subject of negation,” critical self-reflection, the dialectics of subject and object, of form and content as the core idea of the European project of modernity. Compared with the “regression” of subjectivity especially in the United States— Kojève does not try to hide his anti-American resentment—and also in Europe, in Japan the modern subject would survive the end of history in a sort of “cultural snobbery,” implemented in Japanese society and education. His idea of Japanese postmodernity left its traces in the tradition of poststructuralist theory (Derrida, Barthes), but it might also explain why among Japanese intellectuals the debate on postmodernism has been such a “hot issue” (Eisenstadt 1996: 435) until today. But Kojève’s dark vision not only sounds strangely outdated today—it would be absurd to speak of cultural snobbery listening to, say, Suzuki Masaaki’s great recording of Bach’s mass in B minor or Ozawa Seiji conducting at the Matsumoto Festival—it is also in stark contrast to what the idea of modernity has stood for up until today. Its actuality and the only one of its moments that deserves to be universalized consists in its trust in the changeability of things. The fact of globalization with its civilizational, economic, and ecological consequences—positive and negative—is the clear result of this changeability as realized in modern thought. The search for modernity within Japanese history should not be blind to what makes cultural and social contexts distinguishable. But to acknowledge this within the
19 Maruyama in one place speaks of a “pseudo-universalism” in Japan, an identification with a universalism that first, is located outside of Japan in a foreign culture, and second, would point to very different origins in the different fields of culture and knowledge (Maruyama 1988: 129-30).
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discussion about modernity also requires some sensitivity for what has been, is, or can be common to us. Difference then is what connects us as modern societies.20
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Herd, Judith Ann. 1987. Change and Continuity in Contemporary Japanese Music: A Search for a National Identity. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. Brown University. Hijiya-Kirschnereit, Irmela. 1988. Das Ende der Exotik. Zur japanischen Kultur und Gesellschaft der Gegenwart. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Hughes, David W. and Alison Tokita. 2010. The Ashgate Research Companion to Japanese Music (SOAS Musicology Series). Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate. Ishida Kazushi (石田一志 ). 2005. Modanizumu hensōkyoku: higashi-ajia no kingendai ongakushi (モダニズム変奏曲:東アジアの近現代音楽史, Variations on Modernism: The Modern Music History of East Asia). Tokyo: Sakuhoku sha (朔北社). Jansen, Christian and Henning Borggräfe. 2007. Nation. Nationalität. Nationaismus (Historische Einführungen). Frankfurt a.M.: Campus Verlag. Janz, Tobias. 2016a. “‘Gibt es eine Weltgeschichte der Musik?’ Mit Carl Dahlhaus auf dem Weg zu einer komparativen Historiographie der musikalischen Moderne.” In Carl Dahlhausʼ “Grundlagen der Musikgeschichte”. Eine ReLektüre, eds. Friedrich Geiger and Tobias Janz, 227-51. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. ———. 2016b. “Moderne.” In Metzler Lexikon Neue Musik, eds. Jörn Peter Hiekel and Christian Utz, 380-5. Stuttgart/Weimar: J.B. Metzler. ———. 2014. Zur Genealogie der musikalischen Moderne. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. Japanese Postwar Music History Research Association ed. Nihon sengo ongakushi kenkyū-kai (日本戦後音楽史硏究会編). 2007. Nihon sengo ongakushi (日本 戦後音楽史, Japanese Postwar Music History). Tokyo: Heibon sha (平凡社). Vol. 1: Sengo kara zen’ei no jidai e 1945-1973 (戰後から前衛の時代へ 1945-1973, From Postwar to Avant-Garde 1945-1973); Vol. 2: Zen’ei no shūen kara 21 seiki no hibiki e 1973-2000 (前衛の終焉から 21 世紀の響き へ 1973-2000, From the End of Avant-Garde to the Sounds of the TwentyFirst Century). Joas, Hans. 2014. Was ist die Achsenzeit? Eine wissenschaftliche Debatte als Diskurs über Transzendenz. Basel: Schwabe Verlag. ———. 2017. Die Macht des Heiligen. Eine Alternative zur Geschichte von der Entzauberung. Berlin: Suhrkamp. Jullien, François. 2017. Es gibt keine kulturelle Identität. Wir verteidigen die Ressourcen einer Kultur. Berlin: Suhrkamp. Kikkawa, Eishi [1948] 1984. Vom Charakter der japanischen Musik (Studien zur traditionellen Musik Japans 2). Wilhelmshaven: Noetzel.
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Kimura Shisei (木村至聖). 2004. “Chōetsusei no kattō: hikaku wakugumi no saikentō” (超越性の葛藤:比較枠組の再検討, The Transcendental Entanglement: Rexamination of the Comparitive Framework). Kyōto Shakaigaku Nempō (京都社会学年報, Kyoto Sociology Annual) 12: 227-33. Klein, Tobias Robert. 2011. “Dahlhaus der Fortschrittliche.” In Carl Dahlhaus und die Musikwissenschaft: Werk, Wirkung, Aktualität, ed. Hermann Danuser et al., 347-62. Schliengen: Edition Argus. Kobayashi Masaya (小林正弥). 2008. “Hikaku bunmei-ron to rekishi kōkyō tetsugaku: chikyū-teki bunmei eno bijon” (比較文明論と歴史公共哲学―地 球的文明へのビジョン, Comparitive Civilazation Theory and Historical Public Philosophy). Kōkyō kenkyū (公共研究) 4/4: 17-42. ———. 2013. “Aizenshutatto ‘nihon bunmei’ kōgi: nihon bunka-ron no bunmeiron-teki saisei” (アイゼンシュタット『日本文明』講義―日本文化論の 文明論的再生, Eisenstadt’s “Japanese Civilization” Lecture: Rebirth of the Civilization Theory of the Theory of Japanese Culture). Chiba daigaku daigakuin jinbun shakaikagaku kenkyū-ka kenkyū purojekuto hōkokusho (千葉大 学大学院人文社会科学研究科研究プロジェクト報告書) 234: 61-80. Kojève, Alexandre. 1969. Introduction to the Reading of Hegel: Lectures on the Phenomenology of Spirit. Ed. Allan Bloom. Ithaca, NY/London: Cornell University Press. Maier, Charles S. 2012. “Leviathan 2.0. Die Erfindung moderner Staatlichkeit.” In 1870-1945: Weltmärkte und Weltkriege, eds. Akira Iriye et al. (Geschichte der Welt, Vol. 5), 33-286. München: C.H. Beck. Maruyama, Masao. 1988. Denken in Japan. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp. Menke, Christoph. 2015. Kritik der Rechte. Berlin: Suhrkamp, Menzel, Stefan. 2015. Hōgaku. Traditionelle japanische Musik im 20. Jahrhundert. Hildesheim: Olms. Milioto Matsue, Jennifer. 2016. Focus: Music in Contemporary Japan (Focus on World Music Series). London/New York: Routledge. Nakane, Chie. [1970] 1985. Die Struktur der japanischen Gesellschaft. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp. Nuss, Steven. 1996. Tradition and Innovation in the Art Music of Post-War Japan. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation. City University of New York. Ōno Michikuni (大野道邦). 2013. “Hyōgen to kihan, hyōshō to shinboru: bunka shakaigaku no tēma” (表現と規範、表象とシンボル:文化社会学のテー マ, Expression and Regulation, Appearance and Symbol: Themes of Cultural Sociology). Nara joshi daigaku shakaigakuronshū (奈良女子大学社会学論 集) 20: 3-21.
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Osterhammel, Jürgen. 2012. “Globale Horizonte europäischer Kunstmusik, 18601930.” Geschichte & Gesellschaft 38: 86-132. Reckwitz, Andreas. 2017. Die Gesellschaft der Singularitäten. Zum Strukturwandel der Moderne. Berlin: Suhrkamp. Reinhard, Wolfgang. 2014. “Einleitung: Weltreiche, Weltmeere—und der Rest der Welt.” In 1350-1750: Weltreiche und Weltmeere, eds. Akira Iriye and Jürgen Osterhammel (Geschichte der Welt, Vol. 3), 9-52. München: C.H. Beck. Sachsenmaier, Dominic. 2011. Global Perspectives on Global History: Theories and Approaches in a Connected World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sachsenmaier, Dominic et al., eds. 2002. Reflections on Multiple Modernities: European, Chinese and Other Interpretations. Leiden: Brill. Schelkshorn, Hand and Jameleddine Ben Abdeljelil, eds. 2012. Die Moderne im interkulturellen Diskurs. Perspektiven aus dem arabischen, lateinamerikanischen und europäischen Denken. Weilerswist: Velbrück Wissenschaft. Schwinn, Thomas, ed. 2006. Die Vielfalt und Einheit der Moderne. Kultur- und strukturvergleichende Perspektiven. Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. Silberman, Bernard S. 2002. “The Disappearance of Modern Japan: Japan and Social Science.” In The Afterlives of Area Studies, ed. Masai Miyoshi and H.D. Harootunian, 303-20. Durham, NC/London: Duke University Press. Sponheuer, Bernd. 1987. Musik als Kunst und Nicht-Kunst. Untersuchungen zur Dichotomie von “hoher” und “niederer” Musik im musikästhetischen Denken zwischen Kant und Hanslick (Kieler Schriften zur Musikwissenschaft, Vol. 30). Kassel: Bärenreiter. Strohm, Reinhard. 1993. The Rise of European Music 1380-1500. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1996. “The Rise of European Music and the Rights of Others.” Journal of the Royal Musical Association 121: 1-10. Swidler, Ann. 2012. “Where Do Axial Commitments Reside? Problems in Thinking about the African Case.” In The Axial Age and Its Consequences, eds. Robert N. Bellah and Hans Joas, 222-47. Cambridge, MA/London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Takeuchi, Yoshimi. 2005. What Is Modernity? The Writings of Takeuchi Yoshimi. Ed. Richard F. Calichmann. New York: Columbia University Press. Taruskin, Richard. 2006. “Is There a Baby in the Bathwater?” Parts I and II. Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 63, no. 3: 163-85; no. 4: 309-27. Umesao, Tadao. [1957] 2003. An Ecological View of History: Japanese Civilization in the World Context. Ed. Harumi Befu. Melbourne: Trans Pacific Press.
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Urbanek, Nikolaus. 2016. “Gedanken zur Strukturgeschichte.” In Carl Dahlhausʼ “Grundlagen der Musikgeschichte”. Eine Re-Lektüre, ed. Friedrich Geiger and Tobias Janz, 179-209. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. Utz, Christian. 2002. Neue Musik und Interkulturalität. Von John Cage bis Tan Dun. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. ———. 2014. Komponieren im Kontext der Globalisierung. Perspektiven für eine Musikgeschichte des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts, Bielefeld: transcript. Vogl, Joseph. 2015. Der Souveränitätseffekt. Zürich/Berlin: diaphanes. Wade, Bonnie C. 2014. Composing Japanese Musical Modernity. Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press. Werner, Michael and Bénédicte Zimmermann. 2002. “Vergleich, Transfer, Verflechtung. Der Ansatz der Histoire croisée und die Herausforderung des Transnationalen.” Geschichte und Gesellschaft 28: 606-36. Wittrock, Björn. 2012. “The Axial Age in Global History: Cultural Crystallizations and Societal Transformations.” In The Axial Age and Its Consequences, ed. Robert N. Bellah and Hans Joas, 102-25. Cambridge, MA/London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Yano, Christine R. 2002. Tears of Longing: Nostalgia and the Nation in Japanese Popular Song. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press. Zohn, Steven. 2008. Music for a Mixed Taste: Style, Genre, and Meaning in Telemann’s Instrumental Works. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press.
Contemplating East Asian Music History in Regional and Global Contexts On Modernity, Nationalism, and Colonialism Yamauchi Fumitaka
INTRODUCTION The century from the mid-nineteenth to mid-twentieth represents a truly historic moment in East Asian music history: a critical period initiated by the transition from the two-millennia-old Sinocentric world order based on the Confucian notions of tribute and hierarchy to the Eurocentric world order built on the international terms of nation states and colonies. Now this region, which some literati had once claimed to be the center of the world with the Middle-Kingdom at the self-claimed core, came to de-center itself as “East Asia” through its full-scale encounter with the global construct of imperial powers, “the West.” It is this colonial encounter and its tremendous consequences that signaled the inauguration of modernity as the master subject of history in regional discourses. The latter phase of this century-long period of sweeping change witnessed the emergence of Japanese imperialism and colonialism that further transformed the entire region. In attempting to construct a Japan-centric regional and global order, this new empire eventually claimed to “overcome” modernity, but only in vain, right before it formally dissolved. This essay examines the problematic of modernity as a historiographical discourse in its intrinsic relations to nationalism and colonialism in the turbulent century of East Asian music history—to carry forward this task, moreover, will lead to a further examination of the long-term formation of modernity in global history prior to that century. Central to this dramatic transformation of the region in an already shifting global order was music, as much as it was foundational to the idea of the ordering, or tuning, of the world.
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To put it figuratively for a moment, modernity manifested itself in the West as a set of contradictory processes and conditions that would invite its own crisis: On the one hand, by means of subjecting the established authority and hierarchy to the intense scrutiny of reason, it had detuned the previous divine, and by extension imperial, order once “composed by music” (Chua 1999: 15); on the other, it had to retune, persistently and desperately, a new order in a world that it kept disenchanting and dividing at first hand. For such a heroic retuning, modernity strived to manufacture a music that would serve to not only regain, through the non-denotative vacant medium designed to resemble itself, a commonality in an already divisive Europe and retain the communality of “the West,” but also to revitalise imperial formation over the rest of the world with its assertion of global universality. Coupled with colonialism, modernity likewise detuned the established order and hierarchy across the region of East Asia that was previously harmonized and legitimized by the ideal of “樂”—the most general sinographic notion corresponding to music but also involving dance and other kinds of performances for state rituals. As it had divided Christendom into sovereign states, modernity reconfigured the Sinosphere into a handful of nation states inheriting traditional state formations. As 樂 thus divided into yue (Chinese), ak (Korean), gaku (Japanese), nhạc (Vietnamese), “music” came into play and took its place. This chapter is part of my ongoing research project with regard to the emergence of East Asia as we know it in its relation to such discursive formations of music in both regional and global contexts; since it touches upon the yue ideal in regional discourse (hereafter I use the mandarin transliteration yue for its sinographic representation), this study extends back before the century stated at the beginning of the text.1 Today, in most writings about music history, East Asia is framed as a patchwork of major nation states that are presently recognized in international terms. Most conventionally, it is represented by three major countries: China, Japan, and, increasingly, South Korea, as they have successfully made their presence in the current international community. The most important example of this three-country scheme would be the structure of the path-breaking work Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, Vol. 7: East Asia (Provine et al. 2002). This massive volume presents China, Japan and Korea as East Asia coupled with Mongolia and Siberia
1
A part of this chapter derives from a much longer essay I originally wrote (but decided not to use) as Introduction for the 2012 special issue coedited with Hugh de Ferranti, Colonial Modernity and East Asian Musics of The World of Music (New Series). This chapter can only concentrate to articulating major problematics on a historiographical level since full substantiation of them requires a book-length treatment.
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as Inner Asia. This is the case with other examples such as Grove Music Online’s “East Asia” entry (by David W. Hughes and Stephen Jones), which begins: “East Asia will here be defined mainly as China (both the People’s Republic and the Republic of China on Taiwan), Japan and Korea. This survey seeks to outline some general similarities and differences within this broad area, restricting itself for practical reasons to the majority cultures of each country.” (Hughes/Jones 2001)
Such country-based historiographical framing for these huge collaborative volumes understandably is a practical strategy. We should nevertheless be mindful of regional politics at work behind the seemingly peaceful coexistence of national musics and their subcategories within such a compartmentalized conception of history, framed largely according to existing and shifting power structures in the region. Writing on musical historiography in East Asia, Andrew P. Killick pinpoints the “nationalistic effects,” by which he means, “The nationalist agenda in much East Asian writing on music history has manifested itself as a tendency to treat the writer’s own country as a unified and independent entity since time immemorial, and a reluctance to acknowledge foreign influences other than the usually prestigious influence of imperial China.” (Killick 2002: 43)
Although this critique is mainly targeted at knowledge production by local scholars or in local languages within East Asia, national framing in a broad sense as mentioned above is similarly manifest in most critical studies in English. After all, such a tendency itself is a modern product correlative with the aforesaid colonial encounter, and demands a careful examination of the relationship between modernity, nationalism, and colonialism. For this purpose, this essay engages in a two-step task of re-assessing and reinterrogating modernity. The re-assessment in the first part concerns modernity’s engagement with nationalism and advances the notion that what appears “immemorial” is in effect modern. Special attention is given to the practice of translation that conceals the newness of concepts in the regional lexicon. This part looks, in particular, into how ideas of “national music” were born in translation and their histories were accordingly articulated in the inter-nationalized space of East Asia since the turn of the twentieth century. In addition, as an important bridge to the second part of this essay, I discuss the untranslatability of music and the resultant aporia for constructing musical modernity in national terms—a structural con-
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dition against which the yue ideal would be summoned to restore a regional order, this time enshrined in the neologism of “Oriental music.” The critique of modernity would be incomplete, however, if it remains sticking to the issue of nationalism. The re-interrogation in the second part throws regional music history into the global flux of colonialism that traces back to the sixteenth century. It will first debunk modernity as a non-referential concept that nonetheless references recent events in Euro-American history—a vacant concept that found a parallel in the idealized notions of music in the nineteenth century—while concealing its simultaneous colonial career. This part thus lays bare modernity’s colonial trajectories by indicating it as “colonial modernity” and argues for a perspective of the coeval co-construction of modernity between colonizer and colonized alike. This essay concludes with an argument that this concept should be further elaborated in a way that takes account of imperial formations as ordered by the yue ideal in the regional context—and thus a preoccupation with nationalism as the key issue of modernity (whether defending or debunking it) would end up re-centering the regional hegemons, losing sight of the complex colonial experiences of regional “peripheries” equally constitutive of the East Asian musical modern. Lastly, a word of qualification: In this paper I regard “the West,” and its derivative “Western music,” as discursive constructs and not as reified objects whose boundaries are ahistorically defined—in the same way as I deal with other relevant notions such as “East Asia,” “national music” and “Oriental music.” My overall treatment of “the West” and “Western music,” nevertheless, will appear static and even simplistic. This is in large part because this chapter primarily concerns the dynamics of East Asian music history; and more fundamentally, however, this approach is intended to make a general point about discourse. To quote Stuart Hall’s influential critique of the discourse of “the West”: “For simplification is precisely what this discourse itself does. It represents what are in fact very differentiated (the different European cultures) as homogeneous (the West). And it asserts that […] they are all different from the Rest” (Hall 1992: 280, parentheses and italics in original). This caveat should be borne in mind throughout when this chapter is read in the context of this volume, which attends to perspectives from Northern Europe in “the West.”
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I. RE-ASSESSMENT: MODERNITY AND NATIONALISM 1. Translated Modernity and National History in East Asia No serious study of East Asian history is possible, as studies of modernity have for some time taught us, without acknowledging the fact that most of the key notions of historical writing (among them, nation and music are particularly relevant ones for this section), while looking “old” and familiar, are actually modern in the sense that they have been incorporated into the regional lexicon only since the late nineteenth century. In Prasenjit Duara’s words, “apart from the many thousands of new words coined to express the language of global culture, an entire class of paleonyms—deriving from the classical Chinese but re-signified (originally in Japan) with meaning and function drawn from Western conceptions of history […] emerged” in the East Asian vocabulary (Duara 2008: 329). Lydia H. Liu has elaborated on this process of “re-signification” by means of her conceptualization of translation as a framework of translingual incommensurability rather than establishing equivalence, thereby examining aspects of “translated modernity” in East Asia (Liu 1995). It is this mediative process of translation and re-signification of age-old characters and concepts shared in the region, rather than immediate importation from abroad or invention from scratch, that has functioned to render invisible the very modernity or newness of notions of Western origin, giving birth to what Duara (2003) has called “the East Asian modern.” Among numerous newly translated notions, nation, ethnicity and race are the major categories of what John Lie calls “modern peoplehood,” a rich and resonant discourse “providing a comprehensive and comprehensible vocabulary to make sense of the world” (Lie 2004: 1). The most powerful and widely shared translation is minzoku 民族 in Japanese (Chinese: minzu; Korean: minjok), which often conflates nation and ethnicity (or ethnos) without clear distinction, and whose meaning overlaps but acquires various connotations and pronunciations in different contexts in the region. The translated notion quickly became current among intellectuals throughout East Asia,2 although “its precise origins remain obscure— a testament to the term’s ability to conceal its newness” (Schmid 2002: 173). Importantly, at the core of the idea of nation is the norm of cultural difference: A nation ought to be symbolically distinctive from another in international society. In other words, the new global order articulated in the terms of nation states produces a desire for what Sakai Naoki (2006) calls “specific difference” (implying
2
On Korea, see Em 1999; Schmid 2002. On China, see Dikötter’s pioneering work on racial discourse in modern China (Dikötter 1992). On Japan, see Oguma 1995.
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its biological connotations), or the difference between particularities in the face of modernity, which represents the universal; it thus structures knowledge production and channelizes what and how to “know” in national terms, producing national projects searching for modernity. A manifestation of such a national imperative is ownership of a distinctive history. Appropriated by intellectuals throughout East Asia, the neologism of nation became not only a powerful political idea but also a powerful conceptual tool with which to rewrite the historical past (Em 1999: 337). As many critical studies have recently shown, since the late nineteenth century East Asian writers started producing diachronically continuous and synchronically connective histories of the nation with which they identified themselves.3 2. National Music—Its Connective and Continuous History Adopting the Western Notion of Music The notion of music, translated as ongaku (Japanese), ŭmak (Korean), yinyue (Chinese), etc. using the same characters 音樂, is also modern in the sense of being introduced to the East Asia lexicon in the late nineteenth century. In the vernacular vocabulary of East Asia there was no generic concept that could be universally applied to all sorts of musical practices cutting across different localities, statuses, instruments, and so forth. In Japan, for instance, where things could arguably be more compartmentalized than in the neighboring countries, each genre or school (ryūha, 流派) had its own specific vocabulary (Hosokawa 2012: 3-7). Moreover, definitions of music according to a set of key components including precise pitch, elaborative harmony, standard tuning, common notation, etc. worked unfavorably against the existent practices in East Asia. On the general paradigmatic level of discourse, therefore, what are now called East Asian musics were initially deprived of the status of being “music.” It will not be surprising to find, then, that the notion of music in the East Asian lexicon often simply denoted “Western music” in translation: seiyō ongaku in Japanese, sŏyang ŭmak in Korean, and xiyang yinyue (西洋音樂) or more generally, xifang yinyue (西方音樂) in Chinese. The premise was that the self-identification of “the West,” on which I added a word of qualification above, had become largely equivalent to the naming of it from the side of East Asia: seiyō/sŏyang/ xiyang (西洋).4 The translated notion of “Western music” was also abbreviated as
3
To take just a few important examples, on China, see Duara 1995; on Korea, see Schmid 2002 (particularly chap. 5); Em 1995; 1999; and on Japan, see Sakai 1991.
4
The trajectory of this sinographic signifier, which literally combines “west” and “sea,”
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yōgaku in Japanese and yang’ak in Korean (洋樂)—while usually xiyue (西樂) in Mandarin Chinese—since yō/yang was firmly established there as the shorthand for seiyō/sŏyang and never for other words of the same family such as tōyō/tongyang (東洋, the Orient), nan’yō/namyang (南洋, the South), etc. “Western music” in sinographic translation, often equated with “music” as such, established itself as a powerful discourse by which people categorize and systematize the sonic world. Moreover, it has also been accompanied by a sounding reality that substantiated what was otherwise the abstract neologism of “music,” whose referent was believed to be still absent in East Asia.5 Searching for National Music Such were the primary conditions in which cultural workers in the region were prompted to create their own “music”—or something to match it such as “art.” Significantly, operating in the age of modern nationalism, their attempts were soon geared towards nation building and cultural distinctiveness, thus resulting in various visions of “national music” in different contexts. And then emerged the notions of kokugaku (Japanese), guoyue (Chinese), and kugak (Korean) in the identical characters “國樂” that combined state/nation and music (yue), and other terms such as minzoku ongaku (Japanese), minzu yinyue (Chinese), minjok ŭmak (Korean) or “民族音樂,” and so forth. Recent studies have demonstrated that, at the turn of the twentieth century, statesmen and intellectuals throughout East Asia,
is complicated as the signified has historically changed. Chinese writers first employed xiyang to refer to the western side of what they called the “Southern Sea.” Some eighteenth-century Japanese writers started to apply seiyō to a group of European countries; by the Meiji period (1868-1912), the aforesaid semantic equivalence became dominant through influential writings such as Fukuzawa Yukichi’s (福沢諭吉) Seiyō Jijō (西洋 事情, The Conditions of the West, 1866-1870). 5
This chapter, therefore, treats “Western music” as a mixture of a structuring discourse and a sounding reality (hereafter parentheses continue to be used where the former aspect should be remined). An important note is that while the discourse of “Western music” has remained as a dominant categorical framework, the referent of Western music in reality has constantly changed and multi-layered over time, to the point of being dislocated and deeply hybridized. The prominent type of Western music that had steadily spread across East Asia between the late nineteenth and early twentieth century is the one whose core elements include functional tonality and metrical regularity— which, however, contemporarily came under challenge in Western musical modernism. When I refer to Western music as a sonic event in this paper, therefore, it is largely this type of music.
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rather than embracing the nineteenth-century notion of music as an autonomous art, regarded music as a powerful instrument for creating or elevating national consciousness among their fellow countrymen and promoting the country’s military prowess (see Okunaka 2008; Watanabe 2010 on Japan; Gong 2008; Liu 2009 on China). In other words, the sinographic re-signification of music in translation was most salient in accentuating the state-centered notion of national music—an unsurprising consequence of the persistent presence of yue in the very translated notion. For those nation-builders the previous musical divisions meant national divisions. To build a united and strong nation, they considered it indispensable, even if only ideally, to retune and thereby overcome such divisions, not least the schism between the refined and the vulgar, in varying degrees in different places (on Japan, see Okunaka 2008; Tsukahara 2009). A national unity was thus envisioned in terms of a musical unity. Among the top priorities was to establish a music education system that would contribute to creating a nation singing out loud together (Jones 2001: chap. 1; Watanabe 2010). The construction of national music was thus deeply tied up with the installment of collective singing. First crystallized in Japan as the shōka (唱歌) or “singing-songs” curriculum at the turn of the twentieth century, this idea and its contents would spread across other parts of East Asia as Japan emerged as a modernizing power and soon a colonial empire (see, for instance, Yasuda 1999). Against this backdrop it became imperative that integrated and continuous histories of national music should be written in each of the East Asian states. Indeed, it was a strong need for realizing shōka education that initially led to the prototypes of national music historiography since the 1870s in Japan (Tsukahara 2009: 110-1). Of course there had existed historical writings on what is now conceived of as music in its various forms since ancient times (for an overview, see Killick 2002); those histories, however, were most typically dynasty-centered writings on court music according to the yue ideal in places where state power, sinographic writing, and Confucian thought were strong and, as such, they did not intend to cover different types of music in a way that represented “the music of the nation” at large. To legitimize its presence, national music needed a connective, generative, and all-inclusive history. In Japan, it was in 1888, one year after the establishment of Tokyo Music School, the first of its kind in the region, that what is now regarded as the first history of Japanese music was published: the two-volume Kabu Ongaku Ryakushi ( 歌 舞 音 樂 略 史 , A Brief History of [Japanese] Songs, Dances, and Music;
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Konakamura 1888).6 Although the author Konakamura Kiyonori (小中村清矩, 1821-1895) did not use still novel terms such as nation (minzoku), national music (kokugaku), or Japanese music (nihon ongaku, 日本音樂), he consciously brought together different genres of music for which previously there had only been “notes written by specialists in each specific field for the reference of later generations” (Konakamura 1888: 17). Four decades later, in 1928, Konakamura’s book was reissued for the newly-born Iwanami Bunko series. In his postscript to the reissue, musicologist Kanetsune Kiyosuke (兼常清佐, 1885-1957) explicated the book’s historical significance in national terms: “If somebody says this book is just a collection of excerpts regarding music from historical materials and hence lacks originality, he is obviously wrong. Writing this kind of book is itself a product of great originality. Modern Japan had regarded songs, dance and music as vulgar (iyashii, 卑しい). Universities even had regulations prohibiting songs, dance and music on campus. Studying music was almost beyond the imagination of intellectuals. [Thanks to this book] Japan first acquired a comprehensive history of Japanese music (nihon ongaku zenshi, 日本音楽全史). This book can surely be said to be extremely original in itself.” (Konakamura 1928 [1888]:182-3)
It was during the same period that books explicitly entitled the history of Japanese music and songs started appearing—the earliest examples including Tanabe Hisao’s (田邊尚雄, 1883-1984) Nihon ongaku shi (日本音楽史, A History of Japanese Music), which also came out in 1928—although demonstrating a considerably broad spectrum of thoughts that at times overflew the strict language of nationalism (Saito 2015). In China, narrating a history of national music was first articulated through dabates in the 1920s and 1930s over the aforesaid notion of guoyue among May Fourth era intellectuals in their search for musical modernity. The context surrounding the entire musical field at that time was that the musical establishment had emerged amid a rush toward musical Westernization (Jones 2001: 35-45). Conservative literati, disturbed by the way Western music had gradually superseded Chinese music, were among the first to launch their own projects of modernizing traditional music and initiated writing connective histories of Chinese
6
See for example Kikkawa 1965: 374. Also important was Uehara Rokushirō’s (上原六 四郎, 1848-1913) Zokugaku Senritsu Kō (俗楽旋律考, A Study of [Japanese] Popular Song Melodies, 1895), the first and most influential theoretical treatment of aspects of Japanese music before being revised by the prominent postwar ethnomusicologist Koizumi Fumio (小泉文夫, 1927-1983).
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music—a kind of music history that, along with systematic teaching methods, they thought was lacking in Chinese tradition (Gong 2008: 58). Three important publications entitled, straightforwardly, Zhongguo yinyue shi (中國音樂史, A History of Chinese Music) came out over about a decade from the early 1920s: Ye Bohe’s (葉伯和, 1889-1945), although long forgotten for decades, was the first comprehensive history of this kind (1922), while Zheng Jinwen’s (鄭覲文, 1872-1935) well-known work was an ambiguous four volume history written over years (1929); they were followed by other, more reform-oriented writers, most importantly, by Wang Guangqi (王光祈, 1898-1936) who published his own version of Chinese music history (1934).7 Written while Wang was residing in Berlin, the work was motivated by the idea that one must first bring together fragmentary elements before being able to write a more linear, better connected history (Wang 1934: 2). As Japanese encroachment on the Chinese continent had intensified in the 1930s, the definition of guoyue came to be associated with patriotic, anti-Japanese spirit and thus distinguished from traditional or old music (jiuyue, 舊樂).8 In Korea, meanwhile, the notion of kugak went through vicissitudes due to the Japanese colonial domination. The term first appeared on paper in 1907 when the Bureau of Court Music was renamed to changakkwa (掌樂課, lit. Department of the Supervision of ak, the Korean counterpart of yue) and reduced in scale, and accordingly assigned national court musicians kugaksa (國樂師, corresponding to Japanese kokugakushi) under the tightening administration of the Japanese Resident-General; in other words, kugak was first used as the Korean reading of the Japanese counterpart kokugaku (see Noh 1990; 1992; 1993a; 1993b).9 After Korea
7
Other important publications on the history of Chinese music from the same period include: Tong Fei’s (童斐) In Search of the Origins of Chinese Music (1926), Xu Zhiheng’s (許之衡) A Concise History of Chinese Music (1930), and Xiao Youmei’s (蕭 友梅) Evolution of Old Music (1938). Huang Yu-Chen’s dissertation (2015) deals with all these publications mentioned here, organizing them into what she takes as three major historiographical views and methods, namely, Chinese, Western, and, musicological: Tong, Zheng and Xu fall into the first category, while Ye and Xiao the second, and Wang the third. Huang also critically examines Tanabe’s book entitled A History of Chinese Music (1937). It was a Chinese translation of the excerpt regarding Chinese music from his Japanese book A History of Oriental Music (Tōyō ongaku shi, 東洋音 楽史, Tanabe [1930] 2014), which some regard as the first history of Asian music written by an East Asian scholar (Hsu 1991: 6; see also Uemura Yukio’s introduction to the 2014 reissue).
8
On Xiao Youmei’s (蕭友梅) revised definition of these terms, see Enomoto 1998: 241-2.
9
This thesis was first presented by the Korean musicologist Noh Dong-eun in a series of
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was deprived by Japan of its sovereignty in 1910, there was no room, unlike in the cases of Japan and China, for Korean music to be constructed around a state-centered notion of national music; and kugak—as with the case of kugŏ (國語, Japanese kokugo, the [Japanese] national language)—came to mean Japanese music. In its place, ethnicized and traditionalized conceptions of national music, such as chosŏn ak (朝鮮樂) and chosŏn ŭmak (朝鮮音樂), both meaning Korean music, and chosŏn kuak (朝鮮舊樂, Korean old music), emerged during the colonial period and reached the peak of their construction through media and scholarship in the 1930s (Suk 2017)—largely in accordance with the contemporary emergence of ethnic nationalism and ethnic conceptions of the Korean nation in cultural terms (see Schmid 2002: chap. 5; Shin 2006). It was only after the 1945 liberation that kugak was given state-sanctioned status and its history accordingly could be studied and written in full earnest, resulting in the publication of the earliest monographs from the 1970s on—in South Korea, such as Chang Sa-hun’s (張師勛 1916-1991) Han’guk Ŭmaksa (韓國音樂史, A History of Korean Music, 1976), followed by Song Bang-Song’s first comprehensive Korean music history (1984; revised 2007). In sum, modernity has brought new notions such as nation and music to the East Asian vocabulary through translation and re-signification since the late nineteenth century, initiating regional contests for owning distinctive national music and its history. This is not to say that, as we have already seen, the notion of national music has been monolithic or coherent; it has rather acquired different statuses and meanings in different periods and places, defying a single, proper definition.10 What is important for this essay is that, no matter how diverse its manifestations are, the state-centered notion of national music has admitted ownership only to members recognized in international society, accordingly shaping and reproducing regional musical disconnection in accordance with national borders
his articles advocating the need for decolonizing key terms in Korean musicology. While there is still room for a debate over his polemical interpretation, it is now considered to be an established theory (Song 1984: 519). One of the most critical problems with Noh’s important problematic, however, is that he does not take into account the issue of sinographic translation and re-signification discussed above, thus ending up regarding kokugaku as an essentially Japanese concept that was forcibly transplanted into the Korean vocabulary. 10 In Korea, for example, there have been debates over the notions of kugak and hanguk ŭmak ([South] Korean music) (Song 1984: 694; for a contextual account, see Kim 1999). See also Tsukahara 2009 on Japan, and Yu 2011 on the Chinese speaking sphere such as Hong Kong, Singapore, Taiwan, and mainland China.
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within East Asia: Hence the music of the former Ryukyu Kingdom is now treated as a local or ethnic music (Okinawan music) under the umbrella of Japanese national music; in Taiwan, meanwhile, it was only after the lifting of martial law that the history of Taiwanese music could start to be written (Hsu 1991; Lu 2003).11 A connective and continuous history of national music involves differentiating the national “self” so that there is no overlap with “others” in the region and the world, just as in the current system of mapping (Anderson 1991: 170-8). In this sense, modernity simultaneously constructed national musics and their histories and disassociated their intra-regional correlations, both historical and contemporary, along national lines of geo-political demarcation. 3. Untranslatable Musical Modernity and the Yue Ideal The literate notion of translated modernity, however useful for demystifying the seeming ancientness of the regional modern, cannot be simply applied to the musical aspect of modernity: Music was not well equipped with an equivalent to the sinographic script; more fundamentally music was untranslatable and embodied non-denotative facets of modernity. This situation made desperately difficult the task of constructing both regional and national modern, which I call the aporia of musical modernity in East Asia. This would reactivate the sinographic ideal of yue in service of regaining a regional and by extension global order. Translation in a lingual sense is simply unavailable to music. In the domain of language, it is aimed toward preserving the meaning of a word while sacrificing its sound when uttered (it is the case, if to a less degree, with transliteration in phonetic script such as the Japanese kana syllables or the Korean alphabet han’gŭl)—in a way that establishes semantic equivalence between different languages. Its basic unit is a lexeme (corresponding to a word) or sometimes a morpheme, the lexical or meaningful morphological unit of a language that cannot be further divided. In the case of music, meanwhile, a “museme,” the minimum unit of expression in a musical style corresponding to a morpheme, to use Philip Tagg’s musical semiotic term expanded from Charles Seeger’s coinage (Tagg 1982), cannot be treated like the linguistic equivalent—since it seldom denotes a thing, an event, or a concept literally, upon which translingual equivalence could be built.
11 In Taiwan the aforesaid notion of guoyue has been even more complicated due to the complexities of political domination. Apart from the Japanese use of the notion of kokugaku during the colonial period, the term is now often regarded as part of the “Chinese music” that was introduced to Taiwan with the arrival of the KMT government in 1949 (see e.g., Chen 1997; on ist conflicting namings see Yu 2011).
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There was no equivalent in music to sinographic writing, which was shared by the lettered elite across the region and thus enabled an East Asian modernity to emerge. It is sounds and voices that had for ages embodied difference and autonomy in the so-called Sinosphere, rendering the homographic world what I call a heterophonia, which in turn had been loosely coordinated by the yue ideal—a crucial aspect of sinographic imperial formations that coordinated different states in hierarchy. Symptomatic of this huge discrepancy between script and sound is that in music the notion of “translation” came to be used across the region in a way just opposite to language: rendering traditional notation into Western staff notation (and, to a less extent, cipher notation), but not vice versa. Hence the latter played a role akin to mathematical and other scientific notations, forging new forms of musical literacy centering on the hegemony of Western notation on an unprecedented scale. This testifies that Western music taken as a generic system was accorded the degree of universality that was attached to natural sciences. In this way the modern split of language and music sharpened itself in a specific fashion in East Asia as it was grafted on the historical discrepancy between script and sound emblematic of the homographic heterophonia. Modernity thus manifested itself in such a schizophrenic fashion in the region: In the literate domain, it could be rendered invisible by disguising its being actually modern, while it in the musical domain could hardly be inaudible. In other words, the search for musical modernity was structured at once on the basis of national terms on an ideal level and under the hegemony of Western music on an actual level. National music historiography mentioned above should be understood in this pressing context, as most of the authors were forging firsthand the reform of traditional music along Western lines to create national music (Tanabe, Ye, Zheng, etc.). Such normative aspirations in effect reflected—and were greatly amplified by—such an aporia, which lingered persistently through the period concerned. It is telling to note here that even at a time when the idea of “overcoming modernity” became a pressing subject in 1940s wartime Japan, far from overcoming it, musical workers still had to advocate the need to construct a modernity enshrined in the figure of “national music”—by then regarded as “kokumin ongaku” (國民音 樂) or the “[Japanese] people’s music” (Sakai 2011). This bifurcated epistemology based on the Western-national binary reconfirmed, reconfigured, and reinforced the region-wide heterophonic reality under the nation state regime. Such was the
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situation even when national music extended its reach, particularly in the case of Japan, over the imperial territories.12 Western music, often referred to as “music” in translation, had increasingly penetrated deeper into such a reality and thereby facilitated musical commonality and communality across the region. It is in this context that the yue ideal, which used to claim a homographic order over the heterophonia, came to be summoned afresh to counter Western music and retune a regional order by constructing a selfclaimed alternative—“Oriental music” (東洋音樂, Japanese: tōyō ongaku, Chinese: dongyang yinyue, Korean: tongyang ŭmak). Close examination of this discursive competition between music and yue requires a deepener critique of modernity in global context.
II. RE-INTERROGATION: MODERNITY AND COLONIALISM 1. Engaging Regional History in Global Dialogue on Colonialism Claims to Historical Continuity and Regional Specificity I have so far argued that the significance of recent studies of the modern in its relations to the national in East Asian music history should be fully acknowledged. Accordingly, I have used, at times intentionally, modernity figuratively as subject of sentences that describe historical change. Such a critique, however, is insufficient for several reasons, which I discuss at a general, historiographical level in this section before discussing musical history. The first reason has to do with the fact that the existing critique of modernity in East Asian history is often so preoccupied with “the formative period of modern nationalism (1870s-1945)” (Duara 2008: 324) that it gives too much explanatory power to what it calls modernity as if it were the agent of historical change, thereby leaving little room for aspects of historical continuity. It is this generalizing and totalizing tendency that has often been disputed and contested in terms of the specific historicities of East Asia. Such debates are well represented by two contrasting conceptions of the nation, that is, primordialist and constructionist ones: The former defends a nation as an autonomous and continuous entity from time immemorial while the later debunks it as a discursive construct that came into being only in the modern era (for a more detailed discussion, see Shin 2006: 4-8; for a recent dispute in Korea,
12 On Japanese “sōkyoku-jiuta” (箏曲地歌) musicians’ reluctance to musically reference to colonial others, see Flavin 2012.
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see Kim 2011). Despite such different positions, however, it has recently been accepted by and large that at least in the core regions of East Asia, nationhood was not simply invented or created ex nihilo; rather, it would be more proper to say that what some would call “proto-nations” was reframed in the new language of nationalism (on the Korean case, see Duncan 1998; Schmid 2002; Shin 2006). In Duara’s words, “while East Asian states and societies were by no means nationalist in cosmology and goals [before the mid-nineteenth century], the relative institutional homogeneity of each state within its core territorial area together with available historical narratives of political community were significant conditions enabling nationalism to penetrate deeply, even into rural areas. Arguably, nationalism became more strongly rooted in this region in the twentieth century than in most other parts of the non-Western world.” (Duara 2008: 325)
The settlement of state borders between China and Korea in the eighteenth century, for example, in comparison to that of the French-Spanish border, demonstrates that territorialization was not simply a result of the modern nation state system in East Asia. It preceded Europe by over a century in identifying and demarcating borders with markers and fences (Schmid 2002: 200). Thus the story of the introduction of the new conceptual vocabulary of territorial sovereignty does “not so neatly match a transition from tradition to modernity as marked by the replacement of a nonterritorial understanding of space by a territorial nation” (Schmid 2002: 200). To reduce the logic of “a transition from tradition to modernity” to an incommensurable discontinuity, then, would lead to an irony that the critique of modernity ends up in reproducing and even reinforcing the discursive hegemony of the very notion that it intends to criticize. Conversely, an excessive emphasis on the specificity of regional history would only replace the same logic with yet another problematic notion of “a clash between tradition and modernity” in terms of civilizational or cultural difference. It is only one step away from switching to one of “a clash between modernities,” and this is where discussion of alternative or multiple modernities comes in. In Arif Dirlik’s words, “Notions of multiple or alternative modernities, in rendering into units of modernity traditions that are themselves the very products of modernity, in fact universalize the claims of modernity by appropriating them as endowments of otherwise vastly different and complex pasts.” (Dirlik 2005: 4-5)
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These notions could not be alternatives since they keep the very notion of modernity unexamined—after all, they are meant to establish claims to alternative modernities rather than alternatives to modernity (see also Dirlik 2013). It is necessary, then, to deepen the critique of modernity while avoiding these traps set around the issues of historical continuity and regional specificity. I make the case for engaging regional music history in dialogue with critical discussion of modernity in global history. Decolonizing (Euro)Modernity in Global History Scholars in various fields have critically examined the very notion of modernity itself as an omnipotent narrative for writing global history in a Eurocentric fashion. Importantly, they collectively associate modernity with colonialism, rather than nationalism, thereby aiming to decolonize the very episteme that keeps this discourse intact. This task should start with disclosure of a referential trick: The notion of modernity, I argue, has no specific signified, other than merely denoting the state of “being modern” or, more bluntly, “being new”; a vague and almost vacant concept, it represents nothing concrete until it is assigned specific significance and, as such, it has actually been given divergent definitions by writers who are attracted by the idea. Needless to say, such semiotic arbitrariness is fundamental to any concept. What is characteristic of modernity is the productive boundlessness of its semantic scope: It is so wide-open and flexible that it can refer to nearly anything that is taken to happen in or account of a relatively new historical period or condition vis-à-vis its previous one. The crucial point for this essay is that it is through such a process of signification and definition that modernity has covertly become “referential” to certain events and conditions that are considered to have occurred in recent times in EuroAmerican history. This is why scholars of non-Western history, including music history, in order to discuss modernity, are often compelled to know a lot about Western history, but the reverse is not true—a situation that Dipesh Chakrabarty has polemically problematized as “asymmetric ignorance” (Chakrabarty 2000: 28-9). Modernity thus cannot be a concept for analysis; it is rather a very key concept whose uses should be exposed—it will then often turn out to be what is Dirlik (2005) simply but explicitly terms “Euromodernity.” In his large-scale study of what he has called “the modern world-system,” Immanuel Wallerstein has demonstrated that capitalist modernity emerged in the sixteenth century when Europe started incorporating the so-called New World into its transatlantic systems of colonial economy, hence creating a Eurocentric global order (Wallerstein 1974; 1980; 1989). In his seminal book about the invention of
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the Americas, Enrique Dussel elaborates on this line of thought in American history and articulates a powerful and lucid re-interrogation of the discourse of modernity: “The birthdate of modernity is 1492, even though its gestation, like that of the fetus, required a period of intrauterine growth. Whereas modernity gestated in the free, creative medieval European cities, it came to birth in Europe’s confrontation with the Other. By controlling, conquering, and violating the Other, Europe defined itself as discoverer, conquistador, and colonizer of an alterity likewise constitutive of modernity.” (Dussel 1995: 12)
Scholars have tackled the issue of how Eurocentric conceptions of modernity have been employed to write history in certain spatio-temporal terms: For example, James Morris Blaut (1993) advanced the notion of “geographical diffusionism” to analyze how the colonizer has spatially designed the history of the world in a way that legitimizes his global supremacy and dominance in the modern ages; Johannes Fabian (1983), in his seminal critique of anthropology, famously developed the idea of “the denial of co-evalness” to show how the colonizer has manipulated historical time in a way that discursively pushes the colonized into a different timeframe; Dipesh Chakrabarty, referring to Fabian’s idea, presented a criticism of the narrative of modernity built around a historicism that endorses the “first in Europe, then elsewhere” structure of linear historical time (Chakrabarty 2000: 78); Andrew F. Jones, also drawing on the ideas of Fabian and Michael Taussig, has advanced a critique of what he calls the trope of technology narrated in terms of progress and newness (Jones 2001: 10-4). Modernity is first and foremost a temporal marker that claims to be already and always new (while concealing its aging and historicity) and imposes a positive evaluation of change (Lamarre 2004: 1-4). The widely used dichotomy between modernity and tradition—most typically incarnated as the modern-West vs. traditional-Rest framework—should be understood as an effect of just such a discursive power of modernity (on the West-Rest framework, see Hall 1992). At the core of these criticisms of modernity as a Eurocentric colonial discourse is the reflexive idea that modernity has always been constructed in an intersubjective and interconnected fashion by both the colonizer and the colonized—or by the two differentiated kinds of humanity, the people “with history” and those “without history” (Wolf 1982), humanitas and anthropos (Sakai 2010)—who inhabit the coeval time-space of global history; and yet in understanding modernity writers have often reiterated the Eurocentric fallacy that the specific discursive space called the West is the only master subject of its creation.
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Historicizing Colonial Modernity Back in Regional Context When we re-interrogate modernity in this way in the context of East Asia, I further argue, some crucial qualifications need to be made before applying its critical insights: East Asia was not “invented” in the same way as what Dussel has polemically proposed as the European “invention” (and invasion) of the Americas. It would be useful to make a comparison between the European “discovery” of the Americas and that of East Asia since the age of maritime exploration, the decisive moment in the construction of the interconnected entire world as we know it now; the latter, then, would be epitomized by Jorge Ávares, arguably the first Portuguese to set foot on Chinese shores in June 1513. “Ávares’ arrival in southern China was twenty-one years later than Christopher Columbus’ discovery of the New World in 1492. Unlike Columbus’ encounter with the ‘uncivilized’ natives on the ‘virgin’ land, Ávares probably met the neo-Confucian élites in the ethnocentric Chinese world. He encountered a civilization that was entirely foreign to him. It was an experience of Sinocentrism as contrasted to Eurocentrism.” (Cheng 1999: 20-1)
Within this East Asian world, it was rather Europeans who were gazed upon as uncivilized “savages” (see Dikötter 1992). Seen from such critical perspectives of global history, modernity was mythopoetically born to produce global history—in other words, modernity inaugurated itself as the master subject of global history—in 1492 when Europeans conquered Amerindians; importantly, this maritime colonial modernity did coevally manifest itself in East Asia in 1513 (these years having only a symptomatic significance here). In its core area of East Asia, however, this modernity did not start producing history at this moment as it failed to have a fundamental effect on the existing Sinocentric world order, although it exposed some regional “peripheries” to maritime interaction. It is only after the mid-nineteenth century that a new manifestation of modernity, which armed itself with the system of nation states and international law together with military prowess and technology, “conquered” such a prolonged world order and eventually incorporated it into the Eurocentric world order that it had forged. In East Asian historiography including musical historiography, therefore, modernity is usually considered to have arrived in the late nineteenth century. From these considerations, I contend that rather than using modernity as an ahistorical and coherent notion, one should historicize and periodize the term against its pretensions to an ageless or antiaging status, thereby distinguishing its different manifestations in different spatiotemporal settings (for example, between maritime modernity and nation state modernity). This critical historicization leads
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us to reconsideration of the causal relationship among modernity, nationalism and colonialism: Nationalism characterizes a specific period of modernity while “colonialism is part and parcel of modernity itself” (Ching 2001: 11), not from the late nineteenth century as meant in this quotation but for a longer period of worldwide interdependency. In sum, modernity should be understood as colonial modernity from the outset and as just an abbreviation of the latter. The term colonial modernity as such was originally articulated as an engaged and reflexive critique of East Asian Studies in the U.S. academic context, characterized as it is by the division of labor according to national boundaries (namely, China, Japan and Korea), and was intended to set forward the issue of colonialism in this relatively de-politicized field of knowledge (see the Introduction to Barlow 1997). Thereafter it has functioned, beyond that original context and despite its conceptual elusiveness, as a tool to open up new epistemic possibilities, helping scholars working on East Asia to tackle the interrelatedness of transnational history (see Jones 2001: 11). The past treatment of colonial modernity, however, has often shown an excessive emphasis on the disjuncture between the modern and premodern periods in East Asia. Accordingly it tends to ignore issues of “world empires” (namely, largescale regionwide empires prior to the nation state) and their colonial dimensions in the region—even if such a stance is motivated by a sense of self-critique of Western imperialism and avoidance of Orientalist and essentialist fallacies in Western academia. This weakness should be supplemented with the fruits of recent study of the early modern period in East Asian history such as new Qing history: in such fields an analytical emphasis is often placed on dimensions of global history, including the fact that national as well as imperial formations in traditional East Asia were already underway in synchronization with the contemporary Western colonial counterparts (see, for instance, Teng 2006). My usage of colonial modernity in the regional context, therefore, is intended to encompass global history in such a fashion. 2. Reframing Global and Regional Music History in Colonial Modernity Resolving the Musical Modern-West/Colonial-Rest Divide The non-referential, non-denominative nature of the modernity notion as discussed above is curiously reminiscent of the notion of music that had emerged and evolved in nineteenth-century Europe around such qualifiers as the autonomous, the transcendental, and eventually the absolute. This is no accident. Such a reconceptualization of music, which marked its peak with the birth of the idea of
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“absolute music,” took place at a specific juncture of modernity in which it had to conceal and get over its own crisis—in Daniel Chua’s words: “Modernity lost faith in itself; the promises of the Revolution, the progress of technology, the Utopian visions of the Enlightenment were no longer inevitable truths that time would unfold.” (Chua 1999: 8) The conceptual correspondence between modernity and music was in fact a result of their mutual transmutation as vacant yet powerful signs in an inversely proportional way, that is, the fall of modernity being dependent on the rise of instrumental music (Chua 1999: 11). To sustain its lifespan, modernity projected its ideal self onto the ineffable and ageless figure of a music that claimed to transcend history. The crisis in question was brought about as the modernity in its Enlightenment version betrayed its own promises and principles; at its core, I argue, was the contradiction that the principles of the nation state—which had already negated frameworks for supreme power across sovereign states in the West, such as that previously exercised by the Roman Pope and Emperors—self-deceptively permitted imperial formations and colonial expansion over the non-Western world. The aforementioned complicity between music and modernity in nineteenth-century European discourse must be read in such a context: the notion of colonial modernity puts music into critical scrutiny in the same way that it re-interrogates modernity, thereby contextualizing and historicizing music against its pretensions to transcendental autonomy. In musicological study, modernity has long been among the most hotly discussed topics in various analytical terms on the different stages of music history; it is recently that scholars of Western music have started examining modernity in its indivisible relationship with colonialism and imperialism, most typically in terms of musical appropriation and representation of the colonial other, and exoticism and Orientalism in musical expression (see for instance Born/Hesmondhalgh 2000; Cooke 1998; Farrell 1997; Richards 2001; Scott 1998). Colonialism, meanwhile, arguably the most significant agent of change in the world’s musics for centuries,13 has been studied predominantly in the context of non-Western societies which experienced colonial domination; recent studies, however, have brought about a gradual surge in the examination of formations of modernity of non-Western musics under colonial rule. Such an epistemological shift in musicology might be nowhere more clearly reflected than in the increasing integration among sub-disciplines in the field, particularly between historical musicology and ethnomusicology—long lost scholarly twins that broke up with one another, reflecting the aforementioned humanitas-
13 See for instance Nettl 2001; see also Nettl 1985 for a classical study.
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anthropos divide. Ethnomusicologists have for some time advocated a need for just such integration. Two decades ago, Kay Shelemay (1996) explicitly called for “a broader musical scholarship” that cuts across disciplinary borders. In response, Nicholas Cook (2008) articulated the heuristic position of “ethnomusicologization of musicology,” which has provoked debate among historical musicologists in particular. The dialogue has deepened by now. Responding to increasing critical voices from historical musicologists setting forth the notion of “no musicology without ethnomusicology” (Gary Tomlinson), some ethnomusicologists have reemphasized the point that there can be “no ethnomusicology without musicology” (Barz/Cooley 2008: 23) and revisited the past trajectories of “historical ethnomusicology” (McCollum/Hebert eds. 2014). Such a paradigm shift, yet to become fully fledged, reflects musicology’s gradual move towards decolonizing its epistemic and institutional structure; indeed, it could be summed up as the musicological study of colonial modernity, which has opened up the possibilities of transcending conventional dichotomies built upon the “modern West” and the “colonial Rest” towards rewriting global music history. Revisiting Regional Mediations and Entanglements in Music In the study of East Asian music history, although not always with direct reference to the notion of colonial modernity, scholarly approaches largely embraced in such a perspective have begun to take shape. What is characteristic in the East Asian context is that while the dominant treatment of musical modernity still remains resting on the “West-Rest” schema—often reframed as the “West-East” schema— within national boundaries, emergent studies testify to an increasing realization that musical experiences across the region between the mid-nineteenth and midtwentieth centuries cannot be sufficiently studied without taking serious account of regional interdependency facilitated in a new global imperial order. Since the experiences were complicated, most saliently, by the consequences of Japanese colonial encroachment, such studies often insert the Japanese mediative presence into that West-Rest scheme. To take some important works in Japanese history on the intertwined dimensions of modernity, colonialism and music, they discuss such issues as Japanese construction of a Greater East Asian musicology (Hosokawa 1998), regionwide dissemination of the Japanese school-song system (Yasuda 1999), representation of China in wartime Japanese popular music (Pope 2003), musical engagement in Japan-occupied Southeast Asia (Tonoshita 2008, chap. 5), Japanese cultural curation of colonial Korea (Atkins 2010), Korean music-making practices in imperial-era Osaka (de Ferranti 2013), and so forth. Needless to say, scholars of the areas that were strongly affected by Japanese colonialism and invasion, such as colonial Korea and Taiwan as well as mainland
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China, have been in the position of having to account of and gauge their consequences while not undermining historiographical autonomy in national terms. I have thus argued that it is necessary to elaborate on the colonial modernity notion in a way that enriches our understanding of the simultaneous articulation of intraregional connections and disconnections among musical lives across East Asia (Yamauchi 2012). There are paradigmatic problems, nevertheless, that arise when recent research agendas are examined against the globalized and historicized perspective of colonial modernity that the second part of this chapter has laid out. A fundamental problem derives from the fact that emergent studies still largely conform to the existing dominant narrative in East Asian music history, which takes as modernity’s starting points the introduction of “Western music” and the construction of “national music” since the late nineteenth century. The expanded perspective of colonial modernity urges us to reconsider it seriously, thereby re-orienting our attention toward dimensions of long-term intra-regional interaction that precede. At this juncture the paradigmatic issue has so far been lack of account for the historical manifestations of empire that had long structured the inter-state relationship across the region. To rephrase a relevant point, it is colonialism that is a much older partner—or, more accurately, twin—of modernity than nationalism. Importantly, that one relativizes the West-Rest division of labor and instead adopts a perspective of the coeval co-construction of modernity by both colonizer and colonized in global history involves a delicate task: to take account of a complicity manifest in the colonial side of colonial modernity, not least in regions in which formations of so-called world empire used to be prominent. It should be impossible to substantially overcome nationalist music historiography in East Asia, I argue, without reflexively contemplating the prolonged trajectories of empire and colonialism and their effects on musical relations across the region. This contemplation calls for a study that goes back to the period well before the formative period of modern nationalism in East Asia, so as to examine the historical musical dimensions of the so-called Sinosphere and to demonstrate how musical relations were structured by the interstate tributary-trade system as well as the region’s internal imperial domination and colonial expansion. This finally brings us back to the sinographic notion of yue, which—coupled with the notion of wen (文) or script that was adopted to translate “civilization” and “culture” in East Asia—had functioned as a key agent to legitimize cosmic and political order by harmonizing diverse voices in the regional world for more than two millennia (Brindley 2012). There empirehood had long been imagined and idealized by a group of the lettered elite sharing the “homogenous script” (同文, Chinese: tongwen, Korean: dongmun, Japanese: dōbun, Vietnamese: đồng văn,
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also meaning “homogenizing the scripts”) as a signoraphic community—an idea dating back to the first Chinese empire, the Qin (from which the present-day English term China originated). At the same time, this homographic imperium was effectively supplemented with notions of heterogeneity in harmony, which were exemplified by the yue ideal par excellence. It is this logical conjunction, rather than contradiction, between homogeneity and heterogeneity, or the co-option by homogenous script of heterogeneous sounds, that gave birth to the aforesaid homographic heterophonia. The inherently imperial nature of the notion of yue became obvious when it was appropriated by Japanese who strove to construct what they called “Oriental music” or “Eastern music” and thereby counter the increasing hegemony of Western music in a dichotomous fashion (on such a development constituent of Japanese ethnomusicology, see Hosokawa 1998). To examine the homographic heterophonia as an imperial formation requires a detour to a complicated critique of the trick of translated modernity. This is because the very notions of empire and colony, as they were translated and incorporated into the regional lexicon, re-signified themselves in such a way as to result in assertions of what can be called anti-imperial and anti-colonial culturalism or civilizationalism (Yamauchi 2017; 2018). This made possible the formation of a type of empire mediated by the negation or suppression of its very imperial self in the presence of colonial others. Such a contradictory rhetoric of anti-imperialist imperialism and anti-colonialist colonialism was most clearly articulated by the Japanese empire, reaching its peak with the wartime slogan of “overcoming modernity” right before the empire itself collapsed. Similar assertions, moreover, have lingered on widely in the region when it comes to traditional formations of empire in the sinographic world, often hindering scholars of East Asian history from grappling with historical trajectories of empire and colonialism regionwide. It is necessary, then, to listen, against such assertions of translated modernity, to the sorts of voices that were previously marginalized and subsumed in the power structure of the homographic heterophonia.
CONCLUSION Discussion of modernity in East Asian music history still awaits a full exposure of its transformative workings since the late nineteenth century. The most pressing task is to come to terms with the rather intimidating fact that key analytical concepts that we use in translation for writing music history on the region are virtually all modern constructions in this specific sense. Formations of national music and their disconnected histories, in particular, should be critically examined. This
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urges us to revisit musical interconnections across East Asia in their complexity in the century-long historic moment proposed at the beginning of this essay. The globalized perspective of colonial modernity that I have articulated in the re-interrogation part, however, calls for an even more painstaking re-examination of intra-regional musical relations in the longue durée. This involves a critique of the yue discourse that, if only ideally, had long orchestrated the relations in a world that I characterized as the homographic heterophonia. Underlying this discussion is an argument for a singularity of global colonial modernity—with its different manifestations in divergent contexts fully acknowledged—for the purpose of a historical critique. This should not be mistaken of course as reaffirmation of the singularity in a Eurocentric fashion; rather, it is a radical remolding of modernity into representation of a profoundly complicated and asymmetrical inter-subjective network that, while being triggered by the West, has involved a countless number of participants, regardless of being Western or non-Western, colonizing or colonized, or categorized otherwise, thereby fostering an awareness of one single interconnected globe, or rather, our planet. This planetary view of colonial modernity involves a self-refection of the workings of empire and colonialism within East Asian music history even prior to the late nineteenth century, as much as the yue ideal legitimizes imperial harmony in hierarchy. The critique of modernity that this essay has attempted to sharpen would logically and ultimately lead to declaring the death of the notion of modernity in East Asian music history and in the end in global music history. It is only after thoroughly re-interrogating modernity as a colonial discourse, or decolonizing it, however, that we can possibly envision discarding it altogether—provided that we should be living in a truly decolonized world. The time, to my regret, has yet to come.
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General Index
aboriginal music 157 aborigines (Taiwan) 32, 156-8 absolute music 65, 262, 332 Adler, Guido 164 Adorno, Theodor W. 25, 74, 112, 215, 226, 256, 259, 304 aesthetic autonomy 285, 287 aesthetic judgment 72, 74 aesthetics 128, 133 of genius 81, 284-5 of music 232 affordance 304 Africa 12-3, 42, 111, 127, 220, 227, 249-50, 257-8, 269, 286, 291 African Music 227 ak 314 Akademie der Künste Berlin 125 AKB48 298 Akutagawa Yasushi 264 Ala-Könni, Erkki 181, 187-8 Alfvén, Hugo 98 Ali Akbar Khan 245 allochronism 33, 247, 250-2, 263, 268 alterity 16, 27, 217, 329 alternative history 248 amae 300 Ambros, August Wilhelm 14, 22 America 13, 29, 42, 44, 50, 111, 250, 329-30 American consumer culture 50 American history 329 Americanization 44, 58
Anderson, Benedict 49, 247, 251, 260, 269 Andersson, Otto 183 Andreyev, Vasily 138 anguo ji 18 anthropology 14, 46, 155, 174-7, 179, 201, 256, 329 anti-modernity 25, 42, 51, 58 antiromanticism 93 Aperghis, Georges 224 Appadurai, Arjun 48-9, 192, 248, 251 Arabia 13 Arabian music 21, 249 Arabian music theory 21 archaic societies 291 area studies 27, 33, 255 Århus 91 Arima Daigorō 243 Arisaka Yoshihiko 243 art music 15, 27, 154, 161, 214, 232, 249, 256-9, 266, 284-6, 292, 299, 305, 319 European 286, 288-9 art religion 217-8, 221 art/nature 66 artistic freedom 259 Asia 9, 12-3, 15, 19, 28, 42, 48-9, 75, 111, 125, 139, 227-8, 250, 252, 255, 269, 286-8, 309 Great East 44 Asia Pacific War 32 Asian musicology 27-8 Asianization 145 atonality 214, 259
346 | Decentering Musical Modernity
Auber, Daniel-François-Esprit 281 Auner, Joseph 257 Austerlitz, Paul 191 Australia 111, 286 Austria 14, 71 authenticity 66, 137 autonomy 63, 164 of art 285-7, 320 of music 63, 110, 211, 256, 2845, 294, 331 of sounds in the Sinosphere 325 of the subject 285, 303-4 avant-garde 23, 27, 32-3, 66, 71, 112, 138, 210, 229-30, 232, 250, 257, 259, 266-7, 285, 287-8, 297-8, 304 Ávares, Jorge 330 axial age 291, 300 axial age civilizations 291-2, 299, 303 axiality 291, 303, 305 Babbitt, Milton 210, 259 Babcock, Barbara 174 Bach, Johann Sebastian 45, 264 Mass in B minor 306 Bakhtin, Mikhail 103, 180 Balanchine, George 229 Bali 220 Balinese music 218 Baltic 112 bangchang 55 bangu 135 Barcelona 90, 282 Barthes, Roland 291, 300, 306 Bartók, Béla 32, 157, 161, 214, 217 bayin 131, 190, 198 Becker, Albert 73 Beethoven, Ludwig van 45, 63-7, 74, 101, 215, 264 Ninth Symphony 101 Sixth Symphony 66 Symphonies 63 Beijing 31, 132-3, 135, 139, 153-4 Beijing Institute of Music 135-6, 138
Beijing University 133, 139 Society for Improving National Music 136 Bekker, Paul 64-7 Bekku Sadao 243 bel canto 55 Belgium 225 Bellah, Robert N. 291, 300-1, 305 bells 79 Benedict, Ruth 300 Berg, Alban 68 Berio, Luciano 33, 68, 224-6, 228, 230-1, 245 Coro 231 Passaggio 231 Sinfonia 231 Traces 231 Berlin 73, 95, 125, 131, 322 Berliner Philharmoniker 261 Bernstein, Leonard 245 Berwald, Franz 92, 98 Bhatia, Vanraj 243 Bible 10, 12 Bildung 284-5, 304 bili 18 Billboard Chart 49 Blacher, Boris 226, 245 Black Current 157-8 Blaut, James Morris 329 Bloch, Ernst 208, 262 Bloom, Harold 123 blues 53 Blume, Friedrich 15 Blumröder, Christoph von 68 Boberg, Ferdinand 98, 111 Bohlman, Philip V. 15, 256 Borgmästars, Jonas 195 Börjeson, John 103 Boston 297 Boulez, Pierre 211, 224, 250, 25860, 263, 266, 282 Second Piano Sonata 250 Structures Ia 211 Bourdieu, Pierre 174 bourgeois concert life 284 bourgeois culture 214, 284
General Index | 347
bourgeois musical culture 33, 286, 299, 304 bourgeois society 9, 285, 303 Brahms, Johannes 65, 67 Brecht, Bertolt 57 Brejc, José 243 Britten, Benjamin 209 Missa brevis 209 Serenade 59 Brook, Timothy 252 Brown, Peter 31 Bruch, Max 73 Bruckner, Anton 67 Brussels 90 Buck, Dudley 98 A Centennial Cantata 98 Buck-Morss, Susan 41 Buddhism 291, 298 Burney, Charles 11, 13, 15, 256 Busoni, Ferruccio 218 Cage, John 24, 209, 224, 229, 266, 295, 297, 304 Concert for Piano and Orchestra 209 Cai Yuanpei 124, 132-3, 135, 137 Capellen, Georg 224 capitalism 9, 23-4, 280, 282-4, 300 capitalization 24 Carter, Elliott 209, 226, 243 Second String Quartet 209 Celestini, Federico 256 center-periphery 41, 45, 50, 63-4, 66, 72, 74-5, 80, 145, 148-9, 316, 330 Central Asia 17-8, 20 Chakrabarty, Dipesh 26-7, 29, 145, 148-50, 328-9 Chang Sa-hun 323 changga 52-3 changguek 55 changjak gugak 43 Chaozhou music 135 Charlemagne 18 Chen Ching-Yi 138 Chen Gang 209 Butterfly Violin Concerto 209
Chen Kuan-Hsing 27-8, 30, 48, 145, 148-50, 254-5 Chen Yi 257 Chen Ying-Zhen 155 Chen Yun-Dong 189 Chen Zhongzi 133 Cheng Rom-Shing 190, 198 Chiang Ching-Kuo 189 Chiang Kai-Shek 153, 155 Chilvers, Simon 150 chimes 79 China 13-4, 16-8, 20, 22, 27, 30-2, 34, 55, 71, 123-9, 131-4, 136, 138-9, 146-56, 158, 162, 164, 181, 213, 217, 220, 252, 254, 259-60, 263, 287-8, 291, 294, 299, 302, 314-5, 317-8, 320-1, 323, 327, 330-1, 333-5 Chinese Civil War 148 Chinese Classical Music Association 150 Chinese Cultural Renaissance Movement 153-4 Chinese ensembles 130-1, 134, 136-7 Chinese folk music 134-6 Chinese history 17-8, 129 Chinese literature 128 Chinese music 13-4, 16, 18, 20, 123, 128-31, 133-5, 156-7, 3212, 324 notation 13, 131 Chinese Music Center (Bonn) 155 Chinese orchestra 127-8, 134 Chinese revolution 211 Chineseness 124, 139 Chiu Yen-Liang Fred 155-9, 161, 164 Choi Soo-yeol 59 Choi Yu-jun 30 Chōki Seiji 260-1, 292, 295, 297 chosŏn ak 323 chosŏn kuak 323 chosŏn ŭmak 323 Chou Wen-Chung 161, 257 Christendom 314 Christian Europe 280
348 | Decentering Musical Modernity
Christian mission 22 Christian missionaries 76 chronotope 103-4 Chua, Daniel 332 Chuang Pen-Li 152 Chunhyangjeon 54 Chunhyangjeon (drama) 55 Chunhyangjeon (national opera) 54 church music 256 CIA 227 civil society 150 civilization 25, 89, 96, 101, 291, 300, 330, 334 Japanese 33, 291-2, 300, 302 Western 254, 302 civilization theory 290 civilizationalism 150, 335 civilizing mission 216 clash of civilizations 290 class consciousness 303 classical music 12, 75, 147, 195, 198-9, 249, 257 Classical Music Association 151-3 Clayton, Martin 176-7 Cloud Gate Dance Theatre 161 Club of Poets, Essayists, Novelists (PEN) 213 coevalness 247-8, 251, 253, 255, 263, 266, 268, 329 Cold War 9, 11, 28, 32, 48, 149, 208-12, 215, 228, 231, 247, 255, 259, 270, 282, 295 cultural 209-10, 212, 225, 228, 230-1 ideologies 211 collective memory 48 Cologne 221 colonial domination 42 colonialism 27, 41-4, 75, 145-9, 154, 158, 165, 216, 249, 256, 267, 283, 295, 313-6, 322-3, 326, 328, 331-4, 336 anti-colonialist 335 internal 31, 147-8, 150, 164-5 coloniality 41-4, 52 colonialization 30
Columbus, Christopher 330 commodified history 102 commodity character 284-5 communism 16, 298 communitarization 298 comparative history 252, 267, 280, 294 comparative musicology 15, 46, 131, 175-6, 216, 224, 256, 288 comparison 10, 173-5, 177-80, 185-6, 190, 195, 294 binary 186 cross-cultural 173-4, 176, 28990 explicit/implicit 176 reflexive 173-4, 179, 200-1 thick 200 comparive sociology 299 complexity 72 confessional difference 29 Confucianism 16-7, 19, 129, 133, 150, 152, 291, 302, 313, 320 Congress for Cultural Freedom 226-8, 261 Conrad, Sebastian 20, 252-3, 267, 269, 283 Conrady, August 127 contemporaneousness 72-3 contemporary history 265-6 contrabass 54 Convention of Geneva 212 Convention of The Hague 212 Cook, Nicholas 15, 257, 333 Copenhagen 91, 96, 112 Coreyah (ensemble) 56 cosmopolitanism 32, 213, 248 cosplay 293 counterculture 285 court music 136, 152, 320, 322 Cowell, Henry 33, 224-31, 243 Ongaku 227-8, 231 Crossley-Holland, Peter 243 Crumb, George 224 cultural diffusionism 175-6 cultural evolutionism 175-6 cultural heritage 75, 297 cultural hybrid 124
General Index | 349
cultural relativism 176 Cultural Revolution 153, 260 cultural stereotype 74-5, 287, 301, 304 Curran, Alvin 224 Cvetko, Dragotin 243 da hulei 136 daejungumak 55 Dahlhaus, Carl 11, 33, 67, 69, 72, 262, 279, 281-2, 284-90, 292, 299 Daniélou, Alain 243 Darmstadt Summer Courses 210, 214, 222, 295 daruan 137 Darwin, Charles 14 Darwinism 288 Das, Raju J. 150 Davies, Charlotte Aull 174 Davies, Peter Maxwell 71 Debussy, Claude 22, 68, 89, 219, 287 decentration 12, 25, 266 decolonization 31, 59, 146, 163-4, 254, 256, 283, 333, 336 deimperialization 149-50 Delage, Maurice 219 Deleuze, Gilles 24, 269 Delors, Jacques 282 democracy 23, 26, 131, 280, 282, 284 Denmark 31, 71, 91, 94, 96, 103, 125 Derrida, Jacques 306 deterritorialization 50, 54, 56, 256 devaluation of the subject 303 di 151 diangu 135 Dietze, Carola 149 difference 13, 15, 32, 148, 164, 255, 307, 318 civilizational 327 cultural 217, 220, 317, 327 musical 15 replaced by distance 307 Dirlik, Arif 148, 164, 327-8
diruan 137 disenchantment 314 diversity 12, 164, 175, 192, 291 dizi 135 dōbun 334 Dogan, Mattei 186 Doi Takeo 300 dōjidai-shi 251, 263, 265-8 đồng văn 334 dongmun 334 dongyang ŭmak 326 dongyang yinyue 326 Downes, Olin 31 Draeger, Hans H. 243 Droysen, Johann Gustav 14 Duara, Prasenjit 150, 251, 253, 317-8, 327 Durkheim, Émile 24 Dussel, Enrique 41, 329-30 East Germany 11, 213-4, 217 Eastern bloc 9, 30 Eastern Europe 67, 214, 217 Edo period 300 education 124, 153, 195, 198, 304, 306 Egypt 12 Eichheim, Henry 224 eighteenth century 11-3, 21-2, 34, 63, 88, 90, 126, 268, 327 Einem, Gottfried von 245 Eisenstadt, Shmuel N. 27, 33, 279, 290-2, 298, 299-303, 305 Eisler, Hanns 210, 213-5, 226 Deutsche Symphonie 215 Ekström, Anders 96 electronic music 220 Elgar, Edward 65, 70-1 Ellgaard, Holger 104 Eloy, Jean-Claude 224 emic/etic 180 empire 16, 17, 31, 230, 283, 313, 320, 331, 334-6 Chinese 149 Japanese 31 empirehood 34, 334 end of history 25, 306
350 | Decentering Musical Modernity
England 67 enka 293 Enlightenment 11-3, 15, 42, 215, 217-8, 282-3, 332 European 19, 34, 248, 263, 286 Ensemble Sinawe 56 entangled history 10, 33, 208, 2512, 262, 280, 290 epigonality 72, 285 epoché 185 Eppler, Angelika 27 equal temperament 54-5, 137, 318 erhu 54, 134-7 essentialism 164, 207, 216-7, 230, 258, 331 Eteläpohjalaiset Spelit Festival 188 Etenraku 261 ethnic music 47 ethnicity 317 ethnocentrism 289, 304 ethnology 27, 127, 132, 225 ethnomusicology 11-2, 15-6, 28, 46, 158, 163, 176, 179, 256, 286, 288, 305, 332-3 Japanese 335 ethnoscape 49, 248, 251 Eurasia 10, 16, 291 Euro-American history 328 Eurocentrism 12, 23, 26, 44-5, 146, 149, 163, 216, 250-1, 264, 282, 288, 302, 313, 328-30, 336 inverted 27 Euromodernity 328 Europe 63, 66-7, 75, 76, 78-9, 116, 118, 295 European art music 21-2, 24, 26 European concert traditions 126 European dynasties 129 European expansion 42, 280 European integration project 281 European music 22, 126, 249, 2634, 279-82, 287, 297 possible Arabian influences on 29 European revolutions 66
exhibitions 90-2, 97, 99, 102, 1035, 111-2 Århus (1909) 91 Berlin (1896) 102 Chicago (1893) 102 colonial 89 Copenhagen 92 general 89 Helsinki (1876) 92 international 89-90 Kristiania (Oslo) (1914) 89, 912, 98 London (1851) 90 London (1862) 98 Malmö (1914) 92, 98, 112 Nordic 91-2, 98 Paris (1889) and (1900) 89 Philadelphia (1876) 98 Stockholm (1866) 92, 98 Stockholm (1897) 87, 91, 93, 95, 105 Stockholm (1909) 91 universal 89 Vienna (1892) 102 world 88, 90 exotic other 89, 301 exoticism 22, 79, 249, 257, 297, 301, 332 experimental music theater 231 expressionism 263 Fabian, Johannes 247, 253, 329 Fanning, David 71, 81 fascism 268 Federation for Nordic Folk Culture 189 Federation of Composers in Japan 77 Ferranti, Hugh de 314 festivals 181, 188, 190, 196, 199 Fétis, François-Joseph 13-4, 256 fiddlare 183 fiddle 136 Korean 54 film music 285, 287-8, 298-9 financescape 49 Findlay, E. J. 229
General Index | 351
Finland 30, 32, 64, 67, 69, 72-3, 75, 76, 78, 80-1, 96, 112, 178, 181-4, 186-9, 191-2, 200 Finlands Svenska Folkdansring 189 Finlands Svenska Spelmansförbund 189 Finnish identity 69 Finscher, Ludwig 67 First International 212 Fjeldsøe, Michael 94 Flavin, Michel 296 folk dance 182, 184, 194-5 folk music 48, 66, 124, 182, 184, 187-8, 191, 195, 198, 200 Finnish 182, 184 Folk Music Revival 191 folk song 51-3, 65, 76, 146-7, 1545, 157, 159, 161, 164, 188, 195, 198, 258 Folk Song Collection Movement 148, 154, 157-8, 161-2 folkbildning movement 89 folklore 76, 154 folklore studies 174-5, 201 folklorism 32, 69 Ford Foundation 226, 229 Forkel, Johann Nikolaus 11, 13, 22, 256 formalism 214 Foucault, Michel 24, 88, 103 Fox, Richard G. 247 foxtrot 53, 191 France 14, 67, 70-1, 214, 225, 253, 279 Frankenstein, Alfred 243 French opera 281 frühe Moderne 24 frühe Neuzeit 24 Fudan University 10 Fukui Naoaki 245 Fukuzawa Yukichi 19, 263, 319 functional differentiation 24 functional music 110, 284-5, 287, 299 fundamentalism 285 Furuhjelm, Eric 64
Gade, Niels Wilhelm 31, 65-6 First Symphony 65 Ossian Overture 65 gagaku 78, 228, 261 gagok 53, 59 gaku 314 Galliano, Luciana 293 gamelan 89 Gangnam 48-50 Gangnam style 50 Ganguly, Keya 248 gaochang ji 18 gaohu 137 Gaonkar, Dilip 25, 145 Garfias, Robert 243 Geertz, Clifford 177 gehu 137 geijutsu ongaku 292, 305 gendai hōgaku 297 gendaishi 266 General Arts and Industries Exhibitions 87, 91, 95, 111 general history 14, 257 of music 11-2, 14-5 Genscher, Hans-Dietrich 282 Geomungo Factory (group) 57 geori 51 Geppert, Alexander 90-1 German music 67, 281 German music education 131 German Sibelius Society 77 German-Japan Cultural Association 77 Germanocentrism 282 Germany 11-4, 20, 64-5, 70-1, 77, 94, 112, 124-7, 131, 133, 137, 139, 147, 211, 224, 252-4, 267, 279, 286, 288 Gewandhaus concert hall 125-6 Gewandhausorchester 31, 125, 126, 137, 139 Geyer, Michael 267 Gibson, James J. 304 Glauser, Jörg 93 global history 11-2, 20, 80, 283, 287, 289-90, 293, 313, 328-31, 334
352 | Decentering Musical Modernity
global history of music 11, 23, 257, 289-90, 305, 333, 336 in Asia 16 global musical cultures 10 global village 219 Globalgeschichte 21 globalization 9, 16, 26, 32, 41, 434, 47-51, 54, 57-8, 89, 148, 207, 212, 219, 223, 232, 248, 282, 286, 305-6 of European music 21 of European music education 22 Glock, William 243 Gluck, Christoph Willibald 281 Goeyvaerts, Karel 218 Gombrich, Ernst H. 11 Gong Hong-Yu 124 Gongmyeong 56 Google 219 Gorecki, Henryk 71 goryeo ji 18 Gostuški, Dragutin 244 Gothenburg 95 Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra 95 Gounod, Charles 281 Grainger, Percy 224 gran cassa 99 grand opéra 281 Grandinson, Emil 102 Great Britain 70-1, 125, 225 Great Russian Orchestra 138 Great Unity Music Society (China) 136 Greater Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere 20 Greece 12, 280, 291 Grey, Cecil 31 Grieg, Edvard 65 Griffiths, Paul 257 Grimaud, Yvette 244 group identity 248, 303-4 Guangdong 124, 135 gugak 43, 45, 53, 55-7, 59 changjak 59 fusion 50, 55-7, 59 post- 57-9
Gugak FM 56 gugakgwanhyunak 55 guitar 138 guo ji 18 guoyue 146, 319, 321-2, 324 guoyueshe 152 guoyuexi 152 Gypsy music 161 haegum 54 Häggman, Ann-Mari 183 Hakka 148, 154, 156, 181-2, 1845, 196-8 Hakka music 32, 173-4, 178-82, 184-90, 196-201 Hall, Stuart 254, 316 Hallyu 49 Hamel, Peter Michael 224 Han Chinese 149-50, 154, 156, 164, 181, 185 Han Kuo-Huang 151, 161 Han opera 136 Han River 50 Händel, Georg Friedrich 281 hangukumak 47, 323 hangul 324 Harbin 138 Hardt, Michael 42, 57-8 Harewood, The Earl of 244 Harrison, Lou 224, 226, 244 Hartmann, Karl Amadeus 215 Symphonies 215 Hatsune Miku 293 Haudanmaa, Matti 187 Haussmann, George-Eugène 102 Hayasaka Fumio 250 Haruo no shi ni yoru yottsu no mu-bansō no uta 250 Haydn, Joseph 67, 216 He Zhanhao 209 Butterfly Violin Concerto 209 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich 283-4, 306 hegemony 45-6, 145, 149, 335 Heile, Björn 257 Heimatbund movement 74 Heintz, Bettina 32
General Index | 353
Helsinki 92 Hennings, Henrik 96 Herd, Judith Ann 75, 293 Herder, Johann Gottfried 76, 149 Herzfeld, Michael 177 heterophonia 325-6, 335 homographic 325, 335-6 heterophonia/homophonia 281 heterotope 103 Hijiya-Kirschnereit, Irmela 301 Hildebrandt, Hans 102 Hill, Christopher 252 Hill, Juniper 191 Hindemith, Paul 71, 209, 214, 260 Pittsburgh Symphony 209 hip hop 50 Hirashima Masao 244 Hirsch, Abraham 96 histoire croisée 10, 252-3, 279 historical interpretation 266, 290 historical musicology 10-2, 26, 279, 332 historical narration 15-6, 68, 80, 208-9, 247, 289, 294 historicism 14 historiographic neglection 71 historiography 11-2, 14-5, 23, 33, 64, 66, 68, 72, 82, 249, 258, 279, 280, 293-4, 299, 313, 317, 322, 330 history 10, 15, 283, 285, 317 cultural 73, 80, 305 East Asian 326, 331, 335 Nordic 104 of ideas 300, 302 of world music 216 Western 328 Hochschule für Musik Berlin 125 hōgaku 64, 297 Hoklo 154, 156 Hollywood 44 Holmès, Augusta 98 Ode triomphale 98 Holy Roman Empire 18 homogenization 42 homographia 280, 325
Hong Kong 14, 28, 147-9, 213, 323 Hong Nan-pa 44-5 Hood, Mantle 176, 244 Hornbostel, Erich Moritz von 131 Hosokawa Toshio 292, 297 Hovhaness, Alan 224, 226 Hsiao Chin 127 Hsu Chang-Hui 189-90 Hsu Hsin-Wen 32 Hsu Tsang-Houei 154-8, 160-3 Ode to the Motherland no. 1 161 Piano Pieces on Chinese Folk Songs vol. 1 161 Huang Ti-Pei 152 Huang Yijun 139 Beautiful Flowers on a Full Moon 139 Huang Yu-Chen 127, 322 Huber, Klaus 297 humanitas/anthropos 46, 329, 333 Hungarian music 157 Hungary 221 Huntington, Samuel 290 Husserl, Edmund 185 Huyssen, Andreas 26 hybrid music 231 hybridity 32, 52, 55-6, 139, 258, 286, 294-5, 297, 306 hyperculture 288 Hyun Je-myung 55 Chunhyangjeon 55 hyundae umak 43 Iberian peninsula 29 ideal type 289-90, 299, 303 identity 42, 45, 48, 56, 77, 90, 94, 164, 295-7, 299, 307 cultural 48, 58, 153, 225 diasporic 48 national 52-3, 66, 75-8, 225 national (musical) 74 politics 30, 48, 148 ideology 30, 41-2, 44, 55, 77, 105, 108, 110, 157, 191, 216, 222,
354 | Decentering Musical Modernity
230, 249, 255, 257, 260, 279, 287, 297 ideology-critique 302 ideoscape 49 imagined community 49, 215, 248, 260, 269 imperialism 17, 27, 41, 44, 73, 145, 148-9, 154-5, 213, 216, 219, 281, 283, 313, 316, 331-2, 335 anti-imperialist 335 Japanese 45, 313 IMS East-Asia Regional Association 21, 28 Independence Army’s song 53 independence movements 77 Finnish 73 India 13, 19-20, 27 Indian music 218 indigenous music 157, 162 Taiwanese 147, 158 individualism 214 individualization 51, 214 Indonesia 20 Industrial Revolution 252 industrialization 30, 96, 248 institutionalization 30, 32, 80, 124, 173, 178-81, 199, 248, 260, 265 instrumental music 285, 332 interculturality 33, 225, 258, 290 internal others 29 International Council for Traditional Music 146 International Council of Women 212 International Folk Music Council 146 International Institute for Comparative Music Studies 227 International Institute for Traditional Music 227 International Society of Contemporary Music 213 internationalism 30, 32-3, 207, 212-5, 225 communist 16
internationalization 212-3, 294-5, 297 invented tradition 102 Irino Yoshirō 261-2 Ishida Kazushi 265, 294-5, 297 Islam 291 Israel 257 Italian opera 256, 281 Italy 14, 77, 224-5 Jambinai (trio) 57 Jameson, Frederick 88 Janz, Tobias 10, 33, 87, 101 Japan 18-20, 25, 30-34, 43-4, 52-3, 64, 72-8, 80-1, 89, 125, 133-4, 149, 157-8, 166, 168, 213, 217, 220, 225, 229, 251-4, 257, 2601, 263-5, 267-9, 271, 273, 275, 277, 279, 291-6, 298-306, 313-5, 317-8, 320-1, 323, 325, 331, 333 Japan Current 157-8 Japan Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra 245 Japanese composers’ association 78 Japanese difference 293, 299-300, 304, 306 Japanese history 291, 302, 306, 333 Japanese music 22, 75-6, 78-9, 228, 230, 261, 264-5, 292, 2947, 299, 301, 320-1, 323, 333 Japanese society 291, 302-3, 306 Japaneseness 77, 296 Japanization 305 Japanocentrism 293 Järvelä, Mauno 195 Järvinen, Kustaa 187 Jaspers, Carl 301 jazz 44, 53, 195, 264, 297 Jedeck, Hannes 31 Jenkins, Henry 50 jenkka 191 jeolga 55 Jeonju International Sori Festival 51, 52, 57 Jewish music 249
General Index | 355
jiahua 135 Jiang Ping-Chen 187 Jiangnan sizhu 134-9 Jiangsu 134 jiegu 18 jiuta 78 jiuyue 322 Joachim, Joseph 125 Johnson, Julian 88 Jolivet, André 218 Jones, Andrew F. 329 Joseon 45, 53 Josephson, Magnus 113 jouhikko 182 J-pop 198, 293 J-rock 293 Judaism 291 Jullien, François 307 junseichō 261 Kagel, Mauricio 224 Kaiming Drama Society 134 Kalevala 76-7, 182 Kam Lap-Kwan 31-2 kana 324 Kanetsune Kiyosuke 321 kangguo ji 18 Kano Tadao 159 kantele 182, 188 Kao Tzu-Ming 151-4, 156 Kapp, Reinhard 66 Karl X Gustav, King of Sweden 103 Karuizawa International Music Festival 295 Kathakali Dance Group Kerala (India) 245 Katsura imperial villa 264 Kaustinen Folk Music Festival 187-8, 195 Kaustisen Purppuripelimannit 187 Kelemen, Milko 244 Kermode, Frank 88 Khrennikov, Tikhon 213 Kiel University 94 Kikkawa Eishi 264, 299-300 Killick, Andrew P. 315
Kim Hee-jo 55 Seong-Chunhyang 55 King, Martin Luther 231 Kirsch, Kathrin 30-1 Kishibe Shigeo 20 Kitazawa Masakuni 244 Knepler, Georg 11 knowledge production 44-5, 46-7 Kocka, Jürgen 255 Kohl, Helmut 282 Koizumi Fumio 321 Kojève, Alexandre 306 kokugaku 319, 321-4 kokugakushi 322 kokumin ongaku 325 Kolehmainen, Ilkka 184 Konakamura Kiyonori 321 konghou 18 Königliche Hochschule für Musik Berlin 95 Konoe Fumimaro 261 Konoe Hidemaro 261 Konold, Wulf 110 Kontarsky, Alfons 245 Kontarsky, Aloys 245 Köpnick, Lutz 101 Korea 18, 20, 30, 32, 34, 43-5, 4753, 58, 150, 158, 211, 217, 291, 294, 299, 314-5, 317-8, 322-3, 326-7, 331, 333 division 211 unified 47 Korean music 41-9, 323, 333 Korean peninsula 48, 52 Korean Research Center for the Arts 55 Korean society 44 Korean traditional orchestra 53 Korean War 44, 211 Koreanness 56 Koselleck, Reinhard 250, 262-3, 265-6 koto 264, 296 K-pop 48-50, 57, 198 Kristiania (Oslo) 91 Krohn, Julius 175 Krohn, Kaarle 175
356 | Decentering Musical Modernity
kuche ji 18 kugak 30, 319, 322-3 kugaksa 322 Kulturkreislehre 15 Kumazawa Sayako 261 Kuomintang (KMT, Nationalist Party of China) 147, 150-1, 1534, 156, 158, 164, 187, 189 Kurosawa Takatomo 19, 158 Kurtág, György 209 String Quartet Op. 1 209 Kwon Do-hee 53 La Jeune France 218 Lach, Robert 15 Lachenmann, Helmut 224, 304 Consolations I, II 305 Klangschatten—Mein Saitenspiel 305 Laclau, Ernesto 24 Lam Doming Ngok-Pui 161 Lam, Joseph 18 Lambert, Costant 74 Lamprecht, Karl 127, 130, 132 Latin America 67, 214, 227, 258, 286 Latin American music 227 League of Nations 213 Lee Gang-suk 46-7 Lee Geon-yong 47 Lee Ja-ram 56 Sacheonga 56 Lee Teng-Hui 156 Lei Chen 164 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm 13 Leibowitz, René 214, 259 Leipzig 31, 123-7, 132-3, 137, 139 Leipzig Conservatory 125-7, 133 Leipzig University 125, 127 Leisiö, Timo 182, 184 Leiska, Katharine 94 lekare 183 Liang Tsai-Ping 151-2, 154-6 liberal art 284-5, 299, 306 liberal society 283, 285 liberal state 284-5 liberalism 284-5, 303
Library of Congress 231 Lie, John 317 Liège, Jacobus of 280 Ligeti, György 209 Apparitions 209 light music 152, 287 Lilljekvist, Fredrik 102 linear historical time 329 linear history 263 Lissa, Sofia 11 Liszt, Franz 67, 282 Symphonische Dichtungen 282 literary history 93 Liu Tianhua 124, 134-6, 139 Liu Yaozhang 136 Liu, Lydia H. 317 localism 154 logocentrism 303 London Great Exhibition 90 longue durée 26, 304, 336 Lönnrot, Elias 77 Lü Wencheng 137 Lu Xun 139 Lü, state of 16 Luo Xiang-Lin 189 Luo Zong-Rong 259-60 Macau 124 Portuguese 148 Maceda, José 225, 244 Maderna, Bruno 226, 245 madrigal 43 Magyar music 161 Mahler, Gustav 48, 64-71, 79 Malmö 91, 103-4 Manchuria 20 mandolin 138 Mandopop 198 mannerism 66 martial law period 146, 154, 158, 164, 324 Martini, Giovanni Battista 11, 13 Maruyama Masao 300-6 Marx, Karl 24, 212 mass culture 90 mass media 48, 52-3 mass migration 48
General Index | 357
master narratives 112, 209, 313, 329-30 Matsudaira Yoritsune 261 Theme and Variations 261 Matsumoto Festival 306 matsurigoto 302 May Fourth Movement 147, 151 Maya 291 Mayer, Hans 214 Mayuzumi Toshirō 33, 209, 225, 228-31, 257, 299 Bacchanale 229 Bugaku 229, 231 Bunraku 229 Geka (Pratidesana) 230 Mandala Symphony 229 Nirvana Symphony 209, 229 Samsara 230 McLean, Mervyn 176 McLuhan, Marshall 219 McPhee, Colin 224, 226, 244 media 50 global 49 transnational electronic 48 media revolutions 90 mediascape 49 Mediterranean 67 Meiji period 19, 75, 296, 298 Meiji Restoration 19, 45, 76, 125, 263, 292, 296 Meiji shinkyoku 296 meiyu 132 Melbourne 90 Mendelssohn Bartholdy, Felix 67 Fourth Symphony “Italian” 66 Third Symphony “Scottish” 66 Menke, Christoph 284 mensural music 281 Menzel, Stefan 75, 296 Merriam, Alan P. 176 Messiaen, Olivier 68, 218-9, 221 Sept Haïkaï 218 Turangalîla Symphony 218 meter 22 Meyer, Andreas 208 Meyerbeer, Giacomo 281 Meyer-Eppler, Werner 221
Middle Ages 12, 103, 183, 249, 280 Mignolo, Walter 41 migration of music 22 Miki Minoru 225 Milanov, Zinka 245 military bands 296 military orchestras 22, 298 Miller, Norbert 282 Ming dynasty 17 minge 146 minge caiji yundong 31, 32 minjok 317 minjokumak 46-7, 319 minyo 51-2, 295 minzoku 317, 321 minzoku ongaku 319 minzu 317 minzu yinyue 319 minzuyinyuexue 163 Mishima Yukio 230 Mitsukuri Shūkichi 260, 295 Mittler, Barbara 138, 256 Miyagi Mamoru 244 Miyagi Michio 296 ochiba no odori 296 Miyake Setsurei 265 mobility of music 22 mobility of musicians 249 Modern Chinese Folk Orchestra 123, 124, 134 Modern Chinese Orchestra 31, 124, 126, 128-31, 134-8, 151 modern civilization 283 modern society 24, 290-1, 307 modern subjectivity 24 modern, the 26, 58, 326 East Asian 317 modernism 22-4, 26-7, 72, 79, 878, 93-4, 214, 250, 285, 294, 297 Chinese 31 East Asian 316 European 282 musical 22, 27, 32, 214, 250, 295 Nordic 66 Western 43, 319
358 | Decentering Musical Modernity
modernities 283 alternative 25-6, 48, 59, 94, 146, 148, 150, 163, 165, 208, 248, 327-8 clash between 327 East Asian 299 global and local 89 multiple 25-7, 56, 80-1, 208, 248, 268, 279, 282, 290, 327 national 31 modernity 21, 23-7, 30, 33-4, 41-5, 48-9, 51-2, 54, 56-8, 63-5, 69, 72, 80-2, 87-8, 90, 93, 95-6, 99, 103, 108, 111-3, 139, 145, 149, 163-4, 177, 217, 230, 248-50, 254, 268, 282-3, 287, 290-1, 294, 299, 301-3, 306-7, 313-8, 321, 323-35 “forced” 139 affirmation of 25 as non-referential concept 316 Asian 139 beginning of 23 bourgeois 306 Chinese 123, 139, 294 colonial 43-5, 49-50, 54-5, 58, 314, 316, 330-4, 336 concept of 23, 25, 34, 63, 88, 94, 96, 98, 111, 306, 328-9, 336 critical theory of 24 critique of 25, 316, 326-8, 336 darker side of 41, 283 definition of 23 discourses of 19, 23, 45, 213, 224 early 22 East Asian 299, 325 Eurocentric 25, 329 European 21, 25, 69, 123-4, 134, 137, 149, 283-4, 287, 299, 303-4, 306 global 20, 30, 48, 58, 291, 304 globalization of 25 grand narratives of 23-4, 26 heroic 101 industrial 31
Japanese 33, 283, 292-5, 297, 298-9, 301, 303-5 Korean 45 late 306 maritime 330 musical 10, 22-3, 30, 33, 43, 47, 63, 88, 93, 112, 123, 137, 263, 283, 295, 299, 315, 324-5, 333 Nordic 31, 63-4, 87, 93, 110, 111-2 political 26 second 25 social 22 translated 317, 324, 335 universalist concept of 10, 23 universality of 165 urban 90 variations of 294 Western 30-1, 41-2, 131, 295, 304 Westernized 75 modernization 19, 24-5, 32, 42-4, 49-52, 54, 93, 125, 248, 282-3, 290, 292, 294, 296, 300, 302 musical 24, 43, 45, 51, 55, 131, 146 modernization theory 290 Mo-Li-Hua (“Jasmine Flower”) 14, 22, 258 Mongolia 20, 314 Moonlight Over the River Spring, Liu/Zheng 136 Morgan, Robert P. 257 Moroi Makoto 244 Moroi Saburō 263-4 mouth harp 182 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus 24, 67, 281 multiculturalism 19, 28, 47, 265 Murata Takeo 244 music concept of 16, 34, 216, 248-9, 280, 305, 314, 318 nonwritten 15 rational foundations of 280 written 12, 43, 51 music drama 55, 157
General Index | 359
music education 75-6, 124, 127, 130, 133-4, 320 music historiography 10, 12, 14, 16, 27, 30, 63-4, 72, 81, 94, 208, 216, 289, 315, 320, 330, 334 global 286 national 325 transnational 286 music history 10-4, 16, 18-9, 24, 29, 33, 71-4, 80-1, 87, 127, 157, 186, 248-9, 251, 265, 267, 27981, 284-5, 288-90, 294-5, 297, 299, 305, 314-6, 322, 326, 328, 331-2, 335 Asian 250 Chinese 16, 18, 20, 131, 139, 265, 322 East Asian 10, 20, 294, 299, 305, 313, 316, 326, 333-6 European 9-10, 29, 125, 129, 250, 282, 305 Japanese 261, 265, 283, 292, 295, 298 Korean 30, 47, 323 national 280-2 Taiwanese 31, 324 transnational 33, 281-3, 299, 305 music industry 28, 306 music instruments 54 Chinese 128, 130-1, 134-9 modernization of 151 traditional 43, 54-5, 79 Western 54-5 music market 80, 293 music theory 72, 125, 127, 133, 295 musica 16 musica coelestis 280 musica prattica/musica theorica 249 musical 55 musical canon 285 musical exoticism 22 musical institutions 124-6, 130, 138 musical logic 284, 296
musical material 304 musical notation 21, 54, 136, 249, 280, 295, 318, 325 musical sound 304 musical subjectification 282 musical syntax 22 musical temperament 21 musical traditions 129 musical universals 216 musical work concept 22, 284 musical writing culture 280 musicking 195 Musicological Societies in Taiwan 162 musicology 9-12, 23, 28, 30-2, 456, 87-8, 92-5, 127-8, 131, 147, 162, 164, 173-5, 201, 255-6, 281, 292, 305, 323, 332-3 Nabokov, Nicolas 226, 244 nagauta 77 Nakane Chie 300 Nakao Sasuke 158, 160 namdo-sori 51 nanguan 134 Nanjing 137 nanyin 134 nation building 52, 63, 149, 153, 213, 217, 319-20 nation state 16, 34, 42, 53, 59, 65, 67, 81, 104-5, 252-3, 256, 27980, 282-3, 286, 294, 313-4, 317, 327, 330, 332 national anthem Korea 53 National Changgeuk Company of Korea 55 Changgeuk Chunhyangjeon 55 National Conference to Defend Japan 230 national history 20, 27, 251, 253-4, 280, 305, 317 national music 18-9, 30, 34, 43, 45, 47-8, 51, 53-7, 146-8, 150-6, 161, 163-4, 315-6, 318-21, 3235, 334-5 National Palace Museum 153
360 | Decentering Musical Modernity
national schools 66 national styles 281 National Taiwan Normal University 127, 190 National Taiwan University 155, 164 National Theater of Korea 57, 59 national tone 72 nationalism 9, 19, 32-3, 42-5, 47, 53, 56, 58, 66, 73, 156, 164, 194, 207, 215, 230, 251, 267, 280-2, 286, 294, 296, 313, 315-6, 319, 321, 323, 326-8, 331, 334 nationalization 45, 54-5 nationhood 34, 164, 248, 254, 260, 327 NATO 259 Nazism 15, 32 NBC 49 Near East 12 Negri, Antonio 42, 57-8 neoclassicism 33, 214, 267-8 neocolonialism 148, 154 Neo-Joseon music 45 neonationalism 217, 231 neoromanticism 71, 229 Nettl, Bruno 176-7 New Mexico 247 New Music 23, 32-3, 67, 69, 88, 225, 256-7, 285, 293, 297, 299 New Objectivity 67 new religions 298 New York 73, 229, 264 New York City Ballet 229 New York Philharmonic 229, 245 nhạc 314 Nie’er 138 Wild Dance of the Golden Snake 138 Nielsen, Carl 68, 70-1, 92 Niemann, Walter 64 Niewöhner, Jörg 175, 178 Nigg, Serge 214 nihon ongaku 321 nihonjin-ron 292, 299, 301 Nikisch, Arthur 126, 137
nineteenth century 9, 11, 13-4, 19, 22, 24, 30, 33-4, 44, 52, 63, 67, 70, 80, 88-90, 94, 96, 98, 108, 125, 149, 175, 184-5, 212, 216, 218, 221, 228, 249, 252, 281, 284-6, 292, 298, 303, 306, 3168, 323, 327, 330-1, 334-6 Niranjana, Tejaswini 254 Nirvana (band) 57 Nishimura Akira 225 Nishitani Osamu 46 Nkrumah, Kwame 148 noh 264 Noh Dong-eun 47, 322 noise 304 Nomura Koichi 244 Nomura Yoshio 244 non-contemporaneity of the contemporaneous 33, 68, 208, 209, 212, 218, 228, 250, 262 Nono, Luigi 232 Intolleranza 1960 232 Nordic character 65, 78 Nordic folk dance 182 Nordic Music Days 92-3, 112 Nordic other 65, 76 Nordic tone 65, 78 Nordicness 94-5, 111-2 Nordin, Jonas 103-4 Nordisk Folkmusikkomite 189 Nordisk Forening for Folkedansforskning 189 Nordqvist, Conrad 96 Nørgård, Per 71 North Africa 228 North America 248, 253-4, 257-8 North American music 224 North Korea 30, 54-6 North Korean music 54 North Korean national opera 30, 54, 55 North/Nordic 93-4, 111-2 north-as-other 94 north-as-self 94 Northern Europe 89, 91, 93-4, 214 northernization 94 North-South dichotomy 29
General Index | 361
Norway 91, 96, 103, 111-2 Nuss, Steven 229 oboe 79 Oceania 258 Oedipus 77 Ogle, Vanessa 252 Ojala, Friiti 187 Okinawan music 324 Olympic Games 97, 207, 212, 221 ongaku 16, 318, 338, 341 opera 43, 54-5, 65, 285 orchestra 31, 54, 79, 81, 99, 124, 129, 138, 223 traditional 55 Oriental music 316, 326, 335 Oriental/Occidental 230 Orientalism 111, 295, 299, 301, 304, 331-2 originality 66, 72, 285 Orpheus 77 Osaka 301, 333 Oscar II, King of Sweden 96, 99 Osterhammel, Jürgen 13, 20-4, 80, 249, 252-3, 256 otaku 298 otherization 45 otherness 22, 27, 32 Ottoman empire 267 overcoming modernity 19, 25, 75, 263, 313, 325, 335 Ōzawa Hisato Symphony No. 3 Kenkoku no kōkyōgaku 296 Third Piano Concerto Kami kaze 296 Ozawa Seiji 229, 245, 292, 306 Paci, Mario 138 Pacific War 81, 263 Pacun, David 74, 80-1 Paderewski, Ignacy Jan 264 Pajoro, Eliseo 244 Pakistan 252 Pan-Asianism 31, 149, 267 pansori 45, 51, 54-7 Paris 89, 103, 221, 226, 282, 297
Park Min-hee 59 Partch, Harry 224 particularism 10, 164, 216 peasant music 217 pelimanni 181-4, 187, 191, 194-6 pelimanni music 32, 173-4, 17884, 186-92, 194-6, 199-201 Pelimannikilta 189 Penderecki, Krzysztof 71 Peng Ming-Min 164 pentatonic romanticism 138 pentatonic scales 157 pentatonic system 261 performance practice 179, 181, 189-92, 194, 196-7, 200 Persia 18 personal history 265 Peterson, Numa 104 Pfitzner, Hans 70 Philippines 20 piatti 99 Pibada (opera) 54 Pinder, Wilhelm 208 pipa 18, 134-5 pipare 183 Pispala Sottiisi Festival 188 Pokela, Martti 188 Poland 71, 125 polka 191 polyphony 130 pop music 22, 28, 53, 195, 288, 293, 298 Pople, Anthony 257 popular music 32, 43, 52-3, 146, 159, 161, 198-9, 214, 264, 285, 287, 293, 301 postcolonial studies 12, 25-6, 217, 254 postcolonialism 24-7, 29, 33, 41-2, 89, 146, 158, 222, 248, 251, 283 postmodernism 10, 23-4, 306 postmodernity 23, 306 poststructuralism 24, 306 postwar music 32, 208-10, 213, 218, 221, 230, 232, 257-8, 297 postwar period 187, 210, 215, 229, 250, 257, 259, 261, 268, 300
362 | Decentering Musical Modernity
Pousseur, Henri 225 Prague Manifesto, Eisler 210, 214 Pred, Allan 108 premodern structures 302, 304 Prey, Hermann 245 Princeton University 210, 259 Promio, Alexander 104 propaganda 55 Protestant Christian music 182 Protestant hymns 52 Protestantism 300 provincializing Europe 12, 26-7, 29, 145, 149-50, 248-9 Psy 49-50 Gangnam Style 48-50, 57 public cinemas 103 Puccini, Giacomo 22, 258 Turandot 22, 258 puppet shows 157 puri 51 Puri (Ensemble) 56 qin 133 Qin Kingdom 16 Qing dynasty 20, 136, 295, 331 qingshang ji 18 querelle des anciens et des modernes 25 racial discourse 152, 158, 280, 317 racism 15, 44, 149-50, 288 radical historicism 149 Raff, Joachim 67 ragtime 297 Rameau, Jean-Philippe 22, 281 Les indes galantes 22 Ramnarine, Tina 191 Ranke, Leopold von 14 rationalism 19, 20, 218-9 rationality 21, 22, 26, 304 Weberian types 303 rationalization 21, 22, 24, 51, 55, 290 of music 51 Ravel, Maurice 68 reception history 281 Reckwitz, Andreas 23-4
recording industry 28, 53 recording technology 249 reflexive comparison 32 reflexive globalization 258 reflexivity 174, 177-81, 185-6, 190, 201 Reger, Max 68 regional history 12, 27, 29, 326-7 regionality 9, 33, 63-5, 82, 314 Reich, Steve 266-7 relationality 208 relativism 10, 23, 216-7, 249-51 Ren Guang 139 Coloured Cloud Chasing the Moon 139 Renaissance 103 Renouveau catholique 218 Republic of China 125, 132, 163 revolution songs 298 Rezeptionsgeschichte 260 rhythm 22 Riemann, Hugo 31, 124, 127, 139, 281 Rihm, Wolfgang 68 Risshō Kōseikai 298 rite de passage 103, 108 rock ’n’ roll 48 Rockefeller Foundation 228 romanticism 264, 304 Rome 226 Rosa, Hartmut 24 Rostand, Claude 245 Rotter-Broman, Signe 31 Roussel, Albert 219 Roy, R. L. 244 Royal Ballet (UK) 245 Royal Dancers of Thailand 245 ruan 137 Rudhyar, Dane 218, 223, 224 rumba 53 runo 76, 77, 78 runolaulajat 191 Ruppel, Karl H. 244 Russia 29, 67, 71, 96, 111-2, 159, 213-4 Russo-Japanese War 263 ryūha 318
General Index | 363
Ryukyu Kingdom 324 Sachsenmaier, Dominic 20, 253 sacralization of form 303 Sakai Naoki 41, 254, 317-8 Sakka Keisei 244 Salonkylän Pelimannit 187 Sang Tong 259 Ye jing (Night Scene for Violin and Piano) 259 sankyoku 78, 228 Sarana, Gopala 176 Sarasate, Pablo de 287 Sata-Häme Soi Music Competition and Festival 188 saxophone 138 Scandinavia 29, 31, 67, 70, 76, 112 Scandinavism 112 Scelsi, Giacinto 209, 218, 224 I presage 209 Schaeffner, André 225 Scheffer, Thomas 175, 178 Scherchen, Hermann 214 Schmelz, Peter 259 Schmidt, Franz 70 Schnebel, Dieter 221 Schnittke, Alfred 71, 232 First Symphony 232 Schoenberg, Arnold 22, 66-8, 2145, 259-60 A Survivor from Warsaw 215 school hymn 298 school songs 298 Schrade, Leo 244 Schröder-Gudehus, Brigitte 111 Schuh, Willi 244 Schumann, Robert 65, 67 First Symphony “Spring” 66 Scotland 29 Scriabin, Alexander 68, 218 Second International 212 Second International Congress of Composers and Music Critics 210 Second Viennese School 66 secularism 42
Seefehlner, Egon 244 Seeger, Charles 324 seiyō ongaku 318 self/other 48 self-exotization 297 self-reflexivity 304, 306 seodo-sori 51 Seoul 27, 49-50 Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra 59 Sepän Soitto Music Competition 188 serialism 211, 215, 221, 227, 25760, 262, 263 seventeenth century 25, 103, 128, 148, 182, 185, 252 shakuhachi 250, 293 shamisen 78, 264, 296 Shanghai 31, 134, 136, 138 Shanghai Conservatory of Music 133-4 Shanghai Municipal Orchestra 138 shared history 253, 280 Shaw Chih-Suei 161 shawm 18 She jiang cai furong (“Picking lotus flowers along the riverside”) 259 Shelemay, Kay 333 Shen Zhibai 16 sheng 130, 135, 151 Shiba Sukehiro 244 Shibata Minao 260, 264-5, 292, 295 shidiao 153 Shih Wei-Liang 154-7, 161-2 shin nihon ongaku 296 shinminyo 52-3, 56 shintō 291 shō 78, 293 shōka 125, 320 Shostakovich, Dmitri 209, 215 Symphonies Nos. 9 to 13 215 Symphony No. 11 209 Shreffler, Anne C. 210, 258 shuangqin 136 shule ji 18 shuo-chang 198
364 | Decentering Musical Modernity
Sibelius Academy 188, 195 Sibelius, Jean 30-1, 63-5, 68-81, 259 Finlandia 69 Fourth Symphony 69, 78-9 Karelia Suite March 79 Kullervo symphony 69, 73, 76-8 reception 79 Seventh Symphony 70 Symphonies 68, 70, 74, 79-80 Tapiola 70 The Swan of Tuonela 78 Siberia 314 Silberman, Bernhard S. 301 silk road 18 simulacrum 50 Sinding, Christian 98 Singapore 323 Singbewegung 298 Singh, Thakur J. 244 Sinocentrism 17, 155, 313, 330 sinology 127 Sinosphere 291, 298, 314, 325, 334 sixteenth century 183, 316, 328 Sloterdijk, Peter 25 Small, Christopher 195 Snoilsky, Carl 99, 101, 103, 105, 107-8, 111, 120 social differentiation 51 social isolation 304 social organization 174, 178-80, 182, 186, 188-90 socialist realism 210 Society for Improving National Music (at Beijing University) 135 sociology 174, 179, 201 Song Bang-Song 323 Song dynasty 130 songs anti-Japanese resistance 53 Japanese 79 Korean popular 53 Nordic 78 popular 53 Western 53
Western children’s 52 Sophia, Queen of Sweden 96 sori 30, 51-2, 54, 56, 59 sound recording 15, 80 soundscape 193-6, 198-9 South America 257 South Korea 30, 42-5, 47, 55-6, 213, 314, 323 South Korean national orchestra 55 South-America 9 Southeast Asia 254, 333 Soviet bloc 226 Soviet Union 71, 134, 138, 209, 259-60 countries under control 213 sŏyang ŭmak 318 Spain 221 spelman 183-4 spelman music 183 Spengler, Oswald 223, 290 Spiliotis, Susanne Sophia 253 Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty 247, 251 Spontini, Gaspare 281 Sprachkomposition 231 Steinbeck, Wolfram 68, 69 Stenhammar, Wilhelm 31, 65, 87, 95-9, 101, 104-5, 107-8, 110-3, 121 First Piano Concerto Op. 1 95 Kantat vid öppnandet av Allmänna konst- och industriutställningen i Stockholm 95, 97-8, 101, 105, 108, 113 Stern, Isaac 245 Stock, Jonathan P.J. 15-6, 176, 177 Stockhausen, Karlheinz 209, 21825, 231, 257, 282 Hymnen 220 Telemusik 219-20 Zyklus 209 Stockholm 87, 91, 95-7, 99, 102-8, 111-2, 115, 119 Straus, Joseph 259
General Index | 365
Strauss, Richard 67, 68-9, 250, 259, 297 Japanische Festmusik 297 Vier letzte Lieder 250 Stravinsky, Igor 22, 70, 209, 2145, 217, 259, 264, 267 Russian ballets 217 Symphony in Three Movements 215 Threni 209 Strohm, Reinhard 11, 21, 255, 282 structural history 262, 284, 286, 289, 294, 299 structuralism 215, 221 Stuckenschmidt, Hans Heinz 244 Su:m 57 subaltern 247, 251 subcultures 50, 289 subject 303-4, 306 disappearance of the 306 subject of history 289 subjectification 24, 304 subjectivism 214 subjectivity 28, 42, 48, 88, 195, 304, 306 production of 58 Sui dynasty 18 Sun Yat-Sen 125, 153 Suomalaisen Kansantanssin Ystävät 189 Suomen kansan sävelmiä 184 Suomen Kansanmusiikkiliitto 189 Suomen Pelimanniyhdistys 189 Suzhou 153 Suzuki Masaaki 306 Sweden 31, 93, 96, 98, 103, 105, 112, 183 Swedish Renaissance 103 Swidler, Ann 291 symbolism 218 symphony 30, 63-74, 78-9, 81-2, 94, 287, 296 Austro-German 76, 80 late-romantic 67, 69 postromantic 67 programmatic 67, 73, 76 romantic 66-7
twentieth-century 63, 65, 67-8, 72-3 synchronicity 208, 212, 228, 231, 247-9, 252, 267-8 syncretism 291 Syrjämaa, Tarja 92 Szymanowsky, Karol 68 Tagg, Philip 324 Taipei 148, 151-4, 167-8, 171 Taipei Chinese Orchestra 152 Taishō period 158, 265 Taiwan 20, 31-2, 146-58, 161-4, 170, 178, 182, 184-7, 189, 199200, 211, 213, 252, 277, 315, 323-4, 333 Taiwan Adventist College 155 Taiwanization 164 Takemitsu Tōru 21, 232, 257, 292, 297, 299, 304-5 Autumn 305 November Steps 232, 297, 305 Takenaka Tōru 75-6 Takeuchi Yoshimi 139, 145, 254 Tallari emsemble 188 Tan Dun 14, 22, 71, 223, 257, 258 Heaven Earth Mankind (Symphony 1997) 14, 258 Nine Songs 258 The Map 223 Tanabe Hideo 264 Tanabe Hisao 20, 158, 321-2, 325 Tanaka Shōhei 261 Tang dynasty 19, 20, 136 entertainment music 18 Tang empire 17-9 Tang musical culture 19 tango 53 tanhuang 153 Taruskin, Richard 12, 209-10, 257 taryong 51 Taussig, Michael 329 Taylor, Charles 146, 164 Taylor, Timothy 249 tea-picking opera 190 technoscape 49 Telemann, Georg Philipp 281
366 | Decentering Musical Modernity
territorialization 53, 327 theory of civilization 290 Thibaut, Anton Friedrich Justus 161 thick description 200 Thomson, Virgil 244 Tianjin 153 tianzhu ji 18 Tibet 147, 149 Tibetan music 218 Tierra del Fuego 288 Tokugawa period 295, 300 Tokyo 75, 125, 219-20, 227, 263 Tokyo East West Music Encounter Festival and Conference 33, 226-30, 261 Tokyo Imperial University 124 Tōkyō Kōsei Wind Orchestra 298 Tokyo School of Music 125, 133, 320 Tomlinson, Gary 333 tonality 14, 21-2, 53, 230 extension and dissolution 67 Tong Fei 20, 322 tongwen 334 totalitarianism 9, 73, 285 tourism 90 Tōyama Kazuyuki 244 tōyō ongaku 326 tradition 42, 45, 49, 51, 55, 57, 678, 72, 74, 76, 82, 94, 322, 327, 329 traditional music 15, 18, 22, 32, 43, 48, 50-3, 55-8, 74-6, 146, 220-1, 223, 227, 229, 232, 293, 296-7, 299, 301, 325 traditionalism 74, 79, 287 Tran Van Khe 244 transculturality 32, 299 transethnicism 224, 231 transfer history 280 transnational comparison 30, 33, 267 transnational history 33, 217, 27980, 282, 290, 331 transnationalism 248, 251, 253, 255-6, 268, 279, 282, 294, 305
transportable music 22 trot 53 Tsunoda Tadanobu 230 tuning 54, 136-7, 151 Turku 183 twelve-tone music 67, 255, 25862, 295 twentieth century 9, 14, 15, 19-20, 22, 23, 26, 30-3, 43-4, 46, 48, 52, 58, 66-8, 70, 72, 78, 80-2, 93-4, 123-5, 128, 130, 132, 134, 137-9, 148, 151, 175-6, 183-5, 187, 194, 247-50, 266-8, 281-2, 285, 296, 306, 315, 319-20, 327 twentieth-century music 212, 248, 257, 264-5, 268, 285, 288 Twentieth-Century Music Research Institute 264 twenty-first century 9, 34, 49, 57, 81, 280, 306 Twenty-First-Century Korean Music Project 56 Uehara Rokushirō 321 Uemura Yukio 322 ultra-modern 102 umak 16, 318 Umesao Tadao 300 uncontemporaneousness 72, 81 UNESCO 11, 50 Union of Soviet Composers 213 United Kingdom 44, 71 United Nations 154, 162 United States of America 28, 33, 44, 63, 67, 71, 73-4, 125, 154, 175, 209-10, 224-6, 228-9, 230, 252, 259-61, 264-5, 295, 306 universal history 10, 27, 41 universal history of music 19-20, 34 Universal Peace Congress 212 universalism 9, 10, 17, 19, 27, 29, 30, 32-3, 149, 164, 207, 212, 215-7, 224-5, 227, 231, 251, 257, 266, 280, 283, 286, 299, 305-6, 318 (pseudo-) 306
General Index | 367
Confucian 19 European 25 European and Asian 19 multiethnic 215 mystic 218-9 of art 305 of modernity 163, 290, 305 religious 218 spiritual 217 structural 217, 221 technological 217 transcultural 217 transethnic 215, 217, 224, 230 universality 41-2, 44, 48, 66, 72, 81, 173, 314, 325 of art 101 of modernity 165 Universität Heidelberg 21 Universität Leipzig 253 University of California (Davis) 224 University of Chicago 155 University of Tampere 188 Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside Movement 155, 159 urbanization 30 Urchueguía, Christina 90 US military government 44 Usmanbaş, İlhan 244 utagoe 298 Utz, Christian 21-3, 32-3, 258 Uygur 149 Vaasa 182 Valenti-Ferro, Enzo 244 Vanhoja pelimannisävelmiä 184 Varèse, Edgard 209, 214 Poème électronique 209 Vatsyayan, Kapila 244 Vaughan Williams, Ralph 68 Venice 226 Verdi, Giuseppe 98 Inno delle nazioni 98 Vermeer, Johannes 252 vernacular music 147 Vienna 73, 76, 282
Viennese Classicism 66, 286 Viennese School 63, 214 Vietnam 34, 220, 291 viola 54 violin 54, 136, 139 violoncello 54 visual-kei 293 Viswanathan, T. 244 Vlad, Roman 244 Vogl, Joseph 284 voice timbre 53 Volkslied 52 wagaku 78 Wagner, Richard 99, 101, 218, 281 Siegfried 99 Wallerstein, Immanuel 328 Wallner, Bo 95-6, 99 Walsh, Stephen 31, 68, 70-1 waltz 53 Walzer, Michael 164 Wang Guangqi 20, 131, 147, 1523, 156, 171, 322 Wang Lu 133 Wang Weiyi 138 Wang Ying-Fen 158 Weber, Max 21, 24, 51, 69-70, 289-90, 300-1, 303 Webern cult 257 Webern, Anton 68, 70, 257 Weltgeltung 67 Weltmusik 222, 224, 257 wen 334 wenkang ji 18 Werner, Michael 279-80 West 45, 52-3, 125, 129, 147, 3134, 316, 318, 332, 336 Westerholm, Simo 182, 184 Western art music 76, 296-7 Western civilization 212 Western conceptions of history 317 Western concert culture 151 Western culture 19 Western influence 134 Western instruments 131, 134-5, 137
368 | Decentering Musical Modernity
Western music 12, 13, 16, 19-20, 21-2, 24, 26, 29, 43, 45, 47, 512, 55-6, 59, 64, 75-6, 78, 81, 124, 130-1, 133, 135, 138, 228, 232, 257, 263, 286, 294, 297, 316, 318-9, 321, 325-6, 332, 334-5 Westernization 44-5, 54, 58, 75, 227, 294-5, 299 musical 321 Weule, Karl Johann Konrad 127, 132 White Terror 154 wind orchestras 298 Wiora, Walter 216 Wirkungsgeschichte 249, 260 with history/without history 329 Witzleben, Larry 28 Wolf, Karl 73 Wolff, Christian 13 workers songs 298 world art 215 world exhibitions 98, 212 Chicago (1893) 102 London 212 Paris 102, 212 world history 27, 130, 208, 249, 253, 267, 287, 329 of music 11-2, 19, 208 World Intangible Cultural Heritage 50 world literature 215 world music 11-2, 15, 21-2, 26-7, 29, 50, 56, 177, 215-6, 231, 301 World War I 32, 70, 75, 91, 145, 213, 217, 296 World War II 11, 22, 32, 77, 112, 149, 164, 207, 251, 254, 267 World Wars 63, 281 Wundt, Wilhelm 132 Xenakis, Iannis 226, 244 Xia Zhong-Jian 189 xiandai guoyue 31 xiao 135 xiao hulei 136 xiao sanxian 135
Xiao Youmei 31, 123-33, 135, 137, 139, 322 xifang yinyue 318 xiliang ji 18 xinchao 23 Xinjiang 149 xiyang yinyue 318 xiyue 319 Xu Zhiheng 322 Yamada Kōsaku 31, 63-5, 72-81, 297, 299 Inno Meiji 79, 297 Nagauta kōkyōgaku dai 3-ban “tsurukame” 73, 75, 77, 79, 81, 297 Yamauchi Fumitaka 33-4, 249, 280, 305 Yang Chien-Chang 33 Yang Hua 158 Yang Yinliu 16 Yang Zhao-Zheng 181 yangak 43-5, 55, 319 yangqin 135 Yano Tōru 265-7 yanyue 18 Yasuda Tsuneo 265-6 Ye Bohe 20, 322, 325 Year of Music 1968/69 153-4 Yengoyan, Aram A. 175, 177 yeombul 51 Yeowoorak Festival 57, 59 yinyue 16 yōgaku 64, 81, 293, 297, 319 Yoo Sun-young 44 Yoon Jung-gang 57 Yoshida Hidekazu 244, 264 Yosihiko Tokumaru 28 YouTube 49-50, 219 Yuan dynasty 17, 130 yue 129, 314, 316, 318, 319-20, 322, 324-6, 334-6 Yugoslavia 213 yuhaengga 53 Yuize Shinichi 244 Yun Isang 68, 209, 225
General Index | 369
Musik für sieben Instrumente 209 Sori for flute solo 51 Zenck, Martin 211 Zender, Hans 224 Zhdanov doctrine 210 Zhdanov, Andrej 210 zheng 151
Zheng Jinwen 136, 322, 325 zhonghua minzu 31, 149, 158 zhongruan 137 Zhou dynasty 18, 129-30 Zimmermann, Bénédicte 279-80 Zimmermann, Bernd Alois 232 Requiem für einen jungen Dichter 232
Authors
CHOI Yu-Jun is Associate Professor at the Chonnam National University in South Korea. He received his M.A. degree in music aesthetics from the Seoul National University in 1997, and his Ph.D. in cultural studies of music from the Dong-A University in 2006. During 2006-2007, he conducted postdoctoral research at the department of music at the University of California, Riverside. He has been interested in musical modernity and cultural identities and has investigated cultural phenomena focusing on music from the perspective of aesthetics and cultural studies. He published several books in Korean including Tuning and Resonance: Hearing Popular Culture and Musical Culture and Emotional Politics: Modern Tonality and Its Others. He also translated into Korean—among others—the volume Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening by Christopher Small and Adorno’s Aesthetics of Music by Max Paddison. HSU Hsin-Wen received his doctoral degree in Ethnomusicology from Indiana University in 2014. He is currently Assistant Professor at the Graduate Institute of Ethnomusicology at the National Taiwan Normal University, where he teaches traditional and world music, theory and practice in musical communication, multimedia production, and music industry. His research interests include social and cultural theory, ethnography, comparative methodology, institutionalization, transnationalism, and audiovisual communication. He has conducted extensive fieldwork about the institutionalization of Finnish pelimanni and Taiwanese Hakka music. His research findings have been published as book chapters and articles in journals such as Journal of Chinese Ritual, Theatre and Folklore, and Taiwan Journal of Anthropology. In addition, he has been investigating the audiophile consumption in Taiwan and the performance practice of Hakka music in other Sinophone societies across Asia.
372 | Decentering Musical Modernity
Tobias JANZ has held academic positions at the Universities of Cologne (2006/07), Hamburg (2007-2013) and Kiel (2013-2017) before assuming the Chair of Musicology at the Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms University Bonn. He studied piano, music theory, musicology, and philosophy in Lübeck and Berlin. Book publications include Klangdramaturgie. Studien zur theatralen Orchesterkomposition in Wagners ‘Ring des Nibelungen’, Würzburg 2006, Wagners ‘Siegfried’ und die (post-)heroische Moderne (edited), Würzburg 2011, Zur Genealogie der musikalischen Moderne, Paderborn 2014, Carl Dahlhausʼ ‘Grundlagen der Musikgeschichte’. Eine Re-Lektüre (co-edited), Paderborn 2016. Since 2018 Tobias Janz is co-editor of the journal Musik & Ästhetik. His research focuses on music history since the eighteenth century, music aesthetics, and music philosophy, as well as music sociology. Hannes JEDECK, born in Hamburg in 1987, studied musicology and sinology at the University of Hamburg, LMU Munich, and Beijing University. After finishing his Magister thesis on the violin concertos of Sofia Gubaidulina in Hamburg in 2013, he started to work as a Scientific Assistant at Kiel University. His Ph.D. thesis Chinese Art Music from the 1980s was supported by the German National Academic Foundation (Studienstiftung des deutschen Volkes) and submitted at Bonn University this year. Since 2018 Hannes Jedeck lives in Heidelberg, where he works for the Confucius Institute and in close relation to the newly founded Heidelberg Centre for Asian and Transcultural Studies (CATS) at Heidelberg University. KAM Lap-Kwan studied at the Hochschule für Musik and at the University of Vienna and has taught at the Institute of Music of the National Chiao Tung University since 2007. He guest lectured at the University of Hong Kong in 2010 and conducted research at the Austrian Academy of Sciences in 2011. In 2005 he cofounded the Taiwan Musicology Forum and in 2013 he was the program chair of the 2nd Biennial Conference of the IMS East Asian Regional Association. He was also member of the international advisory board of the Journal of the Royal Music Association (2014-2017) and of the editorial board of Formosan Journal of Music Research (2017-2019). His research concerns comparative music historiography in Austria and Taiwan, as well as Mahler and Viennese modernism. His recent contribution “Between Musicology and Mythology at the Stunde Null: Austria’s 950th ‘Birthday’ and the 50th Anniversary of Bruckner’s Death” has been published in the volume Dreams of Germany: Musical Imaginaries from the Concert Hall to the Dance Floor (2019).
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Kathrin KIRSCH has been Junior Professor at the Christian-Albrechts-Universität Kiel (Germany) since 2014. She studied musicology, English literature, and art history in Kiel. In her doctoral dissertation she investigated the role played by concepts of “modernity” and “nordicness” for the composition of Sibelius’s Second and Fourth Symphonies, as well as for their reception as twentieth-century symphonic works. From 2008 to 2010 Kirsch took part in a project of the Johannes Brahms Gesamtausgabe concerning Brahms’s proofreading of his own works within the publication process. She is currently working on a new edition of Brahms’s quintets. Her research interests also cover Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach’s sacred music composed for public performances. Signe ROTTER-BROMAN studied musicology, history, and Scandinavian studies in Frankfurt am Main and Kiel, Germany. She received her Ph.D. from the Christian-Albrechts-Universität zu Kiel with a dissertation on the string quartets by the Swedish composer Wihelm Stenhammar (Studien zu den Streichquartetten von Wilhelm Stenhammar [= Kieler Schriften zur Musikwissenschaft, Vol. 47)], Kassel etc. 2001). In 2010 she completed her habilitation thesis on compositional techniques in polyphonic songs from the late Trecento (Komponieren in Italien um 1400. Studien zu dreistimmig überlieferten Liedsätzen von Paolo und Andrea da Firenze, Bartolino da Padova, Antonio Zacara da Teramo und Johannes Ciconia [= Musica mensurabilis, Vol. 6], Hildesheim etc. 2012). Since 2012 she has been working as Professor of musicology at the Universität der Künste (Berlin). Her current research interests focus on the relationships between the world exhibition movement, music and modernity, and on the history of musicology around 1900. Christian UTZ is Professor for music theory and music analysis at the University of Music and Performing Arts Graz and Associate Professor at the University of Vienna. He has been visiting professor at the National Chiao-Tung University (Taiwan) and The University of Tokyo. Utz received a Ph.D. degree at the Institute for Musicology of Vienna University with a thesis on New Music and Interculturality. From John Cage to Tan Dun (published in 2002). In 2015 he completed his habilitation in musicology with a collection of published articles on Bewegungen im Klang-Zeit-Raum. Zur performativen Analyse und Wahrnehmung posttonaler Musik und ihren historischen Voraussetzungen. Utz’ second monograph Komponieren im Kontext der Globalisierung. Perspektiven für eine Musikgeschichte des 20. und 21. Jahrhunderts was published by transcript in 2014 (an English translation of this book is scheduled to appear in 2020). Utz has been coeditor of Lexikon Neue Musik (Metzler/Bärenreiter 2016) as well as the book
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Vocal Music and Contemporary Identities: Unlimited Voices in East Asia and the West (Routledge 2013). YAMAUCHI Fumitaka is Associate Professor at the Graduate Institute of Musicology of National Taiwan University in Taipei, Taiwan. He received his Ph.D. from the Academy of Korean Studies in South Korea, with a doctoral dissertation on the phonographic culture of Korea under Japanese colonial rule. He was Assistant Professor at the Institute for Advanced Studies on Asia at the University of Tokyo in Japan before joining the faculty in 2009. He was visiting fellow and scholar at Harvard University (2003-2004, 2013-2014) and Yale University (2008). Working between musicology and sound studies on the one hand, and cultural and postcolonial studies on the other hand, he studies the music and media history of Korea, Taiwan, and East Asia from a transnational perspective, exploring their broader relevance to other time-space contexts in global history. He is co-editor (with Hugh de Ferranti) of the 2012 special issue of Colonial Modernity and East Asian musics (The World of Music [News Series], 2012 Special Issue). YANG Chien-Chang is Associate Professor in Musicology at the National Taiwan University. He received his doctorate from the University of Chicago in 2002 with a dissertation on Hugo Riemann’s theory of musical listening in context of the early history of Musikwissenschaft. His research interests include the interaction between experimental sciences and music aesthetics in the late eighteenth-century, Adorno’s concepts of historical time and compositional techniques, as well as historiography of twentieth-century music. He has recently published on the meaning of Ernst Florence Chladni’s sound figures within the context of musical aesthetics around 1800, on Adorno’s music historiography of “monadic” time, and on the Chinese composer Tan Dun’s multi-media work The Map, investigated as twentyfirst-century phantasmagoria. His recent projects include a transnational (transregional) perspective of musical modernity in East Asia, and new approaches towards technology in music making.