Speaking in Tongues: Pop lokal global 9783839432242

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Dietrich Helms, Thomas Phleps (Hg.) Speaking in Tongues

Beiträge zur Popularmusikforschung 42 Herausgegeben von Dietrich Helms und Thomas Phleps Editorial Board: Dr. Martin Cloonan (Glasgow) | Prof. Dr. Ekkehard Jost (Gießen) Prof. Dr. Rajko Mursˇicˇ (Ljubljana) | Prof. Dr. Winfried Pape (Gießen) Prof. Dr. Helmut Rösing (Hamburg) | Prof. Dr. Mechthild von Schoenebeck (Dortmund) | Prof. Dr. Alfred Smudits (Wien)

Dietrich Helms, Thomas Phleps (Hg.) Speaking in Tongues Pop lokal global

Gefördert durch das Niedersächsische Ministerium für Wissenschaft und Kultur.

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.d-nb.de abrufbar.

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INHALT Editorial 7

Why do Songs have Words in Different Languages? Negotiating Minority Identity through Language Choice among Swedish-Speaking Musicians in Finland Johannes Brusila 9

»Obiaa pɛ sɛ ɔkɔ international.« Negotiating the Local and the Global in Ghanaian Hiplife Music Florian Carl 33

Alternative Globalization in Southern France: Minority Language as a Creative Tool in Occitan Popular Music Michael Spanu 45

Mutterlandpop. Lokale Markierung und Entgrenzung musikalischer Darbietungen auf ukrainischen Feiertagen Christian Diemer 63

When Balkan became Popular: The Role of Cultural Intermediaries in Communicating Regional Musics Andreas Gebesmair 89

World Music, Value, and Memory Timothy D. Taylor 103

German Modern Talking vs. Iranian Modern Talking. Zur Anwendbarkeit der Korpus-Analyse als Mittel des Popmusikverstehens André Doehring 119

Negotiating Andalusian Identity in Rock Andaluz Harmony. Musical Modes, ›Expressive Isomorphism‹ and Meaning in Post-Franco Spain Diego García Peinazo 141

Zweisprachige Songs. Sprachmuster transkultureller Inszenierungen Eckhard John 157

Style and Society — Istanbul's Music Scene in the 1960s and 1970s: Musical Hybridism, the Gazino, and Social Tolerance Cornelia Lund and Holger Lund 177

Ethnic Club Cultures: Postmigrant Leisure Socialities and Music in Urban Europe Kira Kosnick 199

Zu den Autoren 213

EDITORIAL Speaking in Tongues nannten die Talking Heads 1983 ihr fünftes, bis dahin erfolgreichstes Studioalbum. In Interviews dieser Zeit verriet David Byrne, der Name der LP gehe auf seine Zungenrede beim Schreiben der Songs zurück: Er habe zunächst Nonsense-Silben gesungen, bis er eine passende Phrasierung gefunden habe, anschließend habe er diese durch klanglich vergleichbare Worte ersetzt. Rhythmus und Klang sind — zusammen mit dem assoziativen Potential einzelner Phrasen — Ausgangspunkt und Basis der Texte und nicht eine kohärente, eindeutige Textaussage. Diese Gewichtung der Bedeutung der Lyrics lässt sich verallgemeinern. Wie die Rede der Apostel am pfingstlichen Beginn ihrer Aussendung streben Popsongs — zumindest nach den Missionsbefehlen derer, die sie vermarkten — ideal eine globale Verbreitung an. Populäre Musik muss daher eine Sprache sprechen, die möglichst vielen etwas sagt, sie muss vor allem klingen, um Anklang zu finden. Verstehen ist bestenfalls von sekundärer Bedeutung für die Kommunikation. Seinen Reim kann sich jeder selbst machen, der iranische Taxifahrer wie der deutsche Musikwissenschaftler — nicht nur auf Modern Talkings Weltmusik. Die Sprache der Musik allein jedoch, mit der sich Haydn einst in London verständlich zu machen hoffte, weil er glaubte, man verstehe sie »durch die ganze Welt«, reicht unserer Erfahrung nach nicht für einen Welthit — so viel Sprachlosigkeit macht offenbar ebenfalls keinen Sinn, auch wen ein Harmonieschema im entsprechenden Kontext durchaus auch politisch sein kann. Sprachen bedeuten nicht nur in ihren Worten, sondern auch per se. Mag z.B. dem Jugendlichen in der geistigen Enge Nachkriegsdeutschlands oder in einem armen Viertel Istanbuls der Text eines Songs in der Weltsprache Englisch nach großer Welt und globaler Solidarität der Jugend geklungen haben, nimmt ein lateinamerikanischer Konsument vielleicht auch den kulturellen und wirtschaftlichen Imperialismus der Weltmacht USA und eine Gefahr für lokale Musikkulturen wahr. Sprache öffnet nicht nur Welten, sie schließt auch andere aus. Identitätsbildung ist in der Logik des Kommunikationssystems der populären Musik der große Gegenspieler einer globalen Verbreitung. Pop will beides: Von möglichst vielen oft gehört werden und doch einzig sein und der Individuali-

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sierung dienen. Er funktioniert nur, wenn beide Pole ausbalanciert sind. Worte aus anderen Sprachen, die in den Text einfließen, oder eine dialektale Färbung bringen neue, manchmal exotische bzw. exotistische Geschmacksrichtungen des Einheitsbreis. Das andere Ende der Skala bilden Songs, die zwar musikalisch grundsätzlich eine internationale Sprache sprechen, deren Texte jedoch in Minderheitensprachen verfasst sind. Der Verzicht auf englische Lyrics kann — besonders im Fall kleiner Sprachen — das Identifikationspotential stark erhöhen und den Hörerkreis einschränken. Gleichzeitig signalisieren eher global verbreitete Musiksprachen wie Rock oder HipHop jedoch Zeitgemäßheit und Offenheit und eröffnen auch denjenigen Möglichkeiten der Aneignung, die die Sprache nicht oder nur rudimentär beherrschen. Die Rezeption von Songs in der Weltsprache Englisch außerhalb des angloamerikanischen Sprachraums hat gezeigt, wie das (mit umgekehrten Vorzeichen) möglich ist. So kommuniziert populäre Musik in Zungenrede, spricht aber auch in vielen Zungen — nicht selten gleichzeitig. Die Beiträge des vorliegenden Bandes sind Schriftfassungen von Vorträgen, die anlässlich der 25. Arbeitstagung der Gesellschaft für Popularmusikforschung / German Society for Popular Music Studies e.V. (ehemals ASPM) vom 29. September bis 2. Oktober 2014 in Kooperation mit dem Institut für Musikwissenschaft und Musikpädagogik der Universität Osnabrück zum Schwerpunktthema »Die Sprachen der populären Musik. Kommunikation regionaler Musiken in einer globalisierten Welt / The Languages of Popular Music. Communicating Regional Musics in a Globalized World« in Osnabrück gehalten wurden. Ganz besonderer Dank gebührt dem Institut für seine Unterstützung und seinen KollegInnen und Studierenden für ihre Gastfreundschaft. Die Herausgeber bedanken sich ganz herzlich bei den GutachterInnen des Peer Review-Verfahrens, die leider, aber selbstverständlich ungenannt bleiben müssen. Wir bedanken uns ebenso bei der Universitätsgesellschaft Osnabrück und besonders dem Niedersächsischen Ministerium für Wissenschaft und Kultur, die die Tagung und den Druck dieses Bandes gefördert haben. Wer mehr wissen will über die GfPM, über aktuelle Forschungen, Publikationen und anstehende oder vergangene Tagungen, findet diese Daten, Fakten und Informationen rund um die Popularmusikforschung und vieles mehr unter www.popularmusikfoschung.de und in unserer Internetzeitschrift Samples (www.gfpm-samples.de). Dietrich Helms und Thomas Phleps Osnabrück und Kassel, im Juli 2015

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SONGS HAVE WORDS IN DIFFERENT LANGUAGES? NEGOTIATING MINORITY IDENTITY THROUGH LANGUAGE CHOICE AMONG S W E D I S H -S P E A K I N G M U S I C I A N S I N F I N L A N D DO

Johannes Brusila The main heading of this article is a paraphrase of the title of Simon Frith's seminal essay »Why Do Songs Have Words?« (1987), which, in my opinion, remains a neat critical summary of the various traditions of studying song lyrics. Since then, the study of music and lyrics has developed further in various directions, but only rarely has the choice of language been dealt with more systematically (notable exceptions being Berger/Carroll 2003). Yet, it is obvious that choosing which language to use in song lyrics is of great importance for the artists, the media and the listeners. Even the use of single phrases, code-switching, nuances in pronunciation, or dialect can signify important ethnic, social, or aesthetic positions. The choice of language also has consequences for the structure and sound of the music, its industrial dissemination and economic potential, and how it is received and understood. The aim of this article is to ask what motivates artists themselves in the choices they make in respect of language and how these choices relate to their sociolinguistic and cultural contexts, musical framework and construction of identity. I have focused on popular musicians who belong to the Swedish-speaking population of Finland — a minority that I have studied for several years. Many members of this so-called »Finland-Swedish« minority are often capable of using different forms of Swedish, at least basic English and frequently also Finnish, which means that they make a conscious choice when they decide which language to use. As language is a key element in this minority's identity, the language of a performance is frequently discussed in the Swedish-language mass media in Finland and artists have thus often articulated opinions about their own choices. The minority position of Finland Swedish also offers an opportunity to bring to the fore many of the

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key questions brought up by sociolinguistics, music research and identity studies in this area.

Music and Language To ask why songs have words in different languages inevitably includes complex issues surrounding the relationship between language and music, which can range from »music as/in/about language« to »language as/in/ about music« (to use the terminology of Feld/Fox 1984: 26-29). Simplistic premises regarding the meaning of words can obstruct an analysis and hinder it from arriving at a deeper understanding of the various uses of language in connection to music. When discussing the language choices within the Swedish-speaking minority of Finland I have chosen to focus on three dimensions of language and how these dimensions relate to song lyricism, as follows: language as a tool of communication, language as an aesthetic element of musical expression, and language as a constituent of social construction. For many artists throughout the world language choice is most likely fundamentally about communication; in other words it concerns expressing yourself in a language that you know and that is understood by the audience. The question of comprehensibility and the verbal exchange of ideas consequently frame both the artists' language and their career choices. As a result of the historically recent, but nevertheless firmly established, European nation-state ideology, the issue of language is also often understood to be a choice between developing a domestic career, using the national language of the artist's home country, or an international career, using English. However, the tensions between the many variations of national languages, dialects, minority languages, regional languages and so on, imply that the comprehensibility of a language, particularly when used in sung lyrics, is often much more complex than a matter of simple semantics. Furthermore, it is questionable to what extent any analysis that merely sticks to the level of comprehensibility can grasp the manifold levels of lyrical expression. As Frith (1987) has already revealed in his discussion of song lyrics, content analysis and theories of lyrical realism have a tendency to trivialize the musical context of the words and assert simplistic, direct relationships between a lyric and the social or emotional condition it describes and evokes. Song words undoubtedly communicate meanings and in that sense understanding the lyrics is an important aspect of the music, but a full understanding of the semantic level is not necessarily required for a lis-

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tener to enjoy the song. Following Frith we can assume that the listener can appreciate it although he or she may not know the language and even though the words may be open to numerous interpretations. In fact, the ambiguity of the lyrics can be precisely what makes the song feel personally relevant and offer people the terms in which to articulate and experience emotions. The use of words in combination with music always incorporates an aesthetic dimension. Words can be used as a means of creating beauty or as a tool for personal creativity. In fact, it is possible to argue that the semantic level is of minor importance in popular music, or as sociolinguist Peter Trudgill (1983: 159) has stated: »pop-music is a field where language is especially socially symbolic, and typically low in communicative function, high on the phatic and self-expressive«. In aesthetic terms, a personal expression is created by combining language and music in myriad ways. This might include not only adding words to a melody but also musical speech surrogates, Sprechgesang, recitation, lamentation and a number of verbal and non-verbal devices used by the performer, such as sighs, pleas and nonsensical playing with words and syllables. Thus, the meaning of a song is not necessarily only communicated through the words used; instead, it can be argued that the language provides raw material for a whole vocal performance. A study of only the text without the »phonotext«, in other words of the interaction between words and music in the enunciation of the song, is therefore clearly inadequate (Lindberg 1995). The choice of language and the creation of a phonotext reflect aesthetic norms, which in turn are socially, historically and culturally grounded. Often genres create an interpretative framework for our understanding of linguistic-aesthetic values. It is in relation to genre conventions that artists position their stances and listeners form their attitudes towards the music. However, as Edward Larkey (2003: 148) has pointed out, it is also worth remembering that genre may perform an ironic function, by creating interpretative expectations that are overturned as a result of unanticipated humorous connections between discrepant stylistic features. Finally, language not only communicates semantic and aesthetic meanings; on a more general level it is a fundamental constituent of our social lives. Following social constructionist approaches it is pertinent to argue that language not only describes, but actually discursively constructs our ideas of reality (e.g. Burr 1995). For example, our self-conception and feelings of belonging and identity are lived through linguistic behaviour and often institutionalized through linguistic practices. For multilingual speakers language choice is not only an effective means of communication but also

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an act of identity; we maintain and change ethnic group boundaries and personal relationships, and construct and define »self« and »other« within a broader political economy and historical context (Wei 2000: 14f.). These processes can also lead to far-reaching language ideologies, which express people's beliefs and interests concerning the structure and use of language within social life. The choice of language in music is always related to this socially framed linguistic context. »Musicking«, to use Small's expression (1997), includes not only song lyrics but also musicians' talk about music and even general social interactions around musical practices that do not necessarily directly discuss music. On a broader level, governmental structures, political parties, jurisdiction, the culture industry and numerous other institutions can outline, regulate, safeguard and counteract linguistic practices within the musical sphere. However, as creative artists, musicians not only follow or reproduce these structures, but also actively think about them and transform them (Harris/Carroll 2003: xiv). By choosing between and combining the linguistic practices of various social statuses, dialects and slang, musicians can publicly think about, enact and perform their identities in imaginative ways.

The Swedish-Speaking Minority of Finland The sociocultural dimensions of language are crucial for a primarily linguistically defined ethnic grouping such as the Swedish-speaking minority of Finland (for general overviews, see e.g. Allardt/Starck 1989 and Åström et al. 2001). Swedish is the formally registered mother tongue of approximately 290,000 people in Finland, representing roughly 5.5 per cent of the total population. Despite the small size of the Swedish-speaking population, Finland is officially bilingual and according to the constitution, Swedishspeaking Finns have the right to equal levels of access to public services as does the majority population. It is of course questionable to what extent equality can be achieved in practice on all formal and informal levels of society. As a result, many Swedish-speakers feel that their linguistic position is threatened and the language ideology of the political party of Swedishspeakers in Finland, Svenska Folkpartiet, is based on the idea that monolingual institutional solutions secure bilingualism, because bilingual institutions ultimately lead to monolingual Finnish dominance. Although legislation and political measures have offered some guarantees for Swedish governmental institutions, they have no effect on, for

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example, free market popular culture. The Swedish-speaking population is simply too small and culturally heterogeneous to viably sustain its own profitable niche in the music industry of Finland. Despite attempts to build marketing and distribution channels for Finland-Swedish music, all enterprises have remained commercially modest and ultimately they have all been forced to shut down (Jan-Erik Lindqvist, interview 13.3.2007). Over the years, only one record company, Okay's Music, has survived, focusing entirely on releasing Finland-Swedish music. However, Okay can also be thought of more as an idealistic project than a profit-making enterprise, as its sales figures have usually amounted to around a few hundred copies per record and 1,000 copies for a successful record (Törnroos 2015). Contrary to many other small countries in Europe, the sales figures for domestic music have always been high in Finland and most of the successful music produced domestically has been performed in Finnish. This means that the music industry in Finland has traditionally tried to persuade musicians to sing in Finnish and only the artists who have aimed at an international market have used English, whereas Swedish is not seen to have any market potential at all. Generally speaking, only a few artists with a Swedish-language repertoire have had an opportunity to get a recording contract with any of the mainstream companies in Finland. Thus, it is natural that the artists who aim at a professional career performing in Swedish have moved to Sweden and tried to break through in the Swedish music industry and media. As a primarily linguistically defined ethnicity, Finland-Swedish self-identification is constructed as a difference in relation to three major »others«: Finnish majority culture, the culture of Sweden and what might be summarized in the concept »international culture«, which, in the case of popular music is concretized in the use of the English language (Brusila 2008; Brusila 2009; Brusila forthcoming). When Finland-Swedish popular music and particularly its linguistic dimensions are explicitly debated in public, FinlandSwedishness is typically constructed in relation to these anti-poles. I have visualized this identity formation in a schematic diagram (see figure 1). The core of this Finland-Swedish self-identification positions itself in relation to the three fixed points of the outer circle; that is, its self-identification is based on a feeling of difference, or distance, from the Finnish, Swedish and international cultures. In this core, popular music is institutionalized in small-scale activities, within the home or Swedish associations and often supported by the third sector. Between the core and the outer circle is a complex, diversified border zone, where many Swedish-speaking musicians

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have operated in practice, switching between languages, musical genres and structures.

Figure 1: A schematic presentation of the discursive construction of Finland-Swedishness (ibid.). The core of Finland-Swedish self-identification is constructed in relation to the three major »others« of the outer circle. The middle circle consists of a diversified border zone where many musicians operate.

It is important to understand that this is a general description of how an ethnicity, called Finland-Swedishness, is constructed, not a description of an essence of Finland-Swedishness, or of how all Swedish-speaking individuals understand their identity. As a discursive construct (following theories of e.g. Barth 1969; Hall 1992 and 1996), this Finland-Swedish formation is processual and subject to continuous negotiations. In fact, for many Swedish-speaking musicians the outer or middle circle can form a central stage for their professional activities, working in, for example, a multilingual environment, or singing only in Finnish for a Finnish majority audience. It is the complexity of these career choices and their linguistic dimensions, which I will turn to now.

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The Core: Singing in Swedish in Finland In Finland, as in many other European countries, the acculturation of AngloAmerican rock proceeded gradually from national schlager (in Finnish iskelmä) and copies of foreign influences in the 1950s and 1960s to the establishment of a national rock tradition sung in a local language from the beginning of the 1970s (for international comparisons see e.g. Lilliestam 1998; Larkey 2000). Although many of the key musicians and business executives in Finland who were involved in this process were Swedish speakers, popular music sung in Swedish never gained a position in the music industry because of its minimal market potential. In the 20th century Swedish-language popular music thus became confined to small-scale contexts and formal settings. In my schema these musical practices, in which Swedish is a key element, belong to the core of the Finland-Swedish formation. This core consists of phenomena that are more or less explicitly denominated FinlandSwedish or typically associated with some kind of Finland-Swedishness. Thus, these musical practices exist in at least a more or less permanent relation to so-called »Finland-Swedishness«, although it would be impossible to create some kind of a quantitative, demographic, geographic, or even linguistic definition of their exact degree of Finland-Swedishness. The musicking is commonly carried out in Swedish, predominantly small-scale activities in the private sphere, including for example choir singing, the Nordic singer-songwriter tradition called vissång, the variety tradition of the youth organizations, drinking songs and children's music. Partly included is the dance band music (in Swedish dansbandsmusik), which has flourished at dances organized by youth associations and other organizations, mainly in the countryside. The few rock bands who sing in Swedish or in local dialects can also be included in this core. As a consequence of the small-scale nature of the commercial operations, the main emphasis of Swedish-language public music-making has, during the last ten to fifteen years, shifted to the so-called third sector; that is, to non-governmental foundations and associations whose explicit purpose is to promote Finland-Swedish culture. Ever since the 1980s many of these foundations have also supported popular music although, especially on the rock scene, receiving grants was for a long time seen as an embarrassing and questionable move from the perspective of an artist's credibility (Brusila 2008: 21f.). Despite the financial support for record productions, singing in Swedish in Finland has remained a fringe activity of the

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popular music market. As a consequence, rock and pop bands — such as Vasas flora och fauna — often explain that a major obstacle to starting to use Swedish has been »a huge lack of [Finland-Swedish] role models and idols« (Willows 2012). The musicians who deliberately choose to write and perform their lyrics in Swedish usually produce their own records and release their material on the Internet. In this context the choice of language can be driven by a sense of identity, or dictated by linguistic skills. In its simplest form this can be stated in a rather laconic way as an obvious fact, as when the rock band Häxjesus succinctly explains its use of Swedish: »We did not start by thinking about the language choice; it was self-evident. Swedish is our mother tongue« (Granö 2014). For others, the choice can be a language political statement, as in the case of the pop artist Niklas Rosström of Pappas eget band (interview 13.11.2009), who summarizes his standpoint of not accepting any forms of bilingual solution: »Either you speak Swedish or you don't«. Language choice can also be the result of artistic ambitions or of a selfcritical evaluation of linguistic competence. Particularly in the region of Ostrobothnia, where there are many monolingual Swedish municipalities and most people grow up following the Swedish media, not all artists know Finnish well enough to be able to use it in their creative careers. A basic knowledge of Finnish does not necessarily mean that an artist would feel at home on the national mainstream music scene. For example, for the Finland-Swedish rapper Qruu the Finnish rap scene seems far off, even though he knows Finnish, whilst Swedish rap has intuitively been a natural framework for him: »I suppose it is because if it is in your mother tongue it somehow goes directly into your heart« (interview 4.3.2009). English feels easier than Finnish for many and would maybe offer opportunities to reach wider audiences, but on the other hand switching to English can feel like a betrayal of one's artistic ambitions without any promise of secure financial gain. In the words of Qruu: »Business-wise it would maybe be a good idea to try [to use English], but this is still first and foremost an art for me, so I don't think about it as a profession or career choice« (Sandell 2011). The fact that the main incentive for making music is not necessarily commercial success gives the artist freedom to focus on self-expression and artistic autonomy, made manifest in their use of Swedish. Choosing Swedish also involves choosing which Swedish to use. Sociolinguists divide Swedish into five standard languages, of which four are spoken in Sweden and one is the so-called Finland-Swedish standard language, as is used in, for example, the Swedish language media in Finland (Einarsson 2004: 140). Furthermore, there are several strong, local dialects in the

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Swedish-speaking regions of Finland, some of which are spoken and understood by only a few thousand people. It has been claimed that probably up to 50% of the Swedish population of Finland have a local dialect of Swedish as their only true mother tongue, this being the only language that they truly master (Loman 1983: 71). Thus, some of the artists who sing in Swedish choose to avoid standard Finland-Swedish, and instead use one of the local dialects, as this is their personal, or even only, language. This choice is often explained as being a result of the fact that the phrasing feels more natural and comfortable to sing. Apparently, the dialect structures the texts and also the sung phonotext by connecting the intonation of the language with the melody of the song. The dialect can also create an individual niche for the artist if the music otherwise resembles that of many other bands from all over the world. For example Lasse Eriksson explains that his, and his fellow artist Anders Teir's, original motivation for singing cover versions of rock evergreens with new lyrics in the Närpes dialect was a feeling that »There are so many bands that sing in English who are better than we, but what we know is the dialect« (Törnroos 2011). In some instances the use of dialect becomes a statement, as in the case of the rock band Paradisbacka, who proclaim that: »To explain that you have to use standard Swedish is like saying that you are not worth anything if you don't follow our rules« (Hagström 2005). Sometimes artists have also been mocked for using standard Finland-Swedish, because it doesn't have sufficient credibility when singing, for example, rock songs. In such cases the language choice constructs meaning through association; it becomes an aural trigger that connects the musical expression with personality, local community, lifestyle and values. The use of dialect in stage performances has a long tradition in the Swedish-speaking countryside of Finland, where youth associations have for several decades arranged annual comic revues performed in the local dialect. In these revues performances of sketches alternate with internationally derived evergreens with new lyrics commenting on daily life from the perspective of the local community. Partly because of this, and partly because of a general tendency to make fun of rural dialects in the modern media, dialects are usually associated with humour. As a result, most artists who use dialect sing humorous songs and even those who do not have any explicitly comic intention are often interpreted as being funny. It is worth remembering that the borderlines between dialect and sociolect are seldom very distinct, and usually the more pronounced the dialect is, the lower it is on the social scale and vice versa (Einarsson 2004: 146). A local dialect can

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signify a socially lower ›otherness‹ which is made fun of. This is something musicians need to take into consideration. The humorous aspect can also incorporate polysemic qualities that open the songs up to different interpretations, ambiguities and encodings related to social status and belonging. Particularly for those musicians who don't want to preserve some kind of an »authentic dialect«, the creative use of dialect can be an important self-expressive tool in their artistry; it is something that offers them agency. For example the band 1G3B uses the members' strong home dialect, which is spoken by around 10,000 people living in the Närpes region, in an inventive way (Brusila 2010). A humorous effect is born out of the incongruous combination of the rural dialect, the bizarre imagery of the band's videos, and heavy metal music with distorted guitars and a drop-down tuned bass playing power chords in Aeolian, Phrygian or Locrian modes over intense drum patterns on double bass drums. The band's concept is created on the Internet, where all the material is easily accessible for free, thus recreating a local but simultaneously deterritorialized identity of Närpes on the web.

Middle Circle: Alternating between Swedish, Finnish and English As was already mentioned, my schematic outline of Finland-Swedishness can give a false impression of this discursive formation as being something which is solid and compact. In fact, it is in the nature of cultural formations such as these that they are processual and relative. Thus, the core of the whole formation of Finland-Swedishness is in no way the core of all the heterogeneous and kaleidoscopic forms of Swedishness that exist in Finland. In order to reflect the multiplicity of how different individuals can relate to the construction of Finland-Swedishness, I have chosen to add a zone to my schema between the core and the outer circle. By doing so I want to emphasize how many people — both musicians and music industry personnel — who come from the Swedish-speaking minority have always negotiated themselves a position in the national music institutions using Finnish and Swedish, and occasionally English. From this perspective it is possible to say that the history of popular music from Finland is in fact also the history of many Swedish-speaking popular musicians and entrepreneurs, who have often been the first intermediaries of international styles and influential in the creation of an acculturated national music.

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For many musicians the language barrier has not necessarily meant an insurmountable obstacle but a border to be negotiated during the development of their careers. Alternating between Swedish and Finnish can be seen as a betrayal of the Finland-Swedish language policy, which favours monolingual minority solutions, and artists also need to be aware of the risks involved when switching to another language. The use of Swedish can annoy Finnish speakers and the use of Finnish can mean that the artist loses his or her audience in the Swedish-speaking regions. Some bands can cross the language borders freely, but these are usually less well-known in the media and mainly perform, for example, at weddings and birthday parties. One such band member called his group »a piece of the scenery« or a »scenery band«; the band does not want a strong stylistic or linguistic profile, because it is hired to adjust itself to the occasion, to blend in with the background. A number of artists pronounce Swedish in a way that resembles the standard Swedish pronunciations used in Sweden, rather than standard Finland-Swedish. Often this is a result of the influence from the artists' Swedish idols. Particularly in the Swedish regions of the Finnish west coast, musicians have traditionally followed the Swedish national broadcast TV and radio channels, which has also left its mark on their musical styles and language. The choice of pronunciation is often explained in terms of aesthetic choices; the differences between the various Swedish accents clearly have an impact on the general vocal timbre, but also phrasing and melody. However, it is also obvious that even tiny distinctions in the pronunciation of Swedish can be key signifiers of identity (which is rather ironic as most Finland-Swedish and non-Anglophone artists in general can pronounce English in basically any way without anybody taking notice of it in Finland). The influence of the Swedish music media is often heard in the artists' singing, although they may only produce standard Finland-Swedish or a dialect when they speak. The deviations between spoken and sung accents seem to be of a particular and relatively constrained type. Thus, the artists in many ways appear to follow the same general principles that Trudgill (1983: 158f.) has noted in his study of the sociolinguistics of British pop singers' English pronunciation; the selection of linguistic forms from different codes may be due to mixed motives and a combination of different linguistic features may be very functional in retaining a balanced public and self-image. In other words, very small nuances can establish a difference between a person's musical identity and his or her other identities in a way which fulfils personal practical functions. Sometimes the singer feels that a certain pronunciation forms a natural part of his or her identity as a singer

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although his or her everyday identity in other fields of life would be enacted through another pronunciation. Many of the artists who use different languages call themselves at least to some extent linguistically bilingual. However, as a rule, they use only one language in their music and even if they switch between languages during their careers, they will use one language at a time, for example on one record or tour. Thus, the various forms of bilingualism which can be found in everyday verbal interactions, such as language borrowing, interference or transference (see e.g. Romaine 1989: 50f.), are at least to some extent absent in the song lyrics. The only genre where language alternation and code switching is common even within one song is hip-hop, where rappers with diverse linguistic, dialectal and slang backgrounds co-operate. Often this is explained as a natural consequence of the fact that the rappers often participate in each other's performances and recordings (as for example in the projects of Nörttibois Crew, Funkeyh & Winnie, and Qruu). The use of one's personal verbal style in various contexts also emphasizes the importance of originality in rap. Thus, for example, Mikael »Dt1« Hästö (Nörttibois Crew, interview 15.12.2008) explains how he wants to accentuate his personal voice: »No doubt, I try to write [my lyrics] as I speak«. The choice of linguistic style is a vital element of a rapper's credibility. Language is used to manifest the links between music, identity and themes dealt with in the lyrics. In some cases the mixture of languages can reflect a shared attitude and a feeling of social belonging or of being an outsider, which supersedes linguistic borders. This is the case with the band Sveden Passive for example, whose songs describe suburban life, drug-positive opinions and anti-police sentiments in Finnish, Swedish and Sami. The use of several languages or codeswitching can also be a verbal demonstration of a tolerant multicultural ideology, as in Julkinen Sana's anti-racist »Mitä sä pelkäät?« (»What are you afraid of?«) and »Rakkaudella vihaajille« (»With love to the haters«), where the rappers self-ironically play with stereotypes surrounding their own identities. In most cases the decision to make a record with Swedish, Finnish or English lyrics is based on personal, creative and aesthetic considerations, rather than merely straightforward semantic issues. In this sense, adopting sociolinguistic explanation models can lead us to overlook important aspects of multilingualism. For example, in literary studies on multilingualism, aesthetics, semantics and sociolinguistics are often understood to be intertwined. In Monika Schmitz-Emans' (2004: 11-16) classification for example, literature and multilingualism can refer to several adjacent and overlapping

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fields: the literature of multilingual nations or cultures, works by multicultural authors, multilingual texts, intermediality as multilingualism and multilingualism within one language. Following this approach, we can state that the Finland-Swedish context is already in a formal sense bilingual and most of the musicians can be considered multilingual, but the level and character of multilingualism or intermediality in their work is the result of deliberations concerning social and artistic self, image and personal voice. Singing in standard Finland-Swedish might sound like a natural choice, but for those musicians who previously have been singing in, for example, English, it can be a radical change to start using Swedish. The use of one's mother tongue is often said to affect the use of voice and, in general, how the text is performed and what impression the singer makes. It can offer a more authentic expression, but at the same time it can feel too personal and revealing. As singer-songwriter Frida Andersson explains: »It is easier to write in English because Swedish is my emotional language, Swedish makes everything naked, direct; it hits you right in the face« (Törnroos 2013). The use of Finnish is often a natural alternative as this opens up many possibilities for developing a career in Finland and many of the Swedishspeaking musicians are anyhow more or less bilingual. It can also offer an opportunity to alternate between different aspects of a musician's personality. What exactly changes when the language changes can be hard to pinpoint. The alterations can be related to the many vowels and diphthongs used in Finnish, or the distinctive accentuation of Finnish, where the stress is on the first syllable. But it can also be expressively liberating, as actress/singer Jonna Järnefelt's account suggests: »Swedish is the language I learnt at home and school and it's connected to a good education, rules, being a good girl and achieving things; I believe I dare more in Finnish« (Lundin 2010). According to many sociologists and linguists, the social space of minority languages such as Swedish in Finland tend to become confined to the limits of the home and institutions that represent the linguistic establishment if the members of the minority do not use the language subsequently in all public contexts (e.g. Allardt 1997: 41f.; Tandefelt 2003: 189-191). As Järnefelt's example shows, from the personal perspective a majority language can be seen to offer new opportunities for the expression of a wider range of experiences than the minority language, if the minority language is only limited to formal or domestic fields of life. The motivation for using English is often explained with reference to the notion that English »sounds right« or that it is the correct language for genres such as rock, jazz, or rap. This often comprises an idea of a common aesthetic ideal, which is tied to the Anglophone roots of these genres. As a

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result, performing these styles in English can offer opportunities for crossing sociolinguistic boundaries in a contemporary Finland-Swedish context. In some cases artists say that using Swedish or Finnish can be tricky as these languages are socially loaded, whereas English can offer them a neutral alternative. The hard rock singer Marco Luponero gives an account of how a switch from English to Swedish can instantly signify social belonging and the demarcation of cultural barriers when talking to the audience: »Once I used my Swedish dialect when presenting the next song but immediately somebody shouted ›Fuck, speak Finnish‹, so I switched back to English; it's safe« (Simosas 2009). Choosing a language other than one's mother-tongue can also offer the singer a chance to take on a new role. For example, the singer-songwriter and jazz vocalist Nilla Hansson describes how she finds it appropriate to sing jazz in English as »it can be good to have some distance from the language« and performing in Finnish appeals because »it makes me another singer« (Hansson 2010). In the performance context the song can resemble a play, which carries meaning not just semantically, but through sounds that signify emotions and indicate character. The careers and linguistic negotiation models of the Finland-Swedish musicians in the middle field between the core and the outer circle can be described as a kind of double identity, where the artist can vary his or her identification according to what seems fruitful for them at a given moment. This is by no means unique for the many forms of Swedishness in Finland. In fact, many Swedish speakers have always used Swedish and Finnish and lived in more than one culture while they have been conscious of the specific differences between both the languages and cultures and kept them separate. The multilinguistic dimension of popular music, combined with its symbolic connections to the urban and modern, often classified as »low culture,« have presumably contributed to keeping these individuals and cultural artistic expressions outside the core of the Finland-Swedish construction (for discussions on the dramatization of Finland-Swedishness, see Lönnqvist 2001a). It is possible to say that many Swedish-speaking musicians have a bilingual, or perhaps even some form of a multilingual identity. Depending on what they deem to be functional in the current context, they can alternate between languages, depending on functionality. However, bilinguals are not necessarily equally fluent in all of their languages; switching between languages often serves a complementary distribution of variation according to the aim and context of the communication (for bilingualism see Romaine 1989: 18; Mackey 2000: 26f.). Within both the private and the public

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spheres there exists a flow of contacts, mobilities and linguistic identifications that are activated in different ways in different contexts. Certain languages and pronunciations seem to suit certain forms of musicking better than others. The flows across linguistic and ethnic boundaries do not mean that the boundaries will disappear. In fact, the construction of borders seems to form the very foundations on which embracing social systems are built (Barth 1969: 10). The linguistic choice is, in other words, an identificatory entity the contents of which are important for those who feel that they belong to a certain group, but these contents can be used in different ways depending on the situation; sometimes the signals are important and at other times unimportant.

The Outer Circle: Developing a Career in Swedish, Finnish, or English The outer circle of my schematic presentation of the Finland-Swedish formation consists of the three major »others« of Finland-Swedishness: Finnish, Swedish and international cultures. The juxtaposition of FinlandSwedishness in relation to these three counterparts is crucial to the whole construction. However, it should be emphasized that just as the entire Finland-Swedish self-identification is in reality continuously changing, so is the position of these »others« and so are their particular implications for different Swedish-speaking Finns. For artists the natural starting point or goal may be to work primarily in Swedish in Sweden, in Finnish in Finland, or in English on an international market. In other words, they are functioning in the fields that in fact are major »others« when Finland-Swedish ethnicity is constructed. In this field their linguistic-ethnic background is often hidden, or it is neutralized as it has no relevance. In some cases the artists adapt their linguistic-ethnic background to suit the cultural expectations that the new audiences have of Finland-Swedishness. In such cases Finland-Swedishness becomes an »other« for these cultures. As I mentioned earlier, these personal strategies in a way go against the dogmas of Finland-Swedish language politics, which are based on the idea that monolingual minority solutions are a key aspect in the preservation of the minority language. For the artists, these are nevertheless strategic choices that reflect their personal situations and ambitions. For many Finland-Swedes, including musicians, working in or moving to Sweden is not a big step. For artists who have grown up on the west coast following Swedish music media, the linguistic step is particularly short. As

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one of these musicians, the dance band vocalist Hans Martin explains, to speak a standard form of Swedish as spoken in Sweden can feel like the most natural choice for public use, instead of using the very local dialect as used at home: »I suppose my first ›real‹ language [not dialect] was the Swedish language spoken in Sweden and it is very hard for me to speak anything else on stage« (Martin, interview 25.11.2007). However, for other artists the differences between the standard Finland-Swedish language and the standard Swedish languages spoken in Sweden can include significant obstacles. Sometimes a Swedish record company has tried to iron out the Finland-Swedish accent. In some cases the Finland-Swedish artists have noticed that the Swedes do not even know that there is a Swedish-speaking minority in Finland and believe the singers are Finnish-speakers who have tried to learn proper Swedish. For example, the rapper Qruu has experienced: »A Swede once said to me: ›You have learnt Swedish bloody well, I can help you with the last bits‹« (Sandell 2011). On the other hand, for Swedes, Finland-Swedish can also sound exotic — or enchanting, as the Swedish pop artist Bo Kasper describes it: »beautiful, charming, meditative, and deep« (Ginström 2014). Only a couple of bands have capitalized on the exoticism that FinlandSwedish pronunciation signifies on the international markets. Usually, their concept is based on references to Nordic mythology. For example, Gjallarhorn has been successful on the world music scene with their versions of Finland-Swedish medieval ballads and folk music. The heavy metal band Finntroll terms its style »trollmetal« and according to the band, FinlandSwedish singing is a key element of their »trollstyle«. In such cases FinlandSwedish pronunciation often signifies a general, pre-modern »otherness«, rather than a particular ethnicity for the listeners. For those Finland-Swedes whose Finnish is weak, it can be an almost insurmountable task to create a career singing in Finnish although the record companies have tried to persuade the artists to do so. For example, the punk band Heartbreak Stereo was asked to start writing lyrics in Finnish when negotiating a record contract, but the band found the whole idea rather absurd both for stylistic and practical reasons: »For us it was like a joke to translate the lyrics to Finnish; we don't even know Finnish well enough« (Heartbreak Stereo, interview 12.1.2009). Then again, for bilinguals whose Finnish is equally strong or maybe even stronger than Swedish, it may be a natural choice to use Finnish. The knowledge of a language is also related to its expressive value for the singer, as the pop singer Jannika B's explanation of her language choice suggests: »I came to the conclusion that the language I use when I quarrel is my emo-

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tionally strongest language and that's why I have used Finnish« (Lindholm 2013). One of the pioneers of Finnish rock lyricism, Dave Lindholm, has such a bilingual background and when, in the beginning of the 1970s, he changed from singing in English to singing in Finnish it was a way of finding a personal voice that felt natural: »When I started to write in the same way that I spoke, things started happening« (Holmberg 2010). In Dave Lindholm's case, »singing like talking« meant using Finnish in the form of traditional Helsinki slang, which contains elements of Swedish, Finnish and even some Russian from the beginning of the 20th century. For the majority of the population he is still known as the key creator of Finnish rock lyricism and not many know about his Finland-Swedish background. The Finland-Swedish audience can sometimes react with indignation when an artist uses Finnish, or the standard languages or dialects spoken in Sweden, as these choices can signify an abandonment of the Finland-Swedish identity. For the artist, language choice is a question of an appropriate adjustment to the personal, creative and social circumstances. Often this involves the basic tension of linguistic accommodation, in other words to »maximize fit and maintain distinctiveness« (Meyerhoff 2001: 67f.), so that the artist both converges with members of an in-group and diverges from linguistic out-groups in appropriate measures. What makes this so hard to accomplish is that the expectations of the commercial target group and the feeling of ethnic belonging do not necessarily run along the same lines. To use the concepts of communication accommodation theories, this can be explained as a complex attempt to adopt words, grammar, pronunciation, voice control, tempo and even body language in order to acquire a coveted social status without losing credibility (e.g. Einarsson 2004: 43f.). This type of accommodation is often welcomed by some, but it can also lead to negative responses if the accommodation is felt to be ingratiating, associated with suspect motives, or exaggerated, or when it is simply perceived of as a betrayal of a person's original group belonging (Bell 2006: 649). A successful career in the major Finnish market, especially, can create a distance from the minority environment to the extent that the linguistic accommodation is understood to be an act of disloyalty. If artists who have created an image as performers of Finnish music with Finnish lyrics stick to their standard repertoire and language when performing in their Swedish home regions, the audience may greet their show with mistrust. Thus, for example Charles Plogman (interview 12.12.2008), who has made a successful career as a singer of Finnish schlager, has received much criticism for his style in his home region: »If you sing in Finnish in Ostrobothnia, they shake their fists at you.« This is a problem particularly when an artist has become

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famous for a personal repertoire and does not want to switch to, for example, cover versions. In this respect English appears to be more neutral and its adoption a means of reconciling ethnic tensions. In popular music English is also a valued language. In sociolinguistic theory the appraisal of a language can be described as being based on the extent of the language's significance as an instrumental tool in career development, for example, as well as its communicative potential in different fields of social activity, its perceived identity value, and the prestige accorded by speakers and outsiders (Hene 1997: 137 and passim). In most instances English rates well in all of these values. English is the self-evident choice for most bands who try to achieve international success due to its importance both as a language of daily communication and as the main language of lyricism in this field. This is concisely summarized in the electro-pop ensemble Le Corps Mince de Francoise's comment reflecting upon their international success in relation to their language choice: »We wouldn't be here, if we hadn't used English« (Le Corps Mince de Francoise, interview 1.6.2009). As a result of tradition and genre conventions it is also a prestigious language, representing the norms and measures of success that the artists in many genres identify themselves with. In practice, the English lyrics are based on pithy catchphrases, which follow the conventions of the genre. Musicians have already learnt these genre rules at an early stage whilst listening to their international idols and writing lyrics in English in early adolescence. Therefore, they see English as their first language in this field of creative expression. In the light of these examples, it seems that a large proportion of the musicians who somehow feel a connection to the formation »FinlandSwedishness«, along with its core elements, will actively reconstruct their identities during their careers. This process can also incorporate a contrast between the Finland-Swedishness, which is manifested in the core and a language policy that emphasizes monolinguistic minority solutions, and the daily life of the individual person (for a comparison with the tensions Irishspeaking musicians face in relation to the English language, see McCann/Ó Laoire 2003). Finland's Swedishnesses create a heterogeneity and flexibility which is typical of discourses such as this. At the same time, the public Finland-Swedish discourse can include demands for uniformity, which in turn can result in a feeling of marginality at the level of the individual (see e.g. Lönnqvist 2001b: 449f.). From a musician's point of view, the question concerns ultimately to what extent an individual can balance between being only an object, subordinate to the power of discourse and being a subject

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who can actually negotiate a position in relation to local demands and expectations.

Conclusion To return to the question of my main heading »Why do songs have words in different languages?« an obvious answer would be: »Why not?« Just as musicians can choose between various stylistic features, cross genre borders, develop their artistic image and plan their careers during the course of their creative activities and personal development, so they can also make various language choices. These choices are not necessarily easy to make and have manifold consequences, but they can also give the artist opportunities to negotiate personal and social tensions. In the Finland-Swedish context, language choice is a crucial question for an artist who wants to develop a professional career, but it also has significant consequences for amateurs as it determines the framework for communication, social networking and even stylistic features. It is not only the decision to use a particular language, which is important, but also the choice to combine and alternate languages, and of course the decision to avoid another language. Language choice reflects the prevailing linguistic, ethnic and social structures and always exists in relation to language ideologies. The relationships between all these cultural issues are complex. Language choice is not only a matter of what language is used in a song and whether the lyrics are understood by the audience. It is also implicated in all situations of social interaction, including institutional contexts. However, it is never a straightforward choice of adopting an existing linguistic structure and ideology. As Berger (2003: xiv) has pointed out, »rather than merely reproducing existing ideologies, singers, culture workers, and listeners may use music to actively think about, debate or resist the ideologies at play in the social world around them«. A musician's creative work incorporates an opportunity to negotiate differing opinions and positions in such a way that the complexity of linguistic questions becomes a vital part of his or her artistry. This can be done by a playful or experimental approach to basic syntactic or morphological structures, by breaking phonetic or phonotextual conventions, or by combining the music with the speech melodies of various dialects and so on. The combination of music and language offers polysemic possibilities, which artists can use to express humorous, ironic, and ambiguous ideas. In a

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sense, language constructs meanings through wide-ranging associations that reach far beyond the level of semantics. A creative use of language of course requires sensibility and an understanding of the context. Image and genre conventions are important when an artist's ethnic and social affiliations are evaluated, and the subtle balance between being accessible or distanced, or between convergent and divergent accommodation, can be hard to work out in practice. Also within one small linguistic community such as the Swedish-speaking minority of Finland the linguistic norms and values vary widely depending on the field of activities. State and commercial institutions, high, folk and popular cultural forms, different genres and so on, all have different norms. At the level of the individual, we are talking about processes where an artist negotiates his or her multiple identities. These identities are partly linguistic identities, as most people and social environments are at least to some extent bilingual, but they are also professional and social identities, which interact in complex ways. At the level of society, language choice is connected to language ideologies, but these are not necessarily a one-dimensional force binding together the speakers of a language. We can speak about multiple ideologies that describe the same phenomenon from different angles and offer different solutions to daily problems. As such, the multiple ideologies offer differing interpretive and experiential positions with regard to language choice and use. And it is within this field of multiple identities and multiple language ideologies that the musicians, thanks to the creative potential offered by art, can both stabilize and critically study the varying cultural positions present in the society.

Bibliography Allardt, Erik (1997). Vårt land, vårt språk. Kahden kielen kansa. En attitydundersökning om det svenska i Finland. Suomalaisia asenteita ruotsin kieleen Suomessa. Helsingfors: Svenska Finlands folkting. Allardt, Erik / Starck, Christian (1981). Språkgränser och samhällsstruktur. Finlandssvenskarna i jämförande perspektiv. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Åström, Anna-Maria / Lindqvist, Yrsa / Lönnqvist, Bo (eds.) (2001). Gränsfolketsbarn. Finlandssvensk marginalitet och självhävdelse kulturanalytiskt perspektiv. Helsingfors: Svenska litteratursällskapet i Finland. Barth, Fredrik (1969). »Introduction.« In: Ethnic Groups and Boundaries. The Social Organization of Cultural Difference. Ed by Fredrik Barth. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, pp. 9-38.

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WHY DO SONGS HAVE WORDS IN DIFFERENT LANGUAGES? Bell, Allan (2006). »Speech Accommodation Theory and Audience Design.« In: Encyclopedia of Language & Linguistics. Amsterdam: Elsevier Science (2nd edition), pp. 648-651. Berger, Harris M. (2003). »Introduction.« In: Global Pop, Local Language. Ed. by Harris M. Berger and Michael Thomas Carroll. Jackson, MS: University Press of Mississippi, pp. ix-xxvi. Berger, Harris M. / Carroll, Michael Thomas (ed.) (2003). Global Pop, Local Language. Jackson, MS: University Press of Mississippi. Brusila, Johannes (2008). »Den finlandssvenska populärmusikens vara eller inte vara -diskursiva och nymaterialistiska utgångspunkter för etnicitetsinriktad musikforskning.« In: Etnomusikologian vuosikirja 20. Helsinki: Suomen etnomusikologinen seura, pp. 301-321. Brusila, Johannes (2009). »Between Minor and Major. Discursive and Neomaterialist Reflections on Lasse Mårtenson and ›Finland-Swedish‹ Popular Music.« In: Voices of the Weak: Music and Minorities. Ed. by Zuzana Jurková and Lee Bidgood. Praha: NGO Slovo21 & Faculty of Humanities of Charles University, pp. 34-58. Brusila, Johannes (2010). »›Maximum Output for Minimum Input.‹ 1G3B and the Reterritorialization of a Finland-Swedish Metal Identity on the Internet.« In: IASPM@Journal 1:2, http://www.iaspmjournal.net/index.php/IASPM_Journal/ article/view/541 (accessed July 18, 2015). Brusila, Johannes (forthcoming). »Durmusikens förvaltare och mollmurens vältare. Dansbandsmusiken som av- och återterritorialiserare av Svenskfinland.« In: Modersmålets sånger. Finlands svenskheter framställda genom musik. Ed. by Johannes Brusila, Pirkko Moisala and Hanna Väätäinen, Helsingfors: Svenska litteratursällskapet i Finland. Burr, Vivien (1995). An Introduction to Social Constructionism. London: Routledge. Einarsson, Jan (2004). Språksociologi. Lund: Studentlitteratur. Feld, Steven / Fox, Aaron A. (1994). »Music and Language.« In: Annual Review of Anthropology 23, pp. 25-53. Frith, Simon (1987). »Why Do Songs Have Words?« In: Lost in Music: Culture, Style and the Musical Event. Ed. by Avron Levine White. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, pp. 77-106. Hall, Stuart (1992). »The Question of Cultural Identity.« In: Modernity and its Futures. Ed. by Stuart Hall, David Held and Tony McGrew. Cambridge: Polity Press & Open University, pp. 273-316. Hall, Stuart (1996). »Introduction: Who Needs ›Identity‹?« In: Questions of Cultural Identity. Ed. by Stuart Hall and Paul du Gay. London: Sage Publications, pp. 1-17. Hene, Birgitta (1997). »Ett språks värde.« In: Svenska som andraspråk och andra språk. Festskrift till Gunnar Tingbjörn. Ed. by Anders-Börje Andersson. Göteborg: Institutionen för svenska språket, Göteborgs universitet, pp. 135-151. Larkey, Edward (2000). »Just for fun? Language choice in German popular music.« In: Popular Music and Society 24: 3, pp. 1-20. Lilliestam, Lars (1998). Svensk rock. Musik, lyrik, historik. Göteborg: Bo Ejeby förlag. Lindberg, Ulf (1995). Rockens text. Ord, musik och mening. Stockholm, Stehag: Brutus Östlings bokförlag Symposion. Loman, Bengt (1983). »Perspektiv på Bergroth.« In: Svenskt i Finland 1. Ed. by Max Engman and Henrik Stenius. Helsingfors: Svenska litteratursällskapet i Finland, pp. 71-97.

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JOHANNES BRUSILA Lönnqvist, Bo (2001a). »Symboler och etnisk dramatisering.« In: Gränsfolket barn. Ed. by Anna-Maria Åström, Bo Lönnqvist and Yrsa Lindqvist. Helsingfors: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, pp. 223-225. Lönnqvist, Bo (2001b). »Diskursen oh det oartikulerade varandet. Ett ifrågasättande av identitetskonstruktionen.« In: Gränsfolket barn. Ed. by Anna-Maria Åström, Bo Lönnqvist and Yrsa Lindqvist. Helsingfors: Svenska Litteratursällskapet i Finland, pp. 443-450. Mackey, William F. (2000). »The Description of Bilingualism.« In: The Bilingualism Reader. Ed. by Li Wei. London, New York: Routledge, pp. 26-54. McCann, Anthony / Ó Laoire, Lillis (2003). »›Raising One Higher than the Other.‹ The Hierarchy of Tradition in Representations of Gaelic- and English-Language Song in Ireland.« In: Global Pop, Local Language. Ed. by Harris M. Berger and Michael Thomas Carroll. Jackson, MS: University Press of Mississippi, pp. 233-265. Meyerhoff, Miriam (2001). »Dynamics of Differentiation: On Social Psychology and Cases of Language Variation.« In: Sociolinguistics and Social Theory. Ed. by Nicolas Coupland, Srikant Sarangi and Cristopher N. Cadlin. Harlow: Longman, pp. 61-87. Romaine, Suzanne (1989). Bilingualism. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Schmitz-Emans, Monika (ed.) (2004). »Literatur und Vielsprachigkeit. Aspekte, Themen, Voraussetzungen.« In: Literatur und Vielsprachigkeit (= Hermeia. Grenzüberschreitende Studien zur Literatur- und Kulturwissenschaft 7). Heidelberg: Synchron, pp. 11-26. Small, Christopher (1997). Musicking, The Meanings of Performing and Listening. Hanover, NH: University of New England. Tandefelt, Marika (2003). Tänk om ... Svenska språknämndens förslag till handlingsprogram för svenskan i Finland. Helsingfors: Forskningscentralen för de inhemska språken. Trudgill, Peter (1983). On Dialect. Social and Geographical Perspectives. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Wei, Li (2000). »Dimensions of bilingualism.« The Bilingualism Reader. Ed. by Li Wei. London, New York: Routledge, pp. 3-25.

Interviews (Translations from Swedish to English by Johannes Brusila) Plogman, Charles (12.12.2008). Interviewer Johannes Brusila. Heartbreak Stereo (12.1.2009). Interview with members of Heartbreak Stereo: Alfred Kullberg and Robin Reuter. Interviewer Johannes Brusila. Le Corps Mince de Francoise (1.6.2009). Interview with the members of Le Corps Mince de Francoise: Emma Kemppainen, Mia Kemppainen and Malin Nyqvist. Interviewer Johannes Brusila. Lindqvist, Jan-Erik (13.3.2007). Interviewer Johannes Brusila. Martin, Hans (25.11.2007). Interviewer Johannes Brusila. Nörttibois Crew (15.12.2008). Interview with members of Nörttibois Crew: Mikael »Dt1« Hästö and Elias »Elias L.« Levo. Interviewer Johannes Brusila. Pappas eget band (13.11.2009) Interview with the members of Pappas eget band: Niklas Rosström and Niklas Nylund. Interviewer Johannes Brusila. Qruu (Johan Kvarnström) (4.3.2009). Interviewer Johannes Brusila

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Radio programmes (Translations from Swedish to English by Johannes Brusila) Ginström, Gunilla (2014). Vega Visor. Interviewee: Bo Sundström (Bo Kaspers orkester). Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 1.9.2014. Granö, Viktor (2014). Dokumenterat: Vem är Häxjesus. Interviewee: Akse Pettersson. Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 31.4.2014. Hagström, Marcus (2005). Egocentrum. Interviewees: Marcus »Hagge« Hagström and Pia Manns of Paradisbacka. Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 18.12.2005. Hansson, Nilla (2010). Åboländsk music. Interviewee: Nilla Hansson. Radio Vega Åboland, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 20.9.2010. Holmberg, Ole (2010) Fokus på Dave Lindholm. Interviewee: Dave Lindholm. Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, 26.1.2010. Lindholm, Frida (2013). Hon som inte rådnar med Jannika B. Interviewee: Jannika B. Yle X3M, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 23.8.2013. Lundin, Thomas (2010). Allt ljus på Jonna Järnefelt. Interviewee: Jonna Järnefelt. Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 28.6.2010. Sandell, Ralf (2011). Kulturtimmen. Interviewee: Qruu. Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 4.8.2011. Simosas, Kjell (2009). Metallrepubliken. Interviewee: Marco Luponero. Radio Extrem, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 24.8.2009. Törnroos, Benny (2011). Du sköna sång, del 37. Interviewee: Lasse Eriksson. Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 3.7.2011. Törnroos, Benny (2013). Fonden. Interviewee: Frida Andersson. Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 2.12.2013. Törnroos, Benny (2015). Fonden, Spelmannen, jazzdiggaren, visvännen och radiomannen Åke Grandell. Del 2. Interviewee: Åke Grandell. Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 9.3.2015. Willows, Elin (2012). Kulturtimmen: Vasas flora och fauna. Interviewees: Mattias Björkas and Iiris Viljanen of Vasas flora och fauna. Radio Vega, Finnish Broadcasting Company, broadcast 15.5.2012.

Discography Julkinen Sana & Ricky-Tick Big Band (2013). »Mitä sä pelkäät.« On: Burnaa. Rokka (Sony) 88883 712602. Julkinen Sana & Ricky-Tick Big Band (2013). »Rakkaudella vihaajille.« On: Burnaa. Rokka (Sony) 88883 712602.

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Abstract This article takes as its starting point the idea that a musician's choice of which language to use in song lyrics is an important but often neglected field of study. Even small linguistic nuances can signify ethnic, social, or aesthetic positions and have consequences for the structure of the music, its industrial dissemination and potential, and how it is received and understood. The aim is to study what factors motivate artists in the choices they make and how their choices relate to their sociolinguistic and cultural contexts, musical framework and construction of identity. Based on a study of musicians who belong to the Swedish-speaking minority of Finland, the so-called »Finland-Swedes«, the article claims that language choice is never a straightforward choice of adopting an existing linguistic structure and ideology. A musician's creative work incorporates an opportunity to negotiate differing opinions and positions in such a way that the complexity of linguistic questions becomes a vital part of his or her artistry.

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»O B I A A

P Ɛ S Ɛ Ɔ K Ɔ I N T E R N A T I O N A L .«

NEGOTIATING THE LOCAL AND THE GLOBAL GHANAIAN HIPLIFE MUSIC

IN

Florian Carl Obiaa pɛ sɛ ɔkɔ international Ɛno ne answer? Kwame, yɛfiri one ansa na yɛkɔ two Wo nni ntaban, ɛnso wo pɛ sɛ wotu. Everybody wants to become ›international‹ Is that the answer? Kwame, we start from ›one‹ before we go to ›two‹ You don't have wings, yet you want to fly. (Obour feat. Okyeame Kwame & Richie: »The Game«, Crentsil/Obour 2006)

Introduction Ghana's soundscape is currently dominated by three major trends. The perhaps most pervasive of these, permeating public and private spaces, is gospel music. The gospel music industry has been fueled by the ever-growing number of charismatic churches that, in the words of one author, have »quite successfully colonized public space« (Meyer 2008: 84) over the past few decades. The rise of neo-Pentecostal Christianity in Ghana has fostered a distinctive Christian popular culture and aesthetics that incorporates both local and international styles (Carl 2012 and 2014b; Meyer 2008). The second major trend is highlife, Ghana's classical form of popular dance band music, which prevailed throughout much of the twentieth century (Collins 1996). In contrast to dance band music up until the 1980s, highlife is nowadays often based on synthesized and computer-programmed sounds (Collins 2012). Since the late 1970s, highlife in its live-performed form has also entered Christian churches, so that in terms of musical style there are

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strong overlaps between gospel music and highlife (Carl 2014a; Collins 2004). Finally, the third trend in Ghanaian popular music, which is the focus of this article, is hiplife. Hiplife first emerged in the 1990s as the Ghanaian variant of rap music. It fuses US-American forms of hip-hop with a variety of local popular styles (Shipley 2009a and 2013; Osumare 2012). The name ›hiplife‹ is a compound of the words ›hip-hop‹ and ›highlife‹, which already points to the two major influences that constitute the genre. Its most marked feature are rapped lyrics in Twi, Fante, Ga, Ewe, Pidgin English and other local languages, which are performed over programmed beats, bass lines, and sampled loops. While in the inception of the genre hiplife artists closely followed USAmerican performance models, in the mid-1990s they began to experiment with local musical and poetic forms in order to make their music more meaningful to Ghanaian audiences (Carl/Dankwa 2015; Osumare 2012). As a musical genre embedded in both local and wider transnational cultural flows, drawing on African and African-derived expressive forms, hiplife can more generally be thought of as part of the cultural formation Paul Gilroy (1993) characterized as the ›Black Atlantic‹. In this article I examine hiplife's »poetics of identity« (Krims 2000), focusing specifically on more recent trends and musicians positioning themselves on the market by way of promoting their regional and local identities. A central figure in the localization of hiplife was Reggie Rockstone (Reginald Osei), who is credited with coining the term hiplife, which first appeared on his 1996 EP Tsoo Boi (Shipley 2013: 51-79). Returning to Ghana in 1994 from the UK where he grew up, Rockstone was among the first to develop a virtuosic and polyglot style of rap dominated by the Akan language.1 His seamless code-switching between English, Pidgin and Twi became a model for many subsequent artists, who started to experiment with local beats and rhythms as well as proverbial and indirect forms of speech characteristic for traditional modes of communication (Carl/Dankwa 2015; Yankah 1989). Social critique, for instance, is not expressed directly but through indirect speech forms such as proverbs in traditional contexts. Similarly, communication with traditional authorities is also indirect and always channelled through a spokesperson or ›linguist‹ (okyeame) who mediates between different parties. While the process of localization made the 1

Ghana is a multiethnic nation with an estimated sixty or more languages spo– ken. 47.5 % of the population speak an Akan language as their mother tongue, including dialects like Asante Twi and Akuapem Twi, Mfantse, Nzema and Bono. The second-largest language group is Mole-Dagbani (16.6 %), followed by Ewe (13.9 %) and Ga-Dangme (7.4 %), each including a number of dialectal variants (Ghana Statistical Service 2012: 34).

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inclusion of hiplife into the national canon possible, in a further development artists began highlighting their different regional identities more explicitly. Consequently, various artists in Ghana began to explore in their music national, regional, and local identities, so that it is possible now to speak of Ewe, Fante, or Ga rap respectively. I argue that to understand hiplife's poetics of identity, it is useful to conceptualize hiplife as social imaginary or public that »comes into being through an address to indefinite strangers« (Warner 2002: 120). Publics, following Michael Warner, are performative, involving »poetic world making« (ibid.: 114); they constitute »multicontextual spaces of circulation, organized not by a place or an institution but by the circulation of discourse« (ibid.: 119). Warner's conception of publics as multicontextual spaces of circulation incorporates Mikhail Bakhtin's notion of »addressivity«, which points to the implicit conventions within expressive or artistic forms »which assign a position from which [every genre] expects to be received« (Bakhtin 1986: 98). Following this definition, I use the terms ›genre‹ and ›public‹ interchangeably. My discussion in the following is based on the analysis of songs as well as media discourses, assuming with Adam Krims (2000: 3) that the poetics of identity of any musical genre is »partially — and crucially — a poetics of musical organization«. Needless to say that the linguistic dimension is one of the most important aspects of hiplife's ›poetic world making‹. In the next section I will first examine patterns of genre-making in hiplife more generally. I will, then, turn my attention to one upcoming artist in particular, Teephlow, and use him as a case in point to discuss issues of regional and local identity that are increasingly evident in hiplife, thus, contributing to the growing literature on hiplife music in Ghana in particular and African hip-hop more generally (e.g. Carl/Dankwa 2015; Charry 2012; Osumare 2012; Shipley 2009a, 2009b and 2013).

Playing the Game: Genre-Making and Hiplife's ›Poetics of Identity‹ One of hiplife's inherent qualities results from an intricate mix of artistic innovations on the one hand and the stress of continuity on the other. From its inception, intertextual allusions to existing expressive forms were among the prime characteristics of the genre, most significantly cross-references to older highlife songs. A case in point is the opening verse of »Tsoo Boi« by Reggie Rockstone, which was re-released on his debut album Makaa Maka!! (Rockstone 1997). Set over a hip-hop beat and a simple two-measure bass

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line reminiscent of West Coast groups like Cypress Hill, Rockstone raps, for instance, »Adwoa, Adwoa, sɛ mɛntumi anka no yie, kosɛ, kosɛ« (›Adwoa, Adwoa [name], if I wasn't able to say it well, sorry, sorry‹). This line is a reference to the highlife classic »Adwoa« by A. B. Crentsil. Tellingly, Crentsil released a new version of the song »Adwoa« together with rapper Obour on the 2006 album Best Of The Lifes: Highlife Meets Hiplife (Crentsil/Obour 2006), a production that underpinned the continuities connecting classical guitar band highlife with hiplife music (see also Osumare 2012: 168-170). This connection was further explored and celebrated in the course of Ghana's 50th Independence Day festivities in the year 2007, where a concert under the theme »From Highlife to Hiplife« was staged on Accra's Independence Square. As part of the countrywide celebrations of Ghana's jubilee year, the show officially acknowledged hiplife as a ›Ghanaian‹ genre, thus, incorporating it into the national canon (cf. Plageman 2013: 2f.).2 In another line of »Tsoo Boi« Rockstone raps, »Ako te brɔfo a, me nso mete Fante / Frɛ, meyɛ Asante« (›If the parrot understands English, then I, too, speak Fante / Call, I am Asante‹). Again, listeners familiar with highlife music will recognize the allusion to guitarist George Darko's »Ako te brɔfo«, a song originally released in 1983, which became extremely popular in Ghana and its diaspora because of its innovative sound (Carl 2014a). Darko's song was recorded and produced in Berlin, Germany, and came to stand for a new development in Ghanaian popular music known as burger highlife. The term ›burger‹ in Ghanaian discourse, refers to somebody »who lives or has lived abroad and who adopted a specific habitus and style. [...] As a social type, the burger is associated with economic capital accumulated through travel and its public display« (ibid.: 257, original emphasis). Rockstone, too, in his »Tsoo Boi« plays with this image and the sociocultural capital associated with international travel when he raps lines such as, »Mepɛ ntɛm akɔ me kurom akɔdi hene / Aburokyire abranteɛ, mentumi nni abeteɛ« (›I quickly want to go to my hometown to become chief / As a young man from abroad, you don't expect me to eat kokonte [a type of local food]‹). Rockstone's image as »aburokyire abranteɛ«, a fashionable young cosmopolitan who has traveled and lived abroad, is further underlined by his decidedly American accent anytime he raps in English.

2

Similar events on Independence Square were staged earlier in Ghana's history. Perhaps most significant among these was the »Soul to Soul« concert in 1971. The show connected Ghana's musical heritage and African American performers like Wilson Pickett and The Staple Singers, thus, stressing Ghana's central position within the Black Atlantic world (Carl 2009: 89-96).

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On the level of musical structure we find similar allusions to existing forms and genres. Again, Rockstone's debut album might serve as a case in point. The title track »Makaa Maka« (›If I've said it, I said it‹), for instance, sets out with the rhythmic pattern of adowa (figure 1), a traditional drumming type and dance associated with the Akan people in Ghana (see Younge 2011: 339). This rhythm is then overlaid by a classical hip-hop beat that creates an additional layer in the polyrhythmic structure, pointing to hiplife's identity as both traditionally Ghanaian and cosmopolitan at the same time (figure 2):

Figure 1: Adowa timeline and rhythmic pattern

Figure 2: Adowa rhythmic pattern combined with hip-hop beat

Another common timeline in many hiplife songs, sometimes subtly implied in the overall musical structure, sometimes more explicitly sounding, is a rhythmic topos typical for a number of Ghanaian drumming styles, as for instance kpanlogo and jamma (cf. Younge 2011: 286). This timeline is akin to the Caribbean rumba clave, but typically realized at a faster pace:

Figure 3: Jamma and kpanlogo timeline

Beyond common intertextual references like these that situate the genre within a broader field of competing social discourses, another constitutive feature of hiplife is its self-referentiality and an embedded discourse of

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self-critique (cf. Osumare 2012: 173-176). This is particularly evident in Obour's 2008 track »The Game«, featuring colleague rappers Okyeame Kwame and Richie. I cited an excerpt of »The Game« at the outset of this article. The song is basically a critique of hiplife's increasing commercialization and the, from Obour's point of view, often uninspired copying of foreign models for the sake of quick money, which is captured in the phrase, »obiaa pɛ sɛ ɔkɔ international« (›everybody wants to become international‹). The issue of ›internationalism‹ is a common theme in Ghanaian social discourse, connected to imageries like the aforementioned burger and coupled with the underappreciation of home-grown cultural traditions that are frequently perceived as provincial, outdated or ›too local‹. In his critique of hiplife, Obour doesn't spare himself when he raps in his song, »Me ne mo mmienu nyinaa ka ho / Na hiplife ayɛ tan / Yɛn nyinaa wɔ Ghana / Yɛte ha twɛn manna / Enti oburoni bi na ɔmmɛyɛ ne yi ansa?« (›I and all of you are to blame that hiplife is spoiled / We are all in Ghana waiting for manna / So, should some foreigner come and fix it for us before?‹). Part of the problem with hiplife, as far as Obour's »The Game« is concerned, is a more general lack of professionalism and commitment on the part of artists and producers. In the rappers words as featured in the lyrics of his song: »Producer te Kantamanto, nnwom no watena so Distribution ɛnkɔ so, promotion nso ɛnkɔ so Wo to nnwom no a ɛmmɔ so Studio engineers ahɔdoɔ no nso pɛsɛ wɔ mixi Afei nnwom no yɛ ɔmo n ɔnoaa ɛdiisi Owie a ɔse hiplife is dying« (›A producer in Kantamanto [part of Accra] has worked on the song / The distribution doesn't go well, as does the promotion / You sing the song, but it doesn't catch on / Different studio engineers want to remix it / Now, when the song gets worse, you start to ›diss‹ / And after everything you say that hiplife is dying‹) (Obour feat. Okyeame Kwame & Richie: »The Game«, Crentsil/Obour 2006). This constant search for the identity of hiplife and the negotiation of genre boundaries in songs themselves is quite typical; explicit genre-making, we might say, is a constitutive feature of hiplife as a genre and its poetics of identity itself. Unsurprisingly, then, Obour's »The Game« did not remain unanswered. In the song »Kaseɛbɔ« (›News‹) by another pioneer of hiplife, Obrafour, released in 2009 and featuring his Ghanaian rapper colleague Guru, the social imaginary of hiplife as a »multicontextual space of circu-

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»OBIAA PƐ SƐ ƆKƆ INTERNATIONAL«

lation« (Warner 2002: 119) is quite literally acted out and becomes, in effect, itself the point of reference. It is not only genre-immanent crossreferences to other songs that feature in »Kaseɛbɔ«, but the intertextual circulation of discourses constitutive of publics is itself mimicked. Hiplife's self-referentiality and reflexivity is thus taken to another level. The music video to »Kaseɛbɔ« takes us into the studio of a radio station, while the chorus of the song announces, »Yɛkyeakyea mo nyinaa, yɛde kaseɛbɔ brɛbrɛ mo nyinaa« (›We greet all of you, we are bringing you the news‹). Featured Ghanaian artist Guru, posing as a radio presenter, starts rapping: »Ɔman dehyeɛ, mekyea mo / Execution FM na woaso gu so / Nnɔnsia kaseɛbɔ mede rebrɛ mo / Mo somfo Guru na ɛde kaseɛbɔ yi brɛ mo« (›Good people, I greet you / You are listening to Execution FM / It is the six o'clock news that I am bringing you / Your servant Guru brings you this news‹). Guru announces that he has a surprise guest on phone whose latest track he is even using as his ringtone. His guest is, of course, Obrafour, about whom all sorts of rumors have been circulating. Guru asks him whether the rumors would be true and when his new album is coming out. Obrafour then comes in with his rap, mimicking a call-in radio show with their frequent technical problems due to bad phone connections: [Obrafour] »Hello? Hello?« / [Guru] »Yɛte won ka, wo deɛ kasa« (›We can hear you, speak‹) / [Obrafour] »Yiee, na m'ahoma yi / Koraa deɛn koraa ni? / Wote me nka? / Metumi kasa? / Ei, sorry na m'ahoma no retwitwa« (›Yie, this my line / What at all is this? / Do you hear me? / Can I speak? / Ey, sorry, my line is cutting‹). Finally, Obrafour responds to the rumors mentioned by Guru and a conversation unfolds. No, he had not been campaigning with Obama, neither did he stop rapping. He would be, as he explains, as vibrant as ever. Obrafour's and Guru's dialogue is interspersed with short scenes and comments depicting the audience's reactions to and participation in their conversation. A woman following on radio, for instance, referring to Obrafour's rapping, says to her husband: »Ei, wei deɛ sɛ mekaaeɛ, n'ano ate paa o!« (›Ei, like I said, as for this one, he is very eloquent!‹). At a later point Guru asks Obrafour about the song »The Game« and whether it would be true that hiplife, as that song claims, is dead. Again, an audience reaction is depicted, showing how a conversation between a group of three young men in the street unfolds: »Na hiplife awu, wosiee no wɔ Togo anaa Gabon? First no a, na studio yɛ one wɔ Nkran ha mpo, hiplife annwu, na nndɛ a studios dɔɔso? Sɛ nsɛm no ebinom reka a wonnwen ho. Boys no wɔn anom nsɛm asa« (›If hiplife is dead, was it buried in Togo or Gabon? At first, when there was only one studio in Accra, hiplife wasn't dead, so how much more now as

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studios abound? People don't think before they talk. The boys seem to have no words anymore‹). The stylistic means illustrated above underscore the playfulness of hiplife's poetics of identity. Genre-making in hiplife is a reflexive and selfreferential process, a form of rhetorical play akin to what Henry Louis Gates, Jr., described as signifyin(g). Signification, here, »is tropological; it is often characterized by pastiche; and, most crucially, it turns on repetition of formal structures, and their difference« (Gates 1983: 685f.). It seems that this is a more general quality of public discourses that, according to Warner, have an inherent formal tension, something Bakhtin (1986) referred to as the double-voicing of speech genres. As Warner writes: »In publics, a double movement is always at work. Styles are mobilized, but they are also framed as styles. […] Quite commonly the result can be a double-voiced hybrid. Differential deployment of style is essential to the way public discourse creates the consciousness of stranger sociability« (Warner 2002: 108).

»This is Fante Rap!« On November 20, 2014, one of Cape Coast's major radio stations, Atlantic 100.5 FM, was playing the new track »Hosanna« by Teephlow, feat. Nature and Kwabena Kwabena. Commenting on the music, the radio host enthusiastically announced, »wow, this is Fante rap!« Produced by the prominent Ghanaian beat maker Hammer on his Last 2 label, Teephlow, among a few others like Kofi Kinaata, has made a name for himself with his innovative, eloquent rapping in Fante. While Teephlow is from Cape Coast, Kofi Kinaata comes from Takoradi. Teephlow is particularly noted for his improvised freestyle raps and rapid code-switching between Fante and Pidgin English, emulating and aestheticizing the youth slang of the coastal towns and campuses of south-central Ghana. In »Hosanna« Teephlow basically gives thanks to God for how far he has brought him, giving credit to those who helped him along the way. The musical structure of the track prominently features the jamma timeline (see figure 3). Right in the first verse Teephlow establishes his identity, which is directly linked to his regional origins, when he raps: »Yeah, Last 2, abi, you know / First of all yɛnfa nndaase / fa ma Nyame ɔwɔ soro ne asaase / ›Cause mefi Cape Central« (›First of all let us give thanks to God, Thou art in heaven and on earth, because I'm from Cape [Coast], Central [Region]‹).

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As with hiplife more generally, it is a certain entrepreneurial spirit and the image of the self-made artists that is also celebrated in »Hosanna«, combined with a religious undertone that is more typical for charismatic Christianity. In this sense, the song combines two complementary discourses about self-making and success. As Shipley writes, »the parallel appeals of hip-hop and charismatism in marketizing Africa reveal them as two sides of a moral argument about self-making. They represent opposing models for imagining success: the sacred and the profane« (Shipley 2013: 76). Here, however, the sacred and the profane model do not stand in opposition, but rather complement and, indeed, are fused into each other. As a former student of the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST) in Kumasi, Teephlow's background is quite typical for hiplife artists in general. In contrast to US American rap, which originated among disadvantaged Black youths in the urban ghettos, hiplife in Ghana rather emerged within the milieu of middle-class boarding schools and colleges, where students had access to technology and Western popular culture (Shipley 2009a). This is despite the fact that, particularly in the earlier phase of the genre, some hiplife groups in Ghana have been trying to coopt the ghetto or ›gangsta‹ image to market their music. In Teephlow's case, references to his Fante background serve as identity markers and to brand his public persona. For his fans it seems particularly the local flair and language use that is attractive and which makes him unique among hiplife artists. This becomes obvious, for instance, in the reactions to a freestyle session on the Accra-based online station UrbanPhace TV, where people left comments like: »I just love the way he says words!!!! The Fante rap is crazy«, or, »T Phlow u dey kill the fanti waaa« (›Teephlow, you are really killing [i.e. mastering eloquently] the Fante‹). Somebody else proclaimed, »teephlow is da king of fanti rap«, and yet another commenter held that »fanti rap is dope!« It is particularly in the introductory sections and opening lines of songs that very specific identity markers are used which, we might say, serve as a form of branding. Consider, for instance, Teephlow's 2013 release »Al Qaeda«, featuring his colleague Fante rapper Kopow. The track is a replica of the popular Ghanaian dance alkayida that went viral about two years ago — itself, of course, already a reference to and ironic comment on larger geopolitical developments. In the opening lines of Teephlow's and Kopow's version of alkayida the two announce: »Yɛdi asa fofor no aba, ɛyɛ fresh / Wonim ne dzin, alkayida / Obama city, Fante configuration / Kopow on the

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beat, abi you know / Teephlow on the MIC« (›We do the new dance that has come, it's fresh / You know its name, alkayida / Obama city, Fante configuration‹). Apart from the usage of the Fante dialect that is significant here, we find references like »Obama city« and »Fante configuration«. The first of these became a well-known expression after president Obama's state visit to Ghana in 2009, in the course of which he also came to visit the castle in Cape Coast, which is among a number of coastal forts that played an inglorious role in the transatlantic slave trade. The fact that Obama chose to visit Cape Coast and no other city apart from the capital Accra during his short stay became a source of local pride, valorizing the otherwise rather insignificant and sleepy city of Cape Coast, as it were, as a place of international appeal. Through Obama's visit, the city caught the attention of the international community for at least one day. The term »Fante configuration«, used to designate the collaboration between Teephlow and Kopow, on the other hand, plays with a reference to the historical Fante Confederation, a proto-nationalist alliance of the Fante kingdoms in the late nineteenth century in the then Gold Coast that played an important role in the evolution of Ghana as a modern nation-state. Such crossreferences to the recent as well as more distant past play, as it turns out, a significant role in the making of Fante rap, adding to its local flair and setting it apart from other kinds of hiplife. Drawing on this image, Teephlow's colleague Kofi Kinaata released a song entitled »Fante Rap God« in 2014, trying to establish himself as the ultimate master of Fante rap. Kinaata is from the coastal city of Takoradi in Ghana's Western Region, which in more recent times entered the national consciousness as the »oil and gas city«. Since the discovery of significant oil and gas reserves off the coast of Takoradi, the Ghanaian economy has been upgraded from a highly indebted to a lower middle-income country, fostering the hope of economic prosperity in the near future. Even though many common people in Ghana are still waiting to participate in this unhoped-for economic boom, as a symbol, the city of Takoradi came to stand for the new Ghanaian dream as an oil-producing nation. Apart from references to the urban space of Takoradi, the poetics of identity in Fante Rap God also works primarily through the use of the Fante dialect, which more generally assumes the function of a style. A fan, in a comment to an upload of the song on YouTube expressed this very clearly, when he declared his admiration for the usage of the Fante dialect in Kinaata's song, but admitted at the same time that he himself does not even understand the language. Language, in this instance, becomes then more a matter of form than of content, and it might be argued that this is true for hiplife more generally.

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Conclusion In this article I have looked at different trends of localization in Ghanaian hiplife music. Hiplife emerged in the 1990s as local version of hip-hop. While at the outset, artists closely followed foreign performance models, from the mid-1990s onwards a process of localization set in that eventually established hiplife as a »Ghanaian genre«. The integration of hiplife into the national canon was an important step in its further development and differentiation. Thus, in more recent times artists have started to explore regional and local identities in their music in order to position themselves on the market. A case in point is Fante rap, associated with upcoming artists like Teephlow or Kofi Kinaata, who have been impressing their audiences with their decidedly local styles. Overall, it seems that with the increasing internal differentiation of hiplife, references to its international predecessor, US-American hip-hop, but also to local prototypes like highlife that were crucial in the initial establishment of hiplife as a national genre, have become less important. As a multi-contextual space of circulation, the social imaginary of hiplife is therefore becoming increasingly self-referential.

Bibliography Bakhtin, Mikhail M. (1986). Speech Genres and Other Late Essays. Translated by Vern W. McGee. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Carl, Florian (2009). Berlin/Accra. Music, Travel, and the Production of Space. Münster: LIT. Carl, Florian (2012). »›Never Go Back‹: Ghanaian Gospel Music, Born-Again Christianity, and the Nonconformity of the Ethnographer.« In: Norient Academic Online Journal 1; http://norient.com/en/academic/ghanaian-gospel (accessed July 8, 2015). Carl, Florian (2014a). »From Burger Highlife to Gospel Highlife: Music, Migration, and the Ghanaian Diaspora.« In: The Globalization of Musics in Transit: Musical Migration and Tourism. Ed. by Simone Krüger and Ruxandra Trandafoiu. London, New York: Routledge, pp. 251-271. Carl, Florian (2014b). »The Ritualization of the Self in Ghanaian Gospel Music.« In: Ghana Studies 17, pp. 101-129. Carl, Florian / Dankwa, John W. (2015). »Hiplife Music and Rap in Ghana as Narrative and Musical Genre.« In: Narrating (Hi)stories in West Africa. Ed. by Bea Lundt and Ulrich Marzolph. Berlin, Münster: LIT, pp. 101-112. Charry, Eric (ed.) (2012). Hip Hop Africa: New African Music in a Globalizing World. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Collins, John (1996). Highlife Time. Accra: Anansesem Publications (2nd edition). Collins, John (2004). »Ghanaian Christianity and Popular Entertainment: Full Circle.« In: History in Africa 31, pp. 407-423.

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FLORIAN CARL Collins, John (2012). »Contemporary Ghanaian Popular Music Since the 1980s.« In: Hip Hop Africa: New African Music in a Globalizing World. Ed. by Eric Charry. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, pp. 211-233. Gates, Henry Louis, Jr. (1983). »The ›Blackness of Blackness‹: A Critique of the Sign and the Signifying Monkey.« Critical Inquiry 9:4, pp. 685-723. Ghana Statistical Service (2012). 2010 Population and Housing Census: Summary Report of Final Results. Accra: Ghana Statistical Service. Gilroy, Paul (1993). The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Krims, Adam (2000). Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press. Meyer, Birgit (2008). »Powerful Pictures: Popular Christian Aesthetics in Southern Ghana.« In: Journal of the American Academy of Religion 76:1, pp. 82-110. Osumare, Halifu (2012). The Hiplife in Ghana: West African Indigenization of HipHop. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Plageman, Nate (2013). Highlife Saturday Night: Popular Music and Social Change in Urban Ghana. Bloomington, Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Shipley, Jesse Weaver (2009a). »Aesthetic of the Entrepreneur: Afro-Cosmopolitan Rap and Moral Circulation in Accra, Ghana.« In: Anthropological Quarterly 82:3, pp. 631-668. Shipley, Jesse Weaver (2009b). »Comedians, Pastors, and the Miraculous Agency of Charisma in Ghana.« In: Cultural Anthropology 24:3, pp. 523-552. Shipley, Jesse Weaver (2013). Living the Hiplife: Celebrity and Entrepreneurship in Ghanaian Popular Music. Durham, London: Duke University Press. Warner, Michael (2005). Publics and Counterpublics. New York: Zone Books. Yankah, Kwesi (1989). »Proverbs: The Aesthetics of Traditional Communication.« In: Research in African Literatures 20:3, pp. 325-346. Younge, Paschal Yao (2011). Music and Dance Traditions of Ghana: History, Performance and Teaching. Jefferson, NC, London: McFarland.

Discography Crentsil, A.B. / Obour (2006). The Best Of The Lifes: Highlife Meets Hiplife. CD, Tropic Vibe Productions. Rockstone, Reggie (1997). Makaa Maka!!. CD, Kassa Records.

Abstract This article explores hiplife music, the Ghanaian variant of rap. The discussion focuses particularly on how local and global stylistic elements that characterize the ›poetics of identity‹ of hiplife are utilized and manipulated by artists and producers in order to create hiplife's distinctive character and sound. Based on the analysis of selected songs, the article examines how questions of identity are negotiated in hiplife along the nexus between the local, regional, national, and the global.

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ALTERNATIVE GLOBALIZATION IN SOUTHERN FRANCE: MINORITY LANGUAGE AS A CREATIVE TOOL IN OCCITAN POPULAR MUSIC Michael Spanu Paris has often been considered the cultural centre of France, especially as it is the home of many major recording companies. But during the 1970s, a significant number of folk music scenes appeared in other parts of France. The major attribute of these local scenes (in Brittany or Southern France for instance) was the lyrical emphasis on their regional cultural heritage and the use of traditional instruments or/and a regional language (Tenaille 2008; Hennion 2011). In Occitania, folk musicians' work was highly influenced by the rediscovery of Occitan melodies, tales and traditional instruments such as the cabrette or the hurdy-gurdy. The use of the Occitan language was also a significant characteristic of their music. Occitan is a Romance language that has existed for more than a thousand years. It was the troubadours' language from which chivalric romance emerged (Nelli 1989). For instance, the word »love« in French (amour) comes from Occitan. Despite the fame of Occitan music in the 1970s, singing in this language was not »natural«: not all the folk musicians and not all of their audience could understand it (some had already lost the link with their parents' or grandparents' language). Moreover, it revived a conflict with traditional French values based on the notion of »integration« or »assimilation« that implicitly requires the use of only one language (French) in the public sphere (Giordan 2002). But these Occitan musicians found alternative ways to produce and distribute their music by creating a specific and activist network of labels (Ventadorn and Revolum especially) and associations (Cestor 2005). It was therefore a structural way to fight against cultural centralism that was perceived as oppressive and elitist. Now that a new generation of musicians claiming an Occitan identity has begun incorporating stylistic elements from rap, rock or metal, questions of language and identity have to be addressed again. In this article I will show

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how this new generation of Occitan artists challenges the idea of a pure and unique Occitan identity. Even though the high Occitan folk music1 scene appears to be reclusive towards this new Occitan popular music, there are still many connections between the two. However, creating and composing in Occitan continues to be a challenge for the new generation of popular musicians, whether they find inspiration in the folk repertoire or not. Nowadays, new popular musicians hardly eke out a living; they are stuck between the purist Occitan folk scene receiving public or regional subsidies and the popular music market that has very little interest in regional/local expressions. I will try to demonstrate how this specific local context has created a hierarchy of authenticity that plays an important role in popular musicians' practices. More specifically, this hierarchy often relies on a series of discourses claiming to preserve the Occitan identity, which has forced popular artists to find strategies to resist this »identity confinement«. This article is based on eighteen interviews I conducted with artists and bookers between October 2013 and May 2014.

Power and Nostalgia in the Definition of Authentic Occitan Music In the late 1960s, many French singers from the south of France, who were inspired by Anglo-American folksingers (like e.g. Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, Donovan, Woody Guthrie), such as Claude Marti or Los de Nadau, started to write songs in Occitan. The symbolic impact was strong among the Occitan community, especially considering the countercultural global context (Charles-Dominique/Defrance 2008: 16). Indeed, singing in Occitan was linked to a more general left-wing movement opposed to globalized culture that took the rambling man and his acoustic guitar as an example to follow (Charles-Dominique 2011: 138-139). At that time, the language was the main element of regional identity, since the instrumentation was minimal (acoustic guitar) and came from industrial manufactures, not local handcrafters. There weren't many Occitan bands that were specifically concerned with regionality as opposed to universality, such as Perlinpinpin Folc or Los del Sauveterre for instance. After the victory of the socialist party in 1981 these singers either became professional artists or lost their audience (Cestor 2005: 55) because the political battle for their cultural recognition 1

The difference I make between folk and popular music is mainly based on the notion of composition. Folk music focuses on a fixed repertoire of collected texts and melodies that are supposed to be authentically Occitan.

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had been supposedly won. The political dimension of these early folk singers made room for a vast cultural collecting initiative (sound material, dances, stories in the villages, etc.) named »revival« (even in French). What I call »historical deepness«, meaning a high level of collective memory and remembrance (Candau 1998), then became the major criteria to define the Occitan identity. Indeed, new Occitan music had to comply with what it was supposed to have been in the past, even if nobody could exactly tell how it sounded because of the lacking material. The collecting process was then highly ideological and political (Hennion 2011). It became an interpretation that reflected what the main activists wanted the Occitan culture to be in the present: nice-sounding homogenized music for dancing, with simple melodies and lyrics that evoked an idealized past. Until the early 1990s very few Occitan bands had not played folk music from the traditional repertoire (Chabaud 2013). Nevertheless, the militancy and tenacity of many Occitan partisans allowed for the creation of a folk music department at the French conservatory, an Occitan language bachelor at several universities (Pau, Toulouse, etc.) and, above all, bilingual schools (calandreta). This corresponds to a specific moment of French cultural history during the 1980s (Donnat 2003): on the one hand, there was a high-culture type of appropriation of genres that used to be popular (such as jazz and rock for instance, but in this case, regional folk music), and on the other hand, a hybridization of institutions that were traditionally elitist (conservatories, universities and schools embracing specific cultures, Occitan in this case). The only remaining band of this early era of Occitan revival music is Nadau (1973—present), which is also one of the most successful and famous bands currently singing in Occitan. Their work on collective memory, their teaching skills during concerts and their anthem-like songs permitted them to build a very strong and large fan base (thousands of people go to their concerts). They could even afford to free themselves from the usual distribution network and specific media coverage, becoming economically and artistically independent: »We don't have any booker, I never ask to play somewhere, I never promote the band really. People just phone me. I'm lucky for that. It puts me in a strong position, I only sing where I want. We have our own truck, 4 technicians… we can reach 4000 people with that. We don't depend on any booking company. We have our own recording studio, our own label« (Michel Maffrand 2014).2

2

All interview quotations were translated from French into English by the author.

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This is quite an exceptional situation for a band. No other Occitan band can claim to be in such a solid position. However, their success does not really go beyond the Occitan community. Even if their shows in Paris are always sold out, this is due to the strong Occitan community living in the capital and also due to the fans from the south of France who travel to the capital to support »their« band. The recognition of Nadau as a true ambassador of Occitan culture has to do with the way they managed to create a »soundscape« inspired by the Pyrenees Mountains, working as »both ideological space and physical place«, as Donna Weston (2012: 158) writes. In her article, Weston includes language in Nadau's soundscape, but without analysing the band's relationship with languages in general. Indeed, even these pioneers had to learn the Occitan language anew when they started singing. They had »forgotten« it because they could not use it outside their village when they were young or because their parents did not want them to speak it at all, believing that it would be a handicap for their future: »People around me, people who loved me, they all spoke Occitan, so I didn't understand why we couldn't talk about them and their culture at school […]. At 25, I was a mathematics teacher and I discovered this Occitan singer called Marti, singing in dialect, just like my grandmother. […] On stage, he was asking ›Why don't they talk about the language of my country at school?‹ […] So I realized that a huge part of my history had been hidden from me […] and I've spent my whole life like a salmon, swimming against the tide« (Michel Maffrand 2014). So, as with many popular Occitan bands that have started since then, the learning process of the language went with the music practice. More generally, most of their Occitan identity had to be rebuilt. Thus, it has been a constant personal identity exploration for these artists, whether they use the repertoire of traditional Occitan lyrics or not. Nadau also regularly uses French, especially during their concerts, in order to make everybody understand what the songs are about. Nadau's singer Michel Maffrand views their bilingual performances as »nostalgia and collective memory«, not only »place« as Weston argues. It means that most of Nadau's work deals with an ideal representation of Occitan's past culture. Although Nadau is not the only band that shifts languages in order to compromise between their identity and what the audience can understand, they are probably the band that tapped into it the most as interactive storytelling engaged with nostalgia: »I use French during the show in order to introduce the songs in Occitan, so the audience know what it is going to be about. But it's not a simple translation, I do it in a comic way, with jokes and stories. Actually, every presentation is part of the show, it's a piece of art in itself« (ibid.).

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In the same way that they mix French and Occitan, they also use many instruments that are considered traditionally Occitan to accompany the guitar, the bass and the drums. But if Nadau can be considered a popular music band and not a folk one, it is due to the fact that they compose their own melodies and lyrics, even if they are highly inspired by traditional folk music. Indeed, they find the lack of compositions in Occitan regrettable and think that »bands playing dance folk music are a little bit stuck in their own thing« (ibid.). Nadau doesn't play at folk festivals. Moreover, Nadau's songs are registered at the SACEM (the French professional association that collects and redistributes artists' rights), while the folk repertoire belongs to everybody. Yet in concrete musical terms, the difference can be vague. In the case of Nadau, when I asked the singer how he distinguishes between folk melodies and his creations (that are, from my point of view, quite close), he hesitated and finally argued that he »naturally inherited« them from the traditional Occitan culture and sounds. Other Occitan artists are against the notion of copyright. This is particularly the case for Artús (2000—present, formerly known as Familha Artús), an experimental band that takes great inspiration from the Occitan repertoire and uses traditional instruments, but in an unorthodox way (with heavy distortion for instance). Artús' hurdy-gurdy player Romain Baudoin argues that the oral tradition is opposed to the notion of copyright in the sense that »you can't say ›that song belongs to me, if you want to play it you have to pay me‹, because what is really yours? What did you invent?« (Romain Baudoin 2014). This difference between Artús and Nadau regarding copyright hints at a generational gap between Nadau and the rest of the Occitan popular music scene: »There's almost no pure musical creation in Occitan, almost nobody sings Occitan in a modern way. It's a shame. I feel that the continuation of what we did is more than uncertain. I tried to train some younger people, but then they have to touch the audience. There's a contradiction today in the fact that young people play popular music, but they're not popular […]. It remains underground […]. To tell the truth, I'm not very enthusiastic« (Michel Maffrand 2014). Indeed, while younger bands like Artús or Massilia Sound System (1984—present) worked hard to create networks of Occitan bands through their own labels (respectively Pagans Records and Roker Promocion), Nadau does not sponsor anyone, despite their great fame. Nadau's singer does not actually believe in music sponsorship and thinks Nadau's audience is specific in the sense that they seek a »lost memory« of their disappearing culture (not to say disappeared). Thus, among the Occitan world, if the language is obviously a central part of the music's identity, it is definitely not the only cri-

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terion of authenticity. Since Nadau is an exception in terms of popularity and longevity, it is notable that other Occitan popular bands that don't focus on nostalgia have faced several obstacles in their career and in the recognition of their Occitan identity. Nadau's effort on nostalgia is in fact often criticized by these other bands such as Papa Gahus for reducing Occitan identity to a performance of an idealized rural society: »Nadau is like a dinosaur. They oblige other Occitan bands to live in their shadow […]. People go see them live to hear stories from an era that doesn't exist anymore and won't exist again […]. Nadau makes money out of that […]. It's creepy when bands embody a culture or an identity and think they are a messiah« (Sylvain Carrère 2014). If the link between nostalgia and music, in the sense of Nadau, can constitute »a technology for spinning the apparently continuous tale of who one is« (DeNora 2000: 63), other bands then seem sceptical about its capacity to generate modern and politically active identities, especially since nostalgia is considered as »the consciousness of a malaise in the present«, and as »the selective and imaginary mental reconstruction in the present in order to alleviate this unease« (Lebrun 2009: 42). Paradoxically, while »the increasing dominance of the retro market in contemporary popular culture is enabling respective post-war generations [...] to engage in nostalgic representations of what it means to be young« (Benett 2001: 153), the case of contemporary Occitan music does not show a significant impact on the youth. Because of the competition with global pop music, Occitan popular bands are often little known or ignored by young people living in the south of France, which is regrettable knowing the important role of music in teenagers' lifestyle (Octobre/Mercklé/Détrez/ Berthomier 2010). Even the Occitan artists I interviewed acknowledged having been more into English or American rock, punk or rap before finding some interest in Occitan culture and traditional folk music (but their commitment to the folk scene remains ambiguous, as I will argue below). In the end, what can be said is that by trying to »save« the Occitan identity and culture, the folk movement failed to truly connect with young people, and that an ambassador of Occitan popular music such as Nadau has had to rely heavily on nostalgia in order to gather a broader audience. However, during the 1990s and 2000s, Massilia Sound System's reggae/ ragamuffin in French and Occitan succeeded to show the youth a positive and open image of Occitan culture (Chabaud 2005). Unlike the bands from Nadau's activist generation, Massilia Sound System was more perceived as a reggae/dub band than »just« an Occitan band, even if their first record was

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named Parla Patois (»speak dialect« in Occitan). As an acclaimed reggae/ dub band, they quickly turned professional and drew attention to other Occitan bands (»the Mediterranean music buzz«, see Suzanne 2010: 159): Fabulous Trobadors (1987—present), Nux Vomica (1992—present), Gacha Empega (1996—1999), Dupain (2000—present), Lo Cor de la Plana (2003— present), etc. However, the period when this Occitan scene (especially Dupain, Fabulous Trobadours and Massilia Sound System) could benefit from marketing support by major record companies is now over. Most of the Occitan artists remaining from the 1990s (Moussu T and Forabandit's singer Sam Karpienia) and the new ones (Artús, Papa Gahus, Faune, Mauresca and Doctors de Trobar for instance) only get contracts with indie labels or have to create their own labels, driving the Occitan scene further underground.

Authenticity at Heart: The Occitan Language as a Cultural and Creative Tool Songs in Occitan necessarily confuse the francophone listener. The words can be close to French (many of them share the same root, »parlar« is »parler«, »manjar« is »manger«, etc.), yet the whole language sounds strange, almost exotic (sometimes similar to Spanish, with verbs like »cantar«, »costar« or »saber« for instance). Today, its »natural« use within the public sphere is quite rare (Bernissan 2013), even in cafés or other social spaces. In this sense, it can be considered as a »post-vernacular« language (Shandler 2006: 19), which means that its use needs to be justified and that the meaning is more to be found in the use itself and the context than in the content. For being so rare, Occitan has been almost sanctified by a part of the population that cannot speak it but still feel a symbolic attachment to it, but also by activists and legitimate »new speakers« (Costa 2015: 129133). One of the main reasons why popular artists use Occitan, beyond their obvious cultural attachment, is the »aesthetic« value for singing. Unlike »new speakers« who attempt to homogenize the Occitan language, my interviewees prefer local variants of Occitan, considering that they fit some music genres better than others: rock is supposed to work well with the Gascon variant, rap and reggae with Provençal for instance: »In Gascon it's easier to play rock, or even more radical than rock. Try to sing reggae in Gascon, it's gonna sound as joyful as a burial, I promise. It's like Basque, it has a lot of scratchy sounds« (Sylvain Carrère 2014).

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The local scenes follow this geographic and linguistic separation. In Provence, especially in Marseille (where Provençal is spoken), there is a vibrant hip-hop and reggae scene, while in western Occitania (where Gascon is spoken), the scene is more dominated by punk and rock bands. This also reflects the difference between urban and rural areas, where lyrics and themes are almost opposed. On the rural side (Gascony and Auvergne), bands have a tendency to use dark (Hitilh, 2009—present), pagan (Artús) or even satanic lyrics (Stille Volk, 1994—present) that are close to a certain traditional troubadour corpus. The urban side is more focused on social and realist issues such as labor life (Sam Karpienia), neighbourhood life (Mauresca), otherness and identity (Massilia Sound System). Beyond their aesthetic value, Occitan variants are cultural tools that merge with different artistic purposes. Despite this diversity among the Occitan popular music scene, there is a common ideology of openness towards other musical and cultural traditions, often inspired by Occitan writer Felix Castan. Musical genres from metal to punk, from rap to reggae, all blend more or less harmoniously with Occitan. At a more political level, none of these bands are separatists. But behind the simple use of Occitan the bands express a political demand for the recognition of the specificity of their culture by French institutions and media. They feel they belong to France but also think that French culture could benefit from Occitan culture: »I believe in what Occitan literature and music could bring to French culture, so it could be more plural, whereas foreign languages won't be of any help. Occitan comes from the inside and it left a very strong mark in France. It's very important to know what you're marked by, but also to find other artistic centres than Paris […]. This is why I'm an Occitanist and I will keep doing things in Occitan« (Claude Sicre 2014). If the words to qualify Occitan's marginalization can be inordinate (Sylvain from Papa Gahus said »genocide«), there is an overall rejection of any kind of victimized position. In fact, they despise the discourse that blames the French state for the disappearance of Occitan. Occitan popular artists have a specific commitment to their music (more »do it yourself« and more independent than folk music) that makes them very suspicious towards activists playing the victim card and waiting for compensation (in the form of subsidies), with no real artistic commitment. Many artists deplored what I call »regionalist opportunism« that consists of Occitan bands finding shows only because they sing in Occitan, even if they are amateurs. Thus, the simple use of the Occitan language in any type of music is not considered enough

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to represent Occitan identity. The notion of »artistic commitment« and, more generally, the reflexive way of building an artistic identity that considers the audience's reception are far more valuable than the language in itself: »It's not because you sing in Occitan that we're all going to be friends […]. Maybe you don't like my music, it's subjective. But you can't say that we didn't work hard on it […]. That's what I don't like about a lot of Occitan music, it's just a pretext, they don't know anything about what they play, there is no commitment. […] There is this band Lou Dalfin that is supposed to be ›Occitan rock‹ but it's just shitty commercial pop music from the 1980s. If they were singing in French, nobody would listen to them« (Romain Baudoin 2014). »With Massilia we always worked from a basis of ›technical specifications‹ [›cahier des charges‹]: how to make a song that is going to be interesting, how to bring across a message, what we shouldn't say […]. It was crafted and was not just a matter of pure inspiration […]. Basically the idea was to position yourself towards society and your environment, so the audience can easily make the song theirs. You have to be careful with the language for instance, it's not just about Occitan but also about the popular language around you, so the greatest number of people can understand you« (Tatou 2014). Many bands I interviewed use the Occitan traditional repertoire at some point3, but they also feel the need to compose, to move forward, not to be stuck in the past, not to be a prisoner of their own regional identity. Their art is a fight against both the disappearance of their cultural specificity and the opposition to any cultural change. Fabulous Trobadors' career (1987— present) illustrates this »identity struggle«. When they started, they were seeking a rural spirit in Occitan culture close to American blues; a kind of wildness that they could not find in French mainstream music. Occitan music was supposed to be »rural« and »basic« (roots), however, Fabulous Trobadors quickly gave up with Occitan folk music when they realized that most of the songs were »too soft« and »pop«, as if »their original essence had been misunderstood« by revival activists (Claude Sicre 2014). To compensate for this lack of authenticity, they started to look for another musical form that could fit the sound of the Occitan language without betraying its rural identity. Surprisingly, Fabulous Trobadors' singer Claude Sicre found it in north-eastern Brazilian percussion techniques:

3

Among the bands I interviewed, Artús, Hitilh, Stille Volk, Nadau, Faune and Baal are those using Occitan instruments and lyrics the most.

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»[What we play] is a basic tambourine-based music as powerful as any rap or reggae. It is linked to our civilization; we can play in the street, in the subway, in the bus, anywhere. For me, the voice, the tambourine, it all goes deep into our history, until the Antiquity. It's not just about modern cities. You can stop, play again, it's spontaneous. You can do that with machines too, but it's more complicated. […] Our message is that you can assume whatever you do and take yourself out of where you are. It's very positive, you can do anything from the bottom, you can change the world, there's no need to be afraid of anybody, of anything« (ibid.). Despite his fame as an Occitan artist, Fabulous Trobadors' singer Claude Sicre finally gave priority to the French language in his songs in order to address his message to a larger and younger audience: »[The young people,] they liked our music [in Occitan], but I wanted to tell them things they could really understand« (ibid.). For him, the message was more important than the language, especially because he found a musical language to match his message. His music was authentic enough and did not need the Occitan language to prove anything, because the Occitan identity, in his mind, was not very different from what inspired him really (American blues and northeastern Brazilian music). In Fabulous Trobadors' music, »Occitanness« according to the folk representation then became very relative. The main sounding proof of folk Occitan identity was eventually the accent, but especially the typical singing format (»battle«) of the troubadour culture that had originated in Occitania. Other artists, such as Sam Karpienia (Dupain and Forabandit's singer) or Tatou (Massilia Sound System, Moussu T e lei jovents), now try to negotiate their Occitan identity while singing in French, especially by keeping their Occitan accent and themes related to the Occitan world (Moussu T et lei jovents sing a lot about the place they live in for instance, see Mademoiselle Marseille or Inventé à la Ciotat). Occitan artists generally shift from Occitan to French with no orthodoxy, which is one of their trademarks. Moreover, many of them also try to »Occitanize« their modern music beyond the single use of the language. Goulamas'k (ska/punk), Hitilh (metal), and Papa Gahus (rock) all occasionally use folk instruments (such as the hurdy-gurdy or the cabrette).

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Shaking the Habitual in Occitania, an Ongoing Struggle Even in Occitania, this popular music can be confusing for the audience, and not only because Occitan is less and less spoken. Many musicians argued that during concerts the comprehension of the lyrics is pretty low, which means the language in itself shouldn't be the problem for Occitan music's lack of recognition. The »problem« of language is in fact highly ideological, despite the fact that Occitan popular music singers claim to use Occitan for its aesthetic values. Occitan activists have accused bands that alternate between singing Occitan and French of giving up the Occitan language. Indeed, for many activists the language remains an important symbol of the Occitan identity. Mauresca's members initially did not want to »think too much« about the language, because they sang in French or Occitan »as it came« (»au feeling«, Chab 2014). Even though they claimed to defend Occitan culture, it was not a sufficient response to these accusations. It created tension among the band, a cognitive dissonance that they finally resolved by starting with Yellow a side project called Doctors de Trobar, a 100 % Occitan rap band. »The closest to protest rap we did with Mauresca was always in French. Some people thought it was cool to understand it all [in the case of the song ›Stéréotype‹], the message was clear and was about Occitan. If we had done it in Occitan… [it would have had less impact]. Then people say: ›you play rap but you do it in French, nobody wants to make Occitan rap, everything you protest against is in French‹, so then we started Doctors de Trobar […]. It was more of a challenge, while ›Stéréotype‹ was about being understood« (Chab 2014). This new band is what I call a »necessary niche«: a musical proposition that resolves the ideological tensions of the scene, even if the audience is very small. Nevertheless, as any musical niche, it can go further and experiment more than mainstream music. In Doctors de Trobar's case, the experimentation is to be found in the lyrics inspired by American thug life mythology, transposed into Occitan: »You do some graffiti, you smoke some weed, you chase some girls, that's what it's about […]. We don't give a shit about politics […], what we do is political because we gather the people, the idea is to spend a good time together […]. At a show in Montpellier, I was playing that ego trip song with a part about the big dick I have […] and after that a guy came to tell me that it was the best line ever« (Yellow 2013).

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By twisting Occitan traditional themes, Doctors de Trobar also deconsecrates the language and the essentialist tendency to think that Occitan should only be used to address certain topics. Many musicians I interviewed confessed that the folk scene's audience (»les tradeux«) rejected them at some point because of their unorthodox use of the language, as in Doctors de Trobar's »extreme« case (see below), but also in the way other bands such as Stille Volk use traditional instruments, texts and melodies: »For this album [Satyre Cornu], we had Occitan lyrics from the traditional repertoire and we added some verses of our own. We are generally very criticized [by the folk audience] for taking such freedom, even if it's what Occitan people have been doing forever. Why would you have 30 versions of the same song in the traditional repertoire then? […] It really drives us mad that these people [from the folk audience] claim to be ›folk‹ or ›popular‹, when they actually turn it into something orthodox [›une doxa‹]. I used to play on traditional Occitan dancing parties (›baloche‹), but it's over now. I used to like playing folk music with an acoustic guitar but people couldn't stop saying I couldn't do that because the guitar was not a traditional instrument […]. It's so absurd« (Florant Mercadiers 2014). In the purist folk scene, new instruments (electrified or not) are often despised, as if it was treason to the traditional Occitan identity. Artús is a good example of this disparity in the sense that some members started as metal and rock musicians, but then quickly became professional folk instrumentalists experimenting on the traditional repertoire. The album Drac (2010) is representative of their noisy experiments on traditional Occitan melodies and lyrics, with heavy drums and bass, distorted hurdy-gurdy and screeching vocals. Their music always originates in a traditional song they decide to »twist« until the point »it is no longer recognizable« (Romain Baudoin 2014). The repertoire was helpful at the beginning because they were not fluent enough to write meaningful lyrics in Occitan, even if some of the few lines they added to traditional songs were sometimes — ironically — reappropriated by folk bands. In general, Artús' members aspire to compose all their music, but their work on Occitan repertoire was a way to deeply connect with their culture. In the end, this process makes Artús more an avant-garde type of band, in spite of their own self-concept: »In some way, we could be considered as real traditional Occitan musicians, because we inherited it from our parents. But in reality, to be a real traditional musician, people from here have to identify you as part of the local culture, there has to be a social bond. And with Artús it's not the case. Most of the people don't understand what we do and they don't care […]. It's only when

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we played traditional dancing music that people identified with our music« (ibid.). During a traditional Occitan dancing party (»bal folk«), the songs are codified in order to allow everybody to dance to the same patterns. This dance music which was collected and recomposed long ago is more »popular«, in the sense that it is shared and appreciated by a larger Occitan audience, especially older people. As a result, the inclusion of non-folk bands in folk events can be perceived as a choice based on the pretext of attracting a younger audience. Indeed, folk scene members sometimes invite Occitan popular bands to perform on stage, in an attempt to attract a new audience, but at the risk of appearing artificial and failing completely: »When you rap in Occitan, people think you're gonna wear clogs […]. One day there was a big Occitan event called Total Festum and the organizers invited us to play […]. It was quite well paid […] but when we arrived we realized that we were gonna play in front of old retired people and folk dancers having lunch […]. We started to play but we were so pissed off […] and then a guy came and asked if we could change the music […]. So my first reaction was: ›go fuck yourself‹, but then I realized the guy was actually right! He didn't sign for that, he expected a bunch of assholes playing accordion so he could dance bourrée [a traditional Occitan dance]« (Yellow 2013). Despite this contentious relationship with the traditional Occitan audience, many artists I interviewed (especially those using the folk repertoire) acknowledged that they play in folk bands on occasion, but they are very selective about whom they play with (Artús is close to the bands from the label La Novia for instance). Even if many despise the folk scene's narrowminded mentality, they listen to traditional Occitan music and go to folk events from time to time. For many, it is part of their rich and complex musical heritage. More than a simple attachment or taste, traditional music can also be a way to make a living for some of these musicians (Artús, Hitilh, Baal and Faune), through teaching music or as professional musicians. And if they cannot earn a living from the music itself, they do through the teaching of Occitan (Florant Mercadiers from Stille Volk) or working for Occitan media (Yellow from Doctors de Trobar) or institutions (Sylvain Carrère from Papa Gahus). Professional and artistic relationships are not only complicated within the Occitan folk scene, but also with the local non-Occitan popular music scene. Venues and festivals usually do not care much about music in Occitan (either folk or modern), except when they want to appear Occitan-friendly in order to receive subsidies. For example, the band Artús received a propo-

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sition to play at Garorock, an important festival in the south of France that draws around 50,000 people. They then heard that the festival needed an Occitan band to get a subsidy from the regional council and that they would play on a special stage, as if they were not part of the real line-up. They finally refused to go, arguing that they needed to be recognized for the entirety of their music, not just the Occitan part (Romain Baudoin 2014). All the bands I interviewed put emphasis on how difficult it was to book shows (except Nadau), even with national media support.4 In fact, composing in Occitan often means giving up a large amount of exposure: »nobody cares about you as long as you sing in Occitan« (Claude Sicre 2014). Yet, one band, Lo Cor de la Plana, found a way out of this paradoxical situation thanks to the »world music« field, which is not a musically satisfying category, but at least has a viable international market. The »world music« market usually relies on an exploitation of exoticism that does not work so well on a national scale, especially in France, where local folk influenced music is often perceived as backward looking or unfashionable. However, the »world music« scene provides »new global spaces that allow musical exchange and, in spite of certain inequalities, greater circulation of people, technologies and ideas« (Stokes 2014: 42) where local and rare identities are enhanced and highlighted. For being independent, Lo Cor de la Plana is a good example of the »globalization from below« (ibid.: 35). Without marketing support by major companies, Lo Cor de la Plana managed to tour around the world (New York Global Fest, Fes Festival of World Sacred Music in Morocco, Konya Mystic Music Festival in Turkey, Yokohama National University in Japan, Solin World Music Festival in Croatia, etc.) and even received positive articles from foreign media (New York Times, December 15, 2008; December 14, 2012). As an Occitan polyphonic vocal band with traditional percussions, the question of why their music fits international »world music« standards better than other Occitan bands remains open. In conclusion, if the language specificity of Occitan bands makes their career management complicated in France, the cultural value of these bands among French and international music markets is significant. Indeed, their music goes beyond a simple use of an exotic rural language and in4

Fabulous Trobadors in Télérama (June 30, 2007), Le Monde (June 9, 1995; November 6, 1998; March 26, 2010), Le Figaro (September 30, 2003), Libération (June 19, 1995; October 2, 2003), Le Parisien (October 11, 2003), Les Echos (November 16, 2007); Massilia Sound System in L'Humanité (November 22, 2002), Le Monde (October 12, 2000; October 27, 2007; October 21, 2014); Mauresca in L'Express (April 1, 2015), France Inter (October 5, 2011); Artús in Le Monde (August 18, 2008), etc.

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tends to build new alternative identities. This dynamic is certainly not a widespread movement in Occitania, but it seems to have sustainably settled, and it is probably its relative remoteness or undergroundness that makes it such a diverse, freethinking and experimental scene.

Bibliography Bennett, Andy (2005). Cultures of Popular Music. Maidenhead, etc.: Open University Press. Bernissan, Fabrice (2013). »Discours volontaristes et effets réels. La situation de l'occitan.« In: Lengas. Revue de Sociolinguistique 73; http://lengas.revues.org/ 95 (accessed March 30, 2015). Candau, Joël (1998). Mémoire et identité. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Cestor, Elisabeth (2005a). Les musiques particularistes: chanter la langue d'oc en Provence à la fin du XXe siècle. Paris: L'Harmattan. Cestor, Elisabeth (2005b). »Minorités actives dans le milieu musical régional.« In: Volume! 4:2, pp. 51-60. Chabaud, Sylvain (2013). »Le chant en occitan, une expérience récente et originale de prise en main d'une culture et d'une langue.« In: Lengas. Revue de Sociolinguistique 74, http://lengas.revues.org/375 (accessed April 25, 2015). Charles-Dominique, Luc (2011). »Les emblèmes instrumentaux régionaux du revival français.« In: Langue, musique, identité: Actes du colloque tenu à Poitiers, 2123 novembre 2007. Ed. by Jeremy Price, Licia Bagini and Marlène Belly. Paris: Publibook, pp. 137-179. Charles-Dominique, Luc / Defrance, Yves (2008). »Réhabiliter, repenser, développer l'ethnomusicologie de la France.« In: L'ethnomusicologie de la France: De l' »ancienne civilisation paysanne« à la globalisation: Actes du colloque »L'ethnomusicologie de la France«, 15-18 novembre 2006. Ed. by Luc Charles-Dominique and Yves Defrance. Paris: L'Harmattan, pp. 11-23. Costa, James (2015). »New Speakers, New Language: On Being a Legitimate Speaker of a Minority Language in Provence.« In: International Journal of the Sociology of Language 231, pp. 127-145. DeNora, Tia (2010). Music in Everyday Life. Cambridge, etc.: Cambridge University Pres. Donnat, Olivier (ed.) (2003). Regards croisés sur les pratiques culturelles, Questions de culture. Paris: Documentation française. Giordan, Henri (2002). »Le pouvoir et la pluralité culturelle.« In: Hérodote 105, pp. 178-190. Hennion, Antoine (2011). »Présences du passé: Le renouveau des musiques 'anciennes'.« In: Temporalités 14; http://temporalites.revues.org/1836 (accessed July 24, 2015). Lebrun, Barbara (2009). Protest Music in France Production, Identity and Audiences. Farnham, Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Nelli, René (1989). »Le roman de Flamenca«: un art d'aimer occitanien du XIIIe siècle. Institut d'estudis occitans; Centre internacional de documentacion occitana; Centre national d'études cathares René Nelli, Toulouse, Béziers: Villegly.

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MICHAEL SPANU Octobre, Sylvie / Détrez, Christine / Mercklé, Pierre / Berthomier, Nathalie (2010). L'enfance des loisirs. Trajectoires communes et parcours individuels de la fin de l'enfance à la grande adolescence. Paris: Ministère de la culture et de la communication, Département des études, de la prospective et des statistiques. Shandler, Jeffrey (2006). Adventures in Yiddishland: Postvernacular Language and Culture. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Stokes, Martin (2014). »Créativité, globalisation et musique.« In: Volume! 10:2, pp. 29-45. Suzanne, Gilles (2010). »Effervescences musicales en Méditerranée.« In: La pensée de midi 10:31, pp. 159-165. Tenaille, Frank (2008). Musiques et chants en Occitanie création et tradition en pays d'oc. Paris: Le Chantier. Weston, Donna (2012). »Béarn Folk Rock: Language, Place and the Soundscape of the New Europe.« In: Journal of Intercultural Studies 33:2, pp. 157-174.

Interviews Aurélien (Enloc), October 2013. Chab (Mauresca), January 2014. Claude Sicre, March 2014. David (Gojats of Hedas), December 2013. David and Jordan (Hitilh), January 2014. Florant Mercadiers (Stille Volk), May 2014. Fred (Goulamas'k), January 2014. Hakim (Cri'art), October 2013. Jacques Puech (Faune), December 2013. Laurent Moulédous (Hart Brut), October 2013. Lou Davi, March 2014. Michel Maffrand (Nadau), March 2014. Roman Baudoin (Artús), February 2014. Sam Karpienia (Forabandit), February 2014. Simon (Baal), November 2013. Sylvain Carrère (Papa Gahus), May 2014. Tatou (Moussu T e lei Jovents / Massilia Sound System), January 2014. Yellow (Doctors de Trobar), December 2013.

Discography Familha Artús (2010). Drac. Pagans FZM036. Moussu T e lei Jovents (2005). Mademoiselle Marseille. Manivette Records MR 01. Moussu T e lei Jovents (2007). Inventé à la Ciotat. Manivette Records 274 1549. Stille Volk (2001). Satyre Cornu. Holy Records HOLY66.6CD.

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Abstract This article observes how popular music groups singing in Occitan (a regional language) can continue to exist and create music in southern France. Choosing to sing in Occitan or/and to use traditional instruments in an unorthodox way, as these groups do, reveals complicated relationships with the Occitan traditional folk scene. Nevertheless, even though the influences of new Occitan bands can be traced to global music genres (rap, rock, etc.), they also tend to find a compromise with the local identity that has been defined by Occitan activists. Thus they modestly — yet actively — participate in a global movement of new regional identities.

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MUTTERLANDPOP. LOKALE MARKIERUNG UND ENTGRENZUNG MUSIKALISCHER DARBIETUNGEN AUF UKRAINISCHEN FEIERTAGEN Christian Diemer Die Frage der (Selbst-)Verortung der Ukraine — politisch, aber auch kulturell — stellt sich nicht erst seit Ausbruch des bewaffneten Konflikts1 in der Ostukraine mit Vehemenz. Dieser Aufsatz untersucht die Verwendung und Funktion von Musik an ukrainischen Feiertagen vor dem Hintergrund der Frage, wie und durch welche musikalischen Repräsentationen regionale Markierung einerseits erzeugt bzw. andererseits verwischt und entgrenzt wird. Dazu habe ich die Programmgestaltung mehrerer Feiertage in unterschiedlichen Gegenden der Ukraine ethnographisch dokumentiert und ausgewertet. Das Verhältnis von Lokalität und Traditionalität ist hierbei nicht von vornherein gleichzusetzen, wobei gleichwohl beide Aspekte in einem denkbar engen Verhältnis zueinander stehen: Traditionelle Musik und Kultur erscheinen in der Ukraine als das Medium, um lokalen Bezug auszudrücken und Identitätskonstruktion zu bewerkstelligen (vgl. hierzu anschaulich Andruchovyč 2003: 26ff.; Andruchovyč 2004: 25ff.).

Zum Forschungs-Arrangement Die Untersuchung basiert auf ethnographischer Feldforschung, die ich seit 2009/10 und schwerpunktmäßig ab 2013 in der Ukraine durchgeführt habe. Die Feldforschung fand statt im Sinne teilnehmender Beobachtung, ohne

1

Völkerrechtlich ist der Terminus des »bewaffneten Konflikts« oder des »internationalen bewaffneten Konflikts« zutreffend (Wissenschaftliche Dienste des Deutschen Bundestags 2010) — letzterer dann, wenn man der Einschätzung etwa der Bundesregierung folgt, dass das Kriegsgeschehen in der Ostukraine maßgeblich von russischen Freischärlern, regulären Soldaten sowie militärischer Aufrüstung über die unkontrollierte ukrainisch-russische Grenze beeinflusst wird. Russland dementiert dies.

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CHRISTIAN DIEMER dass eine Beeinflussung der Akteure durch den Beobachter entstand. Die Beobachtungen wurden ergänzt durch qualitative Interviews, Hintergrundgespräche und kontextuelle Einordnungen mit Betroffenen. Forschung fand in unterschiedlichen Regionen der Ukraine statt. Dies erschien wichtig, um das verbreitete und durch die konflikthaften Ereignisse scheinbar bestärkte Paradigma einer inner-ukrainischen Spaltung nicht ungeprüft ins Forschungsdesign zu übernehmen (vgl. stellvertretend die Theorie der »zwei Ukrainen« bei Rjabčuk 2005 und kritisch dazu Jilge 2005). Schwerpunktmäßig habe ich Forschung durchgeführt in folgenden oblasti (Regionen)2: •

Černivci / Czernowitz (Südwestukraine, 40 Kilometer von der rumäni-

•

schen Grenze entfernt), L'viv / Lemberg (Westukraine, 70 Kilometer von der polnischen Grenze entfernt),

•

Žytomyr (Zentralukraine, 140 Kilometer westlich von Kyïv),

•

Charkiv / Har'kov (Ostukraine, 40 Kilometer von der russischen Grenze entfernt).

L'viv (734.000 Einwohner) gilt als Zentrum des ukrainischen Nationalstolzes. Dementsprechend habe ich dort den ukrainischen National- und Unabhängigkeitsfeiertag dokumentiert. Im ostukrainischen oblast' Charkiv galten meine Forschungen den Stadtund Befreiungsfesten der Provinzstadt Lozova (56.910 Einwohner) und des nahegelegenen Dorfs Sachnovščyna (7.937 Einwohner). Die dortigen Feierlichkeiten, die zugleich Stadtfest (den' goroda) sind, stehen im Zeichen des Gedenkens der Befreiung von der deutschen Wehrmacht und der Verdienste der Veteranen. Im westukrainischen Dorf Vaškivci (5.660 Einwohner, oblast' Černivci) empfahl sich das in der ukrainisch-rumänischen Grenzregion verbreitete Malanka-Fest: Die Neujahrs-Feier nach julianischem Kalender verbindet sich dort mit Weihnachts-, Dreikönigs- und Karnevals-Elementen und genießt besonders in ihrer Ausformung in Vaškivci den Ruf besonderer Traditionsverbundenheit. Nach den jeweiligen Feiern auf den Dörfern treffen die Akteure beim großen Malanka-Festival in der Regionshauptstadt Černivci zusammen. In der ehemaligen Industriestadt Korosten' (66.000 Einwohner), gelegen im zentralukrainischen oblast' Žytomyr, ist das traditionelle Kartoffelpuffer2

Das ukrainische Staatsgebiet ist administrativ in 24 oblasti aufgeteilt; hinzu kommen die Autonome Republik Krym sowie zwei »Städte mit besonderem Status« (Kyïv und Sevastopol). Seit März 2014 hat die Ukraine keine Kontrolle mehr über die Autonome Republik Krym und die Stadt Sevastopol. Russland sieht diese seit 21.3.2014 als der Russländischen Föderation zugehörig an.

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MUTTERLANDPOP fest (prazdnik deruniv, zu Ehren des traditionellen ukrainischen Gerichts) ein alljährlicher Höhepunkt von großer Bedeutung für das Stadtmarketing der von Strukturproblemen betroffenen Stadt. Damit sind in geographischer Hinsicht Schwerpunkte in der West-, Zentral- und Ostukraine abgedeckt. Aufgrund des Forschungsarrangements lassen sich auch in zeitlicher Dimension bedingt Aussagen treffen, insbesondere über etwaige Veränderungen in Folge der Majdan-Revolution und des Ausbruchs des bewaffneten Konflikts in der Ostukraine. So waren zum Zeitpunkt der Dokumentationen des Nationalfeiertags in L'viv am 24.8.2013 und des Stadtfestes in Sachnovščyna am 17.9.2013 noch keinerlei Anzeichen eines baldigen Umsturzes zu erkennen, von gelegentlich geäußerter Empörung über den unter meinen ukrainischen Gesprächspartnern als Kleptokraten verschrienen Vyktor Janukovyč abgesehen. Im darauffolgenden Jahr hingegen feierte das postrevolutionäre L'viv die Unabhängigkeit von Russland, welche im selben Moment in den östlichen Regionen des Landes ernstlich gefährdet war und nach wie vor ist. Das ostukrainische Lozova fand sich 2014 beim 71-jährigen Gedenken an seine Befreiung vom Zweiten Weltkrieg auf einmal nur noch 90 Kilometer vom Schauplatz neuerlicher Kriegshandlungen entfernt. Auch die Malanka-Feste in Vaškivci und Černivci vom 13.— 15.1.2014 fielen zeitlich gerade noch vor das entscheidende Wiederaufflammen der Majdan-Proteste in der Hauptstadt Kyïv und auch in der nahegelegenen Regionshauptstadt Černivci (242.300 Einwohner). Die Proteste waren am 20.11.2013 durch die Nicht-Unterzeichnung des EU-Assoziierungsabkommens durch Vyktor Janukovyč ausgelöst worden. Über die orthodoxen Weihnachts- und Neujahrsfeierlichkeiten schienen sie weitgehend zum Erliegen gekommen zu sein. Erst danach nahmen sie wieder Fahrt auf, um am 22.1.2014 mit dem ersten Toten auf dem Kiewer Majdan eine neue Stufe der Eskalation zu erreichen. Am 13./14.1.2015 hingegen, zum Zeitpunkt des Malanka-Festes ein Jahr später, hatte der Krieg im Osten selbst diese äußerste westliche Region der Ukraine erreicht, in Gestalt einer Bombendrohung in Černivci. Die Beobachtungen und Interpretationen erheben nicht den Anspruch, geographische Unterschiede und zeitlich verlaufende gesellschaftliche Transformationsprozesse in der Ukraine erschöpfend oder repräsentativ abzubilden. Dies ist allein aufgrund logistischer Einschränkungen nicht möglich, da eine persönliche Dokumentation zweier gleichzeitiger Feiertage an verschiedenen Orten nicht möglich war. Bei den parametrischen Einbettungen und Korrelationen handelt es sich um Interpretationsversuche, die durch Hintergrundgespräche mit Einheimischen abgesichert oder — zu deren womöglich differenten Einschätzungen — in Relation gesetzt wurden. Es versteht sich von selbst, dass keiner der

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CHRISTIAN DIEMER Parameter monodimensional bzw. monokausal vorliegt, es müssen komplexe Überlagerungs- und Auslöschungseffekte angenommen werden. Dementsprechend nimmt die detaillierte Beschreibung der jeweiligen Beobachtungen im Rahmen des Aufsatzes großen Raum ein. Erst im zweiten Schritt werden Thesen zur Subsumierung und Deutung der Befunde vorgestellt. Aussagekräftig ist die Beschreibung nicht zuletzt aufgrund der Vielfalt der unterschiedlichen Messpunkte — in geographischer und zeitlicher Hinsicht wie mit Blick auf das komplexe Geflecht weiterer Faktoren. Dies erscheint als notwendige Voraussetzung dafür, Aussagen jenseits der tautologischen Vorfestlegungen treffen zu können, die nicht nur den politischen, sondern teilweise — selbst in der Ukraine — auch den wissenschaftlichen Diskurs beherrschen. Nicht zuletzt um diese zu korrigieren oder zumindest zu relativieren und erheblich zu differenzieren, erscheinen die vorliegenden Beobachtungen hilfreich und wichtig.

Forschungszyklus 2013/14 (vor Majdan-Umsturz und Ausbruch des bewaffneten Konflikts) a) L'viv, Nationalfeiertag (24.8.2013) Das musikalische Hauptprogramm des Nationalfeiertags in L'viv 2013 wurde auf einer großen Bühne auf dem zentralen Marktplatz der Stadt dargeboten. Es bestand vor allem in einer langen Abfolge von Auftritten von so genannten Folklore-Kollektiven (folklor'nij kollektiv oder folklor'nij ansambl' in ihrer ukrainischen Selbstbezeichnung), insbesondere Kinder-Tanzgruppen, die in traditionellen Kostümen zu zumeist von Band abgespielter Folklore-Musik3 traditionelle Tänze4 aufführten. Auf die Herkunft der jungen »Talente« aus

3

4

In der Ukraine ist der Begriff »folklor'« nicht abwertend konnotiert, sondern als Sammelbezeichnung für mehr oder weniger authentische Darbietungen traditioneller Musik in Gebrauch. Außerdem ist von Volks- oder volkstümlicher Musik die Rede (»narodna muzyka«). Die objektivere Bezeichnung als »traditionelle Musik« (»tradicijna muzyka«) hingegen löst im alltagssprachlichen Kontext die Nachfrage aus, was genau gemeint sei. Die Einordnung sowohl von Choreographie als auch Musik in eine solche Kategorie ist in diesen Fällen besonders problematisch, da es sich hier eben nicht um ethnologisch informierte Darbietungen mit irgendeiner Form von Authentizitätsanspruch handelt. Vielmehr sind die Beiträge sicherlich als traditionell inspiriert anzusehen und werden auch als solche bezeichnet und verstanden, entfernen sich aber in vieler anderer Hinsicht weit von tatsächlicher traditioneller Musikpraxis. Dies beginnt mit der Kombination mit traditionsfremden Instrumenten und reicht über das Faktum einer einstudierten Choreographie bis hin

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MUTTERLANDPOP »unserer Region« wurde von der Moderation stets verwiesen. Dazwischen hatte das Erwachsenen-Folklore-Ensemble Rusalka aus Kanada mit einer professionellen Choreographie in traditionellen ukrainischen Kostümen einen umjubelten Gastauftritt. Zugleich fanden sich Präsentationen ausdrücklicher Popmusik ins Programm eingestreut, z.B. der (gecoverte) Song »Zliva ta Polum'ja« der Kiewer Popsängerin Nina Matvienko (*1981), oder der viermalige Auftritt des Lemberger Popsängers Ihor Netljuch (*1983), teilweise begleitet von pantomimisch agierenden Tanzpartnerinnen. Gegen Abend des Nationalfeiertags fächerte sich die stilistische Bandbreite noch weiter auf: Die Lemberger Philharmonie gab Werke von Vivaldi, Mozart und Johann Strauß (Sohn). Nach dem offiziellen Ende der Darbietungen auf der Hauptbühne erklang hinter dem Rathaus zu Playback Jazz-Saxophon (u.a. »Lily Was Here« von Dave A. Stewart und Candy Dulfer), während auf der anderen Seite des Rathauses zu Salsa-Musik getanzt wurde (u.a. »El Negre Vielve a la Habana« von Issac Delgado). Letzteres ist eine Initiative, die unabhängig vom Nationalfeiertag in der Sommerzeit allabendlich fortgeführt wurde. Dies wäre alles für sich vielleicht noch nicht sonderlich bemerkenswert; ein Nationalfeiertag hat die Geschmäcke vieler Zuhörergruppen zu bedienen, warum auch nicht von ein und derselben Hauptbühne aus und in bunter Durchmischung der Abfolge. Von gesteigertem Interesse sind daher einige Darbietungen, innerhalb derer Pop- und Folklore-Elemente sich überlagern, und zwar auf jeweils recht unterschiedliche Weise. So wurden etwa einige Popsongs gewissermaßen additiv, ohne Eingriff in ihre inhaltliche oder musikalische Faktur und auch mit nur geringer Veränderung ihrer performativen Rahmenbedingungen, mit zusätzlichen traditionellen Kodierungen versehen. Der bekannte Popsong »Za lizamy, horamy« (»Hinter Wäldern und Bergen«) von Zlata Ognevič (*1986) wurde vor Playback durch eine junge Solistin in traditionellem ukrainischem Kostüm dargeboten. Der Popklassiker »Kraj, mij ridnij kraj« (»Land, mein Mutterland«, 1983) von Sofija Rotaru (*1947) wurde von einem Mädchen in einer Kombination aus traditioneller ukrainischer Schürze und farblich abgestimmten Lackstiefeln vorgetragen. Ungeachtet der traditionellen Anleihen bei der Kostümierung waren Bühnenaktion und Habitus beider Sängerinnen — im Rahmen ihrer Möglichkeiten und Bühnenerfahrung — vollständig an Popvorbildern orientiert, etwa was einschlägige Armgesten oder das bewusst inszenierte Herumlaufen auf der Bühne betrifft. zu grundsätzlichen performativen Rahmenbedingungen: Musik vom Band, Tanzende auf einer Bühne usw.

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CHRISTIAN DIEMER Im Gegensatz dazu wurde der Pophit »Divčina Vesna« (»Frühlingsmädchen«, 2004) von Natalija Bučins'ka (*1977) ohne Live-Solosängerin komplett von Band eingespielt und durch eines der Kinder-Tanzkollektive aufgeführt. Traditionelle Montur und Choreographie unterschieden sich dabei nicht von den vorangehenden Tanzaufführungen zu instrumentaler Folkloremusik. Einschränkend muss gesagt werden: Schon bei den zugrundeliegenden Original-Popsongs kann man davon ausgehen, dass sie eine Affinität zur Inszenierung lokaler und traditioneller Elemente bereithalten, etwa in ihren Themen und Texten (Natur, Frühling, Mutterland). Nicht zuletzt aufgrund dieses Umstands sind sie im Musikablauf des Nationalfeiertags als essentieller Bestandteil programmiert. Auch mag die traditionelle Kostümierung der Sängerinnen grundsätzlich nicht überzubewerten sein. In den letzten Jahren ist es in der Ukraine modisch geworden, ansonsten zeitgenössische Kleider z.B. mit den traditionellen bestickten Hemden (vyšyvanki) zu kombinieren. Am Nationalfeiertag tragen besonders viele Ukrainerinnen und Ukrainer diese Hemden. In L'viv waren am Nationalfeiertag 2013 sogar die Steinskulpturen der die Ecken des Marktplatzes zierenden Brunnen in überdimensionale vyšyvanki eingekleidet. — Gleichwohl zeugen die beschriebenen Befunde allgemein von einer hohen Durchlässigkeit bezüglich lokal bzw. traditionell markierter sowie globalisierter bzw. zeitgenössischer Elemente. Einen besonderen Fall im Programm stellte der Beitrag der jungen Lemberger Popsängerin Jana Hurul'ova (*1997) dar (vgl. Hurul'ova 2013a). Es handelte sich um eine Bearbeitung des traditionellen ukrainischen Liedes »Letyla Zozulja« (»Es flog der Kuckuck«) durch den Arrangeur Danyl Charčev. Die im traditionellen Original getragene, klagende Liedmelodie ist in der Neufassung mit hauptsächlich elektronisch instrumentierten, stampfenden Powerchord-Riffs unterlegt. In einem Intro vor Einsetzen des Beats erzeugen streicherähnliche synthetische Orgelpunkte und Akkordflächen sowie Chimes eine geheimnisvolle Spannung. Getrommel und ein im Hintergrund erklingendes Zymbal mischen eine archaisch-exotische Konnotation bei. Das Zymbal mag an die traditionelle Provenienz der »Zozulja«-Melodie gemahnen. Allerdings ist dieses Instrument in traditionellen Versionen des Liedes nicht anzutreffen; die Rückbindung greift im Grunde sachlich ins Leere. Zwischen dritter und vierter Liedstrophe ist in der Bearbeitung ein modulierendes Interlude eingefügt, mit dem über ein Instrumentalsolo im Zurna-Sound eine weitere Weltmusik-Farbe ins Spiel gebracht wird — allerdings (erneut) mitnichten eine ukrainische.5 5

Das Phänomen der Zusammenstellung von Instrumenten aus unterschiedlichsten Musikkulturen verkörpert auf besonders erstaunliche Weise die — wie sie sich

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MUTTERLANDPOP Die Sängerin intoniert schon während des Intros die traditionelle Zozulja-Melodie, mit stark behauchter Popstimme. Mit dem Einsatz von Beat und Riff passt sich die Stimme dem harten Duktus an, stampft Silben und Melodieschritte mit und kommt mit rockigem Sound daher. Interessanterweise zeigt der Stimmklang Hurul'ovas eine gewisse Unstetheit, die neben dem stilistischen Hybrid der Bearbeitung vielleicht auch der geringen Erfahrung der jungen Sängerin geschuldet ist. In einigen Silben nähert ihre Stimme sich jedenfalls dem scharfen, gepressten Klang an, der die traditionelle ukrainische Gesangsweise kennzeichnet: Eine Vorstellung der Klangerzeugung im vordersten Bereich der Mundhöhle und die durchdringende Stimmkraft der Sängerinnen begünstigen die Entstehung eines intensiven und sozusagen »zudringlichen« Obertonspektrums. Dasselbe gilt für einige aufwärtsjuchzende Glissandi Hurul'ovas beim Absingen der Phrasen — Anjottieren, Ausjuchzen und Tremolieren gelten als Charakteristika des traditionellen ukrainischen Stimmklangs.6

b) Sachnovščyna, Stadtfest (17.9.2013) Blickt man auf das Stadt- und Befreiungsfest des 1.000 Kilometer östlich von L'viv gelegenen Dorfes Sachnovščyna, so ergibt sich eine noch komplexere Gemengelage unterschiedlichster musikalischer Stilistiken und lokaler Markierungen. Der Stadtfeiertag beginnt traditionell mit einer feierlichen Blumenniederlegung am Denkmal der Gefallenen des »Großen Vaterländischen Krieges« (Zweiter Weltkrieg). Von dort geht es über einen von Ständen gesäumten Fußweg zum eigentlichen Festakt und Konzert im örtlichen Kultur-

6

selbst bezeichnet — »Ethnochaos«-Gruppe Dachabracha (Dachabracha 2015b). Das experimentelle Projekt hat sich der Schaffung von nichts weniger als einer neuen ukrainischen Identität und Mythologie verschrieben (Dachabracha 2015a: /ukr/projects). Seine vier Musiker verwenden neben traditionellem obertonreichem Gesang und Akkordeon Instrumente wie Mundharmonika, Violoncello, Posaune, Dudelsack, Digeridoo, belarusische žalijka, arabische darbūka, indische tablā (Dachabracha 2015c). — Es bleibt im Einzelfall zu untersuchen, inwieweit dadurch multiple lokale Markierungen stattfinden oder inwieweit die jeweils an die Instrumente gekoppelten lokalen Markierungen nivelliert werden bzw. im Sinne einer hybriden ukrainischen Neulokalisierung eine Umkodierung erfahren. Information von Mar'jana Sadovs'ka bei einem Workshop in der Berliner Philharmonie am 26.4.2014. Mar'jana Sadovs'ka (*1972) ist eine ukrainische Sängerin, Musikerin, Komponistin und Schauspielerin, die sich intensiv mit der Erforschung und Neubelebung traditionellen ukrainischen Liedguts beschäftigt. Zugleich experimentiert sie mit transkulturellen und genreüberschreitenden Elementen, etwa mit ihrer in Deutschland ansässigen Jazz-Band Borderland oder dem US-amerikanischen Kronos Quartet.

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CHRISTIAN DIEMER palast. Den Nachmittag verbringen die Sachnovščynaer an den Ständen und auf dem Leninplatz, auf dem, unter dem Denkmal des sowjetischen Führers, verschiedene Aktivitäten und Wettbewerbe für Kinder stattfinden. Der Abend bringt mit einem Open-Air-Konzert an gleicher Stelle einen weiteren Höhepunkt. Rückgrat des Feiertags 2013 war die örtliche Militärkapelle. Die Blumenniederlegung am Denkmal begleitete sie mit sowjetischen Märschen, aufgelockert von vereinzelten getragenen Bigband-Standards. Im Konzert im Kulturpalast wechselten — ähnlich wie auf dem Lemberger Nationalfeiertag — Kindertanz-Einlagen zu eingespielter Folkloremusik mit Popsongs zu Playback, dargeboten von lokalen Jugendlichen. An den farbenprächtigen Ständen zwischen Kulturpalast und Leninplatz präsentierten sich die Frauen der umliegenden Dörfchen in traditionellen Kostümen mit traditionellen, selbst zubereiteten Gerichten, Selbstgebranntem (samohon) und mehr oder minder spontanem traditionellen ukrainischen Gesang. Überwiegend handelte es sich bei den Frauen um miteinander bekannte Nachbarinnen aus dem jeweiligen Dorf, nicht um etablierte Ensembles. Sie sangen, im Halbkreis stehend, von Bekannten umringt oder verstärkt, meist instrumental unbegleitet und ohne festgelegtes Programm. In direkter Hör- und Sichtweite der Frauen spielte die Militärkapelle in Uniform angloamerikanische Klassiker wie Quincy Jones' »Soul Bossa Nova« (1962), besser bekannt als Titelmelodie des Films Austin Powers (1997), oder ein Bigband-Arrangement von Deep Purples »Smoke On The Water« (1972). Ein weiterer, nachmittäglicher Auftritt der Militärkapelle auf dem Leninplatz wurde verstärkt durch ein Drumset und eine E-Gitarre. Neben sowjetischen Märschen wurden in ebendieser Abfolge gespielt: •

das ukrainische Volkslied »Oj, ty ničen'ko« (wörtlich »Oi, du bist das Nächtlein«) — mit klassisch ausgebildetem Solosänger in Uniform und

•

erneut »Soul Bossa Nova« / Austin Powers,

•

James Browns »I Got You (I Feel Good)« (1965) mit einer jungen Pop-

Bigband-Begleitung —,

Solosängerin mit weißen Lackstiefeln, • •

zwei akrobatische Musik- und Turneinlagen der Militärkapelle, Sofija Rotarus »Kraj« (1983) — das auch auf dem Lemberger Nationalfeiertag erklang — in Bigband-Arrangement und mit derselben Popsängerin.

Das Kinderprogramm auf dem Leninplatz bot beliebte Talent-Wettbewerbe an. Im Rahmen von Karaoke-Tanzimprovisationen wurde u.a. Psys »Gangnam Style« (2012) aufgelegt. Für das später am Abend den Platz beschallende Konzert waren eine Popsängerin und, nach einem Feuerwerk, noch eine

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MUTTERLANDPOP Rockband aus der Provinzhauptstadt Charkiv eingeladen. Die Popsängerin stimmte u.a. nochmals »Kraj« von Sofija Rotaru an.

c) Vaškivci, Malanka-Fest (13./14.1.2014) Nicht nur an von städtischer Seite eher homogen programmierten Feiertagen wie dem Nationalfeiertag in L'viv oder dem Stadtfest in Sachnovščyna, auch an anderen, stärker aus individuellen Beiträgen zusammengesetzten Feiertags-Veranstaltungen in der Ukraine zeigt sich eine große Flexibilität im Umgang mit unterschiedlichen Genres — und damit auch unterschiedlichen Graden und Qualitäten lokaler Kodierung. Zum Malanka-Fest in Vaškivci am 13./14.1.2014 fuhren phantasievoll dekorierte Karnevalswagen durch den Ort, samt üppiger Boxenanlagen. Hauptsächlich schallte lautstark ukrainische und russische Popmusik von ihnen herab, freilich nicht selten folkloristischen Einschlags. Ein feuerspuckender Death Metal-Wagen erregte besonderes Aufsehen. Während das abendliche Singen der traditionellen ukrainischen Weihnachtslieder (Koljaden) ausschließlich den um die Häuser ziehenden Kindern vorbehalten schien, fielen unter den live agierenden Erwachsenen in erster Linie vereinzelte rumänische Musikanten auf. Indessen ist das Malanka-Karnevalsgeschehen selbst von traditionellen wie zeitgenössischen Aspekten durchdrungen. Horden von kräftigen jungen Männern, als wilde, zottelige Bären verkleidet, verbreiten wie in der alemannischen Fastnacht rhythmischen Schellenklang — und außerdem Angst und Schrecken unter den Mädchen, auf die sie sich in konzertierten Aktionen mit Gebrüll stürzen, um sie hoch in die Luft zu werfen und wieder aufzufangen. Frauen wie auch Männer verkleiden sich mit dicken Kissen und knollennasigen Masken als altertümliche Bauernweiber. Demgegenüber stehen Kohorten von angriffslustigen Friseuren, Ärzten, transvestierenden Krankenschwestern, Scream-Masken, Zombies mit heraushängenden GummiPenissen etc. Das Spiel mit Geschlechtsumkehrungen und Homosexualität, das ansonsten in der Ukraine weitgehend tabuisiert ist, folgt westlicher Liberalität wie zugleich althergebrachter Karnevalslogik (vgl. Mezger 1984). Außer Gebrüll und Schellenklang ist auf den unbeleuchteten Dorfstraßen, Feldwegen und Ackersäumen akustisch das Tröten verschiedenster trompetenartiger Instrumente vorherrschend. Einerseits bedeuten sie zwar eine Reminiszenz an die langgezogenen Trembiten der nahegelegenen Karpaten. Andererseits aber werden sie ganz pragmatisch durch Trompeten, Bügelhörner und Plastik-Vuvuzelas ersetzt. Die Vuvuzelas, im Zuge der Südafrika-WM 2002 als zunächst lokale Bezugnahme auf das Gastgeberland vermarktet, dann binnen kürzester Zeit nahezu rückstandsfrei global entgrenzt,

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CHRISTIAN DIEMER docken hiermit — vermittels gewisser optischer und akustischer Ähnlichkeit zu den huzulischen Naturtrompeten — an einer wiederum lokal definierten, nun allerdings ukrainischen Schnittstelle an. Zugleich substituieren sie diese einerseits durch den Rest an Südafrikanischem, der ihnen nach wie vor innewohnt, andererseits durch ihre radikal globalisierte und globalisierende Eigenschaft. Viele der beschriebenen Wagen und Menschen reisten am 15.1.2014 von Vaškivci in die Provinzhauptstadt Č ernivci, um dort mit den Feiernden aus anderen bukowinischen Dörfern zusammenzutreffen. Das Czernowitzer Malanka-Festival wurde 2014 u.a. von der internationalen Stiftung des ukrainischen Oligarchen Dmitro Firtaš finanziert. In den zurückliegenden Jahren hatte es sich in logistischer Hinsicht zusehends professionalisiert. FolkloreKollektive und -Theatergruppen wurden von den Festivalbühnen über große Bildschirme Tausenden Zuschauern auf den Plätzen der Stadt übertragen. Auffällig ist, dass diese traditionellen Ensembles in den Tagen zuvor im Dorf Vaškivci völlig gefehlt hatten. Entgegen der auch in der Ukraine verbreiteten Auffassung, die traditionelle ukrainische Kultur sei in den Dörfern zu finden, erwies sich Malanka in Vaškivci als lockere Kompilation diverser globalisierter und traditioneller Anleihen der dörflichen Akteure unter sich. Der Fokus lag dabei deutlich auf Partymusik ohne gesteigertes Lokal- oder Traditionsbewusstsein. Anders im repräsentativ organisierten und auf touristische Außenwirkung bedachten Malanka-Festival in der Hauptstadt Černivci: Neben die Korsi derselben Dorfkarnevalswagen und ihre populären Musiken setzte sich hier ein Element inszenierter lokaler und traditioneller Authentizität — das im Dorf Vaškivci zwei Tage zuvor ganz offenbar niemand für notwendig befunden hatte.

d) Korrektive Beobachtungen Die hier rekapitulierte Feldforschung stützt sich in erster Linie auf die Dokumentation von Feiertagen. Das macht sie potenziell anfällig für Wahrnehmungsfehler und Verzerrungen. Ihr Befund der stilistischen und die Verortung betreffenden hohen Diversität und Flexibilität von Programmdispositionen, Musizierpraktiken und Hörgewohnheiten stimmt indes mit Beobachtungen außerhalb von Feiertags-Arrangements überein: etwa der Musikauswahl in Karaoke-Bars (dokumentiert insbesondere in der KaraokeBar Pub34 im westukranischen Černivici über einen Zeitraum zwischen Sommer 2013 und Winter 2015) und den Aussagen befragter Ukrainer über ihre Musikpräferenzen.

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MUTTERLANDPOP So wurde zwar in der Kararoke-Bar zu keinem Zeitpunkt genuin traditionelle ukrainische Musik gewünscht. Wohl aber wechselten russische (quantitativ dominierend) und ukrainische Popsongs, von denen nicht wenige folkloristische Anleihen aufgreifen. Von Seiten der Bar gab es AnimationsSänger, die dann zum Einsatz kamen, wenn an den Tischen keine Musikwünsche gemeldet wurden. Sie sangen überwiegend angloamerikanische Klassiker, etwa von den Beatles oder Elvis Presley. Wenn weder KaraokeTapes angefordert wurden noch Animations-Sänger im Einsatz waren, liefen per default Elektro Swing-Tapes des Berliner Künstlers Parov Stelar in verminderter Lautstärke. In qualitativen Interviews mit Ukrainern wurde traditioneller ukrainischer Musik eine herausragende Rolle bei der Selbstdefinition und -identifikation als Ukrainer auch dann zugesprochen, wenn diese selbst nicht Teil der aktiven Hörgewohnheiten der Befragten war. Sehr oft wurden ukrainische Rockbands wie Okean Elzy oder der (im Februar 2015 bei einem Autounfall verstorbene) Rocksänger Kuz'ma Skrjabin genannt — neben klassischen angloamerikanischen Bands wie Nickleback, Metallica, Red Hot Chili Peppers etc. Auch die im Ausland bekannteste deutsche Band Rammstein erfreut sich einiger Beliebtheit. Nicht selten wurde auf ukrainische Crossover-Bands wie Dachabracha oder den Musiker Oleh Skrypka verwiesen, die traditionelle Elemente in ein zeitgenössischeres, mithin anschlussfähigeres Setting transferieren. Dies wird oft sehr positiv gesehen und teils mit großem Interesse verfolgt. Auch diejenigen, die befürchten, globalisierte Hörgewohnheiten könnten der traditionellen ukrainischen Musik den Rang ablaufen, stimmten darin überein, dass bei Anlässen, in denen eine lokale Selbstidentifikation oder ein traditioneller Bezug anstehe, die Relevanz dieser Musik generationsübergreifend gesichert sei. Mit diesen Beobachtungen kann ein potenziell verzerrender Effekt der spezifischen Feiertags-Situation zumindest relativiert werden.

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Forschungszyklus 2014/15 (nach Ausbruch des bewaffneten Konflikts) Der Forschungszyklus 2014/15, nach Ausbruch des bewaffneten Konflikts, zeigte teilweise weitreichende Verschiebungen in der Programmierung und Realisierung der identischen Festtage.

a) L'viv, Nationalfeiertag (24.8.2014) L'viv war am 24.8.2014 wie nahezu das gesamte Land in ein Meer ukrainischer Flaggen verwandelt. Mit Rücksicht auf den Krieg wurde indes auf ein offizielles musikalisches Programm vollständig verzichtet. Eine Bühne gab es nicht. Die einzige Ausnahme war ein Flashmob auf allen Plätzen der Stadt gleichzeitig, zum gemeinsamen Singen der Nationalhymne. Auf dem Marktplatz wurde die Nationalhymne gleich zweimal hintereinander gesungen, unterbrochen von emphatischen Wechselrufen »slava Ukraïni« — »herojam slava« (»Hoch lebe die Ukraine / Ehre der Ukraine« — »Ehre den Helden«). War dieses Antiphon in patriotischen Kreisen insbesondere in L'viv schon seit jeher ein Ausweis besonderen Nationalbewusstseins gewesen, so ging es im Zuge der Proteste auf dem Kiewer Majdan Nezaležnosti ab Ende 2013 in die kollektiven Rituale nationaler Selbstidentifikation über. Aus diesen ist es seither nicht mehr entschwunden, es brandete auch im weiteren Verlauf des Feiertags immer wieder auf (vgl. auch einschlägige YouTube-Kommentare unter beinahe beliebigen ukrainischen Musikvideos).7 An den Lemberger Nationalhymnen-Flashmob schlossen sich lückenlos weitere, nicht offiziell vorgesehene Gesänge an. Zunächst erklang beinahe obligatorisch

das

extrem

populäre

»Červona

Ruta«

(»Rote

Raute«

[= Strauch]). Der Song wurde 1968 von dem Czernowitzer Medizinstudenten Volodymyr Ivasjuk (1949-1979) komponiert und fand dann u.a. durch die Coverversion Sofija Rotarus in der gesamten Sowjetunion Verbreitung. Nicht zuletzt die Tatsache, dass der Originalsong nie urheberrechtlich geschützt 7

Beispielhaft Kommentare unter einer Okean Elzy-Kompilation (Slušaenko et al. 2014f.): [...] Petr Joha: »GLORY TO UKRAINE!« — Ivan Prostoy: »Das ist das Gewissen und die Seele der Ukraine. In unseren Seelen gibt es keine Aggression und keinen Krieg! Friede Eurem Hause !!!« — Aleksandr Golofaev: »Es kann der lobenden Worte nicht genug geben. Slava und noch einmal Slava Ukraine« — [...] Vladimir Ageyev: »Super Gruppe und großartige Lieder. Slava Ukraine!!! weicht nicht zurück und gebt nicht auf!!« — [...] Elena Slušaenko: »Danke für das großartige Album! Slava Ukraine!« — Antwort Dr. Arcady Kotler: »Gerojam Slava!« — [...] Serg Palladin: »Slava Ukraïni!« — [...] Roman Šmigel's'kij: »VAKARČUK [Frontmann der Band] — UKRAïNA!!!!« (Übersetzung des Autors).

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MUTTERLANDPOP wurde, hat seine Genese als erdachter und komponierter Popsong nahezu vergessen gemacht und begünstigt, dass er in der Ukraine den Status eines volksliedhaften Allgemeinguts und sogar einer zweiten, inoffiziellen Nationalhymne erlangen konnte. Die Koppelung des Lieds an die offizielle Nationalhymne lässt sich auch in anderen Zusammenhängen belegen (etwa bei Aufmärschen der rechten Svoboda-Partei in Černivci, dokumentiert im September 2014). An »Červona Ruta« schlossen sich weiterhin nunmehr genuin traditionelle ukrainische Lieder an wie z.B. das beliebte »Pidmanula Pidvela« (wörtlich »Du hast mich getäuscht und verlassen«), das in so gut wie allen Landesteilen immer wieder auf gut gelaunten Feiern zu hören ist. Obwohl einige jüngere Leute mit Textbüchern für den weniger bekannten Wortlaut späterer Strophen vorbereitet waren und insofern auch eine gewisse Gestaltungshoheit über die Auswahl und Abfolge der zu singenden Lieder für sich in Anspruch nahmen, ist diese Darbietung inmitten des versammelten Menschenauflaufs als spontan und kollektiv anzusehen, eine Dissoziation in Darbietende und Rezipierende fand keineswegs statt. Die Darbietung brach auf ihrem Höhepunkt zugunsten einer spontanen Schweigeminute für die im Osten gefallenen Landsleute ab. Interessant ist, dass inmitten der traditionellen Lieder von einigen aus der Menschenmenge angeregt wurde, auch Songs von Okean Elzy zu singen, einer der populärsten Rockgruppen des Landes. Auch wenn dies vom Kollektiv nicht in die Tat umgesetzt wurde, legt es den Schluss nahe, dass nicht nur einige traditionelle ukrainische Lieder die Nationalhymne gleichsam ideell fortzuschreiben in der Lage sind. Vielmehr kann offenbar auch bestimmte Rockmusik einen vergleichbaren Grad nationaler Identifikation kolportieren wie Nationalhymne und traditionelle Lieder.8 8

Es ist in diesem Zusammenhang daran zu erinnern, dass so gut wie alles, was in der ukrainischen Pop- und Rockszene Rang und Namen hat, irgendwann während der lang anhaltenden Proteste auf dem Kiewer Majdan konzertiert hat — z. B. Okean Elzy, Nina Matvienko, Marija Burmaka, Oleksandr Ponomarëv, TNMK, Hajdamaky, Kozak System, Tartak, Plač Eremiï, Mandry, Dakh Daughters, Dachabracha; die bekannteste ukrainische Popsängerin Ruslana Lyžyčko verbrachte 100 Tage bei täglichem Gesang auf dem Majdan. Weitere Musiker waren anwesend, traten aber bewusst nicht musikalisch in Erscheinung — z. B. Oleh Skrypka, Ilja Jeresko, Andrij Hlyvnjuk. Wieder andere verfassten Songs zur Unterstützung der Majdan-Proteste — z. B. Ljapis Trubeckoj, der Rapper Vožyk. Mehrere namhafte Popmusiker haben einen Abgeordnetensitz in der nachrevolutionären rada (Parlament) — z. B. die Eurovisions-Teilnehmerin des Jahres 2013 Zlata Ognevič (Radikale Partei), der Sänger und Universitätsrektor Mychajlo Poplavs'kyj (parteilos). Die Popsängerin und ehemalige ukrainische Kulturministerin Oksana Bilozir verfehlte ihren Wiedereinzug für den Blok Petro Porošenko. Deputierte früherer Parlamente waren u. a. Ruslana (2006-2007), der

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b) Sachnovščyna und Lozova, Stadtfeste (17. bzw. 16.9.2014) Auch in Sachnovščyna fand das Stadtfest 2014 nur in radikal verkürzter Form statt. Nicht nur auf die Stände der Dörfer zwischen Kulturpalast und Leninplatz verzichtete man ersatzlos. Auch die Militärkapelle gab es nicht, selbst nicht zur Parade und Blumenniederlegung vor dem Denkmal der gefallenen Soldaten. Statt der sowjetischen Märsche des Vorjahres tönte während der gesamten ca. halbstündigen Gedenkzeremonie Robert Schumanns »Träumerei« in einer sphärischen synthetischen Chorversion in einem Endlos-Loop. Das Konzert im Kulturpalast ähnelte in der Mischung folkloristischer Kindertanzdarbietungen, russischer und ukrainischer Popcovers, dem Auftritt eines professionellen ukrainischen Folklore-Ensembles sowie einer ukrainischen Metal-Formation der Programmierung des Lemberger Nationalfeiertags 2013. Offenbar hatte man sich in Sachnovščyna bewusst entschieden, trotz der schmalen Programmgestaltung auf Vielfalt erst recht nicht zu verzichten. Ebenso bewusst schien indes die Entscheidung, militärische bzw. sowjetische Musik wegzulassen, ebenso die im letzten Jahr ausgerechnet durch den militärisch-sowjetischen Klangkörper vertretene angloamerikanische Musik. Auch im nur fünfzig Kilometer entfernten Lozova wurde 2014 eine Rumpf-Feier durchgeführt. Allerdings sind ihre gegenüber Sachnovščyna völlig anderen Gewichtungen bezeichnend. Nicht nur wurden sowjetische Märsche exzessiv sowohl von der Militärkapelle als auch von Tonband gespielt — u.a. »Gimn Voenno Vozdušnih Sil SSSR« (die Hymne der sowjetischen Luftwaffe), »Tri Tankista« (»Drei Panzersoldaten«). Auch schritt die Prozession prominent unter SSSR-, Rote-Armee- und Lenin-Flaggen. Das ansonsten gebräuchliche gelb-schwarze Georgsband der Roten Armee hingegen fand sich 2014 erstmals durch grün-violette Bändchen in den Stadtfarben ersetzt; diese wurden angesichts der russischen Aggression — so die einhellige Sichtweise der interviewten Lozovaer — in nur 90 Kilometern Entfernung offenbar als opportuner angesehen. Den Veteranen und ihren Angehörigen an einer großen, hufeisenförmigen Tafel reichte der Bürgermeister je eine Portion kaša (Buchweizen) und 100g vodka. In einem von zwei jungen Männern in Anzug moderierten Karaoke-Wettbewerb traten anschließend in erster Linie Veteranen und reifere Frauen gegeneinander an. Die sowjetischen Soldatenschlager, die sie, nicht Frontmann der Band Okean El'zy, Svjatoslav Vakarčuk (2007-2008) und die Popsängerin Taïsia Povalij (2012-2014).

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MUTTERLANDPOP selten von Alter und Invalidität gezeichnet, schmetterten — u.a. »Pesenka frontova šofëra« (»Liedchen des Frontfahrers«; Vlad Nežnyj 1934), »Katjuša« (Matvej Blanter / Mihajl Issakovskij 1938), »Soldaty v put'« (»Soldaten auf dem Weg«; Vasilij Solov'ëv-Sedoj / Mihajl Dudin 1954), »Idët soldat po gorodu« (»Geht ein Soldat durch die Stadt«; Vladimir Šainskij / Mihajl Tanič 1976), »Potomu, što my piloty« (»Weil wir Piloten sind«; Solov'ëev-Sedoj / Aleksej Fat'janov 1946) —, standen in augenfälligem Missverhältnis zu dem showartigen, sichtbar an einschlägigen Fernsehformaten orientierten Moderationsformat. Zwischen allen Programmpunkten konzertierten auch in Lozova mehrere ukrainische Folklore-Kollektive, zu deren Gunsten von Band abgespielte sowjetische Märsche brutal mitten im laufenden Stück abgeschaltet wurden. Die befragten Einheimischen empfanden auf Nachfrage das direkte Nebeneinander ukrainischer und sowjetischer Elemente nicht als Widerspruch.9 Auch wurde ausdrücklich keine Verbindung zwischen sowjetischen Markern und dem heutigen Russland hergestellt. Bei der Evokation der sowjetischen Insignien, so wurde klargestellt, handele es sich um eine rein retrospektive Angelegenheit im Sinne der noch lebenden Veteranen, deren Verdienste man traditionsgemäß und ohne Unterschied zu den Vorjahren gedenke.10 9

Hierbei ist zu bedenken, dass ukrainische Folklore unter sowjetischer Kulturpolitik durchaus gefördert wurde — vgl. u. a. Borys 1980. 10 Bezeichnenderweise erwies sich das in Lozova erklingende »gerojam slava« als fundamental anders kodiert als etwa in L'viv oder Korosten'. Weder ist es zu verstehen als Antiphon des im Zusammenhang mit den Majdan-Protesten etablierten, patriotischen Schlachtrufs »slava Ukraïni«, noch steht es im Bezug zu deren »Helden« (oder, historisch weiter ausgreifend, den »Helden« anti-sowjetischen Widerstands um Stepan Bandera). Dasselbe Mem, das in L'viv in ritueller Selbstvergewisserung ein ums andere Mal die Unabhängigkeit von der Sowjetunion und dem russischen Aggressor bekräftigen soll, artikuliert in Lozova die Verbundenheit mit den Veteranen der Roten Armee. Auch im fünfzig Kilometer von Lozova entfernten Sachnovščyna war nur das allein stehende »gerojam slava«, nicht das Lemberger Wechselwort, in der Bevölkerung habitualisiert. Dem Bürgermeister selbst blieb es überlassen, zum Abschluss seiner Rede das vorgesehene »slava gerojam« mit »slava Ukraïni« zu komplementieren, es somit zugleich der sowjetischen, retrospektiven Kontextualisierung zu entreißen und als Ausdruck patriotischen Ukrainertums neu zu kodieren. Dazu passt, dass der parteilose Bürgermeister von Sachnovščyna die Zeremonie überwiegend auf Ukrainisch stattfinden ließ. In der Nachbarstadt Lozova, das von einem Bürgermeister der 2014 aufgelösten Partija Regioniv (Partei der Regionen) Vyktor Janukovyčs regiert wird, wurde der größere Teil der Zeremonie in russischer Sprache gehalten. — Auch auf der Ebene der Sprache ist von einem binären Ost/West-Schisma nicht viel Leistungsfähigkeit zu erwarten. Vielmehr gilt, ähnlich wie bezüglich der musikalischen Präferenzen und Praktiken, gerade in Regionen des Ostens eine weitreichende Toleranz und Kompatibilität russischer und ukrainischer Sprache. Deren Prävalenz werden ansonsten auch von kleinmaschigen Faktoren wie Urbanität (russischsprachig)

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c) Korosten', Kartoffelpufferfest (13.9.2014) Der Kartoffelpuffer-Feiertag in Korosten' wurde aufgrund des Kriegs von der Stadtverwaltung ganz abgesagt. Er fand lediglich in einer privaten Feier außerhalb der Stadt einen geringfügigen Ersatz. Während im Vorjahr Stände und Folklore-Ensembles im Zentrum Korosten's den Feiertag bestimmt hatten, war 2014 einzig für den Abend eine Rockband aus der Provinzhauptstadt Žytomyr eingeladen. Notabene konzertierte diese nicht in der (nach dem Atomunglück in Čornobyl' und dem Zusammenbruch der Sowjetunion von Strukturproblemen und Leerstand der überdimensionalen industriellen Infrastruktur betroffenen) Stadt Korosten', sondern quasi in freier Natur: Die Siedlung Vil'ne ist nicht mehr als ein paradiesisch anmutender Landstrich am Fluss mit einigen in traditionellem ukrainischen Baustil errichteten Häuschen, halb Freilichtmuseum, halb Hippie-Kommune. Etwa hundert teils traditionell angezogene Menschen hatten sich im Laufe des Tages dort zum Feiern eingefunden, überwiegend Bekannte aus dem Umfeld des Erbauers und Gurus des Museumsdorfs, Hryhorij Hryhorevyč Pašinskij. Die geladene Rockband spielte zumeist eigene Kompositionen. Ein Cover der inoffiziellen ukrainischen Nationalhymne bzw. des ›falschen‹ Volkslieds »Červona Ruta« fehlte genauso wenig wie ein Rock-Cover des ›echten‹ traditionellen Liedes »Pidmanula Pidvela« — wie bei den spontanen Gesängen der Menschenmenge in L'viv. Ganz offenbar durch diesen sich zuspitzenden Rekurs auf traditionelles oder als solches empfundenes Liedgut geriet das mitsingende und -tanzende Publikum in einen Zustand patriotischer Mobilisierung. In der an das »Červona Ruta«-Cover anschließenden Pause vor dem nächsten Song entluden sich frenetische »Putin chujlo«-Sprechchöre, die der Schlagzeuger der Band mit unverkennbaren Trommelwirbeln würdigte (während die restlichen Bandmitglieder sich unbeteiligt gaben). »Putin chujlo« ist im Zuge des bewaffneten Konflikts in der Ostukraine, der von der ukrainischen Bevölkerung großenteils als Aggression Russlands verstanden wird, zu einem Mem der nationalen Selbstidentifikation in der Ukraine geworden. Eine wörtliche Übersetzung ist schwierig, wobei chuj ein der ukrainischen und russischen Vulgärsprache mat' entstammender, sehr unflätiger Ausdruck für Penis ist. Meist wird chujlo als »Schwanzgesicht« (engl. »dickface«) übertragen. Hinter dem Sprechchor steht eine simple musikalische Mikroform, auf die der Schlagzeuger mit den einschlägigen Wirbelrhythmen verweisen konnte. Es handelt sich ursprünglich um einen und Ruralität (teilweise ukrainischsprachig) sowie politischer Zugehörigkeit beeinflusst.

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MUTTERLANDPOP Hooligan-Song aus dem Umfeld des ostukrainischen Fußballvereins Metalist Charkiv, der sich in der originären Version gegen den Präsidenten des ukrainischen Fußballbundes (2000-2012), Hrihorij Michajlovyč Surkis, richtete (Surkis chujlo). Der Chorus wird durch stampfende Trommelwirbel eröffnet und begleitet und umfasst außer dem skandierten Surkis bzw. Putin chujlo eine dreifach absteigende Sequenz auf die Silben »la la la la la la la laaa«. Am 30.3.2014, einen guten Monat nach Krym-Annektion und Beginn prorussischer Proteste11 in verschiedenen Gegenden der Ostukraine, wurde die Neutextierung zugunsten von »Putin chujlo« erstmals belegt, auf einem gemeinsamen Aufmarsch von Fans der Vereine Metalist Charkiv und Šachtar Doneck. Inzwischen ist der Chorus völlig vom ostukrainischen HooliganMilieu entkoppelt und auf dem gesamten ukrainischen Territorium kurrent. 11 Größere pro-russische Proteste gab es außer im späteren Kriegsgebiet Doneck und Luhans'k u. a. auch in der zweitgrößten ukrainischen Stadt Charkiv, in Dnipropetrovs'k und in Odesa. Die Bewertung dieser Proteste ist innerhalb der Ukraine sowie international umstritten. Russland und Majdan-kritische Stimmen in der Ukraine sehen die Ursache der Proteste in der Bevölkerung und in deren Ablehnung der postrevolutionären Regierung. Sie verweisen u. a. auf einen unmittelbar nach dem Umsturz am 23.2.2014 von der verchovna rada (Parlament) beschlossenen, allerdings niemals in Kraft getretenen Gesetzesentwurf, der den Status von Sprachen ethnischer Minderheiten als zweite regionale Amtssprache (in Oblasten mit mehr als 10 % Bevölkerungszugehörigkeit zu dieser Sprachgruppe) hätte abschaffen sollen, ferner auf die Rolle des pravij sektor (Rechter Sektor) und anderer nationalistischer Kräfte während des Umsturzprozesses sowie die fragwürdige demokratische und völkerrechtliche Legitimierung der postrevolutionären Übergangsregierung unter Ministerpräsident Arsenij Jacenjuk. Unbestritten ist der starke Einfluss russischsprachiger Medien aus Russland in der Ostukraine. Diese befeuerten Ängste der regionalen Bevölkerung vor der angeblich »faschistischen Kiewer Junta« — stellvertretend Pravda vom 5. März (Anon. 2014a) —, bis zu einem vermeintlich bevorstehenden antirussischen »Genozid« — stellvertretend Jurij Kotenok (2014) vom 24. April. Ebenso unbestritten ist, dass sich eigens eingereiste Menschen aus Russland — in Charkiv bspw. überwiegend aus dem jenseits der nahen Grenze gelegenen Belgorod, aber auch aus Moskau — bereits im März 2014 an den Protesten beteiligten. Die Ukraine, die EU, die USA und die NATO gehen davon aus, dass Russland nicht nur den Zustrom russischer Hooligans und Krawallmacher nicht unterbindet, sondern darüber hinaus Spezialeinheiten und spätestens seit August 2014 Waffensysteme und reguläre Soldaten auf ukrainisches Territorium einschleust. Russland dementiert dies und behauptet, die gefangengenommenen oder gefallenen russischen Soldaten seien in ihrem Urlaub und auf eigenen Antrieb oder versehentlich in die Ukraine eingereist. Angehörige (Žilin 2014) und die Vereinigung der Soldatenmütter in Russland (Sojuz Komitetov Soldatskih Materej Rossii), die diese Theorien bestreiten und u. a. eine finanzielle Entschädigung von der Armee fordern, sehen sich laut eigenen Aussagen Repressalien ausgesetzt (Anon 2014b; Tumanov 2015). Die Vereinigung der Soldatenmütter Sankt-Petersburg beispielsweise wehrt sich erfolglos gegen den ihr am 28.8. 2014 zugewiesenen Status eines »ausländischen Agenten« gemäß des 2012 von Vladimir Putin erlassenen Gesetzes »Ob NKO« (»Über NGO«).

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CHRISTIAN DIEMER Sogar ein von ukrainischen Astronomen entdeckter und benannter Asteroid hört inzwischen auf den Namen Putin chujlo. Auf YouTube oder in der ukrainischen Wikipedia findet man zahllose Aufnahmen und Cover-Versionen von Bands, die sich — anders als die in Korosten' auftretende Gruppe — bei ihren Konzerten einer vollständigen Darbietung des Songs nicht enthielten. Dabei wird dem Song von einem Uploader das Label einer »ukraïns'ka narodna pisna«, also eines ukrainischen Volkslieds, zugeordnet (hrendyabliki 2015). Dies ist umso pikanter, wenn man der nicht unplausiblen Annahme folgt, dass die Hooligan-Melodie ihrerseits ein Remake der »Speedy Gonzales«Musik von David Hess (David Dante 1961) sei (etwa Anon. 2014c). Mit deren nicht-textierten Teil stimmt sie in der Tat vollständig überein. Mithin erweist sich der in Korosten' von den Zuhörenden intonierte Chorus »Putin chujlo« als Folgendes: ein ursprünglich je nach Perspektive völlig anders (nämlich angloamerikanisch) oder schlicht nicht kodiertes (globalisiert kurrentes) Element, das über mehrere Stufen der lokalen Neukodierung am Ende auf dem diffusen Status eines ukrainischen »Volkslieds« mit starkem lokalem Identifikationspotenzial angelangt ist.

d) Vaškivci, Malanka-Fest (13./14.1.2015) Wie das Kartoffelpufferfest 2014 in Korosten', so wurde auch in Černivci das offizielle Malanka-Festival 2015 kurzfristig abgesagt, wegen einer Bombendrohung. Im Vorjahr waren am 15.1.2014, nach der eigentlichen MalankaNacht am 13./14.1., Karnevalswagen aus zahllosen umliegenden Dörfern nach Černivci geströmt, um in langen, durch Absperrungen vom Publikum freigehaltenen Korsos durch die Stadt zu fahren, während auf einer großen Bühne auf dem Czernowitzer Philharmonie-Platz Folklore-Ensembles auftraten. 2015 trieben sich nur vereinzelte vermummte Gestalten in der Stadt herum und versuchten mit Waffenattrappen, Autos anzuhalten und Geld einzufordern (Musik machten sie keine). Das Dorf Vaškivci dagegen feierte Malanka auch am 13./14.1.2015 völlig unbehelligt. Unter den Karnevalswagen befanden sich 2015 einer unter arabischem und einer unter US-amerikanischem Motto. Von letzterem, Moulin Rouge genannt, wurden Marilyn Monroe, »Sex Bomb« usw. abgespielt. Russische und ukrainische Pop- und Folkpopmusik erklangen zum Teil aus denselben Boxen und — wie in Lozova — wechselte man mitunter zum nächsten Titel, ohne das Ende des vorigen Songs abzuwarten. Erstaunlicherweise verzichteten die Karnevalswagen im Gegensatz zu 2014 nahezu völlig auf explizite politische Botschaften (politische State-

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MUTTERLANDPOP ments wären im Rahmen von Malanka ganz offenkundig möglich und opportun und wurden im Vorjahr 2014 auch getätigt). Allerdings erklangen 2015 zwischen unterschiedlichster Popmusik deutlich mehr traditionelle Lieder und Popcovers traditioneller Lieder als im Vorjahr. So kehrte die Koljade (Weihnachtslied) »Dobrij vičer« (»Guten Abend«) über die gesamten Feierlichkeiten hinweg immer wieder, in immer anderen stilistischen Realisierungen: im Sinne des Dreikönigssingens unbegleitet von Kleingruppen von Kindern vor Süßigkeiten verheißenden Hauseingängen; in der wohl traditionell authentischsten Form von Frauengruppen mittleren und höheren Alters und mit charakteristischem scharfen Stimmklang; in mehreren Pop-Coverversionen aus den Boxen, dann meist mit durchgehendem Beat etwa auf das anderthalbfache Tempo hochgepeitscht. Manche der Popversionen, typischerweise mit Sologesang, öffneten sich in rückblendeartigen, beatfreien formalen Fenstern zu Einspielungen der authentischen traditionellen Frauenchöre, leisteten mithin innerhalb der entgrenzenden Popbearbeitung eine reflexive Rückbindung an die ihnen zugrundeliegende traditionelle Verortung.

Thesen Folgende Thesen lassen sich aus den dokumentierten und beschriebenen Befunden der Feiertage in L'viv, Sachnovščyna, Lozova, Korosten', Vaškivci und Černivci ableiten: 1) Traditionelle Musik ist ein zentrales Medium lokaler und nationaler Selbst-Identifikation als Ukrainer. Neben weiteren Codes wie Sprache, Flaggen, (traditioneller) Kleidung etc. ist traditionelle Musik direkt mit der lokalen Verortung verknüpft. 2) Trotz anderslautender Befürchtungen12 selbst seitens Einheimischer scheint traditionelle Musik in verblüffender Weise kompatibel mit sonstigen, anders oder nicht spezifisch lokal markierten, sondern globalisierten musikalischen Elementen und Praktiken. Dies entspricht differenzierenden Befunden in anderen Kontexten von Globalisierungs- und Glokalisierungsprozessen (vgl. u.a. Robertson-von Trotha 2009).

12 »Globalisierung, Nivellierung, Vergessen und Verluste« konstatiert die Alfred Töpfer Stiftung F.S.V. (2000: 23) in der Besprechung des von ihr 2000 für den Europäischen Preis für Volkskunst nominierten Folkloreensembles in Petrovo / Pyjterfolvo / Tiszapéterfalva (Zakarpats'ka Oblast', Südwestukraine). — Vgl. außerdem UNESCO 2003.

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CHRISTIAN DIEMER 3) Dabei beschränkt sich die Kompatibilität nicht auf das bloße Nebeneinander in repräsentativen Programmen sowie privaten Hörgewohnheiten. Vielmehr ergeben sich spannungsvolle und selektive Verschränkungen von unterschiedlich lokal kodierten und entgrenzten Musikelementen. 4) Die Zuordnungen und Provenienzen können dabei ganz erheblich verschwimmen und mehrfach überschrieben werden: So können komponierte Popsongs — unter weitreichendem Verlust des Bewusstseins ihres auktorialen Gemachtseins — den analogen Stellenwert althergebrachter Volkslieder erreichen (am deutlichsten »Červona Ruta«, ansatzweise Okean Elzy). Umgekehrt können Popadaptionen an die Stelle traditioneller Vorlagen treten und diese gleichsam idiomatisch ersetzen. Bestehende lokale Markierungen können dekonstruiert, nivelliert und neu kodiert werden (etwa Trembiten / Vuvuzelas, »Speedy Gonzales« / »Putin chujlo«). 5) Die Markierungen und Zuordnungen erfolgen nicht selten unscharf und fehlerhaft. Dies gilt nicht nur für nicht-ukrainische oder globalisierte Elemente, sondern auch für ukrainische. So ergibt es sich einerseits, dass Elemente unterschiedlicher lokaler Signifikanz zu diffusen Kategorien (»westlich«, »world«, »exotisch«, »traditionell«) verschwimmen. Andererseits gründen vermeintlich distinkte lokale Markierungen auf faktisch unzureichenden, fehlerhaften oder hybriden Kodierungen (z.B. Zymbal als scheinbar begleitendes Element traditionellen ukrainischen Gesangs). Dazu gehört auch, dass die Kategorie der »Folklore« recht unspezifische Verwendung findet für unterschiedlichste Ausprägungen traditioneller und regionaler Referenzen (z.B. Folklore-Tanzensembles in L'viv). 6) Lokale Markierungen können selektiv an bestimmten Parametern der musikalischen Darbietung ansetzen. So kann etwa ein Popsong ohne sonstige Transformation in traditionellen Kostümen dargeboten werden. Umgekehrt kann eine traditionelle Melodie in ein lokal unspezifischeres populäres Setting (Pop, Rap) emigrieren. Unterschiedliche Genres sind unterschiedlich explizit lokal markiert oder indifferent (vgl. H. Huber 2011: 10; M. Huber 2011: 50f.). Der Meta-Kategorie des Genres kommt über diese Verknüpfung direkt eine lokalisierende bzw. entgrenzende Eigenschaft zu. 7) Als Ergebnis des vielfältigen interaktiven Geflechts lokaler Markierungsund Entgrenzungsoptionen spielt Musik des Crossovers und weitere Hybridbildungen in der Ukraine eine zentrale Rolle (vgl. hierzu u.a. Hall 1999).

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MUTTERLANDPOP 8) Zu den miteinander kompatiblen musikalischen Elementen zählen neben angloamerikanischem Pop nicht nur der quantitativ weitaus relevantere russische Pop, sondern in bestimmten Landesteilen und Kontexten auch sowjetische Militärmusik und Kriegslieder. Darüber hinaus verdanken einige der nach wie vor populärsten ukrainischen Popsongs ihre Beliebtheit nicht zuletzt ihrer weiten Verbreitung innerhalb der Sowjetunion (z.B. Sofija Rotaru). 9) Das Paradigma eines kulturellen und die Identität betreffenden Ost/ West-Schismas lässt sich anhand der Befunde und insbesondere hinsichtlich der Teilhabe an ausdrücklich ukrainischer traditioneller Musik nicht hinreichend belegen. Selbst in Gegenden bzw. Kontexten, in denen sowjetische Musik (s. 8.) und weitere sowjetische Insignien starke Relevanz besitzen, fungieren mitunter dieselben traditionellen ukrainischen Lieder als lokale Marker wie in westlichen Landesgegenden. 10) Eine Korrelation von angloamerikanischer Musik mit einer politisch-kulturellen Ausrichtung am ›Westen‹ und russischer oder gar sowjetischer Musik am ›Osten‹ scheint unterkomplex, da nicht zuletzt gerade im Osten beides direkt koexistiert. Eher noch scheint sowjetische Musik als lokal nicht markiert wahrgenommen zu werden, ähnlich wie globalisierte Musik westlicher Prägung. Nicht zuletzt vor dem Hintergrund weitreichender historischer, wirtschaftlicher und persönlichen Wechselbeziehungen mit Russland ist ohnedies von einem transnationalen und transkulturellen (vgl. Hühn et al. 2010) Raum speziell in den östlichen Gebieten der Ukraine auszugehen, dessen Praxis allerdings durch die jüngsten politischen Entwicklungen auf einigen Ebenen (v.a. der transstaatlichen) dramatischen Veränderungen unterworfen ist. 11) Inwieweit entweder eine lokale (Anders-)Markierung oder aber eine globalisierende Entgrenzung eingelöst wird, entscheidet sich in vielen Fällen am Einzelfall und in Abhängigkeit der Rezeptionsrichtung. So werden z.B. sowjetische Musik oder Rap je nach Zugehörigkeit zum jeweiligen Kulturkreis als vermeintlich universelle, ortlose Kategorien angesehen, oder aber als distinktes Merkmal der jeweils fremden Kultur.13 Vorsichtige Rückschlüsse aus der komparativen Betrachtung vor und nach Ausbruch des bewaffneten Konflikts ergeben: 1) In manchen Orten (Nationalfeiertag L'viv 2014, Stadtfest Sachnovščyna 2014, evtl. Malanka Vaškivci 2015) lässt sich infolge des Konflikts ein gesteigertes Festhalten an traditionellen Musikdarbietungen ausmachen. 13 Zur Mehrgleisigkeit und Wechselseitigkeit von Globalisierungsprozessen vgl. u. a. Burkhalter 2011.

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CHRISTIAN DIEMER Dies ergibt sich oft (L'viv, Sachnovščyna) aus dem Weglassen anderer, im Vorjahr noch koexistenter Elemente (angloamerikanischer Pop und ukrainischer Pop in L'viv, sowjetische Musik und militärische Bigbandmusik in Sachnovščyna). 2) Es bleiben dessen ungeachtet weiterhin Musiken derjenigen lokalen Markierungen zueinander völlig kompatibel, welche nun kriegerischen Konfliktparteien zugeordnet werden könnten: etwa ukrainische Folklore und sowjetische Märsche bzw. Kriegschansons (in Lozova), oder ukrainischer und russischer Pop (in Vaškivci). Dies stimmt mit der Beobachtung überein, dass trotz der in Interviews zum Ausdruck gebrachten starken Ablehnung gegenüber russischer Ukrainepolitik und ggf. auch Russlands oder der russischen Sprache auch 2015 russische Popmusik z.B. in Karaoke-Bars ohne jede Verminderung konsumiert wird. 3) Institutionalisierte Feiertage (Nationalfeiertag L'viv 2013, Stadtfeste Sachnovščyna und Lozova 2013 und 2014, Malanka Černivci 2014) scheinen zu Folklore-Darbietungen zu neigen, insbesondere unter Verwendung professioneller oder semiprofessioneller Ensembles. Stärker private (Korosten' 2014) und nicht auf Repräsentation ausgelegte Feiertage (Vaškivci 2014 und 2015, im Gegensatz dazu Černivci 2014) scheinen demgegenüber mitunter vordergründig Pop- und Rockmusik zu bevorzugen. Dessen ungeachtet, können traditionelle und lokale Elemente starke Berücksichtigung finden (Korosten' 2015, Vaškivci 2015). Durch die Kriegssituation werden institutionalisierte Feiertage durch private Ersatzveranstaltungen (Korosten' 2014) oder spontane Aktionen im Rahmen institutioneller Rumpfveranstaltungen (Nationalfeiertag L'viv 2014) ersetzt. 4) Im Falle von Malanka in Černivci vs. Vaškivci zeigt sich auch ein StadtLand-Gefälle, wobei entgegen der Intuition und verbreiteten Annahme auf dem Land der Musikgeschmack insbesondere der jungen Leute weniger auf die Pflege der traditionellen Musik bedacht ist als in der Stadt. Diese Beobachtungen müssen allerdings zusätzlich vor dem Hintergrund der Frage nach dem in Stadt und Land u.U. verschiedenen Grad der Institutionalisierung (3.) bewertet werden.14 14 Eine dialektische Struktur von Urbanität vs. Ruralität bestimmt u. a. das Musikvideo zu dem Song »Vesna« (»Frühling«) von Dachabracha: Die traditionell gekleideten Musiker wandern durch einen karpatisch anmutenden Wald, bis sie (was geographisch unmöglich ist) in Kyïv ankommen, wo sie, Fremdkörper inmitten des hektischen Verkehrs- und Berufsgeschehens der globalisierten Metropole, durch ihre Musik aus dem Wald die Menschen zum überraschten Innehalten verleiten, in welchem die Musik magischen Besitz von deren Körpern ergreift (Dachabracha 2011).

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MUTTERLANDPOP 5) Die beherrschende Veränderung von 2013/4 zu 2014/5 ist diejenige, dass Musik im Rahmen von Feiertagen ganz grundsätzlich nur unter bedeutend schmaleren Rahmenbedingungen stattfindet. Dies mindert nicht zwangsläufig die Rolle, die der Musik qualitativ nach wie vor zukommt. Gleichwohl werden Musikdarbietungen und Feierlichkeiten gleich welcher Art und Verortung im Angesicht des Krieges als problematisch empfunden.

Literatur Alfred Töpfer Stiftung F.V.S. (2000). Verleihung des Europa-Preises für Volkskunst. Teil: 1998/2000. Hamburg: Alfred Töpfer Stiftung. Andruchovyč, Juri (2003). »Carpathologia Cosmophilica. Versuch einer fiktiven Landeskunde.« In: Ders., Das letzte Territorium. Essays. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp, S. 38-50. Andruchovyč, Juri (2004). »Mitteleuropäisches Memento.« In: Juri Andruchovyč / Andrzej Stasiuk, Mein Europa. Zwei Essays über das sogenannte Mitteleuropa. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp (Originalausgabe 2000), S. 59-74. Anon. (2014a). »Norvežskij Ekspert potreboval razorvat' diplomatičeskie otnošenija s fašistskoj chuntoj Kieva« [»Norwegischer Experte fordert den Abbruch der diplomatischen Beziehungen mit der faschistischen Kiewer Junta«]. In: Pravda vom 5. März, http://www.pravda.ru/news/world/05-03-2014/1197311-nistad-0 (Zugriff am 22.7.2015). Anon. (2014b). »Zakonodatel'naja vojna s ›vnutrennimi vragami‹. Repressii protiv rossijskih NKO« [»Der mit den Mitteln der Gesetzgebung geführte Krieg gegen ›innere Feinde‹. Repressionen gegen russische NGO«]. In: Soldatskie Materi Sankt-Peterburga [Webseite der Soldatenmütter Sankt-Petersburg], Blogpost vom 10. Oktober, http://soldiersmothers.ru/novosti/novost/?tx_ttnews%5Btt_ne ws%5D=727&cHash=4c47825322c6f3e2067664a38bf2c1c6 (Zugriff am 29.7.2015). Anon. (2014c). »Pat Boone — Speedy Gonzales«. In: Putin hujlo blogspot, Blogpost vom 27. Juni, http://putin-khuilo.blogspot.com/2014/06/pat-boone-speedy-gon zales.html (Zugriff am 29.7.2015). Borys, Jurij (1980). The Sovietization of Ukraine 1917-1923. The Communist Doctrine and Practice of National Self-Determination. Edmonton: The Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies (2. Aufl., Erstausgabe 1960). Burkhalter, Thomas (2011). »Experimentelle Sounds aus Beirut. Die Musiker der Bürgerkriegsgeneration definieren ›Lokalität‹ neu.« In: West Meets East. Musik im interkulturellen Dialog. Hg. v. Alenka Barber-Kersovan, Harald Huber und Alfred Smudits (= Musik und Gesellschaft 29). Frankfurt/M. u. a.: Peter Lang, S. 113-134. Dachabracha (2015a). [Offizielle Bandwebseite], www.dakhabrakha.com.ua (Zugriff am 15.2.2015). Von Jana Hurul'ova existiert ein Popmusikvideo, das sie in zwei Schnittebenen in einer ebenfalls karpatischen Waldlandschaft mit Pferden einerseits und inmitten des historischen Stadtzentrums von L'viv in urbanem Outfit andererseits zeigt (Hurul'ova 2013b).

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CHRISTIAN DIEMER Dachabracha (2015b). [Fanpage auf Facebook], https://www.facebook.com/Dakha Brakha/info?tab=page_info (Zugriff am 15.2.2015). Dachabracha (2015c). [Fanpage auf Vkontakte], www.vk.com/dahabraha (Zugriff am 15.2.2015). Hall, Stuart (1999). »Kulturelle Identität und Globalisierung.« In: Widerspenstige Kulturen. Cultural Studies als Herausforderung. Hg. v. Karl H. Hörning und Rainer Winter. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp, S. 393-441. Huber, Harald (2011). »Editorial.« In: West Meets East. Musik im interkulturellen Dialog. Hg. v. Alenka Barber-Kersovan, Harald Huber und Alfred Smudits (= Musik und Gesellschaft 29). Frankfurt/M. u. a.: Peter Lang, S. 7-18. Huber, Michael (2011). »Detroit / Wien / Tokio. Interkultureller Dialog durch elektronische Musik?« In: West Meets East. Musik im interkulturellen Dialog. Hg. v. Alenka Barber-Kersovan, Harald Huber und Alfons Smudits (= Musik und Gesellschaft 29). Frankfurt/M. u. a.: Peter Lang, S. 49-63. Hühn, Melanie / Lerp, Dörte / Petzold, Knut / Stock, Miriam (2010). »In neuen Dimensionen denken? Einführende Überlegungen zu Transkulturalität, Transnationalität, Transstaatlichkeit und Translokalität.« In: Transkulturalität, Transnationalität, Transstaatlichkeit, Translokalität. Theoretische und empirische Begriffsbestimmungen (= Region, Nation, Europa 62). Hg. v. Melanie Hühn, Dörte Lerp, Knut Petzold und Miriam Stock. Berlin: Hopf, S. 11-46. Jilge, Wilfried (2005). »Nachwort.« In: Mykola Rjabčuk, Die reale und die imaginierte Ukraine. Essay. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp, S. 169-176. Kotenok, Jurij (2014). »Junta načala genocid« [Die Junta hat mit dem Genozid begonnen; Interview mit Boris Džerelievskij]. In: Segodnja.ru. Informacionno-analitičeskoe setevoe izdanie, 24. April, http://www.segodnia.ru/content/138236 (Zugriff am 24.7.2015). Mezger, Werner (1984). Narretei und Tradition. Die Rottweiler Fasnet. Stuttgart: Theiss. Rjabčuk, Mykola (2005). Die reale und die imaginierte Ukraine. Essay. Aus dem Ukrainischen von Juri Durkot und mit einem Nachwort von Wilfried Jilge. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp. Robertson-von Trotha, Caroline Y. (2009). Die Dialektik der Globalisierung. Kulturelle Nivellierung bei gleichzeitiger Verstärkung kultureller Differenz. Karlsruhe: Universitätsverlag Karlsruhe (Print on Demand). Slušaenko, Elena et al. (YouTube-Nutzer) (2014f.). Kommentare unter Okean Elzy — Izbranoe / Okean Elzy — The Best. Hochgeladen von MELOMAN, 14.8.2014, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp-GzpcfIj4 (Zugriff am 22.7.2014). Tumanov, Grigorij (2015). »Sistema ›Ni odnogo okna‹« [»Das System ›keines einzigen Fensters‹«]. In: Soldatskie Materi Sankt-Peterburga [Webseite der Soldatenmütter Sankt-Petersburg]. Blogpost vom 21. Juli, http://soldiersmothers. ru/novosti/novost/?tx_ttnews%5Btt_news%5D=936&cHash=edd55d2806a90b83ea 11aa6e7618fee0 (Zugriff am 29.7.2015). UNESCO (2003). Convention for the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage. Paris: 2003, http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?lg=en&pg=00006 (Zugriff am 15.2.2015). Wissenschaftliche Dienste des Deutschen Bundestags (2010). Aktueller Begriff zur völkerrechtlichen Kategorisierung von Konflikten (= Wissenschaftliche Dienste des Deutschen Bundestags 46/10), https://www.bundestag.de/blob/191426/ 3c0cf9515fa4bdf8337d042ae2b9fc5c/kategorisierung_von_konflikten-data.pdf (Zugriff am 15.2.2015).

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MUTTERLANDPOP Žilin, Ivan (2014): »›On otdal svoju žizn', a ego privezli vot tak…‹ Rossijskij soldatkontraktnik Sergej Andrijanov pogib na vostoke Ukrainy. Ob etom ego devuška raskazala korrespondentu ›Novoj‹« [»›Er hat sein Leben gelassen, und sie haben ihn so hergebracht…‹ Der russische Berufssoldat Sergej Adrijanov fiel im Osten der Ukraine. Darüber erzählt seine Freundin dem ›Novaja‹-Korrespondenten«]. In: Novaja Gazeta vom 24. November, http://www.novayagazeta.ru/society/ 66219.html (Zugriff am 29.7.2015).

Audio- / Videographie Dachabracha (2011). DakhaBrakha — Vesna. Hochgeladen von DakhaBrakha am 9. Januar, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T3OJVMuHwcU (Zugriff am 15.2. 2015). hrendyabliki (YouTube-Nutzer) (2014). Putin — chujlo (mega versija — power mix), hochgeladen am 11. April, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sjtTrup5qNU (Zugriff am 15.2.2015). Hurul'ova, Jana (2013a). Jana Hurul'ova — Letila zozulja (ukraïns'ka narodna pisna), hochgeladen von Roman Pogribnyj am 13. Juli, https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=nmv89Pt3bO8 (Zugriff am 15.2.2015). Hurul'ova, Jana (2013b). Jana Hurul'ova — Dytjače Jevrobačennja 2013, Oj, ty, vitre, hochgeladen von Jana Hurul'ova am 3. August, https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=_Ts0EIQ8gzw (Zugriff am 15.2.2015).

Abstract The recent Euromaidan revolution and the ongoing armed conflict in East Ukraine are only the latest episodes in the country's struggle for national self-determination and identity. This paper explores how musical performances during Ukrainian holiday celebrations serve as a vital tool for policies of both regional and global referencing. Documentation of different festivities in West, East, and central regions of Ukraine is represented, as well as diverse infrastructural and societal framings. Based on a detailed description of the ethnographical findings, the paper contends that conceptions of a purported schism between East and West Ukraine, and of the unilateral extinction of regional traditions through globalised pop music, need to be re-evaluated. Instead, a highly complex, if not seemingly contradictory interplay of multiple and hybrid references and local encodings are to be observed, among which traditional Ukrainian elements prominently interact with symbols of Western, global, Russian, and even Soviet connotation.

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WHEN BALKAN BECAME POPULAR: THE ROLE OF CULTURAL INTERMEDIARIES COMMUNICATING REGIONAL MUSICS

IN

Andreas Gebesmair

Introduction In a globalized world we take the presence of regional musics in Western markets for granted. World music festivals, specialized radio channels, offline and online shops offer us genres and artists from distant regions. But there is much more music in the world than the few pieces which eventually succeed on world music markets. Music and artists have to fulfill some requirements in order to become popular among Western listeners. What are the prerequisites for popularity beyond the regional, »original« or »primordial« context? Why do some musics cross over to Western markets while others do not? In public as well as in academic discussions of popular music we encounter two widespread explanations of crossover success: Success of niche products on mainstream markets is attributed either to aesthetic characteristics or to changes in demand. Of course, changes in demand provide new opportunities for artists, and aesthetic concessions to widespread listening habits help them to succeed. Nevertheless, it remains to be clarified why at a certain moment music from a certain niche becomes popular on larger markets, while many other acts exhibiting the same characteristics remain unknown. In this article I argue that so-called cultural intermediaries play an important role in communicating regional music to Western listeners. Regional music does not travel by itself. It requires support by brokers who provide access to crucial resources and frame it in a way which resonates with a broader audience. Using material from the Austrian world music scene I will show how cultural intermediaries helped Balkan music and musicians to

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attract new listeners. During the first decade of the new millennium Balkan music gained considerable popularity in Austria. The number of events, artists and recordings with reference to Balkan music increased significantly due to the activities of cultural intermediaries.

Conventional Explanations of Crossover Success When explaining success of regional musics on larger markets, scholars as well as ordinary listeners usually refer to either their particular symbolic form or to changes in the structure of society and therefore changes in demand. Let us begin with the first assumption. The reason why some regional musics cross over to the Western markets is, in this view, their hybridity, i.e. the integration of popular musical forms in traditional structures that make the music more familiar to mainstream or majority listeners. Of course this explanation holds true for many, if not for most of the successful world music acts. The global triumph of Youssou N'Dour or the Buena Vista Social Club is without doubt a result of adapting to sounds and formulae of Western pop music. Taylor calls these aesthetic concessions strategic inauthenticity (Taylor 1997:125-145). But studies of crossovers by musicologists in different fields challenge this assumption. David Brackett for instance in his analysis of mainstream success of African-American singers, refers to James Brown's »Papa's Got A Brand New Bag«, which makes little concessions to pop conventions and concludes that there is »no consistent correlation between style and popularity« (Brackett 1994: 789). This holds true for many African-American musicians on the US market who were valued in spite of or because of their musical authenticity (e.g. Garofalo 1990). Similarly, many world music acts succeeded although they adhered to their musical traditions (e.g. Taylor 1997, chapter 3). Those productions that were just repackaged without changing their musical form are very informative. Consider for instance one of the earliest evidences of a global demand for Balkan music: Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares. In 1975 Swiss musicologist Marcel Cellier released a Bulgarian female choir under this title and on his own label Disques Cellier that had been recorded in the 1950s (Buchanan 1997). Actually, this music was not traditional but newly composed and arranged and insofar a hybrid itself. But the crucial point in this case is that Cellier's recordings didn't succeed on global markets until they were re-released in 1986 by the British alternative rock label 4AD and shortly after by the Warner label Nonesuch — with a different

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artwork, the instruments of pop marketing and the support from a powerful corporation. The same process of reframing led the Gypsy musicians from Wallachia in Romania to fame. Originally recorded and released by ethnomusicologist Laurent Albert in the 1980s (Broughton 2007), these musicians became a major Balkan music success only when they were rediscovered by Stéphan Karo and Michel Winter from the Belgian avant-garde label Crammed Disc and marketed as Taraf de Haïdouks shortly after the end of the Ceauşescu Regime. Both examples show that the reason for success of these musics in Western markets was not an adaptation of their symbolic form but a change of intermediation and communication. However, even if we admit that most of the crossover hits in some way make concessions to popular musical forms, there are always more hybrids out there than eventually succeed. In methodological terms inferring causes of success from the most successful is not convincing, as many less successful acts may have the same musical features as the crossover hits. Therefore, factors other than the integration of Western musical forms also account for the popularity of regional music on larger markets. The second widespread explanation of crossover success emphasizes changes in demand. Changes in society as a whole or a kind of zeitgeist should account for an increased interest in authenticity and hence for music from distant regions since the 1980s. Collins and Richard for instance in their early discussion of popular music in West Africa write that the alleged musical authenticity of African music responded to European needs for »antidotes to the less desirable aspects of industrial progress« (Collins/Richards 1989: 21f.; see also van der Lee 1998: 62; Connel/Gibson 2004: 353f.; Haynes 2005: 379f. for similar arguments). More recently, Austrian journalist and author Richard Schuberth (2007) observed a demand for ethnic re-rootedness and re-enchantment and calls the enthusiasm for Balkan music rakishly a »Schlammkur zur Therapie von kleinbürgerlicher Antisepsis« (»a mud therapy against petit bourgoise antisepsis«, translation by A. G.). Unfortunately, these assumptions about listeners' motives are mostly derived from the music they prefer. Insofar these assumptions remain somehow arbitrary since all symbolic objects are ambiguous and so are the motives to love them. There are as many explanations of alleged preferences as there are different symbolic layers in works of art. Empirical evidence of existing motives for listening world music is scarce. Certainly both, aesthetic characteristics of the cultural goods as well as changes in demand, are important prerequisites for crossover success. Nevertheless, in order to fully understand the process it seems reasonable

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to look at those who literally mediate between production and consumption: the so-called cultural intermediaries.

The Role of Intermediaries in Cultural Communication: Who They Are and What They Do The notion of new cultural intermediaries was popularized by the sociologist Mike Featherstone (1991) when he used Bourdieu's term in order to describe occupations that are crucial in building and forming consumer societies. He refers to those activities that changed the cultural landscape in the second half of the 20th century. New cultural intermediaries »actively promote and transmit the intellectuals' lifestyle to a larger audience and collude with the intellectuals to legitimate new fields such as sport, fashion, popular music, and popular culture as valid fields of intellectual analysis« (Featherstone 1991: 44, see also 90-94). In many discussions that followed there was a lot of confusion pertaining to what this term exactly denotes and to what it adds to our understanding of cultural production. Bourdieu himself uses the term equivocally. At one point he talks about new cultural intermediaries as »youth organizers, play leaders etc.« (Bourdieu 1984: 84), at another as »producers of cultural programmes on TV and radio, (as) critics of ›quality‹ newspapers and magazines and all the writer-journalists and journalist-writers« (ibid.: 323f.). Hesmondhalgh (2006: 226) in his critical acclaim of Bourdieu's work restricts the term to those who comment on cultural productions in the media and criticizes those scholars who use it synonymously for all people working in the creative industries. On the other hand new cultural intermediaries obviously play an important role in defining which forms of popular culture have to be regarded as legitimate (see below). Insofar it seems warranted to apply the term not just to critics but to all people in the creative industries who, by producing, selecting, managing and promoting cultural goods, try to assert new classifications (cf. Maguiere/Mathews 2010).1 Haynes (2005: 368), for instance, in his study about the British world music industries highlights the »symbolic production via marketing, advertising and other forms of promotion in an attempt to shape the use and exchange value of cultural goods.« The intermediaries he talked to were critics for 1

Ironically, while central in Bourdieu's opus magnum on cultural consumption, the term »cultural intermediaries« does not occur in his works on the field of cultural production (Bourdieu 1993).

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magazines, newspapers, journals and books; creative directors, marketing personnel and A & R (artist and repertoire) representatives from world music labels; music producers and musicians from internationally acclaimed bands; BBC radio and TV producers; and, finally, academics and others involved in both the formal and informal study of music and culture from non-western contexts. But which characteristics do these actors share and what functions do they fulfill in cultural industries? In my view, two features seem crucial to the notion of cultural intermediaries. The first important characteristic of jobs done by cultural intermediaries (and many other petit bourgeois occupations, by the way) is their low professionalization. Normally, cultural intermediaries do not need formal certificates or credentials to access this field. This openness makes positions in the cultural industries attractive for those who lack education for middle class professions (such as lawyers, medical doctors or chief executives, the so-called cadres). To quote Bourdieu: »It can immediately be seen that, precisely by virtue of their actual and potential indeterminacy, positions which offer no guarantees but, in return, ask for no guarantees, which impose no specific condition of entry, especially as regards certificates, but hold out the promise of the highest profits for noncertified cultural capital, which guarantee no particular career prospects (of the type offered by the well-established occupations) but exclude none, not even the most ambitious, are adjusted in advance to the dispositions typical of individuals in decline endowed with a strong cultural capital imperfectly converted into educational capital, or rising individuals who have not obtained all the educational capital which, in absence of social capital, is needed to escape the most limited of the middle positions« (Bourdieu 1984: 355; italicized by A. G.). As described later, among cultural intermediaries there are a lot of people with a middle class habitus (that is, a lot of incorporated cultural capital) but little tertiary education, that is, people without university degrees, university dropouts or holder of university degrees in humanities and the arts, which have little prestige and relevance for higher positions. Consequently, people in the creative industries very often build their careers on their ability to deal competently with symbolic forms, on their soft skills and especially on large and diverse networks, a wide spectrum of useful connections (cf. Angerer 2008; Baker/Hesmondhalgh 2011: 139-158). Simultaneously, this very indetermination makes cultural intermediaries imagine themselves as existing outside the social order. To quote again Bourdieu (1984: 370): »Classified, déclassé, aspiring to a higher class, they see themselves as unclassifiable, ›excluded‹, ›dropped out‹, ›marginal‹, anything rather than categorized, assigned to a class, a determinate place in

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social space.« Their inconsistency of status makes them sensitive to the non-established and obviously predestines them to reevaluate the »not-yetlegitimate« (ibid.: 324; cf. Maguire/Matthew 2010: 4) They are those who in a Schumpeterian sense help »to assert new combinations« (»neue Kombinationen durchsetzen«) by repackaging cultural creations (vgl. Schumpeter 1997 [1911]: 100). Many innovations in the culture industries were introduced to the markets through a process of reassessment of an allegedly debased cultural form as for instance photography, jazz, rhythm and blues, martial arts etc. People with an undefined, often marginal social status and a passion for questioning existing cultural hierarchies played an important role in this process.2 Thus, cultural intermediaries fulfill two crucial functions in cultural industries in general and on world music markets in particular: First, they support marginalized, non-established artists in getting access to relevant resources and institutions in the field. They provide performance opportunities, bring musicians into contact with each other, help produce records, promote them at radio stations, write about them in newspapers and magazines, award them with prizes — in short: they do everything necessary to establish a new cultural form in the majority market. Second, and more importantly, they frame or reframe these cultural productions by providing access to institutions. Studies in different fields have shown how frames govern our perception.3 Recently, the frame concept was applied to innovation processes in cultural fields. Shyon Bauman (2007) has shown, that many artistic innovations were simply repackaged or reframed in order to be perceived as legitimate forms of expression and in order to succeed on majority markets. Cultural intermediaries use established frames in order to evoke resonance among the public. Similarly, the Balkan music intermediaries presented in the next part provide consumers with ready-made frames with which they can reinterpret and appropriate marginalized musics as legitimate. In contrast to Bauman (and others), who strictly distinguishes between resources and frames, I want to show how access to resources and the process of framing interact and reinforce each other. In assigning acts to predefined categories and genres (world music, jazz, etc.), supporting them with cul2

3

There are some obvious parallels in the description of the new cultural intermediaries by Bourdieu and the description of »the foreigner« by Georg Simmel and the »cosmopolitan« by Robert Merton respectively which may be worth elaborating on in more detail. The frame concept was applied for instance to economics (Kahneman/Tversky 1984), social movement (Benford/Snow 2000), media (Entman 1993) and ethnicity (Esser 1999).

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turally marked resources (e.g. awards), presenting and marketing them through institutionalized channels (certain media, venues, labels, etc.) managers in the creative industries implicitly frame these cultural goods and hence steer their perception (cf. Gebesmair 2008: 144-151).

The Advent of the Balkan Music Intermediaries4 Let us now return to the Balkan music boom in Austria. Since the beginning of the New Millennium Austria has faced an enormous boom in Balkan Music productions and events. The figure below shows the annual number of Balkan events 1990 to 2009:

'!!" &#!" &!!" %#!" %!!" $#!" $!!"

!"

$((!" $(($" $((%" $((&" $(('" $((#" $(()" $((*" $((+" $(((" %!!!" %!!$" %!!%" %!!&" %!!'" %!!#" %!!)" %!!*" %!!+" %!!("

#!"

Figure 1: Number of events with reference to Balkan Music in Austria 1990-2009 (Sources: Announcements and reviews in 13 Newspapers and Magazines)5

All events explicitly referring to »Balkanmusik«, »Gypsy music« or »Balkan Brass«, to Balkan countries like Bulgaria, Serbia or Greece or to names of Balkan artists were counted as Balkan events. While during the 1990s there 4

5

The material presented in this chapter stems from a project carried out with Anja Brunner and Regina Sperlich and funded by the Austrian Science Funds under the Number P20791-G14. For more details see Gebesmair/Brunner/ Sperlich 2014. Ibid.: 291. The 2009 value was projected from numbers for January to August.

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were about 50 events and less a year, for the first decade of the New Millennium we observed an extreme increase in Balkan Music events. What we found surprising about this boom from a sociological point of view is the fact that it took Balkan music more than two decades to cross over from ethnic niche markets to a broader local audience. Balkan music had already been brought to Western-European centers in the 1970s and 1980s by so-called ›guest-workers‹. Recent studies have shown that immigrants began to build up a lively cultural infrastructure early. Music from their home countries was imported not just by media and records, but also by live performances (Hemetek 2001; Waldrauch/Sohler 2004). But it was not before the end of the century that Balkan music was marketed on a large scale to the German-speaking majority in Austria. We assume the success of Balkan music is due to new forms of cultural intermediation. Therefore we have compared the popular music field before the outset of the Balkan boom with the period at the turn of the millennium. The first, pre-boom crossovers of Balkan music to the majority markets were produced and marketed by musicians from Balkan countries, who came to Austria not as working migrants but mainly to study at Austrian universities. Lakis Jordanopoulos, born in the Greek city of Thessaloniki, had studied chemistry at the Vienna University of Technology before he formed the band Lakis & Achwach in 1983, which focused on Mediterranean music. Marios Anastassiou came from Athens to Vienna in 1985 in order to take guitar lessons at the school of music and some years later began to perform traditional music from Greece together with the Greek-Austrian singer and baglama-player Juliana Rixinger as the duo Marios & Julie. More explicitly from the Balkans was the music played by the Wiener Tschuschenkapelle. »Tschusch« is a pejorative designation of immigrants from South-Eastern Europe, which the band used ironically to make a political statement against xenophobia. The band was founded in 1989 by Slavko Ninić, who studied languages and sociology in Vienna and Zagreb. All three acts, still active today, had strong ties to the local folk music scene from the beginning and cooperated with each other several times. They also framed their music in a similar way: The preservation and continuation of musical traditions was not only regarded as entertainment, but as a form of political articulation. For Lakis Jordanopoulos it was important to take a stand by performing traditional music »at times when skepticism against immigrants began to rise« (Ergott 1997). The Wiener Tschuschenkapelle made its political stance against exclusion clear through its band name and, at least in their early years, Marios & Julie showed an affinity to

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social causes with their interest in rembetiko. Furthermore, Jordanopoulos and Ninić were active in migration politics: Ninić worked for an information center for immigrants, Jordanopoulos was employed as a staff member for the minorities department of the Austrian public service broadcaster (ORF). In the 1990s they were frequent guests at the refugee festivity in Vienna. The musicians are obviously committed to an artistic concept that was widespread in the folk music scene of the 1970s and 1980s. Many of those, who called themselves »kritische Liedermacher« (critical song-writers) were close to political movements of the left and combined their musical practice with political engagement (Juhasz 1990). Cultural intermediaries, as defined above, played a subordinate role during this period. Of course, these musicians were supported by several institutions, especially by some smaller venues, regional folk festivals and the independent label Extraplatte. However, they lacked those driving forces that characterize the practice of cultural intermediaries: access to institutions beyond their own closed communities and a frame that resonates within a larger public and, hence, helps to popularize a still marginalized cultural practice. The steep increase in the number of Balkan events and of their coverage in Austrian media during the first decade of the 21st century was prepared by two dynamics in the field of cultural production. The first was a considerable increase of educated immigrants from Southeastern and Eastern Europe coming to Austria in order to study at Austrian music schools. Some of them, as for instance Nataša Mirković-De Ro, escaped from the civil war in former Yugoslavia, others like Jovan Torbica or Sandy Lopičić came earlier, but almost all of them were lured by the high quality of musical education at Austrian universities. In fact, the highly prestigious music schools in Vienna and even more in Graz became hot spots of the emerging Balkan boom during the late 1990s. The second driving force behind the Balkan boom, which is of greater importance, was the advent of only a handful of Balkan music intermediaries. One common feature exhibited by all was one Bourdieu (1984: 355365) described as typical for the new petit bourgeoisie and the new intermediaries in the cultural industries. Almost all of them possess a high amount of incorporated cultural capital, but lack higher formal education and credentials, which would provide them access to well-established occupations of the middle and upper class. Their career brought them to a diverse range of positions within the cultural industries, building a large network across organizational, geographical and cultural boundaries. And

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they frequently combine managerial functions at festivals, venues and record labels with writing for journals and magazines. The first generation of Balkan music intermediaries who introduced Balkan music to a larger public in Austria as well as in other European countries was not from Austria. For instance, as mentioned above, the Rumanian ensemble Taraf de Haïdouks was rediscovered and broadly marketed by Stéphane Karo und Michel Winter, who worked for the Belgian art-rock label Crammed Discs. The Gypsy brass band Fanfare Ciocărlia was brought to Western Europe by the German artist's agents Henry Ernst and Helmut Neumann. Both groups performed several times in Austria from the late 1990s on and were crucial in the preparation of the Balkan Boom in Austria. Another Balkan music entrepreneur from abroad was even more important for the local Balkan music scene. Jean Trouillet, who worked as a writer and publisher after high school and who had several positions in the world music industry, released the first album of the Graz-located Sandy Lopicic Orkestar at Network Medien, a prominent German world music label. The rise of the Sandy Lopicic Orkestar to one of the main actors of the Balkan boom illustrates how boundary spanning networks can serve as highly valuable resources: The tight-knit music scene in Graz helped Sandy Lopičić and his fellow musicians from the music school to establish close contacts to the local folk band deishovida. Its members were themselves graduates or dropouts from the music school in Graz and had been friends with Jean Trouillet for several years. Trouillet not only produced the first album of the Sandy Lopicic Orkestar in 2001, but also introduced them to the German Balkan pop act Shantel and, hence, provided access to completely new publics. Since 2004 members of the Sandy Lopicic Orkestar have supported Shantel's »Bucovina Club«. At this time, several Austrian cultural intermediaries entered the Balkan music scene: among them Richard Schuberth, who initiated the Balkan Fever Festival and made its program for several years, and Matthias Angerer, founder and manager of the ost klub. Again, both have large amounts of cultural capital with low formal credentials (Schubert studied social anthropology, Angerer quit his law courses at the University of Vienna to study film production in Los Angeles), both built their careers in the media and creative industries on network ties and not on formal education and both worked as writers and journalists, thus helping to define the emerging field. But, in which way did the presentation of Balkan music in the late 1990s and early 2000s differ from that of the Balkan music pioneers of the 1980s and early 1990s? How was Balkan music reframed?

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We observed two different framing strategies: On the first hand, Balkan music was presented as an art form within a highbrow institutional context. For instance, the Sandy Lopicic Orkestar arose from a theater production at the Schauspielhaus Graz, which integrated traditional Balkan music in one of its productions. Highbrow cultural institutions as the Radiokulturhaus or the Wiener Konzerthaus were increasingly booked for Balkan music concerts, and jazz, itself consecrated as an art form not before the 1950s (Lopez 2002), became an important reference for promoting Balkan music. Concert halls and jazz clubs transformed folk music into something to be consumed respectfully and contemplatively. On the other hand, Balkan music was increasingly regarded as a vital and authentic form of pop music. While the pioneers stressed their commitment to traditions and presented their music as a form of a political statement, Balkan music at the turn of the millennium was appreciated for its vitality and immediacy. It was increasingly interpreted in ways we know from the rock music discourse. As Simon Frith has astutely put it in his analysis of the world music discourse: »The difference at stake [when marketing world music, A. G.] wasn't between Western and non-Western music but, more familiarly, between real and artificial sounds, between the musically true and the musically false, between the authentic and the inauthentic musical experiences« (Frith 2000: 307; see also Regev 1997). In this perspective, Balkan music (and world music in general) rejuvenated popular music in the same way rock music has rejuvenated popular music in the 1950s and 1960s. The folk music frame with its protective and political connotations was substituted for the rock music frame that directs the listeners' attention to the music's liveliness and authenticity of expression.6 Thus the brass band Fanfare Ciocărlia was praised for its imagination and the quality of their live performances and »their furious live blast appealing to punks and headbangers, jazz and funk fans, world music aficionados and those who simply love music that sounds absolutely unique« (Asphalt Tango Production n.d.). The ost klub with its focus on boisterous and tumultuous performances and parties provided a perfect platform for the new attitude to Balkan music and simultaneously confirmed the frame. Again, institutions themselves serve as strong frames. Performing at contemporary clubs and pop

6

Sociologists of social movements have highlighted the importance of aligning frames (Benford/Snow 2000). The more framing strategies correspond to existing ideologies and cultural practices the more they succeed.

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festivals governed the expectations and perceptions of listeners who increasingly regarded Balkan music as a new opportunity to regenerate pop culture.

Conclusion Undoubtedly, the character of Balkan music has changed during the last decades. Most of the artists from the Austrian Balkan music scene adapted traditional forms to modern expectations by integrating Balkan music into jazz, rock and other current genres. Many of them came to Austria to study classical music or jazz and later reappropriated these musical traditions through contemporary interpretations. Insofar, conventional explanations of crossover success hold true for the Balkan boom, too. A growing number of listeners were interested in distant musical cultures and a handful of artists catered to the needs of the audience by making this music more familiar. But there are also counterexamples. The artists of Taraf de Haïdouks or Fanfare Ciocărlia made few concessions to Western listening habits. Nevertheless, their music was reframed by being presented in elite or rock music contexts. Taraf de Haïdouks performed their first concert in the classical music hall, Konzerthaus Wien, Fanfare Ciocărlia in Vienna's most important rock music venue, Szene Wien. Through recontextualizing, traditional music becomes aligned with dominant ideologies and cultural practices and hence resonates with larger audiences. In any case, new cultural intermediaries play an important role in communicating regional musics to listeners in majority markets: They provide access to institutions and thus help to redefine cultural practices in accordance with widespread frames. Without support by cultural intermediaries who are predestined to mediate between sharply marked off spheres Balkan music had not been heard of beyond its niche market.

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Bibliography Angerer, Maria (2008). »Unter Freunden. Die sozialen Netzwerke von Alleinselbstständigen.« In: Nachhaltige Arbeit in der Wiener Kreativwirtschaft? Architektur — Design — Film — Internet — Werbung. Ed. by Helmut Eichmann and Helene Schiffbänker (= Kreativwirtschaft in Wien 1). Wien, etc.: LIT, pp. 135-154. Asphalt Tango Production (n.d.). »Fanfare Ciocărlia: The Legends of Gypsy Brass.« In: Asphalt Tango Production; http://www.asphalt-tango.de/fanfare/artist.html (accessed 26.1.2015). Hesmondhalgh, David / Baker, Sarah (2011). Creative Labour. Media Work in Three Cultural Industries. London, New York: Routledge. Benford, Robert D. / Snow, David A. (2000). »Framing Processes and Social Movements: an Overview and Assessment.« In: Annual Review of Sociology 26, pp. 611-639. Bourdieu, Pierre (1984). Distinction. A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. London, New York: Routledge. Bourdieu, Pierre (1993). The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature. New York, Chichester: Columbia University Press. Brackett, David (1994). »The Politics and Practice of ›Crossover‹ in American Popular Music 1963 to 1965.« In: The Musical Quarterly 78:4, pp. 774-797. Broughton, Simon (2007). »Taraf de Haïdouks.« In: Songlines, June, pp. 46f. Buchanan, Donna A. (1997). »Review Essay: Bulgaria's Magical Mystère Tour: Postmodernism, World Music Marketing, and Political Change in Eastern Europe.« In: Ethnomusicology 41:1, pp. 131-157. Collins, John / Richards, Paul (1989). »Popular Music in West Africa.« In: World Music, Politics and Social Change. Ed. by Simon Frith. Manchester, New York: Manchester University Press, pp. 12-46. Connell, John / Gibson, Chris (2004). »World Music: Deterritorializing Place and Identity.« In: Progress in Human Geography 28:3, pp. 342-361. Entman, Robert (1993). »Framing: Toward Clarification of a Fractured Paradigm.« In: Journal of Communication 43:4, pp. 51-58. Ergott, Manfred (1997). »Lakis & Achwach« [concert review]. In: Concerto 4, p. 60. Esser, Hartmut (1999). »Die Situationslogik ethnischer Konflikte.« In: Zeitschrift für Soziologie 28:4, pp. 245-262. Featherstone, Mike (1991). Consumer Culture and Postmodernism. London, etc.: Sage. Frith, Simon (2000). »The Discourse of World Music.« In: Western Music and Its Others. Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music. Ed. by Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, pp. 305-322. Garofalo, Reebee (1990). »Crossing Over: 1939-1989.« In: Split Image: African Americans in the Mass Media. Ed. by Jannette L. Dates and Williams Barlow. Washington, D.C.: Howard University Press, pp. 57-121. Gebesmair, Andreas (2008). Die Fabrikation globaler Vielfalt. Struktur und Logik der transnationalen Popmusikindustrie (= texte zur populären musik 5). Bielefeld: transcript. Gebesmair, Andreas / Brunner, Anja / Sperlich, Regina (2014). Balkanboom! Eine Geschichte der Balkanmusik in Österreich (= Musik und Gesellschaft 34). Frankfurt/M., etc.: Peter Lang.

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Abstract During the first decade of the new millennium Balkan music gained considerable popularity in Austria. The number of Balkan events and their coverage in domestic media increased significantly. This article deals with the question why do some musics cross over to Western markets and others do not? Using material from the Austrian world music scene this article shows how so-called cultural intermediaries helped Balkan music and musicians to attract new listeners. They provided access to crucial resources and framed the music in a way that resonates with a broader audience.

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AND

MEMORY1

Timothy D. Taylor

Value There is a common narrative among many of us who study musics from other cultures or the history of western music: With the advent or hegemony of capitalism, music became a commodity. And with commodification came the creation of a new form of value, what Marx famously called »exchange-value«. But what about before music becomes a commodity, or isn't a commodity any longer? How can we conceptualize its value? Rather than ignoring the value(s) that musical practices were invested with before they entered the capitalist system, or viewing their values as uncomplicated until they are commodities, or viewing their values as uncomplicated because they are commodities, it is much more useful to think in terms of regimes of value (Appadurai 1986; Myers 2001 and 2002). Cultural goods, whether or not they are commodities, circulate in multiple regimes of value, sometimes simultaneously. The movement between regimes, writes anthropologist Fred Myers, »is a movement between contexts, reorganizing the values of each« (Myers 2002: 360). The creation of the »world music« »genre« category was, for example, a way of bringing many disparate and unrelated musics into the main regime of value of the western music industry, an economic regime. »Commodification« is what we usually call the complex set of processes by which differ1

I would like to thank Steven Feld, who first suggested tackling the literature on value. I would also like to thank Dietrich Helms for inviting me to present this paper at »The Languages of Popular Music: Communicating Regional Musics in a Globalized World« at the University of Osnabrück, Germany, September 2014, where I received useful questions and comments from the audience. Thanks also go to Florence Dore, who invited me to present this material at Post45 at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, in October 2014, where I also received useful critiques. Michael Lambek was kind enough to read a version and offer helpful comments, for which I am very grateful. And, as ever, deepest thanks are due to Sherry B. Ortner.

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ent regimes of value are subordinated to economic regimes or made commensurate with them. But the strategies, forms, and histories of these value transformations vary considerably from one music to the next; commodification is not a single, or simple, phenomenon. Even after a traditional music has been brought into the realm of »world music« — placed in an economic regime of value — that music can exist in other regimes, and not just its former ones. Any music produced as a commodity can still exist in different regimes of value. We need to conceptualize better the values of music when it is not the result of productive labor in Marx's sense — producing surplus value for capitalists; surely music and other cultural goods that are not the result of productive labor nonetheless possess value (see Lambek 2013). Thus, instead of viewing capitalism as a historical social form that enters the scene and eclipses everything that had gone before, we can begin to understand it as a system of economic value production that competes with existing systems, usually becoming hegemonic, but co-existing and feeding off of other forms of value in complex and never-ending processes. In anthropology, there have historically been two major ways of comprehending value: as a property of a commodity with use value and exchange value, drawing of course on Marx and post-marxian writings; and the forms of value that accrue from gifts in complex rituals of gift exchange, a line of thinking that goes back to the influential work of Marcel Mauss in the 1920s (Mauss 1990). Briefly recapitulated, Marx posited two forms of the value of commodities: use-value, the utility of a good (whether or not it was a commodity, and whether or not it was produced by human labor); and exchange-value, which is a form of value that enters with the rise of capitalism as goods become commodities produced for the purpose of exchange in a large market. Use-value is heterogeneous, since there are many different uses for many different goods; exchange value is homogenous, measured by the amount of commodities that can be exchanged for another commodity. It is not possible to know or understand use-value through exchange-value, or vice-versa; commodities have a dual character, according to Marx. Additionally for Marx, there was unmarked »value«, defined by socially necessary labor time — the labor theory of value. Mauss's perspective was quite different; for him, the rituals of gift exchange and reciprocity were a way of holding society together, a classic functionalist perspective. Since these writings, some anthropologists have usefully attempted to bring Marxian and Maussian thinking on value closer together. I have been particularly drawn to those authors who conceive of value as being produced by action, not just action defined as labor or gift exchange. David

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Graeber, for example, writes, »Value is the way our actions take on meaning or importance by becoming incorporated into something larger than ourselves«, and continues, »First, value is the way actors represent the importance of their own actions to themselves as part of some larger whole. […] Second, this importance is always seen in comparative terms. Some forms of value are seen as unique and incommensurable; others are ranked […]; for yet others, such as money in market systems, value can be calculated precisely, so that one can know precisely how many of item A are equivalent to one item B. Third, importance is always realised through some kind of material token, and generally is realised somewhere other than the place it is primarily produced« (Graeber 2005: 451f.). Michael Lambek (2013) makes a similar point about the importance of action, a result of doing, rather than making something, such as a commodity. Drawing on Aristotle's distinction between making and doing, and Hannah Arendt's discussion of the distinctiveness of action (in Arendt 1998), Lambek argues for a distinction between labor and action, the latter of which can be a source of value. Lambek seeks to distinguish economic forms of value and non-economic ones, which he calls ethical; ethical values are incommensurable with economic values. Lambek (2013: 142) helpfully employs a musical example, the difference between playing the violin for one's own pleasure, and playing it in order to make a living. Both activities have, or produce, value, but not the same sort of value. These and other anthropological ideas about value can help us understand not only the workings of value in cultures where capitalism is dominant, but in cultures where capitalism is or was emergent. In both cases, however, we need ethnography (and an appreciation of the forces of history) to understand how precisely people conceptualize value and act on their conceptions of it. I am thus, as I have written elsewhere (Taylor n.d.) construing these recent anthropological discussions of value as extending Clifford Geertz's (1973) argument that ethnography should be concerned with what is meaningful for social actors. But many studies of music reproduce over and over the same themes about the role played by music in preor non-capitalist cultures, as well as capitalist ones, reliably (and predictably) concluding that music is an expression of identity, or that music creates and/or reinforces community, or that music produces solidarity, or that music »expresses« culture, and still more. Most such interpretations are functionalist. Many music studies seem to me to be in the place occupied by anthropology once described by Geertz with respect to the study of religion, »in a state of general stagnation« because anthropology continued

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to produce »minor variations on classical theoretical themes«. Geertz concluded his critique by writing that studies that repeat what is already known »may well finally convince a great many people, both inside the profession and out, that anthropologists are, like theologians, firmly dedicated to proving the indubitable« (ibid.: 88). For Geertz, the way beyond this stagnation was to focus on what was meaningful for social actors, which remains a compelling solution. But it needs to be combined not just with Geertzian and (updated Geertzian) conceptions of culture (see Taylor n.d.), apprehended ethnographically or historically. Thinking about value helps us attend to questions of meaning. And considering musical activity as a form of action, a kind of medium of value (Graeber 2001) helps direct attention toward the perspective of the social actors involved.

The Irish Traditional Music Session and Sociality Let me turn now to a »world music« practice that I know quite a bit about, and for which I also possess ethnographic data apart from my own long experience — the Irish traditional music session. »Session« refers to an informal gathering of musicians playing Irish traditional dance music, usually in pubs, but occasionally in people's homes (a »house session«). Sessions are informal; they are not concerts, and are seen by musicians as different from gigs, which are paid engagements. The development of the session is fairly recent, an effect of the revival of Irish traditional music in the twentieth century (Hamilton 1999). Since then, Irish music has occasionally been commodified, as represented by some of the major bands such as the Bothy Band, Altan, Dervish, and others, and, perhaps most visibly, in the Riverdance show, and the proliferation of recordings of »Celtic« music. But most Irish traditional music, such as sessions, remains largely outside economic regimes of value, though many hope to be able to make a living from their music, which is elusive even for some professional-level players. Virtually all the literature about sessions focuses on questions of how sessions build or maintain community (e.g., the session is a »ritual of sharing in which the values of the community are enacted«, Reiss 2003: 148), or how they produce or maintain identity, or how they are exercises in the maintenance of status (e.g., »The musical behaviour in a session is largely controlled by the relative status of the people playing, with the higher status musicians exercising more control over the way the session

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develops. Status is conferred by such factors as instrument played, ability, reputation, and age«, Hamilton 1999: 346).2 But these are all functionalist interpretations, which is, as I have said, still the norm in many music studies. And they might all be plausible interpretations as far as they go; the means that ethnicizied, racialized, or other marginalized groups can effect a sense of solidarity is not something I would want to minimize. But, following Geertz, we should ask: Why do people do what they do? Why is it meaningful to them? People don't play in sessions to maintain status hierarchies, or express an ethnic or cultural identity. They do it for reasons that are meaningful to them. Asked most simply, what is it that musicians value in Irish traditional music sessions? In a word, sociality. Over twenty years ago, I conducted a small ethnographic project on the traditional Irish music scene in Ann Arbor, Michigan, of which I was a part. I never published that paper but the voices of the people I interviewed remain with me, for they spoke in powerful and very personal ways about what playing this music meant to them, as it continues to, at least for those with whom I am still in contact. All the musicians I interviewed then, and all of the musicians I have interviewed much more recently, discussed sociality and the communal aspect of playing. Many said something along the lines of having been attracted to the music because of the music (no one I interviewed is ethnically Irish, or if they are, only minimally so and not Irishidentified, and no one grew up hearing or playing the music), but then found that it was the sociality of the scene and the session that kept them coming back. I should admit here that ethnographic interviewing is always a tricky business. Do the following interviews represent the »real« feelings of my consultants? Whether or not they do, it is important to remember that the aim of ethnography is not necessarily to uncover what is true or not, but what one's interlocutors find to be meaningful. Dissembling reveals what one is invested in, just as telling the truth does, whether one employs a discourse of sociality or something else. Pam, a fiddler, told me, »I play Irish music for the social aspect, to meet other musicians and Irish people whether they're players or not. I really enjoy the Irish community. I've found that the people are really nice. And it's an ongoing thing, I've found year in and year out, that you're part of them and they'll invite you and that they'll keep in contact over the years. […] 2

For a useful examination and critique of the idea of the Irish music session as a community, see O’Shea (2006-7). Thanks are due to Kevin Levine for telling me of this article.

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You go to an Irish establishment quote unquote in the United States, I can feel at home. It's a place where I can know and be known, and understand and be understood on personal levels. When I meet people from Ireland or Scotland who live the music I feel such an instant love for them, and they with me. And it's so instantly reciprocal that it's astounding to me. I don't know, maybe it's a vibe I put out or whatever, I mean, I love this community so much that I just walk in with Valentines you know, and they just pick up on that. […] I get sentimental and I never used to. It's like, this is my music, these are my people. I feel like I've grown into it, earned it, lived it. I have a home here. It's a very unique feeling. It's something I didn't grow up with. […] I can go in to any bar playing the songs I know and the songs I love and feel comforted, real comfort, just real peacefulness. I understand the music, I know the music, and I feel I know the people playing the music even if we've never met. […] It's family you know, it's just like a family, with some of the headaches. A lot more comfort and a lot less headaches than a real family.«3 Suzanne, a young tin whistle player told me, »I like very much the community aspect of it. It's so different to just be part of a group that's making music and just playing along. And not to have to be a virtuoso like in the music school. […] I was really struck, too, by how generous the musicians are, how generous they are in sharing their knowledge.« The musicians with whom I currently play in southern California, over two decades later and across the continent, articulate the same ideas.4 Fiddler Melanie Nolley told me, »I heard something recently about studies that showed that when people get together and do something in a group — I don't know that it was specifically music that they were talking about — but they said that when people get together and engage in a community social activity their heartbeats line up. And I can only imagine that's only what happens when we're in a session. You know that moment when everybody exhales at exactly the same time? When the set [of tunes] is over? That's the power of playing with other people. It's magical, it's really magic. You really do feel better. I feel better when I'm done« (Nolley 2013).

3

4

This study was conducted before IRB clearance was required of ethnographic studies. I received oral permission from my subjects to conduct these interviews, but will not reveal their full names here. These recent interviews were approved by UCLA’s IRB #11-002035.

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Flute and tin whistle player Peri Holguin echoed the importance of the synergy that occurs at sessions, which has become more of a draw than the music itself. »What I've learned is that this music — even though I guess I will always want to learn these kind of tunes — is that it's not necessarily about the music but it's now ended up being more about the people that I play with. And the idea that you can just come down and you can just sit down and just play, with no [printed] music — it's an amazing thing, and I think that's really what I think that's what drives a lot of people, it's just more of just coming together and having fun, and getting that synergy going, and playing.« Elaborating, Peri continued, »There's nothing to me like when we're all playing and there's that groove that just kicks in, and everybody is smiling or their eyes are rolling back in their heads, and everybody knows where everybody is, and maybe it's in tune, maybe it's not, but the flow, I guess, is there. And that's awesome, there's very few things that could match that experience« (Holguin 2013). Fiddler Jackie Lang also commented on the social aspect of the scene: »Somehow the music itself is very social, you go to this and you get ideas from other people's playing, and you get tunes from them, and so it's not just that there are people and there is music, but it's that they are very much intertwined« (Lang 2013). And tin whistler and concertina player LeeAnn Gorne also spoke about sociality: »The thing that makes you want to improve, even more than being attracted to the music, is the idea that you're going to be making music with other people. When I was young I was so shy, and I didn't know how to socialize with other people, really. I would just stand around in a bar with a drink in my hand, trying to make conversation with people and it was just excruciating, you know. Now, my chosen social venue makes sense for my personality — you go, and you do what you know how to do. And there's a system to it, there's rules, and kind of an organization to the afternoon, and you can have beautiful music as well, and you get to chat with people, but there's a purpose to it, you know? And that socially makes sense to me« (Gorne 2013). Irish traditional music at sessions, like many musics made by amateurs for their own pleasure, can thus be characterized as a form of musicalized sociality, but which is part of the larger sociality, what the Irish call the craic (pronounced »crack«) — gossip, telling jokes, entertainment, hanging out, fun — of the session.

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One of my original interlocutors, a young fiddler named Jim, made an important point about how everyone plays the melody in unison (except a guitarist or occasional bouzouki player, who accompanies), which perhaps facilitates the surrender of the self to the group, what Charles Keil has memorably called »the urge to merge« (Keil/Feld 1994: 98). »With céilí [Irish dance] music, because of the nature of it — everyone playing in unison — there's a certain amount of communication that's going on that's really intense in some ways, you know. And when you're really tuned in with someone else. […] That's the point, that's why we all do it. That's what makes it so great, is the sensation of losing yourself. […] Well, not even losing yourself, but of participating in this, a real rush, sort of a drug experience. That's probably why we drink so much when we do it.« This temporary loss of a sense of self to the group is one of the most powerful ways that sociality is realized, though it doesn't happen at every session. Here, one could perhaps make a distinction between what brings people together to play, and what they get out of that coming together. But the two are complicatedly intertwined. A typical session involves playing and craic. Music is part of this, not separate from it. What might appear to observers to be a poor session because there seemed to be too much talk and not enough music could well have been experienced by the musicians as a good session because of the nature of the talk (see Kaul 2009 for a discussion of craic at Irish sessions).5 Or one could call this, following Durkheim, collective effervescence (Durkheim 1964). The point is, while participating in music might seem to offer something distant from other activities as a session, it is part of the overall activities of the session. It is music that brings people together, but not the only thing that holds them together during a session. It is perhaps when a stranger visits a session that the communal importance placed on the value of sociality is clearest. A visitor can cause a good deal of instability in a session, particularly those sessions where strangers are rare. Before continuing with this point, however, let me rehearse Georg Simmel's classic discussion of sociability and the distinction between the »wanderer«, »who comes today and goes tomorrow«, and the stranger, »who comes today and stays tomorrow« (Simmel 1971b: 143). The wanderer is no threat to long-term sociality of sessions because they are temporary, but strangers can be considered as threats to sociality since they come from outside of the social world of a particular session and they come to stay. 5

Thanks are due to Kevin Levine for telling me of this book.

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Wanderers and strangers are thus treated differently in sessions. A wanderer, someone who shows up at a session while visiting a different city and who has found a session from thesession.org or another website, is usually treated well, for everyone knows that she will be gone tomorrow. Her musical ability matters, but even a wanderer who is a weak musician would normally be encouraged to play a tune or start a set as a gesture of generosity and welcoming on the part of the host session players. This is done in part for diagnostic purposes, to see how good a player the wanderer is, but also as a way of welcoming the wanderer into the scene. Wanderers who are weak players are tolerated because they are transient, they pose no threat to the social world of the session they visit. And they are usually asked to play a tune or start a set more than once in a session. Strangers, however, are treated more cautiously. They are new members of the community and therefore need to be integrated (or not) into the social world of a particular session. This takes time. A stranger might be asked to play a tune or start a set when he first arrives, as a wanderer, but such requests normally taper off and the stranger musician is left to decide for himself. Session members' treatments of wanderers and strangers thus help to show just how much sociality matters, even more than musical skill. But musical skill is important, though, again, how musical skill is managed at sessions helps reveal the value of sociality. It is not simply the case that the best musicians always enjoy the highest status, or that high status is only conferred to the best musicians. At a session I used to frequent on the east coast, a welcomed and fully-fledged member of the session was not one of the top musicians, but he was a celebrated instrument maker and was thus treated with as much respect as the best musicians. Similarly, older musicians in sessions are also treated with great respect regardless of their abilities. Thus, while musical skill clearly matters, musicians frequently award their respect to members of the group who might not play that well. There is also the issue of musicians who play very well and dominate the session, either through force of personality or through high volume or other musical means. Such musicians can be devalued, despite their skill and even if they possess high status, for such behavior threatens the sociality of the session. In my session, there is a player who attends occasionally who is a virtuoso on several instruments. He usually plays very fast, adds chromaticisms, and frequently jumps up an octave to play over everyone else. Those musicians' who view this sort of behavior negatively express their disapprobation in musical terms; one of my fellow players, an excellent fiddler, once insisted to me quite emphatically that this virtuoso was NOT a good

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musician. In many ways, then, the presence or absence of musical skill is a value that is subordinated to sociality. This musicians' behavior is an issue of what Simmel, in a different essay, called tact. Sociability, he writes, has no end other than itself, and thus is dependent on its »personal bearers«, and the traits of individuals involved, which determine the »character of purely sociable association« (Simmel 1971a: 130). But, he says, individual personalities must not »emphasize themselves too individually«, for this might threaten sociability (ibid.). What keeps individual personalities in check is what he calls tact, which »guides the self-regulation of the individual in his personal relations to others where no outer or directly egoistic interests provide regulation« (ibid.). The management of sociality of the Irish session is such that it matters not what one does for a living, how much income one makes, if one has achieved some degree of fame or celebrity, or other such marker of social differentiation. My status as a college professor matters not (though I occasionally act as a kind of clearing house of information for some younger musicians who are thinking about studying music in college or graduate school). Living, and playing, in southern California, we encounter the occasional television or film actor or who comes to play — one such person is a regular; but none of this matters. Simmel calls sociability, and tact, a »very remarkable sociological structure«, for in situations in which sociability is dominant, nothing else matters: »Riches and social position, learning and fame, exceptional capacities and merits of the individual have no role in sociability« (ibid.). Sociality and tact are great social equalizers, at least for the duration of the session. The only differentiating mechanism is musical ability, and even this doesn't much matter if musicians behave tactfully in Simmel's sense. There might appear to be a fine line between sociality and community in some of these interviews and in my own use of the terms, and so at this point let me explicate the difference as I see it. Community and the functionalist conception of it is a more bounded and self-contained entity than what I am concerned with here; Durkheim was quite clear on this point; in his famous definition of religion, he writes that the »unified system of beliefs and practices« people possess unites them »into one single moral community called a Church« (Durkheim 1964: 47; emphases in original). For Durkheim, »society« was »community written large« (Nisbet 1993: 84; emphasis in original). And what holds a community together is its beliefs, its rituals, its division of labor that produces forms of solidarity (Durkheim 1984). I am conceptualizing community more in Simmelian fashion, in which

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»community« is viewed as a smaller unit with its own dynamics, some of which can be characterized in broad terms, as we have seen. Simmel insisted that the larger workings of culture and society be apprehended through their specific, local manifestations: »Social life involves the mutual correlation of its elements, which occur in part in instantaneous actions and relations which partly manifest themselves in tangible forms: in public functions and laws, orders and possessions, languages and means of communication. All such social mutual co-relations, however, are caused by distinct interests, ends and impulses. They form, as it were, the matter which realizes itself socially in the ›next to each other‹ and ›with each other‹, the ›for each other‹ and ›against each other‹ of individuals« (quoted by Nisbet 1993: 100). I am thinking of an Irish traditional music session as a community in this sense, a small scale, »very remarkable sociological structure«, that is governed by the value of sociality and conceptions of tact.

Value and Memory Value in the Marxist sense is the product of productive labor stored in commodities, in money. But other forms of value are stored as well, as Graeber notes in the quotation above, even when performance is the medium of value (see also Geertz 1973: 127 on the question of storing meaning in symbols). Commodities are not static objects, and neither are other sorts of value-producing acts such as performances: they can be advertised and anticipated before they happen, they might be reviewed afterward, and remembered and discussed after that. Acts, according to Lambek (2013: 148), do not produce goods, products, but, he says, consequences. If productive labor results in objects that can be alienated from their producer in the classic Marxian sense, acts such as musical performances can produce narratives that can also circulate, recirculate, and be rewritten. Even after musical groups disband and people die, their work is remembered, curated, passed on. Some concerts are remembered and discussed for years, as obituaries for famous musicians show. I don't think I have ever spoken to a musician who didn't say something like, »Back in the day, this scene was much better than it is today.« And as is well known, people's work can be reevaluated after they die, with lesser musicians enjoying greater reputations, or celebrated musicians' reputations waning. In the realm of the visual arts, it is by now something of a cliché that the price of an artist's work will rise after she dies. This is not

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the sort of value I am concerned with here, but the point is that time, and memory, play important roles in every regime of value. The sort of value I am concerned with here, value-in/as-action, apart from productive labor, while it can be commodified, it is much less likely to be because of the difficulty in doing so. This sort of value is created from human action, and needs to be continually re-created and renewed. Probably the best example for those of us who study music is the vast amount of time and energy spent in US music departments on a very small number of composers and works in the western European classical music tradition, even though only a tiny minority of people on the planet listen to that music. All of those acts of teaching and proselytizing are a measure of those people's valuation of that music. Performances and rituals store value — in tokens, fetishes, and other material forms, but also in ideas, practices, and deities. Lambek writes that certain core rituals such as the Catholic mass »regenerate the value congealed in the ultimate sacred postulates, gestures, and objects — and they and other rituals circulate value insofar as they invest new persons, relationships, and circumstances with sanctity and place them under new or renewed descriptions« (ibid.: 151). This is no less true than the ritual nature of a classical music concert (see Small 1987), a rock concert, or an Irish traditional music session. All function as mediums of value, regimes different from, while sometimes alongside, regimes of value as determined by socially necessary labor time. At the session where I play in southern California, value is mainly stored in photographs. There is seldom a week that goes by without a musician or two photographing other musicians and then posting photographs to Facebook; sometimes people post photos to Facebook during the session. I would go so far as to say that taking pictures at sessions has spurred an interest in photography and videography in some musicians, at least at the session with which I am most familiar. From such practices it is clear that sessions are as much about music than being together, being seen together, and showing that one has been together. That is, music is the modality of togetherness, of sociality, the currency of sociality for those involved in Irish traditional music. The rise of social media has allowed Irish traditional musicians to amplify the social aspects of the scene, proclaiming, even advertising, its sociality, realizing value in material form a place apart from where value is created, as Graeber writes in the quotation above.6 6

One might wonder why the main tokens of value of an Irish music session are mute photographs. It is almost never the case when audio is recorded and posted somewhere or shared on social media, only photographs, and, occasion-

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Conclusions I have been employing some recent perspectives of value as articulated by some anthropologists as a way of attempting to move beyond the simple binary oppositions that are frequently employed to discuss the complex processes of the commodification of music, or the global popularization of particular kinds of music, some of which are lumped under the label »world music«. I have also taken pains in some writings to show just how slow and complex the process of commodification of music is (see, for example, Taylor 2007). Even if we don't much use binaries such as »traditional/ modern« anymore, the ghosts of that and other binaries still hover over newer ones, present but not always articulated, such as »pre-commodified«/commodified, pre-globalization/globalization, and many more that underlie a good deal of recent scholarship about music and other forms of cultural production. Theories of value can help us to find a more actor-centered way of understanding why people make the music they make, and why they find meaning in the making, and listening. I have found such theories to be, well, valuable. They can help us cut through easy, frequently functionalist, assumptions about music and identity, music and community and more, and help us sharpen our ethnographic and historical sensibilities, help us make more of what our ethnographies and histories tell us. Otherwise, as Geertz warned, our work will only be a series of attempts at proving what is already known.

ally but rarely, video. Audio doesn’t reveal who is present, and absent. (Musicians frequently record audio so that they can learn new tunes, but these are private recordings and almost never shared on social media.) In a way, while everyone playing tunes they all know is a form of sociality, another way that sociality is established and reinforced is through the recording of tunes, which is really a kind of gift exchange. Musicians learn new tunes from musicians at other sessions, from teachers, from friends, from recordings, and share them with their fellows.

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Bibliography Interviews Gorne, LeeAnn (2013). Telephone interview by author. 22 August. Holguin, Peri (2013). Interview by author. 18 August, Long Beach, CA. Lang, Jackie (2013). Interview by author. 18 August, Long Beach, CA. Nolley, Melanie (2013). Skype interview with author. 9 August.

Books and Articles Appadurai, Arjun (ed.) (1986). The Social Life of Things. Commodities in Cultural Perspective. New York: Cambridge University Press. Arendt, Hannah (1998). The Human Condition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press (2nd ed.). Durkheim, Émile (1964). The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life. Translated by Joseph Ward Swain. London: George Allen and Unwin. Durkheim, Émile (1984). The Division of Labor in Society. Translated by W. D. Halls. New York: Free Press. Geertz, Clifford (1973). The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic. Graeber, David (2001). Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value. The False Coin of Our Own Dreams. New York: Palgrave. Graeber, David (2005). »Value. Anthropological Theories of Value.« In: A Handbook of Economic Anthropology. Ed. by James G. Carrier. Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar, pp. 439-454. Hamilton, Colin (Hammy) (1999). »Session.« In: The Companion to Irish Traditional Music. Ed. by Fintan Vallely. Cork: Cork University Press, pp. 345f. Keil, Charles / Feld, Steven (1994). Music Grooves. Essays and Dialogues. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lambek, Michael (2013). »The Value of (Performative) Acts.« In: HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory 3, pp. 141-160. Mauss, Marcel (1990). The Gift. The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies. Translated by W. D. Halls. New York: W. W. Norton. Myers, Fred R. (ed.) (2001). The Empire of Things. Regimes of Value and Material Culture. Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press. Myers, Fred R. (2002). Painting Culture. The Making of an Aboriginal High Art. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Nisbet, Robert A. (1993). The Sociological Tradition. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction. O'Shea, Helen (2006-7). »Getting to the Heart of the Music: Idealizing Musical Community and Irish Traditional Music Sessions.« In: Journal of the Society for Musicology in Ireland 2, pp. 1-18. Paul, Adam (2009). Turning the Tune. Traditional Music, Tourism, and Social Change in an Irish Village. New York: Berghahn Books. Reiss, Scott (2003). »Tradition and Imaginary: Irish Traditional Music and the Celtic Phenomenon.« In: Celtic Modern: Music at the Global Fringe. Ed. by Martin Stokes and Philip Bohlman. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, pp. 145-169.

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WORLD MUSIC, VALUE, AND MEMORY Simmel, Georg (1971a). »Sociability.« In: On Individuality and Social Forms. Ed. by Donald N. Levine. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, pp. 127-140. Simmel, Georg (1971b). »The Stranger.« In: On Individuality and Social Forms. Ed. by Donald N. Levine. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, pp. 143-149. Small, Christopher (1987). »Performance as Ritual: Sketch for an Enquiry into the True Nature of a Symphony Concert.« In: Lost in Music: Culture, Style and the Musical Event. Ed. by Avron Levine White. (= Sociological Review Monograph 34). London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, pp. 6-32. Taylor, Timothy D. (2007). »The Commodification of Music at the Dawn of the Era of ›Mechanical Music‹.« In: Ethnomusicology 51, pp. 281-305. Taylor, Timothy D. (n.d.). Music, Culture, and Capitalism in a Globalizing World. In preparation.

Abstract This article enters the recent theoretical conversation concerning value. Following anthropologist David Graeber's arguments about value, one must learn to see a social world not just as a collection of persons and things — or practices, such as musical ones — but as something that is a project of mutual creation, something collectively made and remade. This article explores the question of value of cultural forms such as music. How does one understand the value of a particular traditional music before the rise of capitalism, and the same music — constructed as »world music« — in a capitalist marketplace? It is not simply a matter of the commodification of something previously uncommodified, but the shift from one regime of value to another. Taking Irish traditional music as a case study, I argue that, while some Irish traditional music today can be understood as a commodity, most of the music exists in another regime of value in which sociality is what matters to participants. This conception of sociality encompasses the practice of many musicians' sharing of photographs of sessions on social media, and participants' memories of tune sources, teachers, and other sessions.

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GERMAN MODERN TALKING VS. IRANIAN MODERN TALKING. Z U R A N W E N D B A R K E I T D E R K O R P U S -A N A L Y S E ALS MITTEL DES POPMUSIKVERSTEHENS André Doehring Isfahan (Iran) Als sich der iranische Cousin an seine Zeit in Deutschland erinnert, kommt ihm auch die Musik in den Sinn: »Modern Talking, ja! Das ist [Man beachte das Präsens!] schöne Musik, man bekommt gute Laune und kann dazu tanzen! Und Dieter Bohlen! Ein sehr guter Musiker, der ›es‹ geschafft hat.« Mortezar ist nicht der erste, der mir in Iran begegnet und von den Vorzügen dieser deutschen Band berichtet. In Teheran legten Taxifahrer Modern Talking-Kassetten ein, sobald sich die Fahrgäste als Deutsche zu erkennen gaben, und dies bereits vor vielen Jahren, zu einer Zeit, als das Hören westlicher Popmusik im öffentlichen Raum noch empfindliche Strafen nach sich ziehen konnte. Heute ist dies ein wenig anders: Der Verwandte, der uns am nächsten Tag zu einer weiteren Einladung fährt, präsentiert uns bei geöffneten Autofenstern stolz eine Playlist sämtlicher Modern Talking-Hits: »Tolle Musik, nicht wahr!« Gießen (Deutschland) Fassungslosigkeit (»Das ist nicht dein Ernst!«), Besorgnis (»Bist du lebensmüde?«), bisweilen auch Häme (»Dann mal viel Vergnügen!«) kennzeichnen die Reaktionen von Kollegen und Freunden, wenn ich erzähle, dass ich an einer Korpus-Analyse aller Songs der ersten sechs Modern Talking-Alben arbeite. Diese exemplarisch zitierten Aussagen entstammen einem Arbeitsjournal, das ich während der Arbeit führte und das außerdem manche Selbstbeobachtung enthält: etwa die zu Beginn der Arbeit auffällig lange Phase der Überwindung meines Widerwillens, sich analytisch mit dieser Musik auseinanderzusetzen oder meine anschließende eigentümliche Faszination für den Gegenstand, die zwischen Freude — auch des Wiederent-

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deckens — und Unbehagen pendelt. Scham ist diesen Aufzeichnungen ebenfalls zu entnehmen, in einem Fall ausgelöst durch eine im Bekanntenkreis kursierende heimlich gefilmte Sequenz, die mich zeigt, wie ich meinen Körper zum in hoher Lautstärke spielenden »You're My Heart, You're My Soul« (Modern Talking 1984) vor- und zurückbewege. Dass meine Beteuerung, ich zählte nur die Takte aus, das Gelächter der Anderen nur verstärkte, ja dass ich überhaupt glaubte, diese Entschuldigung anbringen zu müssen — dies alles deutet darauf hin, dass etwas im Vergleich zur iranischen Rezeption grundsätzlich Anderes im Gange ist, wenn ein deutscher Musikwissenschaftler eine der (zumindest nach Plattenverkäufen gemessen) erfolgreichsten bundesdeutschen Bands der Popmusik zum Gegenstand wählt. Wie diese einleitenden Beispiele zeigen, spielen in der Beschäftigung mit Musik von Modern Talking — und selbstverständlich nicht nur dort, sondern stets — kulturelle, soziale sowie insbesondere disziplinäre und methodische Aspekte eine große Rolle. Auf der Basis derselben Klänge haben sich eine iranische und deutsche Rezeption entwickelt, deren einzige Gemeinsamkeit in der lange bestehenden Unterdrückung des Gegenstands zu liegen scheint. Für die bundesdeutsche Musikwissenschaft gab es natürlich keine offiziellen Verbote wie in der Islamischen Republik Iran, doch wie gezeigt werden wird, war die Popmusik von Bands wie Modern Talking lange außerhalb der musikologischen Grenzen angesiedelt. Dies ist ebenso zu bedauern wie zu ändern, denn es sind gerade die Grenzübertritte, die einen anderen Blick auf das soeben verlassene Eigene ermöglichen. Im Folgenden wird mit einer Korpus-Analyse ein erster Blick auf die klangliche Struktur der Musik von Modern Talking geworfen. Allerdings, so viel sei im Voraus gewarnt, verraten uns die Analyseergebnisse aufgrund der Spezifität der Methode mehr über die deutsche musikwissenschaftliche Rezeption als über die iranische. Daher ist die grundlegende Fragestellung dieser Abhandlung, was ich oder allgemeiner: was ein/e Musikwissenschaftler/in verstehen kann, wenn man sich dem vielen Menschen bestens bekannten ›Fremden‹ zuwendet. Ihrer — zumindest einstweiligen — Beantwortung am Ende gehen Überlegungen zur ideologischen Grenzziehung der Musikwissenschaft, zur Analyse als Methode sowie die Ergebnisse und die Interpretation der Korpus-Analyse voraus.

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Über die Grenzen der musikwissenschaftlichen Wahrnehmung — hinaus! Unlängst machte der US-amerikanische Musikhistoriker Elijah Wald in den Beiträgen zur Popularmusikforschung (2014) darauf aufmerksam, dass die Popmusikforschung interessanterweise gerade diejenigen Musiken aus ihrem Forschungsbereich ausschließt, die in ihren jeweiligen historischen Kontexten besonders populär waren. In der Tat: An Popmusik interessierte Musikwissenschaftler untersuchen äußerst selten die Hits der Charts, der Volksfeste oder der ländlichen Diskotheken.1 Dies liegt, wenn wir Walds Argumentation folgen, in der Tatsache begründet, dass die Geschichte der populären Musik zwar immer auch eine Geschichte des Tanzens zu dieser Musik war und ist, letztere allerdings in der Popmusikhistoriographie keinen Niederschlag gefunden habe. Den rhetorisch zugespitzt genderstereotypen, allerdings angesichts der realen Verteilung der Geschlechter in den höheren Positionen der Wissenschaft wie auch des Musikjournalismus nicht falschen Grund dafür benennt er folgendermaßen:2 »There is typically a huge divide between people who care about preserving and analyzing music and people who just like to dance. I often describe that divide in a way that is kind of a joke, but also uncomfortably true: The typical consumer of Western popular music is a teenage girl who likes to dance, while the typical critic or scholar is a man who had no dates in high school« (Wald 2014: 29). Freilich tappen nun viele musikwissenschaftliche Leser — wie auch der Autor — in die Falle und werden ihre natürlich umfangreichen jugendlichen Liebes- wie Tanzerfahrungen zum Gegenbeweis anführen wollen. Trotzdem kommt man nicht umhin, Walds Diagnose des herrschenden Trends in der Popmusikforschung zuzustimmen: »I continue to see a lot of academic attention being paid to music favored by men who don't dance — for example,

1

2

Ausnahmen bestätigen die Regel; vgl. Thomas Phleps' (2014) Analysen bundesdeutscher Schlagertümlichkeit anhand ihres »erfolgreichsten Duos«, den Amigos. In Nordrhein-Westfalen sind im Jahr 2013 22,5 % (W2/C2/C3) bzw. 17,5 % (W3/ C4) der Professuren an allen Hochschulen weiblich besetzt (vgl. http://www. genderreport-hochschulen.nrw.de/no_cache/statistikportal; Zugriff 23.1.2015). Im Musikjournalismus ist im Jahr 2008 die Geschlechterverteilung in den Redaktionen noch geringer (bloß ein Neuntel ist weiblich), unter den freien Mitarbeitern sind Frauen höchstens zu 17,7 % (Intro), wenigstens zu 8,6 % (Spex) vertreten (vgl. Doehring 2011: 168).

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punk, and rap, and heavy metal — while a lot of other, often more popular music is ignored« (ebd.: 34).3 Ein derartig weitreichender Ausschluss von Musiken aus dem Repertoire einer Disziplin ist, den Erkenntnissen der Critical bzw. New Musicology folgend, stets mit der Ausübung von Herrschaft verbunden. Die andere Musik ist eben immer die Musik der Anderen, denen so die Zugänge zum Feld sowie die Ansprüche auf Herrschaft darin verwehrt werden. Im Hinblick auf die anglophon dominierte Popmusikforschung muss der/die/das Andere, üblicherweise durch die Trias Race — Class — Gender definiert, um die Kategorie des Ortes erweitert werden, da hier nicht-englischsprachige Musik sowie nicht dem United Kingdom oder den USA entstammende MusikerInnen wenig Beachtung finden. Selbst die deutschsprachige Popmusikforschung scheint dieser — unbewusst verlaufenden — Legitimitätsprüfung des musikalischen Gegenstands zu erliegen, wie Wald (ebd.: 29f.) mit dem privilegierten Blick des Außenstehenden feststellt: Als einen blinden Fleck der deutschsprachigen Popmusikforschung benennt er bspw. die ausgebliebene Beschäftigung mit Boney M., die mit überwiegend weiblichen und ausschließlich farbigen Mitgliedern vom Produzenten Frank Farian (geb. Franz Reuther) in Offenbach-Bieber »selbst erfundene« (Eidam/Schröder 2001: 15) und — wiederum bezogen auf die Plattenverkäufe — populärste Formation aus ›diesem unseren Lande‹. Dass außerdem diese öffentlichen Boney M.Performer nicht an der Komposition und nur zum Teil an der Produktion der funktional auf einen Disco-Kontext zielenden Songs beteiligt waren, mag als weiteres Indiz für die in der Popmusikforschung im Stillen herrschenden Prämissen an ihre Gegenstände dienen. Die Gründe für diese besonderen Grenzziehungen liegen gewiss in der langen Geschichte der Mutterdisziplin Musikwissenschaft als Kunstwissenschaft, in der die Werke4 der Wenigen, indes Mächtigen bzw. durch diese Protegierten, nicht jedoch die Musiken der Vielen kanonisiert wurden. Auch wenn sich vielerorts dieser Anspruch hin zu einer kulturwissenschaftlichen Orientierung gewandelt haben mag (vgl. bspw. die Beiträge in Calella/Urbanek 2013), ist doch immer noch eine disziplinäre Faszination für diejenige abseits des Mainstreams klingende populäre Musik zu beobachten, der eine gewisse handwerkliche Brillanz und kunstvolle Gestaltung durch ein ›genia3

4

Auch wenn etwa im Heavy Metal unter gewissen Umständen getanzt wird (zumindest im selben Maße, wie dort gesungen wird), bleibt Walds Befund prägnant. In dem ohnehin problematischen Begriff des Werks, vom individuellen ›Genie‹ des Komponisten geschaffen, wird eine weitere Grenzziehung in dem Moment ersichtlich, wo er sich der problemlosen Anwendung auf die Musik von Modern Talking widersetzt.

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les‹ Individuum (seltener ein Duo, fast nie ein Kollektiv) zuerkannt werden kann. Und dies selbstverständlich nur in den Fällen, in denen Musikwissenschaft mit dem ihr zur Verfügung stehenden und an einem Kanon von Werken etablierten Begriffs- und Wahrnehmungsapparat erkennen kann, wie das musikalische und instrumentale Handwerk ausgeübt wird. Synthetisch resp. digital erzeugte Musik wie die von Modern Talking stellt insofern immer noch einen relativ neuen Gegenstand dar (vgl. zur Lage der elektronischen Tanzmusik im Fach Doehring 2015: 134f.). Vor diesem Hintergrund ist es verständlich, warum bspw. die anglophone Musikwissenschaft einen eklatant größeren Literaturkorpus über die Musik der Beatles bilden konnte, die Musik von Modern Talking bisher aber zu so wenig Resonanz in der deutschsprachigen Musikwissenschaft führte bzw., um Karl Valentin zu paraphrasieren, warum sie noch nicht einmal durch die Disziplin ignoriert wurde: Modern Talkings Musik war und ist populär, sie ist kommerziell erfolgreich, zu ihr wurde und wird getanzt — dies alles gilt freilich auch für die Beatles (wobei deren späten Alben, die im Mittelpunkt der musikwissenschaftlichen Rezeption stehen, kaum die Eignung zur Tanz-, sondern zur Kunstmusik attestiert wird). Aber entscheidend ist, dass Modern Talkings Musik aus Deutschland kommt, dass sie mit einem anderen als dem klassischen (Rock-)Instrumentarium erzeugt wird und dass ihr keine kunstvolle Gestaltung attestiert werden kann bzw. darf. Kurz: Sie findet jenseits der musikologischen Wahrnehmung statt. Dieser Ausschluss stellt zum einen natürlich den herrschenden Anspruch an das eigene Arbeitsfeld der hier sog. populären Musik infrage. Zum anderen belegt das derart bezeugte Desinteresse an den Klängen sowie an den Kontexten ihrer Produktion, Distribution und Rezeption einen Rückzug der Disziplin — oder, falls man denn je wirklich ausgezogen war: ihr Einigeln — in den sprichwörtlichen Elfenbeinturm weitab einer popmusikalischen Realität unserer Kultur, zu der man nur bei gutem Wetter und richtig stehendem Wind die Fenster ein wenig zu öffnen pflegt. Ob wir es mögen oder nicht: Will die popmusikforschende Musikwissenschaft als Kulturwissenschaft agieren, muss sie diese nach wie vor bestehenden Grenzen zum Populären überwinden — sei es als Fan (ein für diesen Bereich zwar seltener, ansonsten durchaus legitimer Zugang, wie wir durch die o.g. Rap-, Punk- und Heavy Metal-Forscher wissen) oder, wie im vorliegenden Fall, als Pflichtverteidiger.

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Ergebnisse der Korpus-Analyse Popmusikforschung ist ein notwendigerweise, d.h. dem Gegenstand adäquates interdisziplinäres Unternehmen. Indes hat sie sich aufgrund ihrer besonderen Geschichte (vgl. Rösing 2002; Pfleiderer/Grosch/Appen 2014) mit ihrer starken sozialwissenschaftlichen Verwurzelung nur selten um die Klangstruktur gekümmert. Das ist selbstverständlich den Sozialwissenschaften aufgrund dort fehlender Methoden nicht vorzuwerfen. Trotzdem ist das derart in die Popmusikforschung eingebrachte mangelnde Bewusstsein für den gesamten Gegenstand sicher nicht hilfreich, wird somit doch suggeriert, dass die klangliche Struktur vernachlässigt, möglicherweise gar — dem Anschein nach folgenlos — ignoriert werden könne. Musikwissenschaft kann mithilfe der Methode der Analyse als einzige der an der Erforschung populärer Musik beteiligten Disziplinen zur Klanggestalt fundierte Aussagen treffen (Appen/Doehring 2014: 219); sie besitzt, um werberisch eine Lanze zu brechen, die USP (unique selling proposition) im Feld, das — zwar doppelt gemoppelt dummdeutsche, dessen ungeachtet weiterhin betriebswirtschaftlich so genannte — Alleinstellungsmerkmal. In Anbetracht der Forschungslage zur Musik Modern Talkings erscheint es mir angeraten, einen ersten analytischen Versuch mithilfe einer Analyse zu unternehmen, die nicht den Einzelfall, sondern das Verbindende in allen Veröffentlichungen von Modern Talking sucht. Notwendigerweise rückt somit die individuelle Struktur und Rezeption eines Songs in den Hintergrund des Interesses, dafür treten jedoch Gemeinsamkeiten der musikalischen Struktur aller Songs hervor, die in der Einzelanalyse nicht beobachtet werden können. Als Grundlage dient mir der Korpus von 59 Songs, die auf den ersten sechs Studioalben zwischen April 1985 und November 1987 erschienen sind. Die Beschränkung auf diese erste Phase von Modern Talking erscheint insofern berechtigt, als hier die Grundlage der musikalischen Betätigung auch der zweiten Phase um die Jahrtausendwende gelegt wurde.5 Hinsichtlich der untersuchten Parameter musste aus arbeitsökonomischen Gründen eine Reduzierung vorgenommen werden: Alle Songs wurden bezüg-

5

Modern Talking waren von 1984-1987 und 1998-2003 aktiv. Die erste Phase ist prägend für die Musik und ihre Rezeption, da hier der seitdem für die deutschen Charts geltende Rekord von fünf konsekutiven Nr. 1-Singles einer Band aufgestellt wurde. Außerdem besteht das nur hinsichtlich des immensen kommerziellen Erfolgs nicht falsch betitelte Comeback-Album Back For Good (1998) zu fast 80 Prozent (14 von 18 Songs) aus in erster Linie soundtechnisch überarbeiteten Versionen von Songs aus der ersten Phase.

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lich ihrer formalen, harmonischen und rhythmischen Strukturen sowie ihrer Instrumentation und ihres Tempos analysiert. Tempo ist einer der wesentlichen Parameter für die Etablierung von musikalischen Ähnlichkeitsbeziehungen, wie der Chef des Pandora Music Genome Project Steve Hogan aus der eigenen Arbeit berichtet (vgl. Byron 2014).6 Dem bereits vor Modern Talking jahrelang als Auftragsproduzent für Intersong/Warner Chappell, dann für Hansa Musikproduktion tätigen Dieter Bohlen, der sämtliche Songs für Modern Talking komponierte, muss diese Bedeutung des Tempos klar gewesen sein: Die 59 Songs haben ein durchschnittliches Tempo von 108 bpm bei einer Standardabweichung von 16,3. Wie aus Abb. 1 ersichtlich wird, weichen elf Songs deutlich von diesem Durchschnitt ab (übrigens auch thematisch, denn dies sind die Weihnachtsund Liebes-Balladen).

Abbildung 1: Tempo (in bpm) der Modern Talking-Songs

Rechnet man diese langsameren Titel heraus, ergibt sich für die verbleibenden 48 Songs das nun etwas schnellere Durchschnittstempo von 115 bpm, die Standardabweichung ist auf 4,9 gesunken. Zu dieser überraschenden Einheitlichkeit im Tempo tritt eine weitere hinzu: Die elf langsameren Songs sind auf jedem der sechs Alben — die bis auf das erste Album durchweg zehn Songs enthalten — an denselben Stellen der Ablaufprogrammierung zu finden, nämlich immer auf Platz 2 oder 3 sowie auf Platz 7 bzw. 8. Für die ›Marke‹ Modern Talking hat das zur Folge, dass ihre Platten als qualitativ 6

Dort sind — tatsächlich! — Musikwissenschaftler für die analytisch begründete Kategorisierung von Popmusik verantwortlich, deren Ergebnisse dann einen möglichst homogenen Musikfluss auf dem Internetradiosender pandora.com ermöglichen sollen. Insgesamt werden für die Analyse ca. 450 Kategorien benutzt (vgl. http://www.pandora.com/about/mgp; Zugriff 1.2.2015).

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ANDRÉ DOEHRING ähnlich rezipiert werden können: Man kann zu egal welchem dieser Alben durchtanzen, was bei einem relativ homogenen und gemäßigt schnellen Tempo von 115 bpm ohne Probleme möglich ist — allerdings nur, wenn man daran denkt, an den immer gleichen Stellen der Alben einen Song zu überspringen. Ein ähnlich hoher Grad an Ähnlichkeit ist in formaler Hinsicht zu entdecken. Die typische Modern Talking-Songform ist: Intro — Verse — ChorusSektion — Re-Intro — Verse — Chorus-Sektion — Chorus-Wiederholungen. Jeder Formteil besteht aus meist zwei Wiederholungen achttaktiger Glieder; auftretende Abweichungen in der Länge (meist in Form eines zusätzlichen Takts) liegen in ihrer Funktion begründet, den folgenden Formteil anzukündigen (»episodic marker« nach Tagg 1992: 377). Andere in der Popmusik geläufige Songformen (bspw. AABA, AAA, Blues-Form, Track-Form etc.) sind im Korpus nicht zu entdecken. Eine Bridge (vgl. zur Terminologie und Geschichte Appen/Frei-Hauenschild 2015) als variierendes Element dieser strengen Verse-Chorus-Form taucht in vier Songs (6,8 %) auf. In knapp 12 % der Fälle (sieben Songs) eröffnet der Song nach dem Intro mit dem Chorus, eine in der Popmusik durchaus (ein-)gängige, hier aber überraschend wirkende Formvariation.7 Diese bemerkenswerte Einheitlichkeit der Form ist auch in der konkreten Ausgestaltung der Chorus-Sektion erkennbar. In gut zwei Dritteln (67,8 %) des Korpus besteht dieser Formteil aus einer dreiteiligen Anlage von Pre-Chorus, Chorus und dem chorisch im Kopfstimmregister gesungenen Post-Chorus.8 In 81,4 % aller Songs sind ein Chorus und ein PostChorus vertreten, in bloß fünf Fällen (8,5 %) gibt es einen einteiligen Chorus. Bohlen weiß um die Bedeutung dieses Formteils für die Erinnerbarkeit und somit potentiell höhere Verkäuflichkeit seiner Musik, daher bietet er den Hörern in den Chorus-Teilen viele hooks an, die vorbereitend und öffnend (Pre-Chorus), hochgradig eingängig und sanglich (Chorus) sowie auf einem höheren Energielevel bestätigend und weiterführend (Post-Chorus) funktionieren. Insbesondere der Post-Chorus signalisiert in seiner Zitation des durch die Bee Gees verbreiteten chorischen Kopfstimmregistergesangs die Funktion als Tanzmusik im Disco-Kontext. Der Post-Chorus ist im Ver7

8

Diese für den vorliegenden Korpus so zu nennenden ›Überraschungen‹ im formalen Ablauf beruhen natürlich auf der ansonsten strikten Durchführung der benannten Modern Talking-Standardsongform. Am Beispiel der ersten Nr. 1-Single »You're My Heart You're My Soul« illustriert: Pre-Chorus (»I'm dying in emotion / In my world of fantasies / Living in my, living in my dreams«) — Chorus (»You're my heart...«, gesungen von Thomas Anders im Bruststimmregister) — Post-Chorus (»You're my heart...«, gesungen im Kopfstimmregister, in diesem Fall von Dieter Bohlen; vgl. die Ausführungen zum Produktionsteam auf S. 131).

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gleich zum vorhergehenden Chorus anders textiert, oft folgt er auch einer neuen harmonischen Struktur; hier wurde kompositorisch wie auch produktionstechnisch mit den mehrfach übereinandergeschichteten Chören viel Arbeit investiert. Da er in vier Fünfteln aller Fälle vorhanden ist, kann man ihn als zentralen Bestandteil des typischen Modern Talking-Sounds benennen. Auch in harmonischer Hinsicht ist die Ähnlichkeit des Materials evident. Mehr als die Hälfte der Songs (52,6 %) stehen in Moll,9 gerade einmal 15,2 % in Dur. Das fehlende knappe Drittel des Korpus (32,2 %) variiert das harmonische Geschlecht, in der Regel für den Chorus. Diese Modulationen gehen zu fast zwei Dritteln (63,2 %) von einem in Moll stehenden Verse in eine in Dur stehende Chorus-Sektion, das folgende Re-Intro steht wieder in Moll.10 Fast sämtliche Modulationen wechseln in die Paralleltonart (94,7 %).

Abbildung 2:

Tonart und Geschlecht der Modern Talking-Songs

Die favorisierte Tonart ist d-Moll (s. Abb. 2), was möglicherweise mit der Orientierung am Ambitus von Lead- wie Backing-Gesang, vielleicht aber auch mit der Produktionspraxis begründet werden kann: Bohlen produzierte die Demos in seinem Kellerstudio auf einem Sequential Circuits Prophet-5 Synthesizer;11 als Gitarrist mag der Griff in die Tonarten mit wenigen Vorzeichen eine Rolle gespielt haben. Diese instrumentaltechnische Erklärung 9

Dieter Bohlen macht dafür schlicht die »russische Seele« (Bohlen 2002: 12) seiner Großmutter verantwortlich: »Dieses ganze Moll-Feeling in meiner Musik habe ich von ihr« (ebd.). 10 Somit ist der Eindruck der vorherrschenden Mollharmonik beim Hören eines Albums noch höher, da dieses modulierende Drittel aller Songs in Moll beginnt. 11 Zum Kauf des Synthesizers sei er durch Phil Collins' Hit »In The Air Tonight« (1981) angeregt worden, auf dem er nun fortan jeden seiner Hits produzierte — bei Bohlen läuft er seitdem unter dem »Code-Name[n] Profit V« (vgl. Bohlen 2002: 49f.)

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kann auch ursächlich für das seltene Vorkommen von Akkord-Alterationen sein, die erst auf dem sechsten Album in größerem Ausmaß zu hören sind. Ihr äußerst seltenes Erklingen auf den Alben zuvor wird aber sicherlich auch auf ästhetischen Maßgaben beruhen, die dann die Produktivkräfte im Studio umzusetzen hatten (s.u.). Die Songs in einer Dur-Umgebung bedienen sich ausschließlich einer einfachen Funktionsharmonik. Die Songs in Moll unterliegen einer modalen Harmonik: Auf den ersten drei Alben ist nur der äolische Modus (i — iv — v) präsent, ab dem vierten Album sind harmonisches und melodisches Moll oder der dorische Modus als Alternativen zum immer noch vorherrschenden natürlichen Moll zu entdecken. Bohlen vermeidet jegliche harmonische Ambiguitäten: Intro, Pre- oder Post-Chorus enden oft auf einer öffnenden V in einer Dur- oder auf einer bVII in einer Moll-Umgebung, die ihm in der äolischen Moll-Umgebung geeigneter als die v erscheint. Diese harmonischen episodic marker werden in ihrer Funktion mitunter durch den erwähnten zusätzlichen Takt und/oder durch eine rhythmische Figur (auf der V folgen nach einem Volltakt Viertelnoten fünf Achtel) unterstützt, die aus dem Schlager bekannt sind. Als typische Kadenz im Korpus ist die in einer Mollumgebung zu findende iv — bVII (— i) zu nennen, die oft für den Wechsel in die Durparalleltonart genutzt werden kann (ii — V → I). Des Weiteren sind in vielen Modern Talking-Songs Akkord-Shuttles zwischen i — v oder i — iv zu hören. Interessanterweise wechseln sie sich oft innerhalb eines Songs ab: Folgt bspw. der Chorus einer i — v-Verbindung, wechselt der anschließende Post-Chorus zwischen i — iv (»Let’s Talk About Love«, Modern Talking 1985d; »Save Me — Don’t Break Me«, Modern Talking 1986c). Obwohl Bohlen nur äußerst selten die sechs Akkorde des zugrunde liegenden harmonischen Rahmens verlässt, ist er doch bestrebt, stereotype harmonische Verbindungen außer den erwähnten zu umgehen. Besonders auf den letzten Alben ist das Bemühen um eine Klischeevermeidung erkennbar: Hier wirken manche harmonische Verbindungen tatsächlich ›überraschend‹, da ein kadenzieller Sinn nicht mehr offensichtlich ist. Die Instrumentation der Songs weist ebenfalls eine hohe Ähnlichkeit auf. Alle Instrumente stammen, bis auf den Gesang sowie Rhythmus- und LeadGitarren, aus dem Synthesizer. Insbesondere der Synthie-Bass, der sich zumeist auf pentatonische Pattern beschränkt, und der Drum-Computer mit der grundlegenden Four-to-the-Floor-Bassdrum lassen auch auf der Soundebene den Versuch erkennen, an zeitgenössische Disco-Kontexte anzuschließen.12 12 Diskotheken hatten sich allerdings, auch das ist zu konstatieren, in New York, Chicago, London oder Ibiza, das Mitte der 1980er als Geheimtipp galt, anderer

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Interpretation Analyse ist ein Mittel der Popmusikforschung zum Verstehen. Sie ist somit kein Zweck, erst recht kein Selbst-Zweck. Unnachahmlich fragt Ekkehard Jost (1999a: 17) in der Jazzforschung nach dem Sinn von Analyse: »Alles transkribiert, alles analysiert, alles unter Kontrolle. Was nun?« Allan Moores (2009: 412) Version der Frage ist genauso kurz: »So what?« Beide stellen die bloße parametrische Zergliederung von Klang als sinnlos infrage, wenn sie nicht anschließend die Grundlage einer Interpretation durch das analysierende Subjekt hergibt. Doch was wollen bzw. was können wir verstehen? Ein typisches und weit verbreitetes Ziel ist das Verstehen des musikalischen Funktionierens populärer Musik, das Jost (1999b: 103) in Bezug auf Jazz als »Verstehen, wie Jazz gemacht wird« bezeichnet. Analyse ist dann bspw. ein Mittel zum pädagogischen Zweck der Reproduktion, der wissenschaftlichen Demonstration oder Aufklärung bis hin zum Beleg für den Kunstcharakter eines Musikstücks. Letzteres war lange Zeit alleiniger Zweck von Analyse. Eine Folge des subjective turn (vgl. Doehring 2012; Moore 2012) ist aber, dass man das bei manchen Hörern — und vielen Musikwissenschaftlern — verbreitete Verständnis von populärer Musik als Kunst als einen möglichen Ausgangs- wie Endpunkt der Analyse bestimmen kann. Ein anderes Ziel entspricht der grundlegenden Aufgabe systematischer Musikwissenschaft, wie Helga de la Motte-Haber (1982: 12) sie benennt, nämlich der des »Verstehens des Musikverstehens«13. Auch wenn derzeit im subjective turn die eigene Rezeption der Analysierenden im Mittelpunkt steht, sind prinzi-

Musik als der von Modern Talking zugewandt — House, ersten Techno-Tracks und EBM. Man darf annehmen, dass weder Bohlen noch die Labelbetreiber in enger Beziehung zu diesen Orten standen, sondern ihre Konstruktion von Disco darauf errichteten, was in Hamburg, Sitz des Labels und Bohlens Wohnort, zu diesem Zeitpunkt aus der Discowelle Ende der 1970er Jahre nachhallte. Auch auf der Formatebene ist Disco als Kontext erkennbar, ohne dass er sich in dem Produkt niederschlägt: Alle Singles sind auch als 12"-Single veröffentlicht worden (Modern Talking 1984, 1985a, 1985c, 1986a, 1986b, 1986d, 1986f, 1987a, 1987c). Nur die letzte überwindet die Grenze von sechs Minuten, die anderen als »Special-Dance-« oder »Long-Version« angepriesenen Aufnahmen sind gerade einmal fünf Minuten lang. Es darf vermutet werden, dass hier nicht ein kleiner DJ-Markt, sondern die Zielgruppe der Fans im Visier der Plattenfirma stand, um mit dieser minimalen Produktdiversifizierung den Absatz zu erhöhen. 13 La Motte-Haber bezieht sich auf das von Guido Adler stammende »›Reciprocitätsverhältnis‹ zwischen Musik und Hörer«. Sie ist sich außerdem bewusst: »Die Beschäftigung mit den Schwierigkeiten, Bedingungen, Möglichkeiten und Auswirkungen des Musikverstehens bedarf musikgeschichtlichen Wissens vor allem in Form von Kultur- und Rezeptionsgeschichte« (ebd.).

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piell alle musikalischen Praxen (Blaukopf 1984) von Musik — auch diejenigen Dritter — mögliche Gegenstände der Analyse. Ein sozialgeschichtlich interessiertes Verstehen, das den Wandel im Verständnis und auch in der Funktion eines Musikstücks anstrebt (Jost 1999b: 99), profitiert von der analytischen Methode, da diese die klanglich relevanten Parameter herausarbeitet, die Gegenstand der musikalischen Verfahren auf Musikerseite sind oder diejenigen, auf die sich eine zeitgenössische Rezeption bezieht. Das in meinen Augen Typische aller Modern Talking-Songs ist das auf vielen Ebenen aufgezeigte hohe Maß an Ähnlichkeit. Diese Standardisierung des musikalischen Materials kann uns somit erstens Aufschluss bieten über die Umstände der Produktion von populärer Tanzmusik in der BRD in den 1980er Jahren. Zweitens bildet diese klangstrukturelle Ähnlichkeit die Basis meiner Rezeption, die im Anschluss auf ihre Spezifität hin untersucht wird. Doch zunächst zum Kontext der Produktion. Wenn wir uns die Daten und Anzahl der Veröffentlichungen vor Augen führen und zudem die Berichte von Dieter Bohlen und Thomas Anders in ihren Autobiografien (Bohlen 2002; Anders 2011) über die enormen Promotion- und Touraktivitäten im Umfeld dieser Veröffentlichungen heranziehen, wird deutlich, dass Bohlen die für die Entwicklung einer musikalischen Vielfalt notwendige Zeit gefehlt hat, wie sie etwa die Beatles nach der Beendigung ihrer Liveauftritte ab 1966 hatten. Es ist allerdings fraglich, ob er diesen Freiraum tatsächlich vermisst hat:14 Denn Bohlen ist zum Zeitpunkt des Erscheinens der ersten Single bereits ein seit Jahren in der Musikindustrie beschäftigter Musikproduzent, erst für Intersong/Warner Chappell, ab 1980 für die Hansa-Musikproduktion. Er hat also die in der Musikindustrie herrschende Ästhetik der populären Musik verinnerlicht und gelernt, sie im Rahmen der bestehenden Produktionsverhältnisse umzusetzen. Deshalb war es ihm ohne Umstände möglich, innerhalb von zweieinhalb Jahren sieben Alben und zehn Singles (inkl. der ersten Blue System-Produktionen) zu komponieren, zu produzieren, zu bewerben und mit ihnen auf Tour zu gehen. Diese ungeheure Produktivität ist nur zu bewerkstelligen, wenn ein hohes Maß an Arbeitsteiligkeit herrscht. Und hier kommt ein anderer, bisher

14 »Ich setzte mich, wie ich das immer so mache, in mein Studio, schaltete das Keyboard ein. Klimperte ein bisschen auf den Tasten rum, sang ein paar Textideen dazu und ließ dabei ein Band mitlaufen. Das machte ich Stunde um Stunde. Komponieren ist für mich ein bisschen wie Mathe: Ich mache was dazu und drei im Sinn und einen lass [sic] ich fallen, bis zum Schluss der Song steht« (Bohlen 2002: 182). Nach einer kommerziell nicht erfolgreichen Produktion mit der von ihm verehrten Dionne Warwick zieht er die Lehre: »Nie wieder ein Song für die Kritikerloge. Ab jetzt nur noch für die Ränge und das Parkett« (ebd.: 191).

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nicht genannter Faktor der Musik von Modern Talking ins Spiel, nämlich das Studio-Team, bestehend aus dem Produzenten Luis Rodriguez, dem Musiker und Toningenieur Ralf Stemmann sowie den Sängern Rolf Köhler, Detlef Wiedeke, Michael Scholz und Birger Corleis. Diese Musiker waren für die Aufnahmen aller Modern Talking-Alben zuständig.15 Arbeitsteiligkeit, so lehrt es die Ökonomie, setzt wiederum ein hohes Maß an Kommunikation und Standardisierung voraus. Da Bohlen durch die erwähnten Aktivitäten oft die Teilnahme an der Produktion der Musik nicht möglich war, konnte er nur das fertige Produkt abnehmen. Und dieses wurde, um zu einer möglichst schnellen und reibungslosen Produktion beizutragen, an den einmal etablierten Modern Talking-Standards orientiert. Denn als erfahrener Angehöriger der Musikindustrie ahnte Bohlen (und sicher auch sein Label), dass der mit »You're My Heart, You're My Soul« relativ unerwartet hereingebrochene Erfolg nicht von langer Dauer sein würde.16 Insofern ist in der Standardisierung ihrer Musik ein Ergebnis des arbeitsökonomisch bedingten Versuchs zu sehen, die Marktfähigkeit der Musik möglichst rasch zu kapitalisieren. Nicht unberücksichtigt bleiben darf dabei die Label-Umgebung, denn die derart entstandene Musik musste schnell in mediale Knotenpunkte und schließlich in die Geschäfte zum Verkauf gebracht werden. Dazu benötigte man erfahrene Verkäufer populärer Musik, die über die notwendigen Verfahren, Ansprechpartner und das ökonomische Kapital verfügten. Die HansaMusikproduktion ist ein für den bundesdeutschen Raum wichtiger Player auf dem Markt der populären Musik. Sie wurde 1964 von Thomas Meisel zusammen mit seinem Bruder Peter sowie dem Schlagerkomponisten Christian Bruhn nach Vorbild der US-amerikanischen Independent-Labels gegründet; die Meisels sind die Kinder des Operetten-Sängers Will Meisel, der die Meisel-Musikverlage gründete, die heute 36 Unterverlage und 16 eigene Labels umfassen. Bruhn schied nach kurzer Zeit auf eigenen Wunsch hin aus der 15 Dies bestätigt Frank Farian in seinem literarisch anspruchslosen, indes machtpolitisch hochgradig ambitionierten Versuch der Ausschaltung seines Konkurrenten. Er nennt dieselben Sänger und bezeichnet Luis Rodriguez als federführend im Studio, die von Bohlen hereingereichten Demos umzusetzen (Farian/Kaltwasser/Rudorf 2004: 55, 68ff. u. 147). Christian Bruhn spricht von »Bohlens Fabrikarbeitern« (Bruhn 2005: 393). 16 Zum Zeitpunkt der Veröffentlichung der ersten Single gab es zwar die Interpreten Modern Talking, aber keine Band, geschweige denn eine Marktstrategie. Thomas Anders wollte, das war die Vorbedingung für die Produktion, unter keinen Umständen mit »You're My Heart, You're My Soul« in Verbindung gebracht werden, weil er negative Auswirkungen des englischsprachigen Songs auf seine angestrebte Schlagersängerkarriere befürchtete. Hans Blume, damaliger Geschäftsführer der Hansa, stellt die Abläufe in der Industrie richtig: »Überhaupt fangen die Pop-Karrieren häufig mit einem guten Titel an, und die Interpreten werden erst nachträglich gesucht« (zit. n. Eidam/Schröder 2001: 229).

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Hansa-Musikproduktion aus; in seiner Autobiografie bezeichnet er, in fünfter Ehe lebend, diese Trennung als »wohl größten Fehler meines Lebens« (Bruhn 2005: 136f.). Viele MusikerInnen des deutschen Schlagers waren bei der Hansa als Interpreten — z.B. auch Thomas Anders vor Modern Talking — und/oder Komponisten — bspw. Gunter Gabriel, der u.a. den oft vergessenen Song »Ich laß dir einen Kochtopf, laß du mir mein Bier« für Peter Alexander (1979) schrieb — unter Vertrag, aber auch Boney M.17 Der Vertrieb lief zunächst über Ariola und wurde 1985 dann an Bertelsmann verkauft, ab 1987 war Hansa dann bis auf die Hansa-Studios Teil des Konzerns. Nach einigen Jahren bei BMG und SonyBMG ist das Hansa-Label heute bei Sony Music Entertainment. Übrigens: Bertelsmann ist Mehrheitsaktionär der RTL Group, eine Bertelsmann-Tochterfirma produziert Deutschland sucht den Superstar und Dieter Bohlen ist noch immer bei Hansa unter Vertrag — folglich auch seine Produktionen etwa der DSDS-Reihe. Diese personellen wie strukturellen Verflechtungen der jüngeren deutschen Musik- und Unterhaltungsgeschichte nehmen ihren Ausgang also in Bohlens Tätigkeit und seinen ersten Erfolgen mit Modern Talking für die Hansa; seine heutige Medien- und Marktmacht liegen hier begründet.18 Zum zweiten aber, und hier greife ich zurück auf die obige Prämisse der Subjektbezogenheit der Analyse, sind diese Ergebnisse und ihre Darstellung die Produkte meiner Auseinandersetzung mit Modern Talkings Musik. Doch was höre bzw. was verstehe ich eigentlich? Und warum? Ich könnte es mir einfach machen und behaupten, dass die festgestellte Standardisierung weniger musikalischer Mittel meine Abneigung der Musik begründen könnte. Jedoch: Meine eigentümliche Faszination für diese Musik und die Tatsache, dass ich im Jahr 2013 mit Ralf von Appen und Markus Frei-Hauenschild an einer 321 Songs umfassenden Korpus-Analyse aller Rolling Stones-Songs gearbeitet habe (vorgeblich ebenso simple Musik, deren Analyse mir aber wesentlich mehr Freude bereitete),19 müssten dann entweder verschwiegen 17 Frank Farian gründete sogar mit der Edition Intro Meisel den Co-Verlag FAR Musikverlag GmbH, wo als erster Millionenhit »Ma Baker« verlegt wurde. 18 Die langjährige persönliche Bekanntschaft mit heute mächtigen Angehörigen der Industrie ist dabei sicherlich hilfreich. Stellvertretend für viele andere ist hier bspw. André (Andi) Selleneit zu nennen, ein alter Wegbegleiter von Dieter Bohlen, der als Mitarbeiter der Hansa mit Bohlen vor Modern Talking das Projekt Steve Benson gegründet hatte. Selleneit folgte Hans Blume ab 1992 als Geschäftsführer der Hansa, ab 1997 war er Geschäftsführer der BMG Berlin, 2005 gründete er die DEAG (Deutsche Entertainment AG), ein 360 Grad-Label, bei dem u.a. David Garrett unter Vertrag ist, ab 2010 war er bei Sony und ist heute wieder bei der DEAG. 19 Die Ergebnisse wurden 2013 auf der PopMAC-Konferenz in Liverpool und der GfPM-Tagung in Gießen, 2014 auf der EuroMAC in Leuven vorgestellt.

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oder aber, und das soll hier passieren, zum Gegenstand gemacht werden. Meine analytische Rezeption — die Analyse ist ein besonderer Fall der Rezeption — unterliegt kulturellen, beruflichen und sozialen Kontexten, die weder immer bewusst gemacht noch ausgeschaltet, aber in der »radikalen Selbstreflexivität« (Doehring 2012: 37f.) als Teil des analytischen Prozesses herausgearbeitet werden können. Und nur mit ihrer Hilfe wird meine ambivalente Rezeption der Musik verständlich, wie sie eingangs dieses Beitrags beschrieben wurde. Als in den 1980er Jahren in der BRD Aufgewachsener ist mir Modern Talking bereits lange vor der beruflichen Auseinandersetzung mit ihrer Musik geläufig. Ich erinnere mich an ihre Videos, die in der TV-Sendung Formel Eins gezeigt wurden, Fernsehauftritte bei Wetten daß...?, Artikel in der Bravo sowie natürlich an ihre Musik, die ich aus dem Radio auf Kassette aufgenommen habe und die in der Tanzschule, der Dorfdisco oder auf der Kirmes am Autoscooter lief (und wenn sich die Blaskapelle progressiv gab, auch im Festzelt). Dies ist mein Blick, der sich erheblich von Rezeptionen im Iran oder bspw. auch Russland unterscheidet:20 Dort war — und ist — die Musik ein Inbegriff westlicher Popmusik, hedonistisch und damit hochgradig politisch. Sie war und ist Ausdruck von Freiheit — wohingegen ich mich an eine kurze erste Begeisterung, mit dem Heranwachsen aber dann an den bundesrepublikanischen Mief der ersten Kohl-Jahre und per Discofox zwangsregulierte Bewegung erinnere. Ähnlich spezifisch gestaltet auch der berufliche Kontext meine Rezeption. Modern Talking ist, wie dargestellt, ein fremdes, möglicherweise illegitimes Objekt für meine Heimatdisziplin. Überlegungen bezüglich möglicher Auswirkungen meiner Beschäftigung mit Modern Talking — Prozesse der Stigmatisierung, gar Ausgrenzung — begleiten mein Vorgehen, das nun umso mehr bemüht ist, den diskursiven Regeln der Disziplin entsprechend zu handeln und das heißt: den Gegenstand zu formen. Wie sonst wenn nicht durch die analytische Methode sollte eine Legitimierung von Gegenstand und Autor erfolgen? Des Weiteren beeinflussen meinen Blick auf die Musik Modern Talkings ein habituell erworbenes Musikkonzept sowie ein Gender-Aspekt. Der anfänglich noch präpubertären Freude an der Musik Modern Talkings, die ich mit meinen Schulfreunden teilte, folgte rasch die bis heute anhaltende Abneigung, die sich ausbildete, als ich älter wurde und begann, in ersten 20 Die Sowjetunion war bereits 1978 Tourneeziel einer bundesdeutschen HansaProduktion: Boney M. traten dort für zehn Konzerte auf. Ab 1986 durften Modern Talking-Alben in der Sowjetunion verkauft werden, 1987 spielte das Duo dann eine erste von vielen folgenden Tourneen dort.

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Rock- und Blues-Bands sowie Orchestern zu spielen. Nun machte ich ›richtige‹ Musik, für ›derartige Popmusik‹ hatte ich als ›gestandener‹ Musiker nichts mehr übrig (zu haben). Dieser Wandel ist auch auf durch das von Thomas Anders repräsentierte Männlichkeitsbild zurückzuführen, das die männliche Norm der Mittachtziger Jahre infrage stellte — eine Norm, die zu jener Zeit der pubertierenden Orientierungsnot sicherlich auch für einige Jahre die meine war. Repräsentierte Männlichkeit bestimmt auch die heutige professionelle Beschäftigung mit Modern Talking, allerdings unter umgekehrten Vorzeichen: Es gelingt mir nicht, die mir machtvoll über die Konzerne Springer und Bertelsmann übermittelte media persona Dieter Bohlen21 und die durch sie vertretene Ideologie einer neoliberalen Leistungs- bzw. Verdrängungsgesellschaft sowie ihre Verkörperung eines von mir als unhaltbar befundenen Machismo auszublenden: »Talent + arbeiten + arbeiten + arbeiten + arbeiten — dann kommt irgendwann auch die Kohle. Und: Haste Kohle, haste Frauen« (Bohlen 2002: 9). Nichts davon kann und darf vergessen werden, denn diese kulturellen, professionellen und sozialen Aspekte beeinflussen jeden Aspekt meiner analytischen Arbeit. Ich höre etwa sehr deutsches bzw. falsches Englisch (bspw. in »Just We Two (Mona Lisa)«, auf Modern Talking 1986c), ich höre das Bemühen um (in meinen Ohren nie erreichten) Anschluss an internationale Popmusik, bspw. in den Bee Gees-artigen Post-Chorus-Chören. Ich vermisse innerhalb dieser sehr vorhersagbaren musikalischen Anlage die (mikro-)rhythmische Bewegung, wie ich sie in afroamerikanischer Tanzmusik der 1980er Jahre höre. Und ich kann nirgendwo eine flamboyante Campiness entdecken, wie ich sie in britischer Tanzmusik jener Zeit finde — unzweifelhaft war es Bohlen und Anders um anderes gegangen, als die dominanten Genderregeln spielerisch infrage zu stellen: »Modern Talking war tot. Nach den bonbonfarbenen Fallschirmseiden-Albträumen, dem Lipgloss und dem ganzen hoch, höher, am höchsten Gequieke wollte ich endlich wieder als richtiger Mann auf der Bühne stehen« (Bohlen 2002: 124).

21 Nur ein Beispiel: Bohlens Autobiografie Nichts als die Wahrheit wurde mit Dr. med. dent. Katja Kessler verfasst, Klatsch-Kolumnistin bei der BILD-Zeitung, seit 2002 mit dem Gesamtherausgeber der BILD-Gruppe im Axel Springer-Verlag Kai Diekmann (»Schatzi«, s.u.) verheiratet. Kessler veröffentlichte außerdem Bücher wie Frag mich Schatzi (2009), Das Schatzi-Experiment (2011) oder Silicon Wahnsinn. Wie ich mal mit Schatzi nach Kalifornien auswanderte (2014). Nichts als die Wahrheit erschien im Heyne-Verlag, der zu dieser Zeit zur Axel Springer-Gruppe gehörte und heute bei Random House ist, der Dachgesellschaft aller Bertelsmann-Verlage.

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GERMAN MODERN TALKING VS. IRANIAN MODERN TALKING »Ich habe ganz sicherlich nichts gegen Homosexuelle, es gibt einige in meinem Freundeskreis. Liebenswerte und tolle Menschen, aber wenn man mich als schwul verkaufen will, und dann auch noch aus reinen Profitgründen, möchte ich wenigstens vorher von den Plattenbossen gefragt werden« (Anders 2011: 158f.). Höre ich Modern Talking, höre ich deutsche Musiker aus der Welt des Schlagers, die sich den Regeln und Ansprüchen des Musikmarkts fügen, um mehr Geld — und bohlenscher Logik zufolge: mehr Frauen — zu erbeuten. Ein kurzes Fallbeispiel mag dies verdeutlichen: Der Song »You And Me« (auf Modern Talking 1987b) ist deutlich durch den U2-Song »I Still Haven't Found (What I'm Looking For)« (1987) inspiriert. Die im Modern Talking-Intro erklingende Lead-Gitarre spielt sogar auf die Gesangslinie der Zeilen »Only to be with you« aus dem U2-Song an. Beide Songs bedienen sich einer Dur-Pentatonik, die harmonische Anlage der Gesang-Parts beginnt identisch mit einer achttaktigen Struktur aus I / I / I / I / IV / IV / I / I. Aber danach gehen die Songs getrennte Wege. Im U2-Song werden diese acht Takte wiederholt, es folgt dann die Refrain-Zeile über eine wiederholte V / IV / I / I-Sequenz — und damit wird klar, dass es sich um eine gedehnte Blues-Form handelt. In »You And Me« dagegen läutet in Takt 8 auf die dritte und vierte Zählzeit die Kadenz IV — V die Wiederholung ein, die am Ende in den Pre-Chorus (vier Takte V) übergeht, der den einteiligen Chorus (IV / IV / I / I / IV / IV / V / V) vorbereitet. Als Hörer und Musiker bluesidiomatischer Musik kann ich nicht umhin, die Fortführung dieser Blues implizierenden ersten acht Takte als ›falsch‹ wahrzunehmen, als in der BRD sozialisierter Hörer erkenne ich sie zudem als Schlager, gerade aufgrund der Schlager-typischen Kadenz in Takt 8. Mein Urteil wird außerdem bestärkt durch die Dreiklangs-Melodik der ersten vier Takte, gesungen von Anders' Stimme, die mir mit ihrem Sound, der klaren Intonation und der mehrfachen Dopplung durch andere Stimmen Schlager signalisiert (wohingegen Bonos raue Stimmgebung, Intonation und Phrasierung diese Zuschreibung unmöglich machen). Es soll hier nicht darum gehen, Bohlens Arbeitsweise infrage zu stellen — die Inspiration durch andere Titel ist in der Musikindustrie lange und weit verbreitet und, wie gezeigt, durch die Produktionsumstände bedingt.22 Sondern ich will klarstellen, dass die klangliche Struktur der Musik für die Rezeption bedeutsam ist und die Analyse mit der anschließenden Interpretation anschlussfähige Ergebnisse liefern kann, die zwar hochgradig sub22 Übrigens: »I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For« ist als Albumtrack drei Monate, als Single einen Monat vor Romantic Warriors veröffentlicht worden. Bohlen musste und konnte innerhalb der beschriebenen Strukturen schnell arbeiten.

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jektiv sind, aber nie ahistorisch oder kulturell unverbunden. Eine bspw. iranische Musikwissenschaftlerin wird auf Basis dieser Daten zu anderen Interpretationen gelangen, sollte sie die dort stärker bewachten Grenzen der Disziplin überschreiten. Ausgestattet mit dem notwendigen, nicht bloß wie in meinem Falle durch gelegentliche Familienbesuche erworbenen, kulturellen Wissen über den Iran könnte sie zeigen, inwiefern dieselben Klänge eine andere Rezeption ermöglichen.

Ausblick Was kann ich also als deutscher Musikwissenschaftler mithilfe der Analyse an einem populären und zugleich fremden Repertoire verstehen? Ich verstehe und zeige, dass die klangliche Struktur in ihrer Einheitlichkeit erstens sozialgeschichtlich relevante Erkenntnisse liefert und dass ich zweitens mit dieser Musik wenig anfangen kann — etwas, was ich mindestens mit meinen im bundesdeutschen Kulturraum sozialisierten Freunden und Kollegen teile, die ich zu Beginn zitiert habe. Jedoch produziert eine spezifizierende Methode spezifisches Wissen, in diesem Fall über ein hoffentlich verständlicheres Unverständnis der Musik von Modern Talking. Nicht erklären kann meine Korpus-Analyse, was die Fans von Modern Talking verstehen, die seit damals am Ball geblieben sind, — oder eben die Freude der Hörer im Iran an dieser Musik, die sie unter anderen kulturellen und politischen Umständen rezipieren. Der subjective turn der Analyse ist eine methodologisch wichtige Entwicklung. Doch wird es in der künftigen analytischen Arbeit darum gehen müssen, auch das Musikverstehen Dritter zu erfassen und per Analyse an die klangliche Struktur zu binden. Die hier vorgelegten Daten der KorpusAnalyse mögen dafür als Grundlage dienen, doch sind sie an der musikalischen Praxis anderer Menschen und Kulturen zu überprüfen. Die Methode der Gruppen-Analyse (Appen/Doehring/Helms/Moore 2015) scheint mir dafür hochgradig geeignet, ergänzt durch ethnografische Methoden wie Interviews und teilnehmende Beobachtungen bei der Rezeption von Musik, ob im iranischen Auto oder bei Konzerten, Fantreffen und den anschließenden Partys samt Tanz zu Modern Talkings Musik. Denn dies alles sind gültige Verständnisse populärer Musik, die die hier von mir als erstes Verstehensangebot vorgelegte Interpretation sicher bereichern und in Teilen falsifizieren werden.

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Literatur Adorno, Theodor W. (1996). Einleitung in die Musiksoziologie. Zwölf theoretische Vorlesungen. Frankfurt/M.: Suhrkamp. Anders, Thomas, mit Tanja May (2011). 100 Prozent anders. Mein Leben — und die Wahrheit über Modern Talking, Nora und Dieter Bohlen. Höfen: Edition Koch. Appen, Ralf von / Doehring, André (2014). »Analyse populärer Musik. Madonnas ›Hung Up‹.« In: Populäre Musik. Geschichte — Kontexte — Forschungsperspektiven. Hg. v. Ralf von Appen, Nils Grosch und Martin Pfleiderer (= Kompendien Musik 14). Laaber: Laaber, S. 219-240. Appen, Ralf von / Doehring, André / Helms, Dietrich / Moore, Allan F. (2015). »Introduction.« In: Song Interpretation in 21st-Century Pop Music. Hg. v. dens. Farnham: Ashgate, S. 1-6. Appen, Ralf von / Frei-Hauenschild, Markus (2015). »AABA, Refrain, Chorus, Bridge, Pre-Chorus — Song Forms and their Historical Development.« In: Samples 13; www.gfpm-samples.de/Samples13/appenfrei.pdf (Zugriff 10.3.2015). Blaukopf, Kurt (1984). Musik im Wandel der Gesellschaft. Grundzüge der Musiksoziologie. München, Kassel: dtv / Bärenreiter. Bohlen, Dieter, mit Katja Kessler (2002). Nichts als die Wahrheit. München: Heyne. Bruhn, Christian (2005). Marmor, Stein und Liebeskummer. Meine Welt ist die Musik. Erinnerungen, Gedanken und Gefühle von ihm selbst aufgeschrieben. Berlin: Schwarzkopf & Schwarzkopf. Byron, Tim (2014). »An inside look at how Pandora can pick the next song you want to hear.« In: the VINE vom 25 September; http://thevine.com.au/music/news/ an-inside-look-at-how-pandora-can-pick-the-next-song-you-want-to-hear-201409 25-287192 (Zugriff 25.9.2014). Calella, Michele / Urbanek, Nikolaus (Hg.) (2013). Historische Musikwissenschaft. Grundlagen und Perspektiven. Stuttgart, Weimar: Metzler. Doehring, André (2011). Musikkommunikatoren. Berufsrollen, Organisationsstrukturen und Handlungsspielräume im Popmusikjournalismus (= texte zur populären musik 7). Bielefeld: transcript. Doehring, André (2012). »Probleme, Aufgaben und Ziele der Analyse populärer Musik.« In: Black Box Pop. Analysen populärer Musik. Hg. v. Dietrich Helms und Thomas Phleps (= Beiträge zur Popularmusikforschung 38). Bielefeld: transcript, S. 23-42. Doehring, André (2015). »Andrés's ›New For U‹ — New For Us. On Analysing Electronic Dance Music.« In: Song Interpretation in 21st-Century Pop Music. Hg. v. Ralf von Appen, André Doehring, Dietrich Helms und Allan F. Moore. Farnham: Ashgate, S. 133-155. Eidam, Klaus / Schröder, Rudolf (2001). Die Hit-Fabrik. Zweiter Teil der Geschichte eines Berliner Musikverlages. Berlin: Edition Intro Meisel. Farian, Frank / Kaltwasser, Dieter / Rudorf, Reginald (2004). Stupid dieser Bohlen. Die Wahrheit und nichts als die Wahrheit über den Pop-Hochstapler. Friedrichsdorf: Frank's Kleiner Buchverlag. Jost, Ekkehard (1999a). »Über einige Probleme der jazzmusikalischen Analyse.« In: Jazzforschung/Jazz Research 31, S. 11-18. Jost, Ekkehard (1999b). »Zum Sprachcharakter von Musik im allgemeinen und Jazz im Speziellen.« In: Jazz und Sprache. Sprache und Jazz. Hg. v. Wolfram Knauer (= Darmstädter Beiträge zur Jazzforschung 5). Hofheim: Wolke, S. 87-106.

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ANDRÉ DOEHRING La Motte-Haber, Helga de (1982). »Umfang, Methode und Ziel der Systematischen Musikwissenschaft.« In: Systematische Musikwissenschaft. Hg. v. Carl Dahlhaus und Helga de la Motte-Haber (= Neues Handbuch der Musikwissenschaft 10). Wiesbaden, Laaber: Akademische Verlagsgesellschaft Athenaion, Laaber, S. 1–24. Moore, Allan F. (2009). »Interpretation: So What?« In: The Ashgate Research Companion to Popular Musicology. Hg. v. Derek B. Scott. Farnham: Ashgate, S. 411425. Moore, Allan F. (2012). Song Means. Analysing and Interpreting Recorded Popular Song. Farnham: Ashgate. Phleps, Thomas (2014). »Freunde bis ans Ende der Zeit — Schlagertümlichkeit reloaded.« In: Rollenspiele. Musikpädagogik zwischen Bühne, Popkultur und Wissenschaft. Festschrift für Mechthild von Schönebeck zum 65. Geburtstag. Hg. v. Thomas Erlach und Burkhard Sauerwald. Frankfurt/M.: Peter Lang, S. 433-449. Pfleiderer, Martin / Grosch, Nils / Appen, Ralf von (2014). »Populäre Musik und Wissenschaft. Forschungstraditionen und Forschungsansätze.« In: Populäre Musik. Geschichte — Kontexte — Forschungsperspektiven. Hg. v. Ralf von Appen, Nils Grosch u. Martin Pfleiderer (= Kompendien Musik 14). Laaber: Laaber, S. 200-209. Rösing, Helmut (2002). »›Popularmusikforschung‹ in Deutschland — von den Anfängen bis zu den 1990er Jahren.« In: Musikwissenschaft und populäre Musik. Versuch einer Bestandsaufnahme. Hg. v. Helmut Rösing, Albrecht Schneider und Martin Pfleiderer (= Hamburger Jahrbuch für Musikwissenschaft 19). Frankfurt/M.: Peter Lang, S. 13-35. Tagg, Philip (1992). »Towards a Sign Typology of Music.« In: Secondo Convegno Europeo Di Analisi Musicale. Hg. v. Rosanna Dalmonte und Mario Baroni. Trient: Università degli Studi di Trento, S. 369-378; http://tagg.org/articles/trento91. html (Zugriff 22.7.2015). Wald, Elijah (2014). »Forbidden Sounds: Exploring the Silences of Music History.« In: Geschichte wird gemacht. Zur Historiographie populärer Musik. Hg. v. Dietrich Helms und Thomas Phleps (= Beiträge zur Popularmusikforschung 40). Bielefeld: transcript, S. 25-39.

Diskographie Alexander, Peter (1979). »Ich laß dir den Kochtopf, laß du mir mein Bier.« Auf: Ein Abend mit Peter Alexander. Die neuen Schlagererfolge. Ariola 200 798. Blue System (1987a). »Sorry Little Sarah.« Hansa 609 469. Blue System (1987b). Walking On A Rainbow. Hansa 208 696. Modern Talking (1984). »You're My Heart, You're My Soul.« Hansa 601 496. Modern Talking (1985a). »You Can Win If You Want.« Hansa 601 670. Modern Talking (1985b). The 1st Album. Hansa 206 818. Modern Talking (1985c). »Cheri, Cheri Lady.« Hansa 601 950. Modern Talking (1985d). Let's Talk About Love. The 2nd Album. Hansa 610 522. Modern Talking (1986a). »Brother Louie.« Hansa 602 157. Modern Talking (1986b). »Atlantis Is Calling (S.O.S. For Love).« Hansa 608 239. Modern Talking (1986c). Ready For Romance. The 3rd Album. Hansa 257 705. Modern Talking (1986d). »Geronimo's Cadillac.« Hansa 608 620.

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GERMAN MODERN TALKING VS. IRANIAN MODERN TALKING Modern Talking (1986e). In The Middle Of Nowhere. The 4th Album. Hansa 258 039. Modern Talking (1986f). »Give Me Peace On Earth.« Hansa 608 778. Modern Talking (1987a). »Jet Airliner.« Hansa 609 138. Modern Talking (1987b). Romantic Warriors. The 5th Album. Hansa 258 400. Modern Talking (1987c). »In 100 Years.« Hansa 609 543. Modern Talking (1987d). In The Garden Of Venus. The 6th Album. Hansa 258 770. Modern Talking (1998). Back For Good. The 7th Album. Hansa 74321 57358-2. U2 (1987). »I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For.« Auf: The Joshua Tree, Island 258 219.

Abstract The music of German pop duo Modern Talking has been widely neglected in the field of popular music studies and musicology as well. I present the results of a corpus analysis of the six albums Modern Talking published between 1985-87 in which I show a high degree of similarity concerning tempo, formal and harmonic layout, rhythm and instrumentation. My interpretation claims these musical features to result in the circumstances of producing popular music in Germany in the mid-1980s. Furthermore, methodological reflections on the subjective turn of analysis show how my interpretation is influenced by cultural, professional, and social aspects. Hence, I call for further analytical research on popular electronic dance music — especially since the reception of their music in other parts of the world as e.g. in Iran differs significantly from my own.

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NEGOTIATING ANDALUSIAN IDENTITY IN ROCK ANDALUZ HARMONY. M U S I C A L M O D E S , ›E X P R E S S I V E I S O M O R P H I S M ‹ A N D M E A N I N G I N P O S T -F R A N C O S P A I N 1 Diego García Peinazo

Introduction Despite the extraordinary spread of studies dedicated to rock harmony, analytical approaches to this music have principally focused on the structure and syntax. However, aspects such as the way in which different harmonic structures may relate to the conformation of discourses between the global and the local in rock music have received less attention. This article tries to provide an analytical model to reconcile the structural analysis of modal harmony with the study of its meanings in the context of the Spanish transition to democracy (1975-1982), through the study of aeolian and phrygian patterns of harmony in the so-called rock andaluz (Andalusian rock) as musical representations of modernity and traditional values respectively. The rise of regionalism in different areas against centralization had a strong influence in culture and politics in the late Seventies. Sebastián Balfour and Alejandro Quiroga (2007: 45) use the term »sub-state nations« to refer to these territories and their cultural identities, and point out that in Spain there has been a »semantic battle of nationalisms« since transition to democracy. After Franco's death in 1975, regional claims in Andalusia 1

This investigation has been developed as a part of the research project »Music and Culture in Twentieth-Century Spain: musical discourses and dialogues with Latin America«, sponsored by the Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation (HAR2012-33414). I would like to thank: Philip Tagg and Robert Davis for all their help and useful considerations when I was at the School of Music, Humanities and Media (University of Huddersfield) between March and June 2014; Julio Ogas for all the feedback over the last four years; Tatyana Karpenko, Oliver Reavell and María José Serrano for their help with the English revision of this text.

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strived to demonstrate that national identity in Spain had been constructed through Andalusian stereotypes since its origins. As Andalusian identity had been debased by the Franco regime — along with a process of stylization and the denial of other »progressive« values — in the transition to democracy nationalist movements in Andalusia stated how important it is to distinguish between Spanish and Andalusian identity. Musicians, from songwriters and folk bands to new wave performers, played a considerable role in this context. In the case of Andalusia, flamenco is probably the most important cultural icon for the conformation of its identity through musical discourse. William Washabaugh summarizes as follows the theories of Cristina Cruces and Gerhard Steingress, the two main scholars in the study of the relationships between flamenco music, heritage and the territory of Andalusia: »The work of Gerhard Steingress stands out as a strong alternative to Cruces Roldán's. On the one hand, he agrees that flamenco is an essentially hybrid style. But on the other, he rejects Cruces Roldán's claims about the distinctly Andalusian roots of flamenco's hybridity« (Washabaugh 2012: 37). Nevertheless, other manifestations of popular music such as the so-called Manifiesto Canción del Sur and rock andaluz had also a predominant role in the re-construction of an Andalusian identity in the Seventies. Manifiesto Canción del Sur was the name given to a group of Andalusian songwriters who mainly focused on political lyrics against Francoism and centralization. In the case of rock andaluz, although its lyrics are not explicitly political in their evocation of Andalusia (with few exceptions), we can find other ways of resistance and transgression by examining the use of its musical stereotypes and sounds in the context of the late Seventies (García Peinazo 2013a: 320). In Francoist Spain, flamenco music became one of the most important symbols of the new totalitarian regime. The political instrumentalization of this genre was the result of the exaltation of exoticism and difference, as well as of the homogenization of musical practices and standardization of musical stereotypes such as the phrygian or Andalusian cadence. In fact, flamenco was understood not only as an Andalusian matter, but also as a representative element of the entire territory of Spain, like the previous decades in the 20th century. Some music styles influenced by flamenco evocations such as copla or canción española were particularly raised as national symbols by the Franco regime, despite the fact that copla lyrics were mainly about love stories. As Silvia Martínez points out,

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»a discourse prevailed, based on national and ›racial‹ pride that found in these songs an ideal vehicle of expression. […] The topics dealt with were sometimes just simple, sometimes mischievous, but always ›authentic‹, and the characters in them were often given to proudly defend the ›essence‹ of the Spanish Fatherland« (Martínez 2013: 92). However, in the Franco regime the relationship between flamenco and politics was complex and ambivalent. William Washabaugh (1996: 7) uses the concept of »muscular politics« to refer to the fact that in flamenco performance, body and corporeality played an important role in the conformation of symbolical ways of resistance against dictatorship. Pedro Ordóñez (2013), for his part, focuses on the importance of social consciousness in flamenco, and underlines a progressive »conscience of protest« around the genre in the Sixties. Indeed, in the last years before Franco's death, cantaores (flamenco singers) like José Menese and Manuel Gerena were clear examples of an explicit political resistance. Since the Sixties, flamenco has been struggling between the mairenismo and the hybridization processes in music. Mairenismo was a cultural and aesthetic movement started by flamencologists like Antonio Mairena against commercialism and fusion in flamenco repertoires, in which cante jondo was understood in terms of purity, authenticity and revalorization. Gerhard Steingress (2002: 182) designates a »fourth period of hybridization« in flamenco history between the late Fifties and the Nineties, where hybridity with musics such as jazz, copla, pop or rock took place. Late Francoism was related to the so-called aperturismo period, in which a series of economic, politic and cultural changes implied in some grade a relaxation of the totalitarian regime. During this time, Spanish bands were strongly influenced by the »British invasion« and young people started to articulate new cultural practices associated with consumerism, fashion, culture and politics. The so-called beat español has been sometimes described as an ingenuous, banal, even conservative product that did not express any political opposition to Francoism. However, Celsa Alonso (2005) points out the relevance of beat español as a form of »symbolic opposition« by analysing key elements like modernity, consumerism and young identity. In the second half of the Sixties, the reception of psychedelia and progressive rock from UK and USA primarily took place in two cities: Seville (Andalusia) and Barcelona (Catalonia). The first Andalusian progressive rock recordings from young bands such as Smash and Gong show a decisive influence of international progressive rock. In Spain, this music was considered by music magazines like Disco Expres in terms of vanguard, creativity and

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innovation against »commercial pop« and canción española. In fact, despite the censorship in Spain, the members of the band Smash performed countercultural attitudes and hippie aesthetic, and they even wrote a hippie manifesto called Manifiesto del Borde. Andalusian bands adopted musical structures from UK and USA bands, using English as the main language for most of their lyrics. However, these rock bands increasingly included evocative elements of flamenco in their songs, e.g. Smash in their song »El Garrotín« (1971) or Gong in »Hay un hombre dando vueltas« (1971). By the time of the Spanish transition to democracy, the use of flamenco evocations in rock bands from Andalusia became one of the main strategies to consolidate the idea of rock andaluz as a »differential« musical phenomenon. Rock andaluz, with rock bands that came mainly from the southwest of Andalusia, was one of the most important musical movements in Spain in the late Seventies. After Franco's death, the rise of regional claims in Southern Spain was translated into rock music principally through allusions to genres such as flamenco and historical myths like Al-Andalus that made it possible to demonstrate the difference and asserted the Andalusian identity (García Peinazo 2013b). Rock andaluz was part of the so-called rock con raíces (rock with roots). Indeed, in the transition to democracy, rock bands from different national and regional origins in Spain developed a strong presence of exchanges between traditional musics and progressive rock, hard rock, jazz and blues, among others. Several studies about rock con raíces have been made in the last few years: in the field of cultural studies, we may highlight José Colmeiro's analysis of rock bravú in Galicia (2009), while Eduardo García Salueña (2009) and Diego García Peinazo (2013a; 22013b) have focused on musicological analysis of Northern Spain rock and rock andaluz respectively. This study aims to analyse a corpus of rock andaluz songs from the second half of the Seventies, a period that has been described by Luis Clemente (2006), one of the main journalist interested in rock andaluz, as the five golden years of this musical movement. The first part of this article is dedicated to a theoretical framework that discusses several questions regarding harmonic patterns in rock music under the umbrella of musical signification. Then, after explaining the presence of aeolian and phrygian modes in mainstream rock, I examine their use in several rock andaluz songs. In the third part, I apply Motti Regev's (2011; 2013) sociological notion of »expressive isomorphism« in pop-rock music to music analysis, and argue that these harmonic structures may be analysed as semiotic units which involve values of Andalusian identity and the rock canon in the cultural context of regional claims in late Seventies. Also, I discuss some of the

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paradoxes in the idea of Andalusia in popular music by studying the aeolian chord loop performed in Triana's song »Abre la puerta«.

Rock Harmony and Meaning The phrygian and aeolian patterns of harmony in rock andaluz are analysed here as semiotic units that may reveal cultural values of tradition and modernity. I focus on harmonic patterns and chord sequences rather than on a general use of modality in the songs because they can often provide a more specific meaning. In fact, as Allan F. Moore (2001: 55) points out, patterns of harmony in rock may involve concrete connotations. Since rock andaluz uses both rock and traditional musics like flamenco, it seems reasonable to assume that phrygian and aeolian structures also imply notions of musical style and genre. In his musical sign typology, Philip Tagg provides terms such as »style indicator« and »genre synecdoche« (Tagg 2012: 522) to define the characteristics of a specific musical style through particular uses of musical parameters, and the cultural model associated with this style. While the style indicator refers to norms of composition that are used throughout the entire piece and define the identity of a »home« style (ibid.: 523), the genre synecdoche is the musical representation of a »foreign« style inside a »home« style, through the reference to musical structures that are coded in terms of Otherness (ibid.: 524). Tagg argues that »genre synecdoches connote paramusical semantic fields« such as different places, cultures or another time in history (ibid.: 525). Although sometimes, due to the hybridization processes in music, it is hard to define clearly which is the »home« and which is the »foreign« style, Tagg's classification is useful because it discusses the representation of different cultures and identities through a concrete use of musical parameters understood as the Other. In the case of rock andaluz, I argue that sometimes the same musical structure may be analysed both as a genre synecdoche and as a style indicator. In its songs, an aeolian pattern can be analysed as a style indicator, because it is common practice in rock music, and performers and musicians refer to their practices as rock andaluz. However, since Andalusian musicians define their music as rock andaluz, the same aeolian pattern can be understood as a genre synecdoche, because aeolian patterns represent a »foreign« discourse —the rock canon— in the regional context of Andalusia. Of course, the same assumptions can be made in the case of phrygian patterns of harmony in rock andaluz.

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In his research on meaning in recorded popular songs, Allan F. Moore explains the importance of style analysis in order to clarify what is »comfortable« from what is »unusual«: »It is not possible to determine in advance what any particular listener will find unexpected, although when musicians are working towards a defined style/genre/market mix, reasonable assumptions can be made. From the analytical standpoint, what is key here is to distinguish what is normative from what is not« (Moore 2012: 8). Indeed, the specificity of patterns of harmony inside a set of signs that are shared by a concrete musical genre, style or scene is a central aspect to be considered. Phrygian and aeolian patterns of harmony do not have to be coded in the same way and —with similar cultural values — in different musical styles in Andalusia like e.g. rock, jazz, Western art music or even flamenco.

Aeolian and Phrygian Patterns of Harmony in Rock Andaluz Allan F. Moore (1992; 2012), Walter Everett (2004; 2009) and Nicole Biamonte (2010; 2012) among others, have pointed out the importance of aeolian harmonic patterns and their predominance in rock repertories. Biamonte's study (2010: 101-104) in particular focuses on typologies of aeolian progressions such as i — bVII — bVI; I — bVII — bVI; i — bVI — bVII; I — bVI — bVII in the »classical-rock« canon from the late Sixties to the Nineties. Regarding the phrygian mode, Everett (2009: 173), as well as Biamonte (2010: 98), argue that its use is rare in rock harmony. Furthermore, Biamonte indicates that while the phrygian mode is not coded as an exotic mode in other contexts like heavy metal, the use of chords such as the phrygian bII are uncommon in rock repertories because of their historical connotations of exoticism in Andalusian and Arab musics (Biamonte 2012: 11). Of course, both Everett and Biamonte are correct because they study a corpus of mainstream rock. However, a deeper observation of rock music phenomena in other countries like Spain shows that the phrygian mode had a strong presence in »peripheral« rock scenes during the Seventies — rock andaluz is probably the most representative example in this sense. Rock andaluz bands often considered flamenco music as the main aesthetic reference to characterize their values of »tradition« and to symbolize Andalusia. In flamenco, despite the absolute predominance of phrygian and

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flamenco modes2, several palos flamencos (flamenco musical styles) are in ionian mode. Some others emphasize the fourth degree in a phrygian mode (Fernández 2004: 91). In this sense, Philip Tagg's theory about aeolian and phrygian bimodality is also useful because it provides, through the notion of »bimodal reversibility«, an analytical model to deal with modal mixture in popular songs (Tagg 2009: 227-234). It should be noted that the use of alternations such as A minor and E major chords is not so uncommon in AngloAmerican popular songs, but in these repertories we tend to understand the harmonic structure as an aeolian i — V (Am — E)3 rather than a phrygian iv — I (Am — E). For example, Allan F. Moore, discussing Ray Charles' »Hit The Road, Jack«, considers the »flamenco progression« in popular music as an »aeolian progression« (Moore 2012: 78). This modal ambiguity is also a frequent practice in a vast range of compositions of traditional, popular and Western art music that refer to Andalusia, and has been coded as »Andalusian cadence« when it appears in a descending chord sequence like aeolian i — bVII — bVI — V or phrygian iv — bIII — bII — I.

Aeolian i — bVI and i — bVII An examination of patterns of harmony in both modes and the relationship between each other shows that the harmonic structures in rock andaluz are often built in contrasting »blocks«. One of the most relevant harmonic structures in the analysed songs4 is the aeolian i — bVI two-chords pattern followed or preceded by phrygian chord sequences. Mezquita's »Obertura en Sib« (1979), an instrumental track of four sections, works in this sense. Preceded by section 2 in phrygian B-flat (0'49"-1'59"), section 3 (2'00"-4'23") features a dialogue between aeolian and phrygian patterns (2'22"-3'30"). Here, both modes share the same tone E-flat, but introduce different chords: aeolian i — bVI (Ebm — Cb) and phrygian I — bII — I (Eb — Fb — Eb). The aeolian pattern is presented with power chords and distortion in the electric guitar, as well as a blues rock-based guitar solo, while in the phrygian fragment the Moog synthesizer plays an evocative »Andalusian« melody. José Rafa Roso, Mezquita's guitarist and one of the composers of the song, says that his idea was to create a song with plenty of unexpected changes from one style to 2

3 4

According to Lola Fernández (2004: 68), the flamenco mode consists in the harmonization of a cante in phrygian mode by using the tonic chord with the major third (E in E Phrygian) in the flamenco guitar. Despite the fact that the normative aeolian v is in minor and not in major (V), it is common to find this kind of modification; see Moore (2012: 73-80). Here I focus on a corpus of songs from the main creative period of rock andaluz bands (ca. 1975-1982).

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another.5 In »Soñé contigo«, a song performed by the rock andaluz band Cai, the same aeolian i — bVI pattern is used in the introduction, followed by a phrygian VII — VI — bII — I pattern in the hook, and Andalusian cadences in the verses. Similar aeolian patterns, like i — bVII — i — bVI, as well as a phrygian i — bII — i pattern are presented in Triana's »Quiero contarte« (1979). Am — G — Am — F chords (i — bVII — i — bVI, if we analyse the phrases as A aeolian) are utilized in the introduction, the hook and the verses, while the interlude between verses presents a sequence of Em — F — Em chords (i — bII — i, if we analyse it as E phrygian). The bridge develops a gradual change from the central tone A to D — or from E to A, if we analyse it as phrygian —, which may be understood as an example of aeolian/phrygian bimodal reversibility (D and A). In fact, the refrain can be analysed as a dialogue between the preceding aeolian and phrygian patterns: it uses Dm — Bb — Dm — Bb — Dm — C — Bb — A chords, a juxtaposition between the aeolian pattern (in D instead of in A) and the phrygian pattern (in A instead of in E). However, the A chord implies that the phrygian pattern changes from i — bII — i to I — bII — I, which is perceived clearly as an Andalusian cadence because of its major third.

Aeolian i — bVI — bVII and bVI — bVII — i Gualberto's »Tarantos para Jimi Hendrix« (1975) is one of the most relevant examples for the integration of phrygian and aeolian patterns of harmony. The song uses some of the basic musical elements of the palo flamenco called taranto, like the so-called taranto F-sharp chord6. Indeed, several chord sequences can be understood as common inside the phrygian mode in flamenco repertories, like the chord change from the flamenco F-sharp chord to a D chord. Nonetheless, the chord sequence Bm — G — A is a clear aeolian i — bVI — bVII pattern. This pattern, which is used with power chords, and in a guitar solo and violin improvisation, appears twice: first, from 0'59" to 1'15", and second, from 2'09" to the end of the song (3'36").

5 6

Unpublished personal interview with José RafaRoso, June 26, 2014, Córdoba (Spain). This flamenco guitar chord is quite common in palos such as tarantos and taranta. The constitutive notes are, from lowest to highest string: F#—C#—F#—G— B—E. Note that the highest three notes of the chord (G, B, E) are open strings (3rd, 2nd and 1st).

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In a personal interview with the guitarist and composer Gualberto7, who wrote this song in honour and memory of Jimi Hendrix, he stated that there were »two worlds« in »Tarantos para Jimi Hendrix«: flamenco and rock. From his point of view, while the section having the taranto F sharp chord is clearly flamenco music, the section with the Bm — G — A chord progression is rock. One of Gualberto's main influences when writing this pattern was Jimi Hendrix's »All Along The Watchtower« (a cover of a song by Bob Dylan). He argues that the principle of this pattern is similar to Hendrix's guitar chords, but with two differences: »Tarantos para Jimi Hendrix« is in 6/4 metre instead of in 4/4, although in terms of accentuation we find some parallels between both songs. The chords of Gualberto's song are Bm — G — A (i — bVI — bVII), while Jimi Hendrix's cover uses Cm — Bb — Ab — Bb (i — bVII — bVI — bVII)8. The modal dialogue between the two sections of Azahar's »¿Qué hay de malo, señor juez?« (1977) is another example of the relationships between phrygian and aeolian patterns of harmony. In the first section (0'00"-2'34"), the verses are built with a chord sequence in E phrygian, Em — B — Em — B — D — Em — C — B, which could remind the Spanish listener of a petenera — a palo flamenco. Moreover, the refrain utilizes an Andalusian cadence, Em — D — C — B. Once again, the emphasis in both E minor and B major chords can be analysed as a result of a phrygian-aeolian bimodality, following Tagg. However, the second section (2'35"-4'37") is entirely built on an aeolian bVI — bVII — i pattern (C — D — Em). It is not only a matter of contrast in terms of patterns of harmony, but also in terms of instrumentation, vocal aspects and lyrics. In the first section there is a presence of flamenco guitar melodic evocations, while in the second section there is a strong use of power chords with distorted electric guitar. Furthermore, we can find a polarity between lyrics in both sections: the first is dominated by a sense of regret and sadness; the second one predominantly expresses feelings of encouragement, resistance against oppression and hope to overcome an unjust situation. In this second section, the sound of the voice is influenced

7 8

Unpublished personal interview with Gualberto García, October 27, 2014, Seville (Spain). Note that Jimi Hendrix used to tune his guitar in E-flat standard tuning (Eb— Ab—Db—Gb—Bb—Eb). Despite the fact that the real pitch of »All Along The Watchtower«'s recording is in C (Cm — Bb — Ab — Bb), the visual representation of these barré chords in the guitar is in C#.

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by rock singers, while in the first section the singer introduces flamenco voice evocations such as ayeos9. In spite of its short occurrence, the aeolian i — bVI pattern in Triana's »Hijos del agobio« (1977) plays an important role regarding the accompaniment of the lyrics. In fact, the lyrics of the fragment (1'10"-1'31"), which is presented with a rhythmic interruption, deal with the ideals of hope and encouragement, while the rest of the song conveys feelings of hopelessness, anguish and pain. »Rumor« (1977), another song by Triana, is entirely built on the aeolian i — bVI pattern, plus a bVII chord at the end of every set of verses. Once again, the lyrics are dealing with ideals of freedom and hope. The last song analysed here, »Abre la puerta« (1975), was also written by the rock andaluz band Triana. Except for the introduction, in which are a few Andalusian cadences — and a sense of phrygian-aeolian bimodality similar to the songs discussed before —, the rest of the track (2'28"-9'50") uses only a aeolian i — bVII — bVI — bVI — bVII — i pattern, which is repeated sixty-eight times. It can be analysed as a two-chords shuttle (i — bVI) with a passing chord (bVII), as well as a three-chords loop, following Philip Tagg's tonal terminology (Tagg 2009: 173 and 199). Hope, love and freedom are again the main topics of the lyrics, like in the previous songs. In my three examples of the use of aeolian patterns in rock andaluz the lyrics express ideals of encouragement, resistance and hope. In this sense, Allan F. Moore has pointed out that in rock music aeolian cadential patterns like bVI — bVII — i are often linked to »achievements in the face of high odds, what we might identify as its ›nonetheless‹ quality. This is the realm of its signification« (Moore 2012: 231).

Analysing »Expressive Isomorphism« and Tradition in Rock Harmony In his sociological study of pop-rock music as a global practice, Motti Regev uses the notion of »expressive isomorphism« to describe standardization phenomena in which cultural singularities of the nations are adapted in common stylistic elements and expressive forms: »Expressive isomorphism, then, is the process through which national uniqueness is standardized so that expressive culture of various different nations, or of prominent social sectors within them, comes to consist of simi9

In flamenco music, ayeos are melismatic ornamentations in the vocal line that often use the interjection »¡Ay!«.In Azahar's song, the ayeo suggests a double meaning because of the homophone words hay (there is) and ¡ay! (Ow!).

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lar expressive forms and stylistic elements. It is the process through which expressive cultural uniqueness is constructed by adopting, adapting, incorporating, and legitimating creative technologies, stylistic elements, genres, and forms of art derived from world models« (Regev 2011: 560). As a result of this »expressive isomorphism«, Regev thus refers to the »aesthetic cosmopolitanism« as a cultural condition »in which national uniqueness comes to include nonindigenous and exogenous forms of expression as integral components«(ibid.). In the case of Spanish popular music, the adaptation of Regev's theories to the sociological study of the aesthetic canon of Spanish pop-rock in music criticism developed by Fernán del Val, Javier Noya and Martín Pérez Colman (2014: 162) — and also following Pierre Bourdieu's notion of fields of cultural production— states that flamenco music is the most important autochthonous element to validate the local discourse. Regev shows through sociological grasp that expressive isomorphism in rock music has semiotic dimensions such as the »sonic vocabularies«10 e.g. in electric instrumentation, or the discourses on »ethnic rock«. Since flamenco evocations in rock andaluz play a wide role in the idea of the local, we consider that expressive isomorphism can also be examined in the harmonic structures as an expression of »ethnic rock«. Of course, although this paper focuses on harmonic structure, similar uses may be found in timbre, melody, vocal persona, rhythm, metre, recording, etc. By assuming that certain patterns of harmony and musical modes in rock music articulate notions of expressive isomorphism and tradition, we must attend to the knowledge gap between musical parameters and their specificity in concrete historical contexts such as the Spanish transition to democracy. Indeed, it is not easy to find historical sources related to rock andaluz that discuss the relationship between the aeolian mode and canonized rock. However, the frequent allusions and discussions in Spanish music magazines during the Seventies about the construction of national and regional aesthetics of rock against the strong musical influence of Anglo-American rock reveal these tensions and dialogues. For example, this can be observed in the following reference in the Spanish magazine Star. Comix y prensa marginal, in which the journalist Diego Manrique wrote an ironic critique against the rock con raíces movement: »Estos son terrenos movedizos, donde fácilmente se confunde la defensa de los sonidos hechos en el país con la exaltación ciegamente nacionalista de lo hispánico. Con lo cual llegamos al asunto de ›las raíces‹. Ya sabes: TODO EL

10 The author uses Tagg's semiotic concepts like»museme stacks«(Tagg 2012: 594) to support his theory of the »sonic vocabularies«. See Regev (2013: 158-168).

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ROCK CON RAÍCES DE LA TIERRA ES BUENO Y ANTIIMPERIALISTA — TODO EL ROCK SIN RAÍCES ES UNA IMPOSICIÓN EXTRANJERIZANTE E INTRÍNSICAMENTE MALA« (Manrique 1976: 20; capital letters in the original). (»We are walking on thin ice, since it is easy to confuse the defence of sounds made in our country with the strong nationalist exaltation. We run into the matter of the roots. You know: ALL ROCK WITH ROOTS FROM OUR HOMELAND IS GOOD AND ANTI-IMPERIALIST — ALL ROCK WITHOUT ROOTS IS A FOREIGN IMPOSITION AND IT IS INTRINSICALLY BAD«; translation by the author.) The idea of a polarity between modernity and tradition may also be found in the considerations made by Gonzalo García Pelayo, rock journalist and the main music producer of many of the rock andaluz bands. In a personal interview with the author, he describes rock andaluz as a fusion of the traditional music performed in Andalusia with the cultural spirit of the period, when young Andalusian people had a very close relationship with rock music (García Peinazo 2014: 152). These tensions between »local rock« and »foreign rock« within rock andaluz repertoire can be linked with Motti Regev's discussion. He indicates that despite the fact that Anglo-American pop-rock music has been sometimes perceived as a »cultural invasion« in the soundscape of many countries since the Sixties (Regev 2013: 169), this idea has been transformed thanks to the development of national and ethnic styles of pop-rock: »With the legitimacy gained by local pop-rock, electronic sounds were no longer perceived as intrusions, but rather as conventional elements of domestic cultural space« (ibid.: 170).

Triana's »Abre la puerta«: Negotiating Andalusian Identity in Harmony Returning to the songs, a wider analysis of Triana's »Abre la puerta« illustrates the interactions between expressive isomorphism, local discourse and Andalusian identity. As it is explained above, the aeolian i — bVII — bVI — bVI — bVII — i pattern is repeated sixty-eight times as a shuttle or loop. The strong presence of a rock-based pattern of harmony is important in terms of representation and cultural identity, as »Abre la puerta« has probably been the most famous rock andaluz song since it had been published in 1975, and its aeolian pattern is undoubtedly a cultural icon. Over the last thirty years, the considerable number of covers of this song performed by musicians and

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bands like Manolo García, El Barrio, Medina Azahara, Ars Amandi or Zaguán are evidence of the canonization of this song in Spanish popular music. These covers often feature the aeolian pattern with guitar barré chords and distortion, like e.g. in Medina Azahara's cover (2002). Moreover, in Ars Amandi's cover (2003), and in Medina Azahara's version of »Abre la puerta« (2012), the bulería rhythm-metre pattern used in Triana's original version, which connotes flamenco music, is replaced by a 4/4 rock-based metre. It indicates, indeed, another musical representation of expressive isomorphism. Since aeolian patterns of harmony in rock music were often performed with guitars, the gesture that involves the change of the chords — and its visual representation — may also provide information about the cultural model of the rock canon in rock andaluz. Actually, aeolian chord patterns in rock music are mainly performed with barré chords and power chords. For example, the repetition of power chord loops in aeolian mode is a common practice in order to memorize and synchronize barré chord movements for beginners of rock guitar. If the visual representation of guitar power chords is associated with motor and kinesthetic actions (Crump/Logan/Kimbrough 2012: 45), the gesture that involves the aeolian barré chord patterns may be understood as a semiotic unit that refers to rock aesthetics. An interesting paradox with Triana's »Abre la puerta« is that this representative rock andaluz song, iconic of the Spanish rock con raíces, is built with an aeolian rock pattern rather than with a phrygian (or Andalusian) pattern. This obviously entails questions of national and regional identity, geography, heritage and sound representation, because harmonic stereotypes of Andalusia and Spain —such as the Andalusian cadence— are relegated to the background. In this sense, as Motti Regev (2013: 51) states, »by gaining legitimacy and indigenizing it, pop-rock music becomes in one way or another ›national‹ music«.

Conclusions Spanish rock con raíces that emerged in various regions of the country has had a significant influence in Spanish culture and politics since its transition to democracy. Analysing harmonic patterns and their cultural meanings in local and peripheral rock scenes such as rock andaluz can help to recognize the relationships and dialogues with mainstream rock. In this sense, the provided analytical model has tried to reconcile both semiotic and structuralsyntax approaches of patterns of harmony in the concrete historical context

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of post-Franco Spain. If expressive isomorphism characterizes a dialogue between traditional musics and aesthetics of rock music, rock andaluz songs demonstrate that musical discourses may be examined as dimensions of these social phenomena. Furthermore, the study of music under this umbrella provides substantial information about »musical ways« to express national and regional identities. Indeed, the fact that the most famous rock andaluz song, Triana's »Abre la puerta«, is based on an aeolian pattern rather than on a phrygian or Andalusian cadence-based pattern reveals that harmony represents a space for negotiating Andalusian identity. We probably could not perceive this negotiation of meaning during the Spanish transition to democracy if analytical approaches were relegated to the background. That is why this »harmonic paradox« may encourage us to value the importance of popular music analysis in order to understand the cultural complexity of post-Franco Spain.

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NEGOTIATING ANDALUSIAN IDENTITY IN ROCK ANDALUZ HARMONY García Peinazo, Diego (2014). »Prácticas culturales en torno al rock andaluz. Entre el imaginario y la nostalgia de Andalucía.« In: Andalucía en la música. Expresión de comunidad, construcción de identidad. Ed. by García Gallardo, Francisco and Herminia Arredondo Pérez. Sevilla: Centro de Estudios Andaluces, pp. 149-171. García Salueña, Eduardo (2009). »Rock progresivo e identidades culturales en España. El caso de Asturcón.« In: Revista de Musicología 32:2, pp. 591-602. Manrique, Diego A. (1976). »¿Rock? ¿Qué rock? Cómo usar los kilovatios y la saliva.« In: Star: Comix y Prensa Marginal 26, pp. 19-21. Martínez, Silvia (2013). »Stick to the Copla! Recovering Old Spanish Popular Songs.« In: Made in Spain. Studies in Popular Music. Ed. by Silvia Martínez and Héctor Foúce. New York: Routledge, pp. 90-100. Moore, Allan F. (1992). »Patterns of Harmony.« In: Popular Music 11:1, pp. 73-106. Moore, Allan F. (2001). Rock, the Primary Text: Developing a Musicology of Rock. Burlington: Ashgate (2nd edition). Moore, Allan F. (2012). Song Means: Analysing and Interpreting Recorded Popular Songs. Burlington: Ashgate. Moore, Allan F. (2013). »An Interrogative Hermeneutics of Popular Song.« In: El Oído Pensante 1:1, pp. 1-21; http://ppct.caicyt.gov.ar/index.php/oidopensante /article/view/2201/1981 (accessed: December 8, 2014). Ordóñez, Pedro (2013). »Qualities of Flamenco in the Francoism: Between the Renaissance and the Conscience of Protest.« In: Music & Francoism. Ed. by Gemma Pérez Zalduondo and Germán Gan Quesada.Turnhout: Brepols, pp. 265-283. Regev, Motti (2011). »Pop-Rock Music as Expressive Isomorphism: Blurring the National, the Exotic, and the Cosmopolitan in Popular Music«. In: American Behavioral Scientist 55:5, pp. 558-573. Regev, Motti (2013). Pop-Rock Music: Aesthetic Cosmopolitanism in Late Modernity. Cambridge, Malden: Polity. Steingress, Gerhard (2002). »Flamenco Fusion and New Flamenco As Postmodern Phenomena: An Essay on Creative Ambiguity in Popular Music.« In: Songs of the Minotaur: Hybridity and Popular Music in the Era of Globalization. A Comparative Analysis of Rebetika, Tango, Rai, Sardana, Flamenco and English Urban Folk. Ed. by Gerhard Steingress. Münster: Lit-Verlag, pp. 169-216. Tagg, Philip (2009). Everyday Tonality. Towards a Tonal Theory of What Most People Hear. New York, Montréal: The Mass Media Music Scholars' Press. Tagg, Philip (2012). Music's Meanings. A Modern Musicology for Non-Musos. New York, Huddersfield: The Mass Media Music Scholars' Press. Val, Fernán del / Noya, Javier / Pérez Colman, C. Martín (2014).»Autonomy, Submission or Sound Hybridization? The Construction of the Aesthetic Canon of the Spanish Pop-Rock.« In: Revista española de investigaciones sociológicas 145, pp. 147-178. Washabaugh, William (1996). Flamenco: Passion, Politics, and Popular Culture. Oxford, Washington, D.C.: Berg. Washabaugh, William (2012). Flamenco Music and National Identity in Spain. Surrey, Burlington: Ashgate.

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Discography Ars Amandi (2003). »Abre la puerta.« On: Autóctono. Pies Compañía Discográfica CDPI028. Azahar (1977). »¿Qué hay de malo, señorjuez?« On: Elixir. Gong-Movieplay 17. 1235/6. Cai (1980). »Soñé contigo.« On: Noche Abierta. Epic 84218. Gong (1971). »Hay un hombre dando vueltas.« On: A Leadbelly / Hay un hombre dando vueltas. Polydor 20-62-030. Gualberto (1975). »Tarantos para Jimi Hendrix.« On: A la vida, al dolor. GongMovieplay S-32.645. Medina Azahara (2002). »Abrelapuerta.« On: Versión original. Avispa ACD-060. Medina Azahara (2012). »Abre la puerta.« On: Marcando el tiempo. Avispa ACD217. Mezquita (1979). »Obertura en Sib.« On: Recuerdos de mi tierra.Chapa HS-35024. Smash (1971). »El Garrotín.« On: El Garrotín / Tangos de Ketama. Bocaccio B32500. The Jimi Hendrix Experience (1968). »All Along The Watchtower.« Single. Track Record 604025. Triana (1975). »Abre la puerta.« On: Triana. Gong-Movieplay 17.0678/7. Triana (1977a). »Hijos del agobio.« On: Hijos del agobio. Gong-Movieplay 17.0907/ 9. Triana (1977b). »Rumor.« On: Hijos del agobio. Gong-Movieplay 17.0907/9. Triana (1979). »Quiero contarte.« On: Sombra y Luz. Movieplay 57.257.

Abstract This article analyses several relationships between aeolian and phrygian patterns of harmony in a corpus of rock andaluz songs under the theoretical umbrella of musical signification, and exposes some ways to reconcile structural analysis of modal harmony with the study of its historical meanings in the context of the Spanish transition to democracy (1975-1982). Applying Motti Regev's (2011) sociological notion of ›expressive isomorphism‹ in pop-rock music to musical semiotics, I argue that in rock andaluz these patterns of harmony may be analysed as semiotic units that involve notions of tradition, modernity and the rock canon. The study discusses some paradoxes that occur when regional identities and the rock canon are examined through Andalusian harmonic stereotypes.

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ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN Eckhard John Als Paul McCartney im Jahr 2010 den »Gershwin Prize for Popular Song« der Library of Congress in Washington verliehen bekam, reizte ihn die Aufführung eines Songs bei den Feierlichkeiten im Weißen Haus am 2. Juni ganz besonders: »Michelle, ma belle, These are words that go together well, My Michelle. Michelle, ma belle, Sont les mots qui vont très bien ensemble, Très bien ensemble. I love you, I love you, I love you That's all I want to say« (The Beatles: »Michelle«, 1965). Als dieses Lied auf dem Beatles-Album Rubber Soul erschien, ahnte noch niemand die Weltkarriere eines Songs, der sicherlich nicht nur im Hause Obama innerlich unmittelbar mitklingt.1 »Michelle« kann als Beispiel dafür stehen, was im Folgenden unter zweisprachigen Songs verstanden wird: Lieder, in denen zwei Sprachen gleichzeitig in einem Text verwendet werden. Demgegenüber spielen Songs, die in verschiedenen Sprachen existieren (als

1

»Michelle« gilt (nach »Yesterday«) als das am zweithäufigsten gespielte Lied der Beatles. Als Single war »Michelle« 1966 in der Aufnahme der Overlanders ein Nr. 1-Hit in Großbritannien, während in den US-Charts die Version des britischen Duos David & Jonathan erfolgreich war. 1967 mit dem Grammy Award für den »Song of the Year« ausgezeichnet, wurde »Michelle« 1999 von BMI (Broadcast Music, Inc.) als Nr. 42 unter den 100 am häufigsten aufgeführten Songs des 20. Jahrhunderts gelistet; vgl. BMI Announces Top 100 Songs of the Century (13.12.1999), http://www.bmi.com/news/entry/232893 (letzter Zugriff 15.7. 2015).

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Eckhard John Übersetzungen oder Umdichtungen) hier keine Rolle, auch nicht Lieder von Interpreten, die verschiedene Stücke in verschiedenen Sprachen singen. Zur Verortung meines Beitrags möchte ich vorausschicken, dass es sich um einen ersten Aufriss zum Thema handelt, um Einblicke in die Werkstatt der Recherche und Aussichten auf das Ausgrabungsfeld mit seiner Fülle an Material. Der Analyse en detail geht der Schritt des Sammelns und Sortierens voran. Und so zielt mein Beitrag primär auf eine Kartographie der bilingualen Liedspuren, auf die Erstellung eines ersten Orientierungsrasters zur Präsenz und Funktion zweisprachiger Songs. Hinzu kommt, dass ich kein Sprachwissenschaftler oder Linguist bin, und schon gar kein Spezialist für Zweisprachigkeit — somit wird mein Beitrag auch keine entsprechenden Analysen der text- und sprachimmanenten Ebenen oder der Strategien und Finessen des Code-Switching bieten. Ich nähere mich der Thematik vielmehr als Beobachter von außen, als »Liebhaber« sozusagen, der sich als ambitionierter Amateur ohne langjähriges Spezialtraining in Sachen Bilingualität einfach mal auf den Platz wagt; »Liebhaber« freilich auch in dem Sinne, dass ich irgendwann gemerkt habe, dass mir Bands gefallen, die mit zweisprachigen Texten arbeiten.2 Ausgangspunkt meiner Recherchen war zunächst der Eindruck, dass die zunehmende Etablierung bilingualer Songs in der populären Musik ein vergleichsweise junges Phänomen ist, das sich in den letzten 20 bis 30 Jahren entwickelt hat. Es hat sich parallel zu den Entwicklungen des Musikmarktes (im Zeichen von »world music« und »Weltmusik«) herausgebildet, scheint aber auch eine Reaktion auf allgemeine Prozesse der Globalisierung, Migration und neuer Regionalität sowie den verschiedenen Wechselwirkungen zwischen diesen drei Faktoren zu sein. Gerade in diesen Kontexten gehen zweisprachige Songs häufig mit einem emanzipatorischen Anspruch von Minderheiten einher, zumal in einem politischen Sinne. An solche Eindrücke knüpften meine Fragen zunächst an, simple und elementare Fragen wie: Lassen sich diese Impressionen verallgemeinern? Wie sieht die Situation insgesamt aus? Wie ist sie zu verstehen und zu interpretieren? Ein zweiter Ansatzpunkt meiner Überlegungen ist die Beobachtung, dass zweisprachige Songs oft gar nicht bewusst als solche erinnert werden. Dies habe ich im Zuge meiner Recherchen immer wieder gemerkt, wenn ich Freunde, Bekannte oder auch Kollegen gefragt habe: Welche zweisprachigen Songs kennst du? In der Regel war da zunächst eine komplette Leerstelle: 2

Mit Blick auf Dietrich Helms' Plädoyer für eine Kenntlichmachung des »Ichs« in der Popularmusikforschung (Helms 2014) bekenne ich gerne, dass für mich beispielsweise die ersten beiden Platten von Mano Negra (1988/89) in dieser Hinsicht eine wichtige Rolle gespielt haben.

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ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN meist fiel ihnen dazu spontan gar nichts ein — nicht einmal international und generationenübergreifend bekannte Songs (wie das eingangs erwähnte »Michelle«). Weit präsenter waren demgegenüber Musiker oder Bands, in deren Repertoire unterschiedliche Songs in verschiedenen Sprachen vertreten sind. Das änderte sich erst im Rahmen längerer Gespräche über dieses Sujet oder mit deutlicher Verzögerung: manchmal bekam ich erst Tage oder Wochen später Hinweise auf zweisprachige Songs, die den Befragten doch noch eingefallen waren (oder die sie mittlerweile gehört hatten). Als Erinnerungsfaktor spielt die Zweisprachigkeit von Songs demnach offenbar keine große Rolle — aber es gibt solche Songs, und es gibt davon mehr als man auf Anhieb meint. Der Umstand, dass Mehrsprachigkeit in der Regel kein Kriterium der Erinnerung an diese Songs ist, sollte nicht dazu verleiten, sie als vernachlässigbares Randphänomen einzuschätzen. Er macht es nur aufwändiger, das Material zusammenzutragen.3 Ein dritter Ausgangspunkt meines Interesses waren eigene Untersuchungen zur Zweisprachigkeit von traditionellen Liedern. Seit ich bemerkt habe, dass diese Lieder in der herkömmlichen »Volkslied«-Forschung ein nahezu unbeachtetes, tendenziell tabuisiertes Feld waren, hat mich diese Thematik interessiert. Als vermeintliche Randerscheinung hat man sie dort nur selten zur Kenntnis genommen, meist im Kontext der »makkaronischen Poesie« und als Spielart humoristischer Lieder. Auch die archivalische Präsenz mehrsprachiger Lieder in den einschlägigen »Volkslied«-Sammlungen ist äußerst begrenzt und überschaubar. Denn aufgrund der vielfach nationalistisch aufgeladenen Parameter der Volkslied-Idee wurden mehrsprachige Lieder ehedem eher als störende sprachliche Verunreinigungen denn als willkommene Repräsentanten eines nationalen Liedgutes angesehen, und dementsprechend selten sind sie von den früheren »Volkslied«-Sammlern aufgezeichnet worden. Die vergleichsweise spärliche Archivlage zu solchen Liedern spiegelt somit aber lediglich die selektive Sammelpraxis, nicht jedoch die tatsächliche Existenz solcher Lieder. Demgegenüber lässt sich zeigen, dass sich weit mehr zweisprachige Lieder im traditionellen Repertoire nachweisen lassen, sobald ohne ideologisch bedingte Scheuklappen gearbeitet wird (John 2015). Grob vereinfacht kann man resümieren, dass überall dort, wo unterschiedliche Sprachräume aufeinander treffen, es auch zweisprachige Lieder gegeben hat. Dies betrifft sowohl geographische wie soziale Räume.

3

Mit etwas Ausdauer kommt aber doch eine ganze Menge zusammen — weit mehr jedenfalls, als ich hier im Einzelnen erwähnen oder vorstellen könnte. Meine Liste umfasst bislang über 250 Songs (und selbst diese bilden sicher nur die berühmte Spitze des Eisbergs).

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Eckhard John In geographischer Hinsicht sind es: alle Grenzgebiete von Sprachkulturen,4 Regionen mit sprachlichen Minderheiten (z.B. die Sorben) oder multikulturelle Regionen (wie Südosteuropa). In sozialer Hinsicht sind Bildung und Mobilität die entscheidenden Faktoren. Das Milieu der Gebildeten war die Heimat der »makkaronischen Poesie«, vor allem bei Klerus und Studenten: die studentischen Kommersliederbücher enthielten beliebte deutsch-lateinische Mischlieder und bis heute kennt man entsprechende Kirchenlieder (»In dulci jubilo, nun singt und seid froh«). Mobilität spielt besonders in Hinblick auf die Arbeitswelten eine Rolle, zumal bei Berufsgruppen, die buchstäblich Grenzgänger waren, wie Seeleute (Shanties) oder Wanderarbeiter/Gastarbeiter (so genannte »Italienerlieder«), aber — mit fließenden Übergängen dazu — auch ganz allgemein im Kontext von Migration und Einwanderung. Mit anderen Worten: überall dort, wo zweisprachige Kompetenzen bei Menschen vorhanden waren, gab es auch zweisprachige Lieder. Einige Charakteristika aus dem Bereich der traditionellen Lieder haben auch in der jüngeren populären Musik Geltung: insbesondere hinsichtlich der geographischen Aspekte von Sprachgrenzen, Sprachminoritäten und Einwanderersprachen. Greifen wir die Sprachkombination Englisch und Französisch von »Michelle« nochmal auf, so finden sich unter den Songs, die diese beiden Sprachen verwenden, beispielsweise etliche Songs kanadischer Musiker — ein Faktum, das mit den Gegebenheiten vor Ort korrespondiert und angesichts eines Anteils von ca. 24 % frankophonen Kanadiern wenig überrascht: Leonard Cohen

»The Partisan« (Songs From A Room, 1969)

Gordon Lightfoot

»Nous Vivons Ensemble« (Summer Side Of Life, 1971)

Buffy Sainte-Marie

»Song Of The French Partisan« (She Used To Wanna Be A Ballerina, 1971)

Gilles Vigneault

»I Went To The Market« (J'ai planté un chêne, 1976)

Rush

»Circumstances« (Hemispheres, 1978)

Daniel Lanois

»Jolie Louise« (Acadie, 1989)

Daniel Lanois

»Under A Stormy Sky« (Acadie, 1989)

Rufus Wainwright

»Rebel Prince« (Poses, 2001)

Arcade Fire

»Une Année Sans Lumière« (Funeral, 2004)

Arcade Fire

»Haiti« (Funeral, 2004)

Metric

»Poster Of A Girl« (Live It Out, 2005)

4

Nimmt man den deutschsprachigen Raum als Beispiel, so wird unmittelbar anschaulich, dass solche Sprachgrenzen wie eine Art Gürtel diesen Raum umgeben und in unterschiedlichsten Kombinationen zweisprachige Lieder hervorbringen (mit Dänisch, Polnisch, Tschechisch, Ungarisch, Slowenisch, Italienisch, Französisch, Flämisch und etlichen weiteren Sprachen).

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ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN Dany Bédar & Joel Kroeker

»Déjà Vu« (2007)

Arcade Fire

»Black Wave / Bad Vibrations« (Neon Bible, 2007)

Arcade Fire

»Black Mirror« (Neon Bible, 2007)

Arcade Fire

»Reflektor« (Reflektor, 2013)

Arcade Fire

»Joan Of Arc« (Reflektor, 2013)

Arcade Fire

»It's Never Over« (Hey Orpheus) (Reflektor, 2013)

Tabelle 1: Kanada

Ein anderes Beispiel ist die Cajun-Musik im Süden der USA (zumal in Louisiana), deren Songs vom Französisch des Cajun-County geprägt sind — auch hier liegen englisch-französische Songs nicht nur auf der Hand, sondern sozusagen unmittelbar auf der Zunge: Oklahoma Tornadoes

»Dans la prison« (1947)

Bobby Page & The Riff Raffs

»Hippy Ti Yo« (1958)

Gene King

»Little Cajun Girl« (1961)

Rod Bernard

»Colinda« (1962)

Clifton Chenier

»Eh, Petite Fille« (Louisiana Blues & Zydeco, 1965)

Clifton Chenier

»I'm A Hog For You Baby« (Out West, 1974)

Clifton Chenier

»Zydeco Two Step« (Hot Pepper, 1980)

Jimmy C. Newman

»Big Mamou« (Progressive Country, 1977)

Wayne Toups & The Crowley Aces

»Bosco Blues« (Cajun Paradise, 1979)

Johnnie Allan

»Little Fat Man« (Cajun Country, 1980)

Johnnie Allan

»Let's Go Get Drunk« (Cajun Country, 1980)

Johnnie Allan

»Today I Started Loving You Again« (Cajun Country, 1980)

Johnnie Allan

»You Win Again« (Cajun Country, 1980)

Wayne Toups & Zydecajun

»Sweet Joline« (Single 1988 / Blast From The Bayou, 1989)

Wayne Toups & Zydecajun

»Two-Step Mamou« (Blast From The Bayou, 1989)

Wayne Toups & Zydecajun

»Johnny Can't Dance« (Blast From The Bayou, 1989)

Wayne Toups & Zydecajun

»Going Back To Big Mamou« (Blast From The Bayou, 1989)

Queen Ida & Her Zydeko Band

»C'est Moi« (Cookin' With Queen Ida, 1989)

Tabelle 2: Cajun/Zydeco

Die USA mit ihren ausgeprägten Immigrantenkulturen sind natürlich generell ein immenses Reservoir für zweisprachige Songs, sei es Jiddisch, Italienisch, Polnisch oder das südafrikanische Xhosa (s. Tabelle 3), wobei freilich der Anteil von spanisch-englischen Liedern die zweifellos dominante Sprachkom-

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Eckhard John The Barry Sisters

»Oh Mama, I'm So In Love« (1940)

engl. / jiddish

»Yidel Mitn Fiedel« (1946)

engl. / jiddisch

Leo Fuld

»Wo ahin soll ich geh'n« (1947)

engl. / jiddisch

Louis Prima

»Angelina« (1944 / 1957)

engl. / ital.

Louis Prima

»The Manuelo Tarantel« (1949)

engl. / ital.

Louis Prima

»Oh Marie« (The Wildest, 1956)

engl. / ital.

Miriam Makeba

»Pata Pata« (Pata Pata, 1967)

xhosa / engl.

Bobby Vinton

»My Melody Of Love« (1974)

engl. / polnisch

Ashia & The Bison Rouge

»Shepherd's Wings« (Diesel vs. Lungs, 2013)

engl. / polnisch

Ashia & The Bison Rouge

»Spirit Dances Evermore« (Diesel vs. Lungs)

engl. / polnisch

Gogol Bordello

»Dogs Were Barking« (Gypsy Punks, 2005)

engl. / russisch

Gogol Bordello

»Start Wearing Purple« (Gypsy Punks, 2005)

engl. / russisch

Gogol Bordello

»Undestructable« (Gypsy Punks, 2005)

engl. / russisch

(with Sam Medoff & The Yiddish Swingtet)

The Barry Sisters (with Sam Medoff & The Yiddish Swingtet)

Tabelle 3: US-Immigratenkulturen

José Feliciano

»Feliz Navidad« (Feliz Navidad, 1970)

Freddy Fender

»Before The Next Teardrop Falls« (1975)

Freddy Fender

»Secret Love« (1975)

Marty Robbins

»Buenos Dias Argentina« (All Around Cowboy, 1979)

Sandi Patty

»Via Dolorosa« (Songs From The Heart, 1984)

Pete Seeger

»Somos El Barco (We Are The Boat)« (1985)

Mellow Man Ace

»Mentirosa« (Escape From Havana, 1989)

Texas Tornados

»Hey Baby, Que Paso?« (Texas Tornados, 1990)

Texas Tornados

»Soy de San Luis« (Texas Tornados, 1990)

Gerardo Mejía

»Rico Suave« (Mo' Ritmo, 1991)

Cypress Hill

»Latin Lingo« (Cypress Hill, 1991)

Mellow Man Ace

»Brother With Two Tongues« (The Brother With Two Tongues, 1992)

Sublime

»Caress Me Down« (Sublime, 1996)

Mars Volta

»L'Via L'Viaquez« (Frances The Mute, 2005)

Calexico

»Roka (Danza de la Muerte)« (Garden Ruin, 2006)

Calexico

»Victor Jara's Hands« (Carried To Dust, 2008)

Tabelle 4: Englisch — Spanisch (USA)

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ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN bination ist (s. Tabelle 4): von Tex-Mex (Texas Tornados) und Country (Freddy Fender, Marty Robbins) über Folk (Pete Seeger), Pop (José Feliciano), Sacro-Pop (Sandi Patty), Hard Rock (Mars Volta), Indie-Rock (Calexico), Reggae (Sublime) bis hin zum kalifornischen HipHop (Cypress Hill, Mellow Man Ace, Gerardo Mejía). Auch traditionelle Sprachminoritäten finden Ausdruck in zweisprachigen Songs, zumal im Folk und Folk-Rock: Gälisch und Walisisch in Großbritannien und Irland (s. Tabelle 5), Bretonisch, Korsisch und Okzitanisch in Frankreich. Dort spiegeln sich auch die anderen beiden Sprachraum-Parameter in bilingualen Songs (s. Tabelle 6): Sprachgrenzen (zu Flämisch, Spanisch, Italienisch) und Einwandererkulturen (Französisch-Arabisch). Clancy Brothers

»Cruiscín Lán« (Come Fill Your Glass With Us, 1959)

engl. / irischgälisch

Altan

»Ta Mo Chleamhnas a Dheanamh« (Altan, 1987)

engl. / irischgälisch

Chieftains

»Jimmy, Mó Mhíle Stór« (Tears Of Stone, 1999)

engl. / irischgälisch

Silly Wizard

»Fhear A Bhata« (Caledonia's Hardy Sons, 1978)

engl. / schott.gälisch

Runrig

»Skye« (Heartland, 1985)

engl. / schott.gälisch

Gorky's Zygotic Mynci

»Patio Song« (1996)

engl. / walisisch

Here Be Dragons

»Hapus Iawn« (Bright New Tomorrow, 2007)

engl. / walisisch

Tabelle 5: Gälisch / Walisisch Tri Yann

»Complainte de Yuna Madalen« (1983)

I Muvrini

»Jalàlàbàd« (Umani 2002)

franz. / bretonisch franz. / korsisch

Massilia Sound System

»Au Marché du Soleil« (Òai e libertat, 2007)

franz. / okzitanisch

Jacques Brel

»Marieke« (Jacques Brel 5, 1961)

franz. / flämisch

Jonatan Cerrada

»Ruban Noir« (La Preuve du Contraire, 2005)

franz. / spanisch

Jonatan Cerrada

»Amore« (La Preuve du Contraire, 2005)

franz. / italienisch

Cheb Khaled

»Aïcha« (Sahra, 1996)

franz. / arabisch

Tabelle 6: Frankreich

Ein zweiter Punkt, bei dem sich das Thema Zweisprachigkeit im Bereich traditioneller Lieder mit dem Feld der jüngeren Popularmusik berührt, ist die Dominanz von Einzelsprachen. Diese gründet weniger auf individuellen Faktoren (Muttersprache) als auf dem sozialen Rahmen in dem Sprache benutzt wird (als Amtssprache, vermittelt durch Instanzen wie Schule und Medien,

163

Eckhard John modelliert durch Wertzuschreibungen und Normierungen etc.). Schon die national (und nationalistisch) orientierte »Volkslied«-Idee mit ihren dementsprechenden Sprachpräferenzen korrespondierte solchen gesellschaftlichen und politischen Faktoren — aber auch das Musikbusiness mit seinen ökonomischen Interessen und Strategien ist davon nicht unabhängig: Der Markt der populären Musik wurde in dem von Nationalismen aufgeladenen 20. Jahrhundert ebenfalls von dominanten Sprachen beherrscht und die Mehrheit aller Songs ist in einer einzigen Sprache getextet. Es ist somit kein Zufall, dass »Michelle« nahezu der einzige zweisprachige Song im Repertoire der Beatles ist.5 Zweisprachige Songs waren lange Zeit eine Ausnahme (und nicht die Regel). Und es war auch eher die Ausnahme, dass Freddie Fender mit seiner spanisch-englischen Version von »Before The Next Teardrop Falls« (1974) einen Nr. 1-Hit in den Billboard-Charts und sogar in den CountryCharts landete. Die Regel im Business der kommerziell erfolgreichen Songs waren Songtexte in einer Sprache. Dementsprechend modelliert sind auch unsere Hörgewohnheiten. Dies scheint mir ein wichtiger Grund dafür zu sein, dass Zweisprachigkeit beim Hören zwar sicherlich als solche wahrgenommen wird (bewusst oder unbewusst), dass sie sich aber meist nicht in der Erinnerung festsetzt. Anderssprachige Elemente in populären Songs dienten lange Zeit primär nur als illustratives Symbol oder Signal, als sprachliches Kolorit für andere Kulturen und fremde Länder. Auch in »Michelle« fungierten die französischen Wendungen in diesem koloristischen Sinne: als Referenz an das damalige Faible für moderne französische Kultur und Bohème. In ähnlicher Weise untermalen die spanischen Einsprengsel im Refrain von Bob Dylans »Romance In Durango« (Desire, 1976) das mexikanische Ambiente des im Liedtext evozierten Schauplatzes. In Dylans Oeuvre ist dieser zweisprachige Song ebenfalls singulär. Die Dominanz einer Sprache in den kommerziell erfolgreichen Songs zeigt sich in den 1950er bis 1970er Jahren auch daran, dass sich der koloristische Einsatz anderssprachiger Elemente häufig auf nur wenige prägnante Worte beschränkte — zumal an exponierten Stellen und im Refrain: »Buona sera, signorina kiss me goodnight« (Louis Prima: »Buona Sera«, 1956), »Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?« (Labelle: »Lady Marmelade«, 1974), »Qué Será, Será« (Doris Day, 1957), »Fraulein« (Bobby Helms, 1957), »Vaya Con Dios« (Les Paul & Mary Ford, 1957), »Chanson d'Amour« (Art & Dotty Todd, 1958; Manhatten Transfer, 1977), »C'est La Vie« (Emerson, Lake 5

Demgegenüber sind »Sun King« (Abbey Road, 1969), mit seinem Fantasie-Spanisch, und »Across The Universe« (Let It Be, 1970), mit dem Sanskrit-Einsprengsel »Jai Guru Deva (Om)«, weit weniger prominent und als speziellere Fälle mehr am Rande erwähnenswert.

164

ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN & Palmer, 1977) oder »Voulez Vous« (Abba, 1979). Gleichermaßen gilt dies auch für deutsche Schlager.6 Diese koloristische Funktion einer zweiten Sprache in populären Songs hat sich bis in die Gegenwart erhalten.7 Doch ihre Formen haben sich seit den 1980er Jahren stark verändert. Mit der Etablierung von Musikvideos werden solche koloristischen Bezüge zweisprachiger Songs auch über entsprechende filmische Inszenierungen hergestellt (z.B. Kylie Minogue: »Je Ne Sais Pas Pourquoi«, 1988). Zudem wurden die Textanteile der zweiten dabei verwendeten Sprache teilweise deutlich umfangreicher, wie »Carbonara« von Spliff beispielhaft zeigt: »Io voglio viaggiare in Italia In paese dei limoni. Brigade Rosse e la Mafia Cacciano sulla Strada del Sol. Distruzione della Lira, Gelati Motta con brio« (Spliff: »Carbonara«, 1982). Hier ist der gesamte erste Teil des Songs in (deutschem) Pidgin-Italienisch gehalten und erst nach dem Refrain geht es auf Deutsch weiter, mit gelegentlichen Einlagen von Code-Switching: »Scusi signorina, willst du auch'n Spliff? Oder stehst du nur auf Männer mit Schlips? Ich hab' sonst nichts was ich dir geben kann, Aber blond bin ich, ist das vielleicht nichts? […] Belladonna, ich lad' dich jetzt zum Essen ein, Mangiare — tu capito? Andiamo!« (ebd.). Gleichzeitig kam ein inhaltlicher Aspekt hinzu: Zweisprachigkeit als Kolorit wurde nun auch als Ausdruck politischer Couleur und Parteinahme verwen-

6

7

Stellvertretend für zahlreiche mögliche Beispiele: »Merci Chérie« (Udo Jürgens, 1966), »Memories Of Heidelberg« (Peggy March, 1967), »Fiesta Mexicana« (Rex Gildo, 1972), »Love Me« (Chris Roberts, 1972), »Eviva Espana« (Imca Marina, 1972). Beispielsweise von der Neuen Deutschen Welle (Ideal: »Monotonie«, 1981; Spliff: »Carbonara«, 1982), über Madonna (»La Isla Bonita«, 1987; »Who's That Girl«, 1987; »Isaac«, 2005), bis hin zur letzten Fußball-Weltmeisterschaft (Pitbull: »We Are One«, 2014).

165

Eckhard John det, etwa von The Clash mittels eines spanischen Refrains zum englischen Text der »Spanish Bombs«: »Spanish songs in Andalucia, the shooting sites in the days of '39. Oh, please leave the vendanna open, Frederico Lorca dead and gone, Bullet holes in the cemetery walls, the black cars of the Guardia Civil, Spanish bombs on the Costa Rica, I'm flying in on a D.C.10 tonight … Spanish bombs, yo t'quierro y finito, yo te querda, oh ma côrazon, Spanish bombs, yo t'quierro y finito yo te querda, oh ma côrazon« (The Clash: »Spanish Bombs«, 1979).8 Sting verwendete in »They Dance Alone« (Nothing Like The Sun, 1987) ebenfalls eine spanische Textpassage, um seine Klage über die Opfer der Pinochet-Diktatur in Chile mit dem Klang ihrer Sprache zu verbinden. Freilich sind es auch im politischen Kontext häufig nur einzelne oder wenige Worte, die als Symbole der Botschaft oder als Signale der Provokation eingesetzt werden, etwa »Blitzkrieg Bop« (The Ramones, 1976), »California Über Alles« (Dead Kennedys, 1979)9 oder »Arbeit Macht Frei« (The Libertines, 2004). Neben der koloristischen Funktion nimmt Zweisprachigkeit in populären Songs häufig eine übersetzende Funktion ein. Auch dies begleitet die populäre Musik schon seit früher Zeit: »Bei Mir Bist Du Schön«, der erste große Hit der Andrews Sisters 1938, war eine ins Englische transformierte Adaption einer jiddischen Musical-Nummer (wobei vom jiddischen Original nur mehr die ins Deutsche gewendete Refrainzeile übrigblieb). Zugleich spielt dieser Songtext aber auch mit der Szenerie einer beziehungsreichen Übersetzungssituation: »Bei mir bist du schön, please let me explain, Bei mir bist du schön means you're grand. Bei mir bist du schön, again I'll explain, It means you're the fairest in the land. 8

9

Die Schreibweise der spanischen Verse folgt der inneren Plattenhülle; sprachlich korrekter wäre: »Yo te quiero infinito / Yo te quiero, oh mi corazón«; ebenso »ventana« (statt: vendanna). Die New Yorker Band Hasidic New Wave machte daraus 1998 — in Anspielung auf den damaligen Bürgermeister der Stadt — »Giuliani Über Alles«.

166

ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN I could say bella, bella, even say wunderbar, Each language only helps me tell you how grand you are« (The Andrews Sisters: »Bei Mir Bist Du Schön«, 1938). Das Beispiel der Andrews Sisters verweist auf zwei Aspekte, die für unseren Zusammenhang wesentlich sind. Gemeinsam mit dem funktionellen Gesichtspunkt der Übersetzungsformen kommt hier auch die Herkunft des Materials ins Spiel: Denn Coverversionen sind ebenfalls eine beständige Spielart bilingualer Songs. Häufig dienen bekannte Hits als Vorlage, aber auch Filmschlager, traditionelle und politische Lieder finden Verwendung. Manchmal geht mit berühmten Titeln — wie »Ne me quitte pas« — ein ganzes Bündel an zweisprachigen Coverversionen einher: Dusty Springfield

»If You Go Away« (The Look Of Love, 1967)

engl. / franz.

Lana Cantrell

»If You Go Away« (And Then There Was Lana, 1967)

engl. / franz.

Barbra Streisand

»If You Go Away« (Love Is the Answer, 2009)

engl. / franz.

Regina Spektor

»Don't Leave Me« (What We Saw From The Cheap Seats, 2012)

engl. / franz.

Caro Emerald

»If You Go Away« (2013)

engl. / franz.

Musica Nuda

»Non andare via« (Musica Nuda 2, 2006)

ital. / franz.

Das Blaue Einhorn

»Ne me quitte pas« (Verkauf dein Pferd, 2007)

deutsch / franz.

Regina Spektor

»Не Покидай Меня [Ne Pokidai Menja]« (2012)

russisch / franz.

Tabelle 7: »Ne me quitte pas« — zweisprachige Cover

Andererseits gibt es auch Adaptionen, die erst in ihrer zweisprachigen Version zu internationalen Hits wurden, wie »Wooden Heart« (Elvis Presley, 1960) oder »Denis« (Blondie, 1978).10 Beide Aspekte (Cover und Übersetzung) finden sich häufig unabhängig voneinander, können aber auch in einem Stück zusammentreffen. Bobby Pages Cajun-Song »Hippy Ti Yo« (1958) griff beispielsweise ein Traditional auf und übersetzte eine Strophe aus dem Französischen ins Englische; auch Freddie Fenders erfolgreiche Einspielung von »Before The Next Teardrop Falls« (1974) bot im spanischen Teil lediglich eine Übersetzung des englischsprachigen Originals von Duane Dee (1968); Johnnie Allans Swamp Pop-Versionen von »You Win Again« und »Today I Started Loving You Again« (beide 1980) übertragen wiederum einzelne Strophen bekannter Country-Nummern ins Französische (Hank Williams, 10 Während die Elvis-Nummer auf dem deutschen »Muss i denn, muss i denn zum Städtele hinaus« basierte, diente für Blondies Stück Randy & The Rainbows (»Denise«, 1963) als Vorlage. Beides sind zweisprachig erweiterte Coverversionen, in denen Übersetzungen keine Rolle spielen.

167

Eckhard John 1952 / Merle Haggard, 1968). Leonard Cohens »The Partisan« (1969) beruht auf der englischen Nachdichtung eines französischen Liedes über den Widerstand gegen die Nazis, belässt aber eine Strophe in der Sprache des Originals und verdeutlicht so den Bezug zur französischen Résistance. Selten sind dagegen umfassende Nachdichtungen der Vorlage wie bei »The Girl From Ipanema« (Stan Getz/João Gilberto, 1964).11 Unabhängig von Coverversionen nimmt das Moment der Übersetzung generell einen wichtigen Stellenwert ein, auch in originär zweisprachigen Songs. Bei »Michelle« beginnt das Lied direkt mit einer Übersetzung, bei »Undestructable« der New Yorker Gipsy-Punk-Band Gogol Bordello kommt sie beispielsweise erst am Ende, wenn der aus der Ukraine stammende Sänger und Songwriter die vorangegangen englischen Textpassagen in einer freien Übersetzung auf Russisch wiederholt: »How many… [darkest moments and traps still lay ahead of us?] — Undestructable How many final frontiers with maybe no victory laps? — Undestructable But if you stand on path of sacred art and stuck it out through thick and thin God knows you become one With undestructable Ох сколько мгновений чёрных, Невозможных Нам всем предстоит преодолеть. — (Undestructable) Ох сколько пиров победных впереди, Но всё равно нам не успеть. — (Undestructable) Но если, если сокровенный путь один Ты будешь несокрушим, Несокрушим!« (Gogol Bordello: »Undestructable«, 2005).12 Die übersetzende Funktion ist ein Grundmuster, das sich immer wieder in zweisprachigen Songs findet. Sie war schon in traditionellen Liedern vertreten, taucht in der neueren populären Musik indes ungleich häufiger auf. Ihre Erscheinungsweise ist recht unterschiedlich. Nur vereinzelt wird der gesamte Liedtext eins zu eins in die zweite Sprache übersetzt, wie bei Clifton 11 Bei diesem Titel ist wiederum bemerkenswert, dass sich die zweisprachige Version — mit Gesang von João und Astrud Gilberto — nur auf der Langspielplatte Getz/Gilberto (Verve 1964) findet, während die international bekannt gewordene Singleversion des Songs (mit Astrud Gilberto) nur die englische Textfassung enthält. 12 Die Aufnahme inszeniert einen quasi improvisatorischen Gestus dieser Übersetzung, der sich auch darin spiegelt, dass die russische Schlusspassage in der Bookletversion des Songtextes nicht berücksichtigt wird.

168

ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN Cheniers »Zydeco Two Step« (1980) oder Gordon Lightfoots »Nous Vivons Ensemble« (1971) — wobei im Falle Lightfoots diese egalitäre Form auch mit dem Inhalt und sozialen Anliegen des Liedes unmittelbar korrespondiert. Häufig wird nur eine Strophe in die zweite Sprache übertragen und mit weiteren (nicht übersetzten) Strophen kombiniert.13 Oder es wird nur der Text des Refrains in beiden Sprachen gesungen (Pete Seeger: »Somos El Barco«, 1985). Eine speziellere Form, die sich ebenfalls gelegentlich findet, sind kurze Einsprengsel von zwei bis drei Versen, die in einem ansonsten sprachlich homogenen Text eine kurze Passage in anderer Sprache wiederholen, etwa bei Rush: »Circumstances« (1978) oder Lady Gaga: »Bad Romance« (2009). Auch Interpretationsformen sind in diesem Zusammenhang strukturbildend, wenn die Übersetzung nicht mehr im gesungenen Part, sondern als gesprochener Text Teil der Aufnahme wird, wie bei Miriam Makeba: »Pata Pata« (1967), Visage: »Fade To Grey« (1980) oder Metric: »Poster Of A Girl« (2005). Zur formalen Gestaltung zweisprachiger Songs lassen sich nur in begrenztem Rahmen Aussagen machen. Es gibt zwar einige Muster, die immer wieder Verwendung finden, aber aufs Ganze gesehen entzieht sich die Vielfalt der Erscheinungsformen einer systematischen Rubrizierung. Ein gängiges Schema zweisprachiger Lieder ist die Aufteilung der Sprachen zwischen Strophe und Refrain, wobei dieses Modell auch leicht variiert oder von anderen Elementen überlagert werden kann. Andere klar strukturierte Schemata wie der regelmäßige Sprachwechsel von Strophe zu Strophe — so Clifton Chenier: »Eh, Petite Fille« (1965) oder Altan: »Ta Mo Chleamhnas A Dheanamh« (1987) — und die Abfolge der Sprachen nacheinander (in zwei Teilen des Songs) — so Gorky's Zygotic Mynci: »Patio Song« (1996) oder Xavier Naidoo: »Ich kenne nichts« (2002) — sind selten. Solche schablonenhaften Verfahrensweisen markieren als Orientierungspunkte eher eine Tendenz, die nach Bedarf modifiziert wird.14 Ganz selten ist der regelmäßige Wechsel der Sprachen von Vers zu Vers.15 Gilles Vigneault griff beispielsweise mit »I Went To The Market« (1976) ein traditionelles bilinguales Lied auf, das diese Form aufweist, um damit auf humoristische Weise die unglei-

13 Z.B. Wayne Toups & Zydecajun: »Sweet Joline« und »Two-Step Mamou« (beide 1989), Sandi Patty: »Via Dolorosa« (1984), Rufus Wainwright: »Rebel Prince« (2001). 14 Freiere Verfahrensweisen dazu etwa bei Texas Tornados: »Soy de San Luis« (1990) und Gerardo Mejía: »Rico Suave« (1991) bzw. Daniel Lanois: »Under A Stormy Sky« (1989) und Sublime »Caress Me Down« (1996). 15 Auch Travis' »Last Laugh Of The Laughter« (1999) ist in diesem Kontext eher ein Grenzfall, denn die beständig eingestreuten französischen Textelemente fungieren hier eher als Appendix zum jeweiligen englischen Vers.

169

Eckhard John che Behandlung der (französischen) Minorität (und Sprache) in Kanada kritisch zu thematisieren. Auch in anderen Fällen korrespondieren solche Eins-zu-Eins-Strukturen mit dem politischen oder sozialen Anliegen eines Songs — sei es im Sinne des demonstrativen Schulterschlusses gegen Fremdenfeindlichkeit und Rassismus oder des symbolischen Miteinanders separater Sprach- und Lebenswelten: Die beiden kanadischen Singer/Songwriter Dany Bédar und Joel Kroeker teilen sich in ihrem gemeinsamen Titel »Déjà Vu« (2007) paritätisch Strophen und Refrain (dort wechseln sie von Vers zu Vers), jeder Musiker singt in seiner Sprache, aber dies machen sie bewusst gemeinsam. Das dazu produzierte Video unterstreicht in seinen Bildern die Gespaltenheit der anglound frankophonen Lebenswelten in Kanada, die mit diesem Song wiederum überbrückt werden soll. Die umgekehrte formale Variante verwenden JeanJacques Goldman und Michael Jones in ihrem — gegen das damalige Erstarken der rechtsextremen Front National gerichteten — Song »Je te donne« (1985): Hier wechseln die Sprachen innerhalb der Strophen von Vers zu Vers, während der Refrain von beiden auf Französisch gesungen wird — auch hier dienen die formalen Strukturen als Abbild und Symbol der intendierten politischen Botschaft, die darauf zielt, Einflüsse aus unterschiedlichen Kulturen als Bereicherung und nicht als Gefahr zu begreifen. Ausgeglichene Sprachproportionen in bilingualen Songs sind insgesamt in der Minderzahl. Überwiegend werden die Lieder so strukturiert, dass die zweite Sprache nur partiell Verwendung findet. Bei Melanies »What Have They Done To My Song Ma« (1970) ist es beispielsweise nur eine Strophe, die in der anderen Sprache gesungen wird.16 Oder es sind vergleichsweise kurze Einsprengsel, die freilich an exponierten Stellen des Songs eingebaut werden. Oft sind das nur zwei bis drei anderssprachige Verse, wie bei »Psycho Killer« (Talking Heads, 1977), »A tout le monde« (Megadeth, 1995) oder »Reflektor« (Arcade Fire, 2013). Es können auch Liedzitate sein, etwa bei Sophie Hunger: »Rise And Fall« (2008).17 Häufig sind es sogar eher Sprachsplitter, die aber durch die Art, wie sie verwendet werden, ein besonderes Gewicht erhalten — sei es im Refrain, aber auch zu Beginn oder am Schluss eines Songs.18 Bisweilen erscheint eine andere Sprache auch nur über 16 Ebenso Kimya Dawson & Antsy Pants: »Tree Hugger« (2007), Arcade Fire: »Joan Of Arc« (2013) oder Chieftains: »Jimmy, Mó Mhíle Stór« (1999). 17 In diesen Song ist das »Guggisberglied« eingebaut, eines der prominentesten Schweizer Volkslieder. 18 Etwa R.E.M.: »Talk About The Passion« (1983), Yes: »Ritual (Nous sommes du Soleil)« (Tales From Topographic Oceans, 1974), Franz Ferdinand: »Darts Of Pleasure« (2003), Sophie Hunger: »Monday's Ghost« (2008), oder — im Kontext des Refrains — Beatles: »Across The Universe« (siehe Anm. 5), Paolo Conte:

170

ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN Backing Vocals (Peter Gabriel: »Games Without Frontiers«, 1980) oder durch beigemischte Stimmen (Madonna: »Isaac«, 2005). Eine andere Verwendungsform der zweiten Sprache ist ihr Einsatz als Spiegelbild einer kommunikativen Szene (mit einem anderssprachigen Gegenüber). Schon bei »Michelle« können die französischen Verse nicht nur im Sinne einer nationalen Verortung der Angebeteten verstanden werden, sondern auch als Ansprache an sie. Ebenso richten sich in »Angelina« (Louis Prima, 1944/1957) die italienischen Wendungen direkt an die im Song verehrte Kellnerin in einer Pizzeria. Bei Bill Wymans »(Si Si) Je Suis Un Rock Star« (1981) dient der Wechsel zur französischen Rede dem englischen »rock star« wiederum als Vehikel zur Verständigung mit einer brasilianischen Schönheit. Umgekehrt ist es die Stimme der geliebten, fremden Frau, die sich in »The Ballad Of Cable Hogue« (Calexico, 2000) in der anderen Sprache artikuliert. Ähnlich sind die Sprachrollen bei Arcade Fires »Joan Of Arc« (2013) verteilt, wenn die Stimme der Jeanne d'Arc auf Französisch erklingt. Dieses Prinzip findet auch bei sehr kurzen Texteinlagen Verwendung.19 In den letzten dreißig Jahren hat sich das Erscheinungsbild zweisprachiger Songs vor allem durch jene Musiker stark verändert, die solche Stücke ganz bewusst als Form und Ausdruck ihres ästhetischen Konzepts begreifen und Mehrsprachigkeit auf sehr vielfältige Weise in ihren Songs nutzen. Bei ihnen spielt wiederum das unmittelbare Code-Switching, der Sprachwechsel in seinen unterschiedlichsten Facetten, eine zentrale Rolle: »Madame n'est pas une Fräulein Schulz toute ordinaire, Madame sait faire, pour toutes erreurs, sa vie… und sonst so gut wie gar nichts. […] Madame verspürt ein großes Maß an ›moi j'existe‹… Sie spürt nur sich, das ist ihr Ich… und sonst, und sonst so gut wie gar nichts« (17 Hippies: »Madame«, 2007).

»Via con me (It's Wonderful)« (1981), Beck: »Loser« (1994), Joe Cocker: »N'oubliez Jamais« (1997), Mano Negra: »Soledad« (1989), Silly Wizard: »Fhear A Bhata« (1978). 19 Beispielsweise bei Bob Dylan: »Black Diamond Bay« (Desire, 1976): »But the dealer says, ›Attendez-vous, s'il vous plait‹ [...] she's out on the balcony, where a stranger tells her ›My darling, je vous aime beaucoup‹.«

171

Eckhard John Auch die direkte Thematisierung von Mehrsprachigkeit in Songs ist meist in solchem Kontext angesiedelt: •!

Cypress Hill: »Latin Lingo« (1991)

•!

Mellow Man Ace: »The Brother With Two Tongues« (1992)

•!

Freundeskreis: »Esperanto« (1999)

•! •!

Daniel Kahn & Painted Bird: »Broken Tongue« (2006) La Caravane Passe: »Perdu ta langue« (2010)

Mehrsprachigkeit, Code-Switching und bilinguale Songs stehen bei solchen Musikern häufig in einem Repertoirekontext, der sich nicht auf zwei Sprachen beschränkt. Gruppen wie die 17 Hippies, Mano Negra oder Gogol Bordello verwenden grundsätzlich mehrere Sprachen und dementsprechend finden sich unter ihren Songs auch unterschiedliche bilinguale Sprachkombinationen: bei Mano Negra beispielsweise mit Französisch, Spanisch und Englisch, bei Gogol Bordello Englisch, Russisch und Spanisch, bei RotFront Deutsch, Russisch, Ungarisch und Englisch.20 Solche Verwendung von Mehrsprachigkeit geht meist mit Ansätzen einher, auch musikalisch Sparten und Stile zu überschreiten und zu verbinden. Zweisprachige Songs werden hier Teil eines ästhetischen Konzepts, das sich insgesamt dem Aufmischen von Grenzen verschrieben hat, gerade auch in musikalischer Hinsicht. Dabei sind die Gruppen in den unterschiedlichsten musikalischen Milieus unterwegs, neben Weltmusik-Fusion (17 Hippies), Gypsy-Punk (Gogol Bordello) und Patchanka-Mestizo-Rock (Mano Negra, Manu Chao), beispielsweise auch Reggae-Ska-Punk (Che Sudaka), Rock-HipHop-Global-Dancehall (RotFront Emigrantski Raggamuffin), Gypsy-SwingBalkan-Pop (La Caravane Passe), Folk-Latin-Rock (Rupa & The April Fishes), Pop-Volksmusik-Melange (Les Reines Prochaines) oder Party-HipHop (Culcha Candela). Zweisprachige Songs sind in diesen Kontexten stets Ausdruck eines transkulturell angelegten ästhetischen Konzeptes, ihre Mehrsprachigkeit flankiert die musikalisch-pluralistische Offenheit der Arbeitsweisen, sie bringt deren grenzgängerische Ambitionen buchstäblich zur Sprache. Diese multikulturell intendierten musikalisch-ästhetischen Konzepte haben das Erscheinungsbild zweisprachiger Songs in den letzten Jahrzehnten am nachhaltigsten verändert. Ihre impliziten sozialen Positionsbestimmungen stehen in Wechselwirkung mit den entsprechenden politischen Diskursen. Parallel dazu haben sich aber auch andere Formen transnationaler und

20 Daran anknüpfend entstehen auch Songs, in denen mehr als zwei Sprachen genutzt werden: Il Gran Teatro Amaro verwendete im Text von »Mein Schatz« (Hotel Brennessel, 1993) beispielsweise Italienisch, Deutsch, Französisch und Englisch.

172

ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN transkultureller Inszenierungen mittels zweisprachiger Songs im Musikbusiness etabliert, sei es als symbolische Inszenierung (etwa bei internationalen Sport-Events), aber auch als pures Vermarktungs-Szenario, wie schon bei David Bowies bilingualen Versionen von »Heroes« (1977).21 Auch bei Placebo war die zweisprachige Version »Protège Moi« (2003) nur eine Produktion für den französischen Markt. Ein Meister der internationalen Vermarktung mittels zweisprachiger Songversionen ist zweifellos Andrea Bocelli. Die Grundlage dafür sind gemeinsame Duo-Aufnahmen mit Sängerinnen aus anderen Ländern: Andrea Bocelli & & & &

Judy Weiss Hélène Ségara Marta Sanchez Sandy

»Vivo per lei« (1997)

ital. ital. ital. ital.

/ / / /

deutsch franz. span. portug.

& Sarah Brightman

»Time To Say Goodbye (Con te partirò)« (1996)

engl. / ital.

& Celine Dion

»The Prayer« (1999)

ital. / engl.

& Dulce Pontes

»O Mar e tu« (1999)

ital. / portug.

& Marco Borsato

»Because We Believe« (2006)

ital. / holländ.

Tabelle 8: Andrea Bocelli

Viele andere Musiker nutzen ebenfalls dieses Duo-Modell, am liebsten in Kombination mit prominenten Namen, so auch Nena & Kim Wilde mit »Anyplace, Anywhere, Anytime« (2002). Gegenüber früheren Vermarktungsstrategien mit Coverversionen eines Songs in verschiedenen Sprachen bieten solche zweisprachigen Aufnahmen den Vorteil, dass auch die ursprünglichen Interpreten in anderen Ländern und Märkten Präsenz zeigen können. DuoKonstellationen sind gleichfalls im Bereich der symbolischen Inszenierungen die mit Abstand häufigste Grundlage zweisprachiger Songs. Sie bilden hierfür das charakteristische Grundprinzip: sei es für musikalische Demonstrationen politischen Engagements oder für die Kreation eines Flairs von Welt bei internationalen Sportveranstaltungen (s. Tabelle 9). Zweisprachige Songs bilden einen thematisch weit umfassenderen Komplex als dies auf den ersten Blick erscheinen mag. Festzuhalten bleibt, dass Bilingualität schon seit langer Zeit ein Ingrediens populärer Musik ist. Indes haben sich ihre Präsenz, ihre Funktionen und ihre Erscheinungsformen in den 21 Unter den verschiedenen Versionen des Songs, die Bowie damals auf den internationalen Markt brachte, waren neben den englischen auch zweisprachige Einspielungen (mit Deutsch und mit Französisch) vertreten — wobei die deutschenglische Aufnahme aufgrund ihrer Verwendung im Film Christiane F. — Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo (1981) damals recht bekannt wurde.

173

Eckhard John Udo Lindenberg & Alla Pugacheva

»Wozu sind Kriege da?« (Radio Erewan, 1985)

Holly Near & Mercedes Sosa

»They Dance Alone« (Singer In The Storm, 1990)

Freddie Mercury & Montserrat Caballe

»Barcelona« (1987) — Wiederveröffentlichungen zur Olympiade 1992 sowie zum Champions League Finale 1999

Sting & Mariza

»A Thousand Years« (2004) — Olympische Spiele Athen

Herbert Grönemeyer feat. Amadou & Mariam

»Zeit, dass sich was dreht / Celebrate The Day / Fetez cette journée« (2006) — Fußball-WM 2006

Pitbull feat. Jennifer Lopez & Claudia Leitte

»We Are One« (2014) — Fußball-WM 2014

Tabelle 9: Symbolische Inszenierungen (Politik — Sport)

letzten drei Jahrzehnten stark verändert. Neu dabei ist, dass Mehrsprachigkeit Teil musikalisch-ästhetischer Konzepte wird. Vielfach ist dies damit verknüpft, dass Mitglieder entsprechender Bands aus unterschiedlichen Sprachkulturen kommen. Auch darüber hinaus gibt es bei zweisprachigen Songs häufig Bezüge zu biographischen Prägungen der jeweiligen Musiker. Vieles konnte in vorliegendem Beitrag nur angerissen werden, manche Gesichtspunkte müssen einstweilen gänzlich offen bleiben: Thematische Aspekte etwa wie jene Songs, die auf dem Vergnügen am Spiel mit unterschiedlichen Sprachen gründen,22 aber auch Stücke, in denen eine zweite Sprache im ironisch-abwertenden Sinne verwendet wird,23 ebenso das Terrain mehrsprachiger Songs beim Eurovision Song Contest24 oder in der internationalen Rapund HipHop-Musik, und letztlich auch die Rezeption zweisprachiger Songs, ihre Coverversionen und Parodien.25 Hinzu kommen andere geographische Blickwinkel, denn zweisprachige Songs haben einen globalen Geltungsbereich und es gibt sie selbstverständlich auch in der Pop- und Rockmusik von Regionen und Sprachkombinationen, von denen hier nicht die Rede war. Und natürlich bleiben auch viele Fragen zu konkreten Stücken offen: Warum wechselt Melanie in »What Have They Done To My Song Ma« eigentlich in einer Strophe ins Französische? Was sollen uns die deutschsprachigen Ein22 Seien es Songs wie Helge Schneiders »Sommer, Sonne, Kaktus!« (Sommer, Sonne, Kaktus!, 2013) oder Kraftwerks »Nummern« (Computerwelt, 1981). 23 In diesem Kontext wäre auch Rammstein: »Amerika« (Reise, Reise, 2004) zu erwähnen. 24 Bilinguale Songs beim Eurovision Song Contest sind ein weiteres, gleichermaßen aufschlussreiches wie vielschichtiges Feld der transnationalen Inszenierungen, das nicht nur wegen der zahlreichen Stücke, sondern auch aufgrund seines spezifischen Kontextes einer separaten Darstellung bedarf. 25 Solche satirischen Verarbeitungen können wiederum neue bilinguale Songs generieren, wie »Weird Al« Yankovics »Taco Grande« (Off The Deep End, 1992), eine Parodie auf »Rico Suave« (1991).

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ZWEISPRACHIGE SONGS. SPRACHMUSTER TRANSKULTURELLER INSZENIERUNGEN sprengsel in Stücken Frank Zappas sagen?26 Und was bedeutet in »Psycho Killer« der Talking Heads die französische Bridge und der Refrain: »Psycho Killer, qu'est-ce que c'est?« »I've tried to explain, bei mir bist du schön / So kiss me, and say you understand«, so sangen die Andrews Sisters 1938 und mit ihnen viele andere. Zwei Generationen später hat sich manches verändert, bilinguale Musiker artikulieren sich weitaus selbstbewusster, finden Zweisprachigkeit hip — und gleichermaßen sexy: »All I want is a bilingual girl« verkündet die New Yorker Band Yerba Buena in ihrem — selbstredend zweisprachigen — Song »Bilingual Girl« (Island Life, 2005), denn schließlich müsse doch jeder verstehen: »Two tongues are better than one«.

Literatur Helms, Dietrich (2014). »History? My story! Ein Plädoyer für das Ich in Pop-Geschichte.« In: Geschichte wird gemacht. Zur Historiographie populärer Musik. Hg. v. Dietrich Helms und Thomas Phleps (= Beiträge zur Popularmusikforschung 40). Bielefeld: transcript, S. 115-127. John, Eckhard (2015). »Mit gespaltener Zunge. Zweisprachige Lieder als Forschungsfeld.« In: Musik in der »Lebenswelt«. Immaterielle Dimensionen der Musik-Kultur von Deutschen in (und aus) den südosteuropäischen Siedlungsgebieten. Hg. v. Erik Fischer et al. Stuttgart (im Druck). Lebrun, Barbara (2009). Protest Music in France. Production, Identity and Audiences. Farnham: Ashgate [zu Mano Negra s. S. 89-106]. Miles, Barry (1998). Paul McCartney. Many Years From Now. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt. Schillmöller, Mathias (2012). »›Je veux devenir ton étrangère...‹ — Berlin Style mit französischer Note bei den 17 Hippies.« In: Lied und populäre Kultur 57, S. 347360.

Diskographie Gogol Bordello (2005). »Undestructable.« Auf: Gypsy Punks. Underdog World Strike. SideOneDummy Records SD1271. 17 Hippies (2007). »Madame.« Auf: Heimlich. Hipster-Records HIP 012. Spliff (1982). »Carbonara.« Auf: 85555. CBS 85 555. The Andrews Sisters (1938). »Bei bist du schön.« Auf: The Andrews Sisters. Lotus Records LOP 14101 (1984). The Beatles (1965). »Michelle.« Auf: Rubber Soul. Parlophone PMC 1267. The Clash (1979). »Spanish Bombs.« Auf: London Calling. CBS 88 478. 26 Etwa Frank Zappa: »Sofa No. 2« (One Size Fits All, 1975), »Stick It Out« (Joe's Garage, Act II, 1979), »Once Upon A Time« (You Can't Do That On Stage Anymore Vol. I, 1988).

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Eckhard John

Abstract The existence of bilingual songs has played no significant role in popular music memory so far as they are often not remembered as being bilingual. Nevertheless, bilingualism has been an ingredient of popular music for a long time. However, the presence of bilingual texts, their functions, and their manifestations have strongly changed during the last 30 years. It is a new development that multilingualism becomes a part of musical-aesthetic concepts. Direct code-switching in many different facets plays a central role in these songs. Such a use of multilingualism is usually associated with approaches that also cross and connect genres and styles musically. Here, bilingual songs become a part of artistic attempts that are committed to challenging boundaries, especially in musical terms. These multiculturally orientated concepts have changed the appearance of bilingual songs in recent decades with the most lasting effect. Their implicit social intentions interact with corresponding political discourses. At the same time, however, other forms of transnational and transcultural productions have been established in the music business by means of bilingual songs, whether for symbolic production (as in international sports events) or purely for marketing means. Moreover, a long-term continuity of certain features of multilingualism in popular songs can also be observed, particularly in terms of their coloristic functions or usages of translations.

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STYLE AND SOCIETY — ISTANBUL'S MUSIC SCENE IN T H E 1960 S A N D 1970 S : M U S I C A L H Y B R I D I S M , T H E GAZINO, AND SOCIAL TOLERANCE Cornelia Lund and Holger Lund

Introduction Like many countries all over the world, Turkey was hit by the first wave of Anglo-American pop-rock music in the 1950s and 1960s. Various styles of pop-rock were appreciated in Turkey; they were, however, not simply copied but combined with local, indigenous elements in many different ways. This led to the birth of musical hybrids, especially Anatolian Rock, Arabesk, and Belly Dance. The specific qualities of these combinations, that differentiated them from parallel developments in other countries, seem to be rooted in the unique situation of the Turkish music scene. Turkey had an independent music market with a large number of non-major and non-staterun record labels as well as a complex and autonomous musical tradition of combining foreign and indigenous elements. This had mainly to do with the people involved: they mixed and mingled, ignoring social boundaries to a surprising extent, producing musical syntheses consisting of unpredictable combinations and stunning turnarounds. The main place for this kind of musical practice was the gazino, a special venue somewhere between restaurant, concert hall, and nightclub, with its open-minded musical programming. This article examines the acting agents and their styles, starting from selected musical examples and taking into account — aside from AngloAmerican pop-rock music and Anatolian Folk music — the three styles mentioned above: Anatolian Rock, Arabesk, and Belly Dance. Although each addressed a very different audience, these styles were freely combined, for example in Arabesk Rock as a mixture of Anatolian Rock and Arabesk. The main question for us will be: how was it possible that in Turkey apparently

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CORNELIA LUND AND HOLGER LUND paradoxical combinations could come into being, which never could have happened in the Western world? Why would elements be combined that, according to the logic of pop-rock music, appear contradictory? It seems there was a special Turkish pop-rock logic at work, which had the gazino at its heart, this special location for Turkish hybridized music. Our point of departure will be a short survey of the musical scene in Turkey in the 1960s and 1970s. We will have a look at the persons involved, the styles they played, and the extraordinary musical hybrids1 they constructed. These hybrids will lead us to the fundamental question for our research: how could they even be created, despite of the music-sociological paradoxes in style and audience? This article may not deliver final answers, but, hopefully, some outlines to be filled in by future research. Much of the resurgence of Turkish rock and funk music of the first wave goes back to 2006, when hip hop-beat producer Egon2 compiled the »Stones Throw Podcast #12«, the so-called »Turkish Funk Mix«, which for many of its listeners changed their perspective on the world of music forever. They found themselves listening to a stunning combination of familiar-sounding elements of rock and funk music and much less familiar-sounding elements of Anatolian music.3 The more so as Turkish rock and funk music were not mere copies of Anglo-American models, but themselves very distinctive hybrids of local and indigenous elements on the one hand, and global, Anglo-American elements on the other (cf. Skoog 2012: 3f.). This podcast pushed the interest in Turkish rock and funk music worldwide and many rereleases give proof of a continued interest until today. 4

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The term hybridization is becoming more and more common in scholarly literature on music. It is here used as defined in a previous text by author Holger Lund: »The term hybridization is used in its biological sense, meaning something which is a product of two different species that have been crossbred. A hybrid is something consisting of different origins, transgressing the old order of the former species to build up something new« (Lund 2011). Cf. http://www.stonesthrow.com/podcast (accessed 13.4.2015). Gabriel Skoog said about this irritating listening experience: »One of the pleasures of list[en]ing to hybrid genres for the first time is the bending of frame involved as we re-orient ourselves in relationship to the piece« (Skoog 2012: 91). Cf. the re-releases of Finders Keepers, who pioneered Guerrsen and Pharaway Sounds: http://www.discogs.com/label/38112-Finders-Keepers-Records, http:/ /www.discogs.com/label/105479-Guerssen and http://www.discogs.com/label /424574-Pharaway-Sounds (accessed 13.4.2015); or compilations such as the one curated by the author: V/A (2013). Saz Beat. Turkish Rock, Funk, and Psychedelic Music of the 1960s and 1970s. Ed. by Holger Lund. Corvo Records/ Global Pop First Wave, CGPFW 001.

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1. The Field of Music in Turkey The Turkish Republic itself, as constructed by Kemal Atatürk and his chief ideologist Ziya Gökalp, was founded on the idea of combining East and West. Musically, this combination was realized by building hybrids of Eastern and Western elements. Not all of them were successful, but three styles in the 1960s and 1970s attracted large audiences: Arabesk, Anatolian Rock, and Belly Dance Music.5 These styles aimed at totally different audiences. Nevertheless, multiple hybrids between these three already hybridized styles took shape, in music and also in its visual, iconographic representation. For someone not familiar with the Turkish music scene, the paradoxical elements of these hybrids can be hard to disentangle. To begin with: which style is which and how does it sound? First: Arabesk can be translated as »made or done in the arabic fashion« (Özbek 1997: 185). It is regarded as a »Turkish version of Arab popular music« with »romantic melodies« and a »saccharinic, Bollywoodish« (Spicer 2011: 46) effect — at least this is how the leading British music magazine The Wire still puts it today, in a pejorative manner. Arabesk was already a hybrid construction, an East-West music. According to Martin Stokes, Arabesk originated as an »absorption of a variety of Western popular and classical genres and performance styles into a [...] monophonic Eastern or Turkish form« (Stokes 1999: 123). This was also reflected in the wide array of instruments used: classical Turkish instruments like kanun and ney, Folk instruments like the saz, as well as drums, electric bass, electric guitar, piano, and Western string instruments (cf. Burhan Bayar in Bulut/Kaya 2010: 22:50-23:50 min and 31:31 min).6 Second: the terms Anatolian Rock or Anadolu Pop were used by Turkish musicians to describe hybrids of Western pop-rock music of all kinds combined with Anatolian Folk music since the mid 1960s.7 5

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With its similarities to Arabesk in status and Easternness Türk Sanat Müziği, a kind of classical, post-ottoman Alla Turka style, is not discussed here as a genre of its own, which of course it is (cf. Stokes 2003: 314). Moreover Anglo-American and European pop music were played in Turkey as well as Türkü, a sort of standardized folk song (cf. Skoog 2012: 61f.). All in all, these were the main styles one could hear during the 1960s and 1970s in Turkey. The term »Western music« refers to a distinction made in Turkey between Alaturka and Alafranga: »Alaturka and Alafranga refer, respectively, to Turkish and Western socio-cultural practices«; for music this means »Turkish (Alaturka) and Western (Alafranga) style« (Beken 2003). See Holger Lund's contribution »Anatolian Rock: Phenomena of Hybridization« to the conference »This Is the Modern World — For a Social History of Rock

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CORNELIA LUND AND HOLGER LUND Third: Belly Dance music is music for erotic dancing and was for a large part produced for the Arabic and Turkish diaspora in the US (Thorne 2011). It was made by immigrants for immigrants and was a trend in music from the 1950s until the 1970s.8 Armenian and Lebanese musicians were also often involved in Belly Dance. During the 1960s the style was adopted in the Arabo-Turkish region via US imports and kicked off many local productions. Due to the influence of developments in US-American music, new instruments joined in: next to traditional Arabo-Turkish instruments, electrified, electric and electronic instruments as well as drum sets were integrated in the production of music. With the use of these instruments, we can consequently observe the emergence of hybrids of the traditional music of the Arab-Turkish region and pop-rock music.

1.1. Examples In the following, we will analyze three pairs of tunes to get a more thorough insight into the musical situation in Turkey at the time. Pair 1: Orhan Gencebay — »Hor Görme Garibi« (1971) and Erkin Koray with Ter — »Hor Görme Garibi« (1972). Orhan Gencebay's piece is a typical Arabesk tune: the song is slightly electrified and sounds a bit Western, but the arrangement of the violins and the vocals are still dominated by the tradition of Arabesk music. The same tune was re-worked one year later by the Anatolian Rock musician Erkin Koray and the group Ter, still under the title »Hor Görme Garibi«. Compared to Gencebay's original, quite a few things have changed: Koray electrifies and Westernizes the sound, especially the vocals that, even if they still follow the Arabesk melodic line, get an extra touch of scream, which is so typical for Western rock music. Koray injects a great portion of hard rock into the Arabesk tune, thus building a hybrid between the two styles.

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Music«, Université Charles-de-Gaulle Lille 3, Lille. According to this analysis, the term is »not bound to Anatolians playing rock music, but used as an umbrella term for all sorts of music which combine different styles of Western pop and rock, psychedelic, funk, disco, progressive, folk, and so on with Anatolian folk music« (Lund 2013). Of course belly dancing and its music have a much richer history. It was not just an American nightclub entertainment invention exported to the Middle East, but a whole culture with a specific history in Turkey, a phenomenon in Egyptian films, and a dance-entertainment culture of several different regions (cf. Oyku Potuoglu-Cook 2008). The focus in this text is on Belly Dance as a hybridized genre mixing traditional with electrified, electric, and electronic instruments.

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STYLE AND SOCIETY — ISTANBUL'S MUSIC SCENE IN THE 1960S AND 1970S Pair 2: Orhan Gencebay — »Bir Araya Gelemeyiz« (1975) and Erkin Koray — »Sevdiğim« (1976). Another track by Gencebay, »Bir Araya Gelemeyiz«, is an Arabesk tune with the intro played in a hard rock manner, featuring a rock synthesizer and a typical rock riff or lick. Here we have an Arabesk musician playing a hard rocking Arabesk tune. The next piece is again by Koray: »Sevdiğim« from 1976. This tune works in the opposite way: it is an Anatolian Rock tune done in an Arabesk manner, easily recognizable from the string section. One might use the term Arabesk Rock to describe these kinds of hybrids presented in pair 1 and 2, to differentiate them from Anatolian Rock as well as Arabesk. Another example for this sort of Arabesk Rock would be Hakki Bulut's »Nedir Bende Olmayan« (1975). It has no string section but a combination of pop-rock guitar, partly straight rock beats by drums and bass, and Arabesk singing along with saz playing. Pair 3: John Tatasopoulos — »Bouzoukia solo« (1975) and Cem Karaca — »Demedim Mi« (1971). The next two musical examples show that not only Arabesk and Anatolian Rock are subject to hybridization, but Belly Dance as well. The tune »Bouzoukia Solo« by John Tatasopoulos comes from the US-released LP Alla Turka, alternatively named Music For Belly Dancing — The Turkish Way With Özel (1975). »Bouzoukia Solo« is not, as one may think, simple Belly Dance music: it is a Belly Dance-Anatolian Rock hybrid, with an electric wah-wah bouzouki imitating an electric saz, an instrument developed in reaction to the electric guitar of rock music which became very popular in Anatolian Rock music. The fact that the non-Turkish musician John Tatasopoulos plays the non-Turkish instrument bouzoukia should be held against the fact that the title of the LP, in each version, suggests Turkish music, which indicates the typical melting-pot situation in the US, with non-Turkish people from Armenia, Greece, or Israel regularly playing Turkish music (Thorne 2011). The last example is Cem Karaca's »Demedim Mi« from 1971. In this Anatolian Rock-Belly Dance hybrid a rock group is playing a continuous Belly Dance line in the percussion and bass, which is extended and accentuated by a long Belly Dance break in the middle of the tune.

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2. The Complexity of the Situation These examples give a good idea of the complexity of the musical situation in Turkey. Styles that are already hybrids themselves, are combined to form multiple hybrids. The number and variety of these hybrids, the fluid and surprising combinations within them, are simply astonishing. In this aspect, by the way, the musical production of Turkey differs from that of comparable post-ottoman countries. In the unexpected combinations of styles, the unusual instrumentations, the stunning arrangements and compositions, Turkish hybrid music shows complete autonomy (Skoog 2012: 29f. and 34). When we search for the reasons of this development, we find different contributing factors. On the one hand, there is the specific situation of Turkish culture and its historical development, which we will analyze later on. On the other hand, the particularities of the Turkish music economy have to be taken into account. Different to most other non-Western countries, the Turkish music market was neither dominated by globally acting major labels, working as hegemonial gatekeepers, nor by nationally acting state-run or state-controlled labels, dominating the national production, but instead by many smaller or bigger independent labels, some of them lead by Turkish musicians.9 Compared to other countries, the music production was relatively uncontrolled and unregulated. A homogenization of the market by major or state-run labels did not take place in Turkey in the first decades of pop music.10 Gabriel Skoog (2012: 24) also mentions that the Turkish Republic, especially Istanbul, »never felt the direct long-term effects of European colonialism«. Thus, Turkey's autonomy was unbroken by colonial power structures. The latter normally would set the cultural standards, imposing them on the colonized people, engraving in their minds which »developed« standards

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The number of Turkish labels was extraordinarily high in the 1960s and 1970s. To our knowledge there exists no compendium listing them all. After years of research in vinyl record stores one will still discover more and more labels from that period. We estimate that about 50 to 70 independent labels have existed in Turkey. Some of the old ones are still active and are located at İMÇ (İstanbul Manifaturacılar Çarşısı), Unkapani, Blok 5 and Blok 6 in Istanbul. 10 As far as the authors know, in the same period of time only the musical panorama of Pakistan showed a similar complexity concerning combinations and unpredictable musical developments in songs — despite the fact that the music market in Pakistan was dominated by only a very few major labels. The reasons for the complexity of the situation in Pakistan, however, still have to be explored.

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STYLE AND SOCIETY — ISTANBUL'S MUSIC SCENE IN THE 1960S AND 1970S should be adopted and which more »primitive« ones should be devalorized and erased. This did not happen in Turkey.11

2.1. Arabesk vs. Anatolian Rock (?) vs. Belly Dance (?) Most noteworthy about the complex situation in Turkey is that it really should not exist, considering the music-social frontiers valid especially in the Western world. Apparently contradictory elements were put together in musical practice, were freely combined and hybridized. But first of all, what exactly do we mean when we speak of contradictory elements? Arabesk had, outside its audience, a very bad reputation in Turkey. This had to do with the audience itself: poor, little educated, mostly Anatolian immigrants and workers in the periphery of the big cities like Istanbul. Arabesk was called »Minibus music«12 or also »Migration music«13. It was considered by the urban, well-educated middle class as uncultivated, imitative (being Arab-like), pre-modern and non-Western (cf. Stokes 2010 and Köksal 2012). A typical audience can be seen in the film Derdim Dünyadan Büyük (1978), which shows Arabesk musician and actor Gencebay with the poor people that formed his fanbase. While we might view Arabesk as a »domestification of an international soundscape [...] presenting it for a Turkish audience«, as Stokes (1999: 135) does, Anatolian Rock on the contrary can be regarded as »internationalizing a local music, connecting it to the international counterculture« (ibid.).14 Proof of this is found in photos like the one showing Koray (on the right)

11 Skoog emphasizes that Turkey »was never colonized by a European power«. Therefore, Turkey is an autonomous »competing aesthetic center« to him (Skoog 2012: 151). 12 Orhan Gencebay in Bulut/Kaya 2010: 37:31 min. 13 Cf. Orhan Gencebay in ibid., 15:44 min and 28:32 min. 14 It is interesting to note that Skoog, in opposition to Stokes, sees it just the other way round: »Anadolu Rock can be understood as a local music scene which first grew out of a large, mass-mediated, translocal scene, but with time turned into its own local phenomenon.« His explanation: »Anadolu Pop artists combined genre cues to create a new style which would appeal to a local audience, and it was the positive response to this localized style which kick started a local Anadolu Rock scene.« Therefore he concludes: »Anadolu Pop is a localized global genre« (Skoog 2012: 162f.). Both views may be correct. Depending on the point of view one can define Anatolian Rock as the localization of an international music or as an internationalization of a local music. Skoog himself shifted his point of view: »Anadolu Pop artists such as Mogollar, Barış Manço, and Cem Karaca all attempted to have an effect on the larger global rock scene through participation in the European market. Indeed, Barış Manço went as far as to release an English language album« (Skoog 2012: 164, cf. also 168f.).

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CORNELIA LUND AND HOLGER LUND together with John Lennon and Yoko Ono in 1971,15 exemplifying a certain affirmative orientation towards Western modernity. Visually, Anatolian Rock stations itself either as pro-rural,16 such as the group Moğollar who pose in rural costumes for the cover of their single Cığrık17, or it demonstrates urbanity, which could even take quite radical aspects, as in several photos of Koray naked with an electric guitar.18 Politically, the two stylistic positions are also drifting in opposite directions: despite of some rebellious attitudes, Arabesk music is mainly shaped by a rather conservative, fatalistic belief in a paternalist-hierarchical way of life (cf. Bulut/Kaya 2010), whereas Anatolian Rock with two of its main agents, Selda Bağcan and Karaca, shows not only a democratic, but rather a left-wing revolutionary orientation (image 1 and image 2). An intermingling of the two audiences, the Arabesk and the Anatolian Rock audience, should therefore never happen according to the logics of music sociology.

Image 1: Cem Karaca, PLO, no date.

Image 2: Cem Karaca as featured in the Turkish 1970's music and youth magazine Hey, no date.

15 Erkin Koray with John Lennon and Yoko Ono, 1971: https://touringinstability. wordpress.com/2014/01/22/erkin-koray-the-grand-magus-of-turkish-psych (accessed 13.4.2015). 16 This is also obvious in the typical musical relation of the Türkü with the rural. The Türkü are transformed Anatolian, hence rural, folk songs (cf. Skoog 2012: 61). 17 Cover for Moğollar — Cigrik (1972): http://www.discogs.com/Moğollar-CığrıkSıla/release/3486592 (accessed 13.4.2015). 18 Cf. http://braden4dbraden.nm.ru/erkin-koray.html, http://barisakbali.tumblr. com/post/64209189015/anadolu-rock-ve-hard-rock-turunde-ozgun-eserler and http://alkislarlayasiyorum.com/icerik/141521/erkin-koray-insanlari-ciplakligadavet-etmek-21-haziran-1970 (accessed 13.4.2015).

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STYLE AND SOCIETY — ISTANBUL'S MUSIC SCENE IN THE 1960S AND 1970S Moreover, the visuals of Belly Dance record covers, the explicit (semi-) nudity of the women (images 3 and 4), is not compatible with either the more conservative Arabesk audience or with the democratic left-wing audience of Anatolian Rock. But nevertheless, a single by 4 Oyun Havasi offers a cover version of Koray's »Fesuphanallah«, turning his Arabesk Rock into an instrumental Belly Dance Rock. Here again we are in a realm where all things are combined and mixed, even if they — according to the common music-social point of view — should be kept separated.

Image 3 and 4: Cover for 4 Oyun Havası, Turkish Belly Dances, recto & verso, ca. 1976.

The phenomenon continues visually, defeating every potential conflict: a photo from 1976 shows Gencebay and Koray during a jam session (image 5). Koray presents himself as an urban Anatolian Rock musician in jeans, with long hair and a cool sitar beat instrument.19 Gencebay, however, appears as an Arabesk musician, with mustachio, spick-and-span white trousers, and a very traditional, non-electrified saz. Another photo again shows Gencebay, now with Barış Manço, in 1972. Against the correct suit of Gencebay, Manço wears a rural belt with a tied knot (image 6).

19 The sitar, seen in its stylistic and semantic aspects, probably did not come directly to Turkey from Asia but indirectly via Great Britain (just think of the George Harrison-initiated sitar beat boom). Consequently, the sitar is in this context primarily a Western sitar beat instrument and not a classical Eastern instrument.

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Image 5: Jam session with Orhan Gencebay and Erkin Koray, 1976.

Image 6: Orhan Gencebay and Barış Manço, 1972.

Some magazine photographs move another step ahead: on a cover page probably published in celebration of a musical contest in 1972, Gencebay, the Arabesk star musician, is placed among part of the elite of Anatolian Rock musicians: Manço, Bağcan, and the three Hürel brothers (image 7).

Image 7: Cover of a magazine with Orhan Gencebay, Barış Manço, Selda Bağcan and the three Hürel-brothers, 1972.

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STYLE AND SOCIETY — ISTANBUL'S MUSIC SCENE IN THE 1960S AND 1970S Another, similar photo made in 197120 shows Manço, Karaca, and the group Moğollar together with star singer Zeki Müren, who plays Türk Sanat Müziği, like Arabesk a popular Eastern style (cf. Stokes 2003: 314). Müren appears again in an undated group portrait21 next to Karaca. Given the sociological differences between the musicians, such photos are an extension of what is happening in the music itself, the paradoxical but nevertheless practiced musical hybrids or multi-hybrids.22 How could this happen? And did the Turkish people back in the day also regard and experience these hybrids as paradoxical? In the following, we will try to give some answers to this question. As we have mentioned, an intermingling of these audiences would not have been possible according to Western music-sociological thinking. The main reason, as Diedrich Diederichsen recently explored in depth, is that from the 1950s to the 1990s pop music has been used in the Western world as a means to differentiate identity, to express different political and social attitudes. The decision to adopt a certain style (and the attitude related with it) implied always the negation, even radical negation and non-acceptance, of all other styles (and attitudes related with them) (Diederichsen 2014: passim). If such very different things come together, as in the musical and photographical examples mentioned above, there must have been some shared fundaments as common ground.

2.2. Shared Fundaments and Where They Came From It is useful to consider the parameters shared collectively by the three styles. All of them, Arabesk, Anatolian Rock, and Belly Dance, were allowed to be practiced by the state authorities, but were not supported by them at all. The national radio barely played the songs of any of these styles.23 They were treated as outsider music, although for different reasons. All three styles were related to Anatolian Folk and Türkü and therefore had a common musical fundament. This important fundament should not be over20 Barış Manc!o, Cem Karaca and Moğollar together with Zeki Müren, 1971: http:// twicsy.com/i/SuRdZd (accessed 13.4.2015). 21 Group photo with Cem Karaca next to Zeki Müren, no date: http://www. ilkogretim.info/?attachment_id=4075 (accessed 13.4.2015). 22 Indeed, there exist musical pendants to the photos discussed above (images 5 to 7): Barış Manc!o, for example, played »Aglama Degmez Hayat« (1969), a famous tune of Türk Sanat Müziği, which Zeki Müren recorded in the same year. Or think of the musical pairing we have analyzed in chapter 1.1. 23 Cf. Kadir Çöpdemir, in Bulut/Kaya 2010: 6:28-7:11 min., and Stokes 1999: 123. The Turkish Radio and Television institution TRT published only two Anatolian Rock records over all the decades, »TRT Ara Müzikleri« I and II.

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CORNELIA LUND AND HOLGER LUND looked, as the use of a shared musical tradition has a strongly connecting effect (which is not easily understandable from a German perspective, for example, where the Volkslied after being commonly abused by the Nazis in general died, morphing into the genres of schmaltz or schlager afterwards). Considering the massive social differences of those involved, however, these commonalities are not strong enough to explain the photographs and musical hybrids. One may suspect that it was all about money and that musical hybrids addressed a crossover audience to widen the market. However, this would have meant committing a sort of musical hara-kiri, just as if, in those days, someone had combined German schlager singer Heino with hard rock to enlarge the target group. Today, in our post-modern era, this works well, as the very example of Heino shows. In the much more strictly modern era of the 1960s and 1970s, when social identity was constructed with and by the use of differentiating musical styles, these kinds of hybrids were definitively unthinkable in the Western world — but were apparently possible in Turkey as the examples above show. Instead of a hara-kiri a special solution has been developed to which we will come back later on. Another idea suggests that the elite of session musicians in Turkey was so small and so limited in its access to electric and electronic gear as well as in its competence to use it, that this small group of people had to play all styles.24 Admittedly, session musicians will be hired for any job in any style; that is how they are defined. But anywhere else these musicians do not hybridize musically and visually in public, they do it behind the scenes, in the studio, in secret. Otherwise they would hurt their public musical identities, their image on the market. Both the schmaltz guitar player and the hard rock guitar player would mutually destroy themselves if they showed up in personal union. They have to stay separate in the public space, stay different, this is their proper function in order to build social identities and possibilities for identification for their audiences. Another approach to the question can be found in Cadğas Uyar's liner notes for the Bunalım re-release (Uyar 2006). He posits that some of the songs by the group Bunalım can be seen as a proof of an interest in nonhybridized rock, taking Anglo-American productions of the time as a model. What prevented them and all the other Turkish musicians from following that model was the specific music-political situation. The latter was marked by repression, and fear of repression, concerning non-Turkish music on the one side, and acceptance of, as well as support for, hybridized Anatolian 24 Which is indeed true and can be easily observed looking at the credits on the covers of completely different music styles: the same names appear all the time.

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STYLE AND SOCIETY — ISTANBUL'S MUSIC SCENE IN THE 1960S AND 1970S Rock music on the other side, starting with the big pop music contests by Hürriyet and Milliyet in the mid 1960s (cf. Lund 2013). The tendencies to support hybridization can be traced back to the founder of the nation, Kemal Atatürk, and his chief ideologist Ziya Gökalp. They initiated and supported a new hybrid East-West music for the new Turkish republic, a kind of a modernized and Westernized version of Anatolian Folk music (ibid., cf. also Erol 2010; Tekelioğlu 2001). Stokes calls Gökalp's concept a »nationalistic cosmopolitanism« (Stokes quoted by Burkhalter 2012: 44). He sees it as a part of the music-political strategy of the state, leading to an amalgamation of indigenous Turkish and Western music. »Nationalistic cosmopolitanism« may sound paradox, but the term very precisely describes the national point of view from which a hybridist cosmopolitan point of view was developed. Hybridization then had become the standard, and consequently non-hybridized music was not much in favor. Therefore non-hybridized pop-rock music was only seldom released. Yet we still do not know how the musical hybrids and multi-hybrids could be realized, despite the fact that they were violating the borders of social identities. The audiences themselves were keen on differentiating one from another. None of the urban, middle-class citizens would ever share the same cultural space with the poor, rural immigrants of the gecekondus (informal settlements in the periphery of the big cities). And vice versa, no immigrant would dare to show up in an urban cultural audience, his clothing and manners would have betrayed him instantly as belonging to another social context. So what seemed to be impossible in real life was realized and practiced in music. Next to the idea of a collectively shared traditional musical fundament it could be helpful to have a closer look at how one of the audiences would see the other. For the democratic left-wing people of Anatolian Rock the immigrants listening to Arabesk appear in a positive light, as they fit with their pro-rural tendencies (most of the immigrants coming from a strongly rural background), and the moments where lyrics of Arabesk music expressed critical views on the circumstances of life were appreciated. Politically, Arabesk music was not per se strictly conservative, differentiations must be made here in many directions (cf. Bulut/Kaya 2010, Stokes 2000, Doğtaş/Labastida 2014). Furthermore, Arabesk music was related to the workers and (ex-)farmers, which was the part of the population that democratic politics focused on.

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2.3. The Gazino Yet perhaps the most important key to the whole situation is the gazino. It was a very special location, existing mainly in Istanbul (Beken 2003) and Izmir, which brought the different audiences, working and the urban middle classes, together in one place. From the musical point of view, it was a very open urban venue for entertainment, something between a restaurant, a show and concert hall, and a nightclub. The gazino culture, consisting basically of East-West music performed within a Western architectural frame, started in the 1930s and ended in the 1970s (image 8 and 9). Clearly the gazino helped to establish the aforementioned multiple musical hybrids between the three styles. Their owners, driven by commercial interests, changed the paradigm: what elsewhere in the world of pop-rock music had been separated as (life-)styles and opposing identities, was thrown together in the gazino, musically and in the visual aspects related to the music.

Image 8: Interior of an early gazino, Istanbul, 1931.

Image 9: Interior of the Taksim Belediye Gazino, Istanbul, 1960.

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STYLE AND SOCIETY — ISTANBUL'S MUSIC SCENE IN THE 1960S AND 1970S The venue served as a point of intersection for different audiences. Gazinos were places where citizens, landowners, farmers, and workers came together under the sign of a collectively shared Anatolian musical fundament.25 And it did not matter that Anatolicity for each audience meant something very different: whereas Anatolia was the lost home, but still the heart of their identity for the rural and ex-rural Arabesk audience, it was a concept promising a more natural identity for the urban Anatolian Rock audience, an object of a certain turko-rural longing. Münir Nurettin Beken explains the musical fluidity of the gazino as follows: the »gazino always reflected the taste of the paying customers. Therefore, the impact of changing demographics and aesthetics of society has always been reflected on the gazino show and its physical space« (Beken 2003). Depending on the owners and audiences, everything could take place in the music: Arabesk, Belly Dance, Anatolian Rock and Pop.26 This is reflected by the fact that the gazino usually had different orchestras: at least one Arabesk orchestra and one pop orchestra for the same location were the standard. Members of these orchestras could meet each other, for example in back-stage concerts.27 When programming the gazinos, the owners were primarily focused on their audiences and their heterogeneity: »Expectations of the consumers from all the different domains are fulfilled by the management at big gazino-s [sic!]« (ibid.). This heterogeneity is worth taking a closer look at:

25 »The Turkish musical scene may be viewed in terms of three categories: alatürka, which refers to Turkish sociocultural practices; alafranga, which refers to Western ones; and arabesk, which denotes the culture of peripheral urban immigrants. The gazino, a type of nightclub, provides a common denominator for alatürka and arabesk music in an alafranga space« (Anon. 2011). Beken notes: »While the program indicates connections with Ottoman institutions like coffeehouses and meyhane-s (a restaurant type), the gazino space itself resembles earlier Western style establishments in Istanbul. The variety show is one of the determining aspects of the gazino program and it probably goes much further back in history« (Beken 2003). The main period of the gazino is 1930-1980: »The advent of television and economic fluctuations since the 1970s caused a steady decline for the business of gazino. The glamorous large gazino-s of the mid-twentieth century Istanbul disappeared« (ibid.). 26 Cf. ibid. and old gazino programs: http://turkiyeningazinotarihi.blogspot.de, http://turkiyeningazinotarihi.blogspot.de/2012/12/1976-ylnda-istanbul-gazinoprogramlar.html, http://turkiyeningazinotarihi.blogspot.de/2012/12/gazino-sa vaslar-1976-1.html and http://turkiyeningazinotarihi.blogspot.de/2012/12/gazi no-savaslar-1976-2.html (accessed: 13.4.2015). 27 According to Beken the back stage was also a place for music theory and discussion (cf. Beken 2003).

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CORNELIA LUND AND HOLGER LUND »At the beginning of the twentieth century […] gazino customers were Turkish intellectuals and non-Muslims of the Beyoğlu district of Istanbul. After the foundation of Turkish Republic, Turkish intellectuals and statesmen continued to be regular customers of gazino« (ibid.). After World War II, two new audiences came to visit the gazinos, rich landowners from the countryside and formerly poor farmers, which had immigrated to the big cities and made a fortune there. Beken notes: »This societal shift was reflected in the addition of the Folk Music as a fabricated urban genre into the gazino repertoire« (ibid.). Accordingly, Folk music orchestras were established. The social climbers pushed the change to Arabesk music: »As soon as they could afford it, former gecekondu inhabitants became part of the frame of gazino customers. Their consumption of Arabesk music [...] was also reflected later in the gazino show« (ibid.). In addition to the evening program, affordable matinees were offered for »middle-class families from a variety of backgrounds with a regular limited income« (ibid.). The crucial point was the heterogeneous programming the owners proposed: »The music, like the food, is presented as a fixed menu. [...] An individual who comes to a gazino to listen to and experience the show of, say, an Arabesk star, by necessity ends up tolerating other genres« (ibid.). And so the public had to eat the whole »menu«: all the gazino genres like »Fasil [ottoman classic], Turkish Art Music, Folk Music, Arabesk, Turkish Pop Music, Belly Dancing and Comedy« (ibid.). Beken concludes: »Changes in the gazino show are related to changes in ›the code‹ carried by the consumers. Political, economic and social changes superimposed radical changes in the aesthetics and resulted in aesthetic islands in the map of the Turkish society« (ibid.). Indeed, with all variety of the genres allowed and mixed, the gazinos were »aesthetic islands« in Turkish society. A last crucial point was the social coding of the music: »Certain parts of the gazino show reflect […] two types of power. While Arabesk reflects economic power, traditional genres like Fasil or tango reflect the social prestige of Alaturka and Alafranga. An individual's economic power may buy the best seat in the gazino; social prestige, however, still comes with one's interest in more traditional genres, such as the Turkish Art Music. The gazino consumer gets educated by tolerating other genres that have historical dimensions« (ibid.). Beken shows that the gazino was constructed to have a pedagogical function toward tolerance, insofar as visitors wanted to combine economic power,

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STYLE AND SOCIETY — ISTANBUL'S MUSIC SCENE IN THE 1960S AND 1970S coded in hybrid genres with Western elements, with social prestige, coded in traditional Turkish genres. They could achieve that only by tolerating all the different genres. The architecture also had an effect of reinforcing the tolerance of the public. Beken describes it as follows (image 10): »The Caddebostan Maksim Gazinosu (CMG) was situated in a modern building with a parking lot. Its modern exterior architectural design was similar enough to a Western fine art gallery or institution that it could be characterized as an Alafranga space« (ibid.).28

Image 10: Caddebostan Maksim Gazino, Istanbul, 1981.

The architecture marks a clear statement for modernity and social climbing: »The gazino transports the audience [...] to a high status. The Western cultural codes conveyed through the visual arts contribute to this illusion created for them« (ibid.). This continues in the medial and spatial context of the gazinos, which itself has a pedagogical effect on the public:

28 Beken continues: »The cream-colored columns, moldings, niches, cornices, and other architectural ornaments were reminiscent of classical Western architecture, although the use of geometrical shapes in the exterior was closer to Art Deco. There were also a few windows, some of which had stained glass with modern-looking Art Deco designs. Further evidence of Western influence could be found in the CMG's interior, with its Art Nouveau-style wooden picture and mirror frames, the bronze sculptures, light fixtures, vases, stained glass, paintings, classical Greco-Roman style columns, moldings, cornices, and whitecolored sculptures in illuminated niches« (Beken 2003).

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CORNELIA LUND AND HOLGER LUND »The newspaper advertisements, and neon lights in front of the gazino help foster this illusion. The audience's preferred clothing, make-up and other behavioral changes reflect their efforts to adapt themselves to this atmosphere« (ibid.). The atmosphere created this way could be described with Negri and Hardt's term as »multitude« (cf. Hardt/Negri 2000), a multiplicity and variety of persons and styles. And exactly this character of multitude was a requirement for the gazino to become what it was: a place that lead musicians and audiences to musical hybrids and tolerance, bridging over their differences. Of course there was still a lot of conflict going on, mainly between the owners of the gazinos as artistic directors and the musicians (cf. Beken 2003). The multitude was not the basis, but the result of a continuously ongoing process of negotiation between owners of the gazinos, the audiences, and the musicians. In the 1970s, the Turkish music magazine Hey had a similar effect in combining and developing tolerance. Comparable to the German Bravo, to which Hey in the beginning saw itself as an equivalent, hit lists mixed international pop music stars with local ones, in this case Turkish Anatolian Rock musicians. Unlike Bravo, Hey had a separate hit list for Arabesk, Türk Sanat Müziği, and Türk Halk Müziği, which mostly ran under the term »Türk Müziği«. And all the musicians — regardless of their style — got reports in the magazine. Sometimes a tune like »Zühtü« appeared in both hit lists, once in the funk version by Esin Afşar (list »Hey Disko«), once in the folk version by Bedia Akatürk, and once in the Arabesk version by Şenay Şenses (both on the list »Türk Müziği«) (Hey 4:7, 1976: 4 and 9). A singer like Neşe Karaböcek could appear, according to her different styles (pop and Arabesk), in the same magazine in both hit lists (Hey 51:3, 1973: 4f.). Or she could appear even with the same pop-Arabesk hybrid tune »Demiyom mu« in the same magazine in both lists (Hey 29:4, 1974: 4 and 67). For both Anatolian Rock as well as Arabesk or Türk Müziği record releases, ads were placed, even directly following each other. Attitude and intentions of Hey would need further examination. As Hey belonged to the Milliyet media group, the same forces, which pushed the Altın Mikrofon contests in the 1960s towards Anatolian Rock could have been at work (cf. Lund 2013). In any case: Milliyet in the 1970s promoted contests like »Türkiye Liselerarasi Müzik ve Halk Oyunlari Yarişmasi«, which combined sections of rock music with sections of traditional folk music (cf. Hey 10:4, 1974: 20). So Hey, like the gazino, functioned as a place for different musical styles and their audiences, bringing them together and promoting tolerance.

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3. The Turkish Pop Logic To sum up: apart from the Kemalistic hybrid-friendly music politics there are three main arguments to explain the building of hybrids in Turkey: a collectively shared musical fundament (Anatolian Folk music), a collectively shared political fundament (rebellious left-winged), and a collectively shared space (the gazino in three-dimensional architecture and Hey in twodimensional print). Not on their own, but connected and interacting, an exploration of these overlaps may lead to an explanation for the hybrids and multi-hybrids one can hear and see in music and the accompanying materials. The Turkish pop logic then could perhaps be described at its core as a logic of multitude, which has the power to put together what elsewhere, especially in the Western world, would seem to be a music-social paradox, a conflict of identity. The way to this logic of multitude was opened up by two main elements: on the one hand by the Turkish Republic's version of modernity, the »nationalistic cosmopolitanism« (Stokes), which functioned as a stepping stone for stylistic combinations between East and West, and on the other hand by the gazino with its commercially driven programming, opening the way — and space — for audience tolerance, which was additionally supported by magazines like Hey. Antoine Remise recently came up with a surprising idea: »In a way, ›Anatolian Rock‹ was more an easternization [sic!] of Turkish music trends than the westernization [sic!] that is usually discussed. The bands and artists started to copy less and less their Anglo-Saxon models and developed their own genre. The audience's response was huge; their amazing and unique melodies had a fresh energy that touched the hearts and minds of many who wanted to be a part of the bigger modern world whilst enjoying their Turkish identity« (Remise 2014). This is a complete change of perspective — seeing Anatolian Rock as an Easternization of Turkish music —, but perhaps much closer to the Turkish pop logic as a viewpoint from inside this logic. So it was Anatolian Folk music to which an already Westernized Turkish youth started to turn in its quest for identity (cf. ibid.).29 This twist in thinking is perhaps neither a 29 Historically, one could see it this way: Turkish rock music started in the late 1950s with copies of Anglophone songs, continued with Turkish versions of them, and then, with Tülay German's »Burcak Tarlasi« (1964), which features Turkish folk music with Western instruments, Anatolian Rock was invented (cf. also Skoog 2012: 3 and 116f.).

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CORNELIA LUND AND HOLGER LUND contradiction of Stokes (1999: 135), who sees Anatolian Rock as »internationalizing a local music, connecting it to the international counterculture«, nor of Skoog (2012: 162f.), who regards Anatolian Rock as the localization of an international music. The Turkish pop logic contains several perspectives, including them all, not excluding one or the other. It is a logic of multitude, again.

Bibliography Anon. (2011). »Gazino Aesthetics.« In: Bibliolore. The Rilm Blog (Répertoire International de Littérature Musicale), http://bibliolore.org/2011/07/17/gazinoaesthetics (upload: 17.7.2011; accessed: 13.4.2015). Beken, Münir Nurettin (2003). »Aesthetics and Artistic Criticism at the Turkish Gazino.« In: Music & Anthropology. Journal of Musical Anthropology of the Mediterranean 8; http://www.umbc.edu/MA/index/number8/gazino/bek_00. htm (accessed: 13.4.2015). Burkhalter, Thomas (2012). »Weltmusik 2.0: Musikalische Positionen zwischen Spass- und Protestkultur.« In: Out of the Absurdity of Life. Ed. by Theresa Beyer and Thomas Burkhalter. Deitingen: Traversion, pp. 28-46. Diederichsen, Diedrich (2014). Über Pop-Musik. Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch. Doğtaş, Gürsoy / Labastida, Alejandra (eds.) (2014). The Politics of the Melancholic Voice. Zeki Müren's Kahir Mektubu; http://issuu.com/independentcurators international/docs/m__ren_small/1 (accessed: 13.4.2015). Erol, Ayhan (2010). »Controlling National Identity and Reshaping Public Taste: The Turkish State's Music Policies in the 1920s and 1930s.« In: Musicology Today 7 (Music Traditions in Totalitarian Systems), pp. 138-161. Hardt, Michael / Negri, Antonio (2000). Empire. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Hey (1973ff.). Istanbul: Milliyet. Köksal, Serhat (2012). »Interview Request for The Wire Magazine.« In: 2/5BZ; http: //2-5bz.tumblr.com/post/30514574044/2-5bz-wire-magazine-341-july-2012-inte rview (accessed: 13.4.2015). Lund, Holger (2011). »The aesthetics of imperfection and hybridization — what is so interesting about Turkish funk and pop music of the 1960ies and 1970ies?« In: oscillation series. sonic theories and practices, http://www.shintaro-miyazaki. com/archv/sonictheory/index-p=474.html (accessed: 13.4.2015). Lund, Holger (2013). »Anatolian Rock: Phenomena of Hybridization.« In: norient. com, http://norient.com/academic/anatolian-rock (accessed: 13.4.2015). Özbek, Meral (1997). »Arabesk Culture: A Case of Modernization and Popular Identity.« In: Rethinking Modernity and National Identity in Turkey. Ed. by Sibel Bozdoğan and Reşat Kasaba. Washington, D.C.: University of Washington Press, pp. 211-233. Potuoglu-Cook, Oyku (2008). Night Shifts: Moral, Economic, and Cultural Politics of Turkish Belly Dance Across the Fins-de-siecle. Diss. Northwestern University, Evanston, IL (Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Dissertations Publishing).

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STYLE AND SOCIETY — ISTANBUL'S MUSIC SCENE IN THE 1960S AND 1970S Remise, Antoine (2014). »Turkish Psychedelic Delights.« In: Time Out Istanbul, January; http://www.timeoutistanbul.com/en/music/article/2782/Turkis (accessed: 13.4.2015). Spicer, Daniel (2011). »Turkish Psychedelic.« In: The Wire 12:334, pp. 42-49. Skoog, Gabriel (2012). On Strange Shepherds, Golden Microphones, and Electric Guitars: Genre, Scene, and the Rise of Anadolu Pop in the Republic of Turkey. Diss. University of Washington; http://pqdtopen.proquest.com/pqdtopen/doc/ 1013766191.html?FMT=ABS (accessed: 13.4.2015). Stokes, Martin (1999). »Sounding Out. The Culture Industries and the Globalization of Istanbul.« In: Istanbul. Between the Global and the Local. Ed. by Caglar Keyder. Oxford: Rowman and Littlefield, pp. 121-139. Stokes, Martin (2000). »East, West, and Arabesk.« In: Western Music and its Others: Difference, Appropriation and Representation in Music. Ed. by Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, pp. 213233. Stokes, Martin (2003). »The Tearful Public Sphere: Turkey's ›Son of Art‹, Zeki Müren.« In: Music and Gender: Perspectives from the Mediterranean. Ed. by Tullia Magrini. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, pp. 307-328. Stokes, Martin (2010). The Republic of Love: Cultural Intimacy in Turkish Popular Music, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Tekelioğlu, Orhan (2001). »Modernizing reforms and Turkish music in the 1930s.« In: Turkish Studies 2:1, pp. 93-108. Thorne, Sam (2011). »From the Ottoman Diaspora to the Musical Influence of the Eastern Mediterranean: The Early Days of the Record Industry in New York.« In: frieze 143, November-December; http://www.frieze.com/issue/article/music9 (accessed: 13.4.2015). Uyar, Cadğas (2006). Liner notes to Bunalım — Bunalım, Shadoks Music, Shadocks 078.

Videography Bulut, Gökhan / Kaya, Cem (2010). Arabesk. From Street Sound to Mass Culture / alternative title: Arabesk — Gossensound und Massenpop. Germany/Turkey, 58min., arte/zdf, broadcast on Arte, 30. September. On: http://alkislarlayasi yorum.com/icerik/85281/arabesk-belgesel-56-dk (accessed: 13.4.2015). Bulut, Hakki (1975). »Nedir Bende Olmayan.« On: http://www.zapkolik.com/video /hakki-bulut-nedir-bende-olmayan-846066 (accessed: 13.4.2015). Gencebay, Orhan (1971). »Hor Görme Garibi.« On: http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=y5YFjYSJyA8 (accessed: 13.4.2015). Gencebay, Orhan (1975). »Bir Araya Gelemeyiz.« On: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=MoPdKFRp7bs (accessed: 6.7.2015). Gencebay, Orhan (1978). Derdim Dünyadan Büyük, Directed by Şerif Gören. On: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUZQ4jT95PE (accessed: 13.4.2015). Karaca, Cem (1971). »Demedim Mi.« On: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v= XTK8ximy1-I (accessed: 13.4.2015). Koray, Erkin / Ter (1972). »Hor Görme Garibi.« On: http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=W1RYl8Gf_8w (accessed: 13.4.2015). Koray, Erkin (1976). »Sevdiğim.« On: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaDEtND GIZI (accessed: 6.7.2015).

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Discography Bulut, Hakki (1975). »Nedir Bende Olmayan.« İstanbul Plak 9315. Gencebay, Orhan (1971). »Hor Görme Garibi.« İstanbul Plak 9180. Gencebay, Orhan (1975). »Bir Araya Gelemeyiz.« Kervan Plakçılık K. 95. Heino (2013), Mit freundlichen Grüßen. Starwatch Entertainment 88725460671. Karaca, Cem (1971). »Demedim Mi.« Türkofon 1017. Koray, Erkin / Ter (1972). »Hor Görme Garibi.« İstanbul Plak 9142. Koray, Erkin (1976). »Sevdiğim.« Kervan Plakçılık 114. Tatasopoulos, John (1975). »Bouzoukia solo.« On: V/A — Alla Turka, alternativly named Music For Belly Dancing — The Turkish Way with Özel. Murray Hill Records 4332.

Abstract Like many countries, Turkey was hit by the wave of Anglo-American pop-rock music in the 1950s and 1960s. This led to the birth of Anatolian Rock, Arabesk, and Belly Dance. The specific qualities of these styles seem to be rooted in the unique situation of the Turkish music scene. This had to do with the people involved: they mixed and mingled, ignoring social boundaries to a surprising extent, producing musical syntheses consisting of unpredictable combinations. The main place for this kind of musical practice was the gazino, a special venue, with its open-minded musical programming. This article examines the acting agents and their styles. Although each addressed a very different audience, the styles were freely combined, for example in Arabesk Rock as a mixture of Anatolian Rock and Arabesk. How could these hybrids be created, despite of the music-sociological paradoxes in style and audience? It seems there was a special Turkish pop-rock logic at work, which had the gazino at its heart.

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ETHNIC CLUB CULTURES: POSTMIGRANT LEISURE SOCIALITIES AND MUSIC IN URBAN EUROPE1 Kira Kosnick Over the past two decades, academic research on popular music has increasingly taken note of a newly emerging phenomenon linked to the emergence of new, transnational musical genres that are produced by the descendants of postcolonial and labour migrants to Western Europe. These genres, however, not only provide new listening experiences that draw upon hybrid musical influences, they also sustain particular leisure practices and nightlife socialities in Western Europe's metropolitan centres. In the following, I will present insights from an ERC research project that investigated these nightlife practices and socialities of migrant and ethnic minority youth over a period of four years. In cities such as London, Paris and Berlin, thousands of young people with migrant backgrounds come together almost every day of the week for special club nights where they dance to Asian Kool, Bhangra beats, Zouk, Beur Rap music or Turkish Pop and Rock, among other genres. By focusing specifically on leisure practices in the context of postmigrant2 club scenes, we wanted to examine domains of social engagement that have so far mostly escaped the attention of researchers across the social sciences and 1

2

This study is based on the findings of a four-year research project »New Migrant Socialities« that was funded by the European Research Council. The project was an attempt to develop a novel approach to the study of postmigrant and ethnic minority youth by looking at social practices and the emergence of new socialities in daily life contexts of public leisure. Our empirical starting point of investigation was nightlife, more specifically the postmigrant and ethnic minority club scenes that have emerged in major European cities over the past twenty years (Kosnick 2008 and 2015). The term postmigrant has only recently gained currency in discussions on contemporary nation-states shaped by cross-border immigration. In relation to the descendants of migrants, the term allows to indicate the continued importance of transnational affiliations and cross-border orientations as well as migration histories in the lives of people who have not migrated themselves, without resorting to the problematic categories of second-, third- etc. generation immigrants or describing them simply as ethnic minorities.

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humanities. While youth researchers have noted that »clubbing« constitutes the main leisure activity of young people in Europe's urban areas, the existence of club scenes for youth with migrant backgrounds has gone for the most part unnoticed (but see Boogaarts-de Bruin 2011; Huq 2002, 2006; Kim 2014). But, I would contend, these scenes offer an important chance to study new forms of urban sociality that postmigrant and ethnic minority youth produce and engage in. They also offer a chance to learn something about music, as music is of course a central feature of any club scene. But let me first say something about the study of ethnic minority youth across different disciplines. There is a striking gap in the literature on ethnic minority and postmigrant youth when it comes to discussing what young people actually do, as opposed to how they identify. And this is partly due to a division of labour between quantitative, structural approaches and qualitative studies that focus on culture and cultural identity. I will briefly explain what I mean by this division of labour between structuralist and culturalist approaches to young people with migrant backgrounds.

Structural Factors of Marginalization Concerns over growing economic deprivation and precarious work have prompted many studies on the consequences for young people with migrant backgrounds in Europe (Castel 1995; Mayer 2004; Wacquant 2007). Debates over a possible »second generation decline« (Gans 1992) or downward assimilation were quickly taken up in Europe in the mid-1990s, with researchers particularly interested in possible links between national integration policies and indicators of socio-economic integration (Crul/Vermeulen 2003; Portes/Rumbaut 2005). Levels of integration have been measured mostly by comparing quantitative information on educational performance, unemployment, crime levels and income statistics. The social lives of migrants have thus emerged primarily through the research prisms of conventional social institutions such as schooling (Eldering/Kloprogge 1989; Vermeulen/ Perlmann 2000), labour market (Muus 2002; Portes/Rumbaut 1996), family (Alba 2005; Nauck 2001), or »community« organizing on religious and ethnic grounds (Abbas 2006; Werbner/Modood 1997). The prevalent focus on »structural« factors that are analyzed on the basis of quantitative data has consequences for the range and quality of social forms and practices that can appear as relevant to migrants' and postmigrants' lives. Practices that are not linked to formal institutions or leave

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traces that can be measured statistically by state agencies, academic or market surveys are less likely to receive research attention. So let me turn to the other side of the divide, the culturalist approach to migration, which is characterized by a concern with identity. It is here, of course, that music finds a place as well.

The Culturalist Response: Migrant Identities What is often lost in the gap between quantitative indicators of the social on the one hand and cultural orientations on the other is the question of the social as lived practice. I would charge that even in the culturally oriented literature on migrants and their descendants in Europe, much effort has been spent on analyzing cultural identifications without paying equal attention to the complexity of social practices in which such identifications are embedded. In the wake of a surging interest in »identity« issues across the social sciences and humanities, migrants and postmigrants have been intensely studied with regard to their identifications, attitudes and cultural orientations. While early research was interested in migrant identities mainly with regard to possible (segmented) assimilation or (multicultural) integration (Kymlicka 1995; Rex 1991; Soysal 1994; Taylor 1992), cross-disciplinary interest in newly emerging, »hybrid« and possibly transnational identities has increased over the past decade (e.g. Anthias 2001; Hall/Du Gay 1996; Back 1996; Moreiras 1999; Vertovec 2001; Werbner 2002). Drawing upon earlier work on situational ethnicities (Nagata 1974; Okamura 1981), as well as literary and postcolonial theory (Anzaldua 1987; Bhabha 1994), references to »hybrid« cultural production and identities abound in current literature on migrant youth. But, I would argue, the de-essentialization that has taken place with regard to culture often does not extend to the analysis of migrant social forms and engagements, where the »community« concept still reigns supreme. Community often functions as a placeholder for »social group«, without actually examining the pertinence of its conceptual implications. This holds true even for recent cross-disciplinary approaches that advocate a hybrid or situational understanding of identity. Efforts to demonstrate the flexibility of cultural identifications are rarely linked to examining the dynamics of social practices. What we tried to do in our ERC project was to move beyond the theoretical, methodological and political impasse of culturalist identity politics on the one hand and structuralist assumptions pertaining to

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social segregation or disaffiliation on the other, by focusing on nightlife socialities. What does this mean for ethnic club scenes and the music that matters in these scenes? As stated before, cities such as Berlin, London and Paris feature regular party nights that cater specifically to the tastes of young people with, for example, Turkish, Kurdish, South Asian, North African or Caribbean backgrounds. Thousands of young people gather not just on weekends in club venues to socialize and dance, and they form crowds that are not always ethnically exclusive, but in postmigrant scenes are usually dominated by a particular ethnic group. You will not find references to these events in »mainstream« city guides and listings but rather on Internet platforms such as asianclubguide.com, vaybee.de, or through mailing lists and social network sites. Often, events carve out special profiles and cater to more specific audiences among the ethnic target group, from professionals-only to student nights or queer nights. Some of the musical genres that are part of these club cultures — Bhangra and Asian Underground, Dancehall or Raï — have received a lot of academic attention, particularly with regard to their culturally »hybrid« character. But, as with the more general paradigm shift towards the theorization of hybridity as a process of cultural »intermixing« (Bhabha 1994; Nghi Ha 2005; Hutnyk 2000), they tend to be heavily focused on questions of identity and cultural expression, and not on sociality. For Britain (Back 1996; Dudrah 2002; Huq 2002; Sharma/Sharma/Hutnyk 1996), Germany (Bennett 1999; Burul 2003; Cheesman 1998; Kaya 2002; Soysal 1999) and France (Echchaibi 2001; Orlando 2003; Oscherwitz 2004), the music of ethnic minority youths is almost invariably described as an expressive channel and resource for identity construction (but see Çağlar 1998; Steyerl 2004). Most of these claims are based on an analysis of the music itself, on song lyrics, and on interviews with musicians who talk about their creative work. The question I want to ask is: What can this tell us about the ways in which music is actually used, consumed, danced to and listened to in everyday life contexts by people who are not producers themselves? This is at least potentially quite a different issue. I was at a conference on Underground Music Scenes earlier this summer in Porto, and among the vast number of papers given there, I found almost no references to the social contexts in which music was listened to or danced to. Production contexts, yes — lots of interviews with musicians and producers, people who are undoubtedly very important in sustaining particular music scenes. But in club scenes, the DJ might be the only creative music producer who is actually

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present, and music might matter to audiences in very different ways than is assumed by their producers. Very little is said in the literature that I have mentioned about the particular consumption contexts in which young people draw upon this and other music in their daily lives, and about how it fuels social encounters. This absence is often exacerbated by the methodological strategies of much research which tends to rely heavily on interviews and textual interpretation, without considering the day-to-day activities and settings in which music use is embedded. But ethnographic approaches show that to study such contexts of use can considerably complicate the picture painted of some of these musical cultures. If you investigate the context of clubbing for example, it quickly emerges that Turkish Hip-Hop is not the music of choice at Turkish club events in Germany, and that Asian club nights in London might play a mix of Garage and R&B with a bit of Bhangra thrown in. So in our research, we shifted attention away from music as a context of cultural meaning production and focused instead on club contexts as social formations, on urban leisure socialities. We asked, what is the lure of ethnic club nights for migrant and postmigrant youth in European cities, what kinds of people use these scenes for social encounters, and what is it that they do there? This is not to say that music was irrelevant, but we aimed to contextualize music within contexts of use that were not primarily about music. Going out dancing is about engaging with music, but it is also very much about engaging with other people. So what kinds of social meeting places do club scenes offer? Taking our inspiration from work that addresses urban public space as a productive meeting ground for strangers — not in the sense of racialized or ethnic Others, but strangers as people who are not personally known to each other (Amin 2012; Blum 2002; Sennett 1977) — we approached club scenes as part of an urban fabric of public conviviality, as sites where qualified forms of proximity and engagement with strangers are produced. All club scenes are in fact sites of encounter in which the co-presence of unknown people is actively sought out and managed — through projections of indifference or different forms of making contact (Kosnick 2012). Club scenes tend to work as semi-public formations that lack exclusive membership, yet are structured around taste and appearance, informal networks, and varyingly non-exclusive dimensions of class, sexual orientation, age, and ethnicity. In the mainstream cultural studies work on club cultures, they have been »inscribed with images of transgression, freedom and liberation« (Rief 2009: 4), as social contexts that thrive on the promise of communitas. But few studies have examined if and how the promise of commu-

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nal experience translates across different club scenes, nightlife gatherings, and musical genres represented in them. To young people with migrant backgrounds, ethnic club scenes might offer experiences of sociality that are at least potentially in contrast to forms of exclusion and boundary-drawing experienced in other areas of their lives. Rather than simply offering opportunities to »be among themselves«, club scenes enable qualified encounters with strangers, as I said. These encounters might hold a different relevance for minorities racialized in the context of dominant public spheres than for racially or ethnically (and sexually) invisible majorities (Warner 2002). Different from social categories that imply exclusive, continuous and sometimes inescapable membership — such as the community, the gang, the family, the banlieusards — club scenes tend to be based on selective association and imply different modes of chosen engagement. The exploration of such modes of engagement might show how young people with migrant backgrounds create new forms of sociality and develop distinctive ways of inhabiting and making use of European city spaces. It was this hypothesis that guided our collective research as we set out to investigate the dynamics of postmigrant clubbing in European cities. What we found, and this is not surprising, was that the forms of discrimination and marginalization ethnic groups and particularly youth face in other parts of their lives, and in the cities they live in, has a lot to do with what clubbing means to them, and how they engage in nightlife. These are all dimensions that shape how young people can participate in nightlife. But in this particular context here I will bring the attention back to the question of music and identity.

Music, Identity and Authenticity To some extent, of course, music was in all our scenes used to invoke certain cultural identities. But importantly, not just along ethnic and racialized lines. The invocations could be sexual, class-based, explicitly political and more. To give one example, to play music from Israel at a queer TurkishGerman Gayhane club night in Berlin was certainly a political statement. But if I tell you that the artist was Dana International, the transsexual singer who won the 1998 Eurovision Song Contest, those political dimensions reveal themselves to be both linked to challenging hetero-normative and gender-normative stereotypes. It was also linked to making a statement against anti-Semitism, the DJ told me, but you can see how different intersecting dimensions of political relevance come into play. Her song had

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quickly entered into the archives of international gay camp, and as such it could find its place in a medley of Turkish pop music mixed with other musical genres at a queer club night organized by and for people with backgrounds from Turkey in Berlin. Many club nights and scenes we studied did not thrive on ethnically coded music as the central focus of identity production among audiences. British Asian club scenes in London, for example, particularly the heteronormative ones, did feature music such as Bhangra, which is very much an evolving transnational genre heavily influenced by migrants and postmigrants in the UK. But very often, British Asian club nights would incorporate lots of US Hip-Hop and contemporary R'n'B, and music featured very rarely in our informants' conversations when deciding where to go out to. Instead, the location and style of a venue were crucial, and of course the fact that the party event addressed British Asians as the target audience. You can see this when looking at the promotional material of one of the club organizers we followed, an organization called Voodoo Entertainment which specialized in upscale British Asian parties. The following promotional text went with a flyer for a party event called »Elegance« at club Divo in London: »Voodoo Entertainment invite you to an exclusive one off night in the heart of central London which boasts Glamour, Sophistication and Elegance. Divo is the latest addition to London's nightclub scene and is a luxurious Mansion style club with 18th Century Baroque Style furniture and crystal chandeliers. Naming your venue amazing (Divo in Ukrainian) is a bold statement and Divo promises nothing less than an amazing setting that will simply take your breath away. Divo offers a truly unique, ›millionaires club‹ style atmosphere and is a magnificent bar/club with opulent décor. In this exclusive setting, a warm and intimate feel radiates throughout and an excellent standard of service is provided to complement the lush interior. Rich with style and elegance, oak floors and high ceilings are primary features, whilst in the basement there is an amazing Palekh style bar. We have lost count of the number of Footballers, TV stars and celebrity DJs that have appeared at this club recently. Voodoo Entertainment opens the doors to the hottest venues and offers our members invitations to some of the most talked about parties in town and this one is certainly not one to be missed! DJs shall be mixing up sexy beats across all genres as we come together to celebrate & party.«3

3

Flyer promoting an event on Saturday, 22nd May 2010. Text and cover design at http://www.chillitickets.com/9492-elegance-and (last access 14.5.2015).

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Voodoo events rarely mention music or specific DJs as a point of attraction; instead, the attention is primarily on elements of class distinction. This is not atypical for London clubbing in general, where the combination of nightlife regulation, licensing and consumer demand tend to privilege clubbing for the rich and famous, as Phil Hadfield has shown (Hadfield 2008). Voodoo is only one of many British Asian party organizers, but one that successfully manages to play to the desires for class distinction and social mobility among young British Asians, as our researcher Harpreet Cholia shows in her work (Cholia 2012, 2013). Renting locations in the expensive centre of London is part of the package. It was a very different situation in Paris where we looked at French Caribbean clubbing events, many of which took place in the banlieues and catered to low-income black immigrants and postmigrants. Those gatherings were very much about ethnic identity, and about racialized identity as well. Almost all of the events celebrated some form of belonging to the French Caribbean Islands — that is to Guadeloupe or Martinique in particular. References to the Caribbean figured prominently on event flyers, showing for example women clad in bikinis, palm trees and beaches, with party events entitled »Back to the West Indies« and of course references to specific musical genres such as Zouk, to mention just a few typical features. Even though many of the people who formed part of the audiences at these events had been born and raised in Paris, and all of them had French passports due to the status of the islands as overseas departments, they did not identify as French at all. What partially redeemed our white female researcher in the eyes of her black peer group and the audiences at these events was that she was Italian, and therefore not quite representing the white majority society in which they felt excluded, and from which they sought distance at these events. It also helped that she eventually managed to acceptably dance to Zouk. Most of the time, club nights would feature Zouk as a genre of music crucially held to represent the French Caribbean, but often it would be combined with other musical genres of the Black Diaspora, most importantly dancehall, but also Hip-Hop, Salsa, Coupé Décalé, and Kuduro. So while musical influences could come from a variety of places, including African countries, the club events themselves were not necessarily welcoming people from all of those places, except maybe as artists. Door policies often actively excluded Africans, particularly African men, as our researcher Sabina Rossignoli witnessed many times. This contrasted with how people listened to and shared music, hardly ever buying it but sharing it on social networks and MSN messenger, listening and watching on YouTube.

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The importance of music to identity construction in this case is not so evident in the particular listening habits of audiences or even the playlists of clubs. There is a lot more to be learned about music and identity here if we shift our attention to dance, which is a practice that is facilitated by music but needs to be examined in its own right. Here is another example of what can be learned when contextualizing music socially and looking more closely at how it is used and made sense of in particular contexts. Because while people were listening to all kinds of music and dancing to all kinds of music in clubs, the relationship they had to Zouk was different. Zouk is a couple dance that emerged in the French Caribbean in the 1980s, and like no other genre it is seen by club audiences to symbolize the culture of the Islands. And to demonstrate one's natural belonging to the Islands, one had to be able to dance well to Zouk, not as an acquired skill, but as something that comes naturally to »true« Antilleans. The following is a quote from Sabina Rossignoli's unpublished PhD thesis: »To some extent, the competence in zouk was not taken as a form of literacy: every time I asked my informants to explain some steps and figures of the dance to me, they told me they did not know. They did not have memories of having learned the dance, as most of them had taken part in social dances from an early age. For the ones who did not, dancing was a source of stress in these nights where zouk has such a degree of importance… The weight of judgment was important in this scene, and people were anxious about being seen and being judged not able to dance. Franciane told me that she learned new steps exclusively in the intimacy of her bedroom, as she was scared of people thinking that she was not able to dance: ›If you get the step wrong, it is shameful: people would say: ›Look at this girl, she dances badly‹‹ (15/10/ 2010). This uncertainty was crucial to the experience of clubbers, who never admitted that they looked at others in order to learn, nor that they themselves might have been mediocre dancers. The way they intended zouk was as the cultural capital that distinguished them as a group; through zouk, the ›community‹ of nightlife felt as the Antillean ›community‹« (Rossignoli 2013: 225f.). For the peer group that Sabina was able to connect and go out with, Zouk competence had to be demonstrated but not acquired in clubs. It was fine for them to learn and try out new steps to dance to other music genres in a club, but not for Zouk. So a lot of rehearsing for dancing on the public stage of the club would take place privately, by watching YouTube videos and trying out the steps at home. Dancing in the club was then again about demonstrating a competence that was presented as natural, and thereby proving oneself to truly belong to the Islands.

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In the wider context of our fieldwork, the heteronormative French Caribbean club scene in Paris was actually the only situation in which clubbing was so oriented toward celebrating and simultaneously constructing diasporic belonging. In British Asian club scenes in London, people from India or Pakistan who came to club nights were even referred to as »pendus«, a derogatory term that implies that someone is uneducated, a simpleminded villager, unless they were upper-class. Other identity dimensions were often much more crucial than diasporic connections, as I have shown with a few examples from our fieldwork. Regardless of what they are, I hope that I have been able to show that by focusing on concrete social contexts in which music can be embedded, such as clubbing, it is possible to gain new insights into the connections between music, identity and social practice.

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Abstract New transnational musical genres produced by migrants and their descendants to Western Europe have contributed to the emergence of ethnic club cultures in European metropolitan centers. The text presents insights from an ethnographic research project that investigated the cultural and social dynamics of ethnic club scenes in London, Paris and Berlin. Providing examples from British Asian clubbing contexts in London and French Caribbean scenes in Paris, it is shown how a focus on the practical uses of music in the context of clubbing can reveal new insights into the link between music, identity and ideas of cultural authenticity.

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Johannes Brusila (*1964) ist Professor für Musikwissenschaft an der Åbo Akademi University, der einzigen rein schwedischsprachigen Universität in Finnland. Brusila wuchs in einer bilingualen, finnisch- und schwedischsprachigen Familie auf und hat ausführlich über die Konstruktion finnland-schwedischer Identität durch Musik publiziert. Er ist außerdem Autor von ›Local Music, Not From Here‹ — The Discourse of World Music Examined through three Zimbabwean Case Studies: The Bhundu Boys, Virginia Mukwesha and Sunduza (2003) sowie zahlreicher Publikationen im Bereich der Ethnomusikologie, der populären Musik und den Music Industry Studies.  • E-Mail: [email protected]. Florian Carl (*1976) ist Senior Lecturer in Music und zur Zeit Head of the Department of Music and Dance der University of Cape Coast, Ghana. In seiner Forschung interessiert er sich vor allem für die Musik und populäre Kultur Ghanas und seiner Diaspora. • Carl ist Author von Berlin/Accra: Music, Travel, and the Production of Space (2009) und Was bedeutet uns Afrika? Zur Darstellung afrikanischer Musik im deutschsprachigen Diskurs des 19. und frühen 20. Jahrhunderts (2004). Die Ergebnisse seiner Forschungen erschienen in Ghana Studies, dem Yearbook for Traditional Music und anderen Zeitschriften und Sammelpublikationen.• E-Mail: [email protected]. Christian Diemer (*1986) studierte in Weimar, Sankt-Petersburg und Paris Komposition, Musikwissenschaft und Kulturmanagement. Derzeit arbeitet er an einem Promotionsprojekt über traditionelle Musik und nationale Identität in der Ukraine. Er engagierte sich in zahlreichen interkulturellen Projekten, etwa dem transnationalen Online-Magazin Europe & Me, oder dem kulturdiplomatischen Eurobus-Projekt in ländlichen Gegenden der Ukraine. Christian Diemer ist Stipendiat der Studienstiftung des deutschen Volkes.   • E-Mail: [email protected] André Doehring (*1973) ist wissenschaftlicher Mitarbeiter am Institut für Musikwissenschaft und Musikpädagogik an der Justus-Liebig-Universität Gießen und Mitglied des Wissenschaftlichen Beirats der GfPM. Seine Arbeitsschwerpunkte liegen in den Bereichen populäre Musik, Jazz und Musiksoziologie. • Er veröffentlichte eine Arbeit über Popmusikjournalismus (Musikkommunikatoren, 2011) und ist Mit-Herausgeber der Online-Publikation Samples sowie des Sammelbands Song Interpretation in 21st-Century Pop Music (Ashgate 2015). • E-Mail: [email protected].

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ZU DEN AUTOREN Diego García Peinazo (*1987) ist Doktorand an der Universidad de Oviedo und Investigador der Formación del Profesorado Universitario (FPU) des spanischen Ministeriums für Erziehung und Kultur, betreut von Julio Ogas und Ángel Medina. Als Gast studierte er an der University of Huddersfield bei Philip Tagg und Robert Davis. Seine Arbeit über die In- und Exklusionen einer Idee andalusischer Musik in der populären Kultur Spaniens seit der späten Frankozeit verbindet Musiksemiotik, Analyse populärer Musik, Kulturgeschichte, Identitätspolitik und Narrationsforschung. • E-Mail: diegogarciapeinazo@hot mail.com. Andreas Gebesmair (*1965) ist Professor (FH) und Leiter des österreichischen Instituts für Medienwirtschaft an der Fachhochschule St. Poelten. Er studierte Soziologie, Philosophie und Musikwissenschaft an der Universität Wien und arbeitete auf verschiedenen Stellen in der Forschung. 2002 und 2004 war er Gastdozent an der Vanderbilt University und am Center for Arts and Cultural Policy Studies der Princeton University. Von 2006 bis 2011 arbeitete er als Direktor von mediacult (Internationales Forschungsinstitut für Medien, Kommunikation und Kulturelle Entwicklung, Wien). Er ist Experte in der Forschung zur Kulturindustrie und der migrantischen Kulturökonomie. • Publikationen unter   https://www.fhstp.ac.at/de/uber-uns/mitarbeiter-innen-az/gebesmair-andreas. • E-Mail: [email protected]. Eckhard John (*1959) studierte Musikwissenschaft, Volkskunde und Geschichte an der Universität Freiburg i. Br., Promotion 1993. Wissenschaftlicher Mitarbeiter des Deutschen Volksliedarchivs 2000–2014, seitdem am Zentrum für populäre Kultur und Musik (Universität Freiburg i. Br.). Gründungsherausgeber des Historisch-kritischen Liederlexikons (www.liederlexikon.de). • Forschungsschwerpunkte: Popularliedforschung, musikalische Sozialgeschichte, Musikgeschichte 20. Jahrhundert. • E-Mail: [email protected]. de. Kira Kosnick (*1966) ist Professorin für Soziologie an der Goethe Universität Frankfurt/M., an der sie seit neun Jahren Kulturanthropologie und Soziologie lehrt. In ihrer Forschung beschäftigt sie sich mit Zusammenhängen zwischen Geschlecht, Sexualität und Migration, transnationalen öffentlichen Räumen sowie der Politik von Multikulturalität und Diversität in Europa. Kosnick ist Autorin und Herausgeberin von Migrant Media: Turkish Broadcasting and Multicultural Politics in Berlin (1997) und Postmigrant Club Cultures (2015). • E-Mail: [email protected]. Cornelia Lund (*1970) ist Medientheoretikerin und Kuratorin. Seit 2012 ist sie Mitarbeiterin eines von der DFG geförderten Forschungsprojekts zum deutschen Dokumentarfilm an der Universität Hamburg. Holger Lund (*1967) forscht im Bereich der Kunst- und Designgeschichte und arbeitet als Kurator und DJ. Seit 2011 ist er Professor für Mediendesign an der Dualen Hochschule Baden-Württemberg Ravensburg. Cornelia und Holger Lund betreiben gemeinsam die Medienkunst- und Mediendesign-Plattform fluctuating images in Berlin. Sie haben zusammen die

 

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ZU DEN AUTOREN Bände Audio.Visual — On Visual Music and Related Media (2009) und Design der Zukunft (2014) herausgegeben. • E-Mail: [email protected]. Michael Spanu (*1987) ist Doktorand der Soziologie an der Université de Lorraine (Frankreich). Seine Arbeit beschäftigt sich mit der Politik der Sprachen in populärer Musik und den Beziehungen zwischen lokalen Szenen und hegemonialen Kulturen. Er ist Mitglied des Herausgeberteams von Volume!, der einzigen französischen wissenschaftlichen Zeitschrift, die ausschließlich der populären Musik gewidmet ist. Er ist außerdem Mitglied von IASPM-bfe. • E-Mail: [email protected]. Timothy D. Taylor (*1961) ist Professor am Department of Ethnomusicology der University of California, Los Angeles. Seine hauptsächlichen Interessengebiete umfassen Anthropologie, Kapitalismus, Verbraucherkultur, Globalisierung und Technologie. • Taylor ist Autor von Global Pop: World Music, World Markets (1997), Strange Sounds: Music, Technology and Culture (2001), Beyond Exoticism: Western Music and the World (2007), The Sounds of Capitalism: Advertising, Music, and the Conquest of Culture (2012), Music and Capitalism: A History of the Present (2016). Zusammen mit Mark Katz und Anthony Grajeda hat er Music, Sound, and Technology in America: A Documentary History of Early Phonograph, Cinema, and Radio (2012) herausgegeben. • E-Mail: [email protected].

 

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GfPM Gesellschaft für Popularmusikforschung / German Society for Popular Musik Studies e.V. (vormals Arbeitskreis Studium Populärer Musik e.V.) Die GfPM ist der mitgliederstärkste Verband der Popularmusikforschung in Deutschland. Die GfPM fördert fachspezifische und interdisziplinäre Forschungsvorhaben in allen Bereichen populärer Musik (Jazz, Rock, Pop, Neue Volksmusik etc.). Die GfPM sieht seine Aufgaben insbesondere darin • • • •

Tagungen und Symposien zu organisieren, Nachwuchs in der Popularmusikforschung zu fördern, Informationen auszutauschen, wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen anzuregen und durchzuführen.

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