The Sounding Museum: Box of Treasures [1. Aufl.] 9783839428566

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Hein Schoer The Sounding Museum: Box of Treasures

Two Weeks in Alert Bay (audio-CD) Two Weeks in Alert Bay (audio-DVD) Raven Travelling (DVD-ROM) Four Worlds (book)

Dear reader, in the Box of Treasures you find four elements: the book Four Worlds and three Digital Treasures, which you can download following the links listed below. The pieces of the 2nd edition of the Two Weeks in Alert Bay audio CD, along with the main piece’s short versions, can be found as online content in mp3 format under http://soundingmuseum.com/twoweekscomplete. The Raven Travelling flash application can be accessed here: http://soundingmuseum.com/soundingmuseum1 If all goes as planned, it will be updated with additional content, so feel free to check from time to time. The application has been optimised for higher resolution 3:4 screens, so if your browser window does not show the whole image you may want to adjust that by scaling down a bit. You can download a zip-folder with image files of all three Digital Treasures as they come with the print version of the Box; - Two Weeks in Alert Bay, 2nd edition (audio CD), - Two Weeks in Alert Bay, 1st edition (surround-audio DVD in DVD-Video format), and - Raven Travelling (DVD-ROM); www.soundingmuseum.com/iso_images.zip. Burn the images on disks (CD or DVD, respectively) and they should play on your CD- or DVD-players. If your printer does disks, you may print the original disk labels found on the following pages. More on the Sounding Museum’s current and future activities at www.soundingmuseum.com.

Hei nS choer

T heS oundi ngMus eum: T woWeek si nAl er tBay 2nd edi t i on

Hei nS choer

T heS oundi ngMus eum: T woWeek si nAl er tBay

Hei nS choer

T heS oundi ngMus eum: Rav enT r av el l i ng

Hein Schoer The Sounding Museum: Four Worlds. Cultural Soundscape Composition and Trans-Cultural Communication

The Sounding Museum: Box of Treasures Four Worlds Digital Treasures Two Weeks in Alert Bay, 2nd ed. (Audio-CD) Two Weeks in Alert Bay (Audio-DVD) Raven Travelling (DVD-ROM) including the Sounding Museum logo, Raven logo, Raven audio logo, Raven disk logo ©2007-2014 Hein Schoer Sounding Museum logo original design by Markus Roost Raven logo based on original flat design “Hands of Creation” by Beau Dick Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de published by transcript, 2014, Bielefeld; all rights reserved co-publisher Gruenrekorder, Hanau No part of this product may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher or the author. Four Worlds printed by Datawyse, Maastricht Digital Treasures manufactured by Replifact Media, Bladel production & design by Hein Schoer www.soundingmuseum.com www.transcript.de www.gruenrekorder.de Print-ISBN 978-3-8376-2856-2 PDF-ISBN 978-3-8394-2856-6

The Sounding Museum has been approved by the Swiss UNESCO Commission as a contribution to the International Year for the Rapprochement of Cultures.

Dedicated to the memory of Richard Schuckmann, Andrea Sanborn, and Dora Kuhn.

Foreword by Barry Truax It is truly remarkable how the attentive ear can lead a listener into a new situation and reveal seemingly hidden truths about it. Although visual impressions may strike one initially, the aural faculty may over time lead one deeper than the surfaces that vision relies on. One’s soundscape is a constant companion, since the hearing faculty is never turned off, and therefore it creates the fluid context that we think of as our environment. For those with unimpaired hearing, there is a constant orientation to our acoustic space, as well as all of the events and relationships that evolve within it. And yet, this relationship may suffer from the paradox that its very familiarity may result in it being ignored (until it suddenly changes or deteriorates). The technique of the “soundwalk” as developed by R. Murray Schafer and the World Soundscape Project has proven itself to be a simple and effective way of focusing the individual on the ever-changing acoustic environment, whether it is the all-too-familiar or the completely new – both are now experienced more intensely. In The Sounding Museum: Four Worlds, Hein Schoer recounts the story of his encounter with a First Nations community at the northern end of Vancouver Island on Canada’s West Coast. He goes there guided mainly by his ear, supplemented with high-end recording technology, on a quest to discover a strikingly different culture from his own. However, he is also motivated by a professional interest in communicating something about that culture within the context of a European museum (NONAM) dedicated to North American Native peoples. But because it is a “Sounding Museum”, he is not looking merely for artifacts, but for the aural aspects of this culture that he hopes will reveal themselves through his recordings. Like the “innocent fool” of ancient legends, he knows he will be an outsider, possibly even an intruder, unfamiliar at first with how to interpret what iv

he hears, but as he puts it, he is also going as a “musician looking for fellow musicians to work with.” Having gained the trust of those he meets, he engages in an intensive two-week series of interactions, and chance encounters aided by the generosity of these people. He is modest enough to realize this relatively brief experience cannot possibly plumb the depths of a complex culture, nor can he reliably represent it fully to the world at large – but he can document his own process of discovery. By recording over 35 hours of soundscape material, and then producing a major 42’ documentary “Two Weeks in Alert Bay,” he not only chronicles his experiences, along with frank journal commentaries, and excursions into the historical struggles of these groups, but he also gives us as even more remote listeners an immersive set of aural experiences of this place and its peoples. In effect, we repeat, in a more organized fashion, his process of being initiated into the complexities of this culture, discovering its history, its current practices, and its struggles to retain its traditional language and culture. The main documentary is supplemented, first by aural vignettes that frame his composition, starting with the journey there, full of expectation, and ending with the same monotonous drone of the ferry which brings him back, now perhaps serving to allow us time for reflection on what we both have experienced. The documentary itself, which merits the description of a “soundscape composition”, organizes many of most evocative soundscapes that were encountered, both natural and social, into a coherent whole, culminating with the energetic potlatch ceremony, followed by Schoer’s imaginative creation of the kind of spirit world that he has been made aware of and can now dream about. But he doesn’t stop there. The overall mandate of the project is to provide material for the Sounding Museum that will somehow communicate something about this culture to a largely European audience, far removed from it both geographically and culturally, avoiding both the stereotypes of “native cultures” and the fetishizing of artifacts. Here, sound and aural experience v

provide an alternative way to re-present the culture, even at these many levels of remove. By using the multi-channel surround-sound experience made possible by today’s audio technology, the recordings provide an immersive and more intensively engaging experience for the museum visitors, as well as us (on the multi-channel DVD). Instead of gazing at encased artifacts, or being instructed in front of a pair of stereo speakers or on headphones, the listeners now find themselves in the midst of the reproduced and imagined environment. It becomes more experienced than simply observed. Or at least, that is the hope and intention of the installation designers. Awhile later, Schoer returns to Alert Bay, mainly to seek approval from the community for the kind of representation of them he has made, which he receives, as well as to record a few other soundscapes that have been missed. But at the very end, he realizes he no longer needs to “hide” behind his microphones and audio equipment – he has made new friends and can, at least for the moment, participate directly in the community. With alert ears we can join him vicariously.

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Acknowledgements Over the past seven years the Sounding Museum has evolved from the idea that sound may be a valuable asset for museum purposes into a complex large-scale research, education, and art project, challenging traditional power and thought patterns in museums and academia. Being a musician and a sound engineer, and a scholar of cultural science, I always knew that I wanted to conduct research at the crossroads that the soundscape approach introduces into the “field”, but I did not yet know where to start. It began in February 2007 when my long-time friend and mentor Richard Schuckmann took me along to the NONAM, where he seized an opportunity opened by Harald Brandt of auditorium mundi to build a Sound Chamber. There my journey started and became more fantastic with every new turn I took. Shortly after I had made my research efforts into an official dissertation project, I found Boris Groys’ small booklet “The Loneliness of the Project”, which, back then, had no meaning to me. Over the years I grew to learn what it means when you have to remind yourself day after day that you not only have the freedom to do what you want, but that you must actually do it, and that freedom also means that you are on our own. But that, of course, is entirely not true. I can impossibly name all the kind and bright people, friends, colleagues, and supporters, who made this work possible by offering me their knowledge, wisdom, time, and all the other kinds of aid that I received over the years. I name many people in the text of this book or the credits in the Digital Treasures, to whom I herewith wish to extend my deepest thanks; those who are not mentioned in name: You know who you are! Here will now follow a few people that nevertheless deserve special mentioning; in order to keep this list from becoming longer than the main text body, I will mostly name the institution or company they are affiliated to. First of all, want to extend my gratitude to my dissertation promoters, who took care that the ideas spinning in my head turned into a well-structured product: My first promoter Prof Dr Maaike Meijer and my second promoter Prof Dr Renée van de Vall of Maastricht University, and co-promoter Dr Pascal Gielen and Paul De vii

Bruyne of Fontys School for Fine and Performing Arts. Then there is the NONAM and the people behind it, who had the Sound Chamber built and supported me in all the work I did around it, and helped me realise my field trip to Alert Bay. This trip would not have been possible without the safe haven that Fontys was for me; there I had the people and found the resources that allowed me to continue without worries. A “consortium” of endorsers equipped me with the tools of the trade for field- and studio work: Ambient Recording/Yoursounds, Beyerdynamic, Hochschule RheinMain, SAE Institute, S.E.A. Vertrieb und Consulting, Tascam, am my record label gruenrekorder. The biggest thank you must go to the people I met in Alert Bay and the U'mista Cultural Centre. Their trust in me gave and gives me the confidence and the strength to go on. I thank the members of my dissertation assessment committee, Prof. Dr Tsjalling Swierstra, Prof Dr Karin Bijsterveld, Prof Dr Hans Ulrich Werner, and Dr Marc Jacobs, for their constructive criticism. My friends Dr Bernd Brabec de Mori, Ingmar Drewing, Dr Rainer Hatoum, Dr Matthias Lewy, and Roger Linnemann jumped in where my ideas where bigger than my abilities. Ingmar had an unpaid second job as flash programmer for quite some time. I owe him a dinner and a very good bottle of Scotch. I also thank the Künstlerverein Walkmühle and all the other people who let me install my Mobile Sound Chamber, and of course all the guinea pigs and lab rats who supplied me with feedback at the NONAM and everywhere else; teachers, students, pupils, workshop, lecture, and exhibition visitors and participants. I raise my glass to Murray Schafer and the other soundscapers for opening their ears to the world and for opening the world’s ears, and especially Barry Truax for ennobling this book with his appreciation. The WFAE, the FKL and all the sound people in the world: Here’s to you; keep up the good work. Last I wish to thank my family, especially my wife Josi and my daughter Merrit, whose undying support I cannot honour enough to compensate for all the long hours, days, weeks and months that their husband and father was immersed in the Four Worlds. I have come back. Hein Schoer, March 15th 2014

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The Sounding Museum: Four Worlds. Overview Four Worlds:

A Sound Entry. Atmospheric Entry, Introduction, Research Objective, Book Overview

World One:

Hearing Heritage. Sound and Sound Recording beyond Acoustics, Music and Ear Physiology Sound History, Sound Recording, Acoustic Ecology, Atmosphere, Intangible Heritage

World Two:

Into the Sonic Wild. Two Weeks in Alert Bay, Five Months in the Studio The Piece, Fieldwork & Production Process

Between the Worlds:

How to make a Good Soundscape Composition and the Session Musician Approach. Research Question and Methodology

World Three:

The Ethnographer’s Ear. Voyagers, Chroniclers and Interpreters An approach to anthropology from the musician’s point of departure

World Four:

Acoustic Experiences at the Lake. The Museum Side of the Medal NONAM, Sound Chamber, Workshop Format, Impact Evaluation

Next World:

The Way of the Mask. Conclusions and Outlook: Successive Projects, Auditory Anthropology

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Full Table of Contents

Four Worlds: A Sound Entry. i) Origins: The Sounding Museum Begins ii) Components: The Sounding Museum Box of Treasures iii) The Totem Pole: Book Structure and Digital Media iv) Addendum: Raven Tales

1   3   5   6   11  

Raven and Mink Go Bear Hunting World One: Hearing Heritage. 0 Bells I Historic Soundscapes I.1 Sound History I.2 The Meaning of Sound to Culture from the Historic Point of View I.3 Historic Accounts of the Notion of Sound II Captured Sound II.1 A Brief History of Sound Recording II.2 The Sound Hunters and the World Soundscape Project II.3 Field Recording in Music III Studying the Soundscape III.1 Basic Features III.2 Figure and Ground III.3 The Distinct Soundscape III.4 Listening Types III.5 Acoustic Communication IV Aisthetic Atmospheres IV.1 Acoustic Atmospheres IV.2 Museum Atmospheres V Intangible Cultural Heritage V.1 A new Historic Consciousness V.2 Folklore and Nationalism: Birth of the Intangible V.3 Rise of the Intangible

15   17   17   20   21  

x

22   31   36   37   39   45   46   47   54   56   61   62   65   70   76   80   81   83   84  

V.4 Intangible Heritage today Chapter Summary and Outlook I

86   92  

How Raven Stole the Sun 93   World Two: Into the Sonic Wild. 97   o) Prelude 97   0:00'00'' Exposition: Coming to in Alert Bay 100   i) The Composition 102   ii) Field Recording 106   iii) Heavy Machines 108   iv) The Music of the Coast: The Piece 112   v) Being a Visitor 116   vi) Aftermath: When the Music’s Over 117   April to September 2009 How, of all the Jerkwater Towns on Earth, did I Happen to End up in Alert Bay? 118   0:02'00'' 1st Movement: The Natural Soundscape 120   vii) Caught between the Rockies and the Pacific 123   October 2nd Ecological Park: Wind and Water, Owls and Ravens, and the Crows 127   0:06'20'' 2nd Movement: The Artificial Soundscape 129   viii) Peoples of the Coast 131   ix) Alert Bay 134   September 29th The Carvers 135   0:11'23'' 3rd Movement: The Human Soundscape 141   x) Residential School 144   September 28th to October 9th U'mista Cultural Centre: New Acquaintances 147  

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0:20'00'' Intermission: The Wa Experience xi) The Grease Trail October 2nd/3rd A Night at Woss Lake 0:22'30'' 4th Movement: The Cultural Soundscape xii) Potlatch – To dance a Mask xiii) Being a Tourist in Kwaki-Country: Methodological Considerations 0:33'45'' Touristy Interlude & Reprise: Down to Earth Winter 2011/2012 Alert Bay Revisited Chapter Summary and Outlook II

152   153   155   158   163   167   169   170   173  

Prologue 175   Between the Worlds: How to make a Good Soundscape Composition and the Session Musician Approach. 177   a) What is a Good Cultural Soundscape Composition? 177   b) The Session Musician’s Approach and its Precursors 181   c) Coeval Collaboration and the Bandleader Oxymoron 191   d) Schizophonic Effects of Dislocated Cultural Sound 194   e) Final Remarks 196   Raven and the First Men World Three: The Ethnographer’s Ear. 0 Point of Departure 0.1a) Objective and Chapter Structure 0.1b) Synopsis Anthropology 0.1c) Questions 0.2 The Savage and the Civilised I        Conquista Histórica: Encounters I.1  Pictures of an Exhibition: Primitive Art

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199   201   201   202   204   207   209   216   222  

II   Conquista Antropológica: The Classical Age of Anthropology and its Repercussions 229   II.1  Currents: The Founding Fathers of Anthropology and their Diadochi 230   II.2  Time and the Orient: Modern Critique of Classical Anthropology 235   II.3  Feldwork: A Musician of my Taste 243   III  Conquista Particular: Anthropological Subjects Related to “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” 246   III.1  The Common Anthropoid: Generalisation Issues 246   III.2  “Indianer!”: Popular Books 250   III.3 Wikitalk: Naming the Other 252   III.4  The Apple Tree: Protocol and Copyright, Schizophonia and Presentation Formats 255   IV  Conquista Igual: First Voices 260   IV.1 Napoleonic Law 261   IV.2 Simon’s Story 263   IV.3 A Boy who Cuts Paper into the Shape of his Face 266   V  Conquista Personal (Reconquista) 271   V.1  My Story: Essentially Communication 272   V.2  Only A Sith Deals in Absolutes 278   V.3  Participant Observation Ain’t no Rock’n’Roll 281   V.4 Finally… 283   Chapter Summary and Outlook III 284   Raven and Fog Woman World Four: Acoustic Experiences at the Lake. I Museum: Origin, History, Purpose I.1 History of the Museum I.2 Aura and Constructed Meaning I.3 Anthropology and Museum I.4 Museum and Media: Intermediary Reassessment ICOM Definition II Sound in the Museum II.1 Audioguide

287   289   291   292   296   299   302   306   306   xiii

II.2 Loudspeaker-Based Applications II.3 Sound as the Central Medium III NONAM/Sound Chamber III.1 Two Weeks in the Museum III.2 The Documenter and the Documentary III.3 Workshop III.3.1 Stage One: A Sound Education III.3.2 Stage Two: Indian in a Box III.3.2.1 The Permanent Exhibition III.3.2.2 The Sound Chamber III.3.2.3 Soundwalking III.3.3 Raven Revisited III.3.4 Conclusion IV Coeval Museum Didactics Chapter Summary and Outlook IV

309   312   315   319   322   325   327   338   342   342   343   348   352   356   364  

The Two Ravens 365   Next World: The Way of the Mask. 368   i) Looking Back: Mission Accomplished? 369   ii) Expanding: Different Formats and Contexts 370   iii) The Future: First Voices and Sensory Holism? 373   iv) Towards an Auditory Anthropology 376   v) Applied Auditory Anthropology: Four Worlds Consolidated 382   xx) The Glocal Community: A whole World of Communication 385   Resources a) Bibliography b) Websites c) Other

387   387   395   397  

Notes on Audio Media About the Author

398   402  

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The Sounding Museum: Four Worlds.

Four Worlds:

A Sound Entry. Soundscape Composition as a Tool in Museum Education Atmospheric Entry, Research Objective & Methodology, Book Overview “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth” – with his mouth. God named the Universe, thinking aloud. The Egyptian gods came into being when Atum, the creator, named them. Mithra came into being out of vowels and consonants. The terrible gods came into being out of thunder, The fruitful gods came into being out of water. The magic gods came into being out of laughter. The mystic gods came into being out of distant echoes. All creation is original. Every sound is new. (…) Sound gets to places where sight cannot. Sound plunges below the surface. Sound penetrates to the heart of things. R. M. Schafer, “I Have Never Seen A Sound”1

In the past couple of years I have been living in four worlds simultaneously. The Sounding Museum is the approach that I have taken to bring these worlds closer to each other. At its core lies the question “How do I make a good cultural soundscape composition for museum-didactic purposes?” In order to answer this, or, more accurately, to develop a feasible manual to accomplish such a feat, I had to attempt to reconcile the worlds of the sound artist and eco-acoustician, of the native North American (the 'Namgis/Kwakwaka'wakw of Alert Bay, BC, to be precise), of the anthropologist, and of the museum visitor, all of whom not only are to be expected to follow their own agendas, at times incompatible with the others’, but also to base their perception, communication strategies, and judgements on poly-

1

Schafer (2009), p.32f Schafer (1977b), p.4 3 ibid. 4 ibid., p.153f 2

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Four Worlds: A Sound Entry.

genic ontologies, all of which I had to gain an insight into and embrace them as partly my own in order to accomplish my work. At the centre of the Sounding Museum resides the contemporary cultural soundscape composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”. It is designed to supply museum visitors with a means to gain an acoustic image of the contemporary cultural and everyday life of the Kwakwaka'wakw. A “good” cultural soundscape composition is to convey essential information about a (foreign) culture via the utilisation of the emotional/atmospheric quality of sound. In order to achieve this, specific criteria have to be met. • The musical and narrative structure needs to be appealing to the listener, and it should convey core elements of the culture it deals with. • Transparency within the composition and in its auxiliary materials about which sources have been used, which choices have been made during composition, and, most importantly, by whom, needs to be provided. • For the assembly and compilation of the audio material a collaborative workflow between the researcher and his/her interlocutors has to be applied. A cultural soundscape composition needs to be stimulating, it should ignite or tend to the fascination with the foreign, that strange and alien world, that brought the listener to tune in in the first place. But “Two Weeks” is, next to its qualification as a composition, foremost an ethnographic document. The questions that need to be addressed therefore are rooted in problems dealt with in ethnographic methodology and anthropological theory, questions of generalisation, representation, coevalness, and self-reflexivity. The most important assets in this respect are transparency and a collaborative attitude, the latter best subsumed under the Session Musician’s Approach. This collaborative framework (Becker 2008) of joining others (Pink (2009) grounds all methodological and practical decisions in an approach to 2

The Sounding Museum: Four Worlds.

ethnographic research and collaboration with informants that bears strong analogies to the work methods in musical jam sessions. Here, often under the guiding hand of a bandleader, musicians from various backgrounds get together to create a musical performance based on conjointly determined framing conditions and on improvisation. It draws on the tacit knowledge (Polanyi 1983 [1966]) of the participants, which the bandleader/producer /ethnographer must try to synchronise with that of his/her audience. By dialogical editing (Feld 1990) chances for a coevally created product and (affective) comprehensibility for the listener are heightened. Working in an ethnographical context, differences in legal and ethical systems must also be taken into account, such as, for example, cultural taboos, or deviating copyright concepts. The ethnographer must remain clear – and offensively address this with his audiences – about his own impact on the final product, and about the decision making process, declaring it not to be a representation of ultimate truth, but of his very own version of it. He must also be aware of the distorting schizophonic (Schafer 1977b) effects of the dislocation of sound from its source. The Session Musician’s Approach correctly applied engenders an atmosphere of respectful and open-minded communication between two cultures, in which the composer’s role is that of a mediator. But let us hear the story ab initio.

i) Origins: The Sounding Museum Begins We are immersed in a world of sound. In 1977, after more than a decade of committed research and teaching, the Canadian composer, teacher and professor Raymond Murray Schafer, with “The Tuning of the World”, published a first extensive comprehensive essay dealing with this sounding universe that he named the soundscape, releasing an avalanche of research, artistic and educative programs, dedicat3

Four Worlds: A Sound Entry.

ed to the innumerable ramifications of the field of acoustic ecology. Three and a half decades later the world orchestra is still playing, waiting for us to tune in and play along. The concept of the Sounding Museum adheres to Schafer’s claim that “the home territory of soundscape studies will be the middle ground between science, society and the arts”,2 but also of pedagogy, utilising a great deal of Schafer’s own pedagogic devices aimed at what he calls clairaudience3, the raising of sonologic competence4, starting already with the very young. Sound is one of the most powerful communication media culture and humankind have at their disposal. This book is about soundscapes. More precisely, about cultural soundscapes presented in a museum, namely the aboriginal soundscape of North America’s Pacific Northwest Coast on display at the NONAM (Nordamerika Native Museum) in Zürich. More than that, with the audio footage included, it will also bring a small sample of the soundscape of the world directly to your ears. And it is “good” if it will communicate, ultimately not only one-way, but interactively, in multiple directions. Over time, the Sounding Museum has evolved from a visitor study on a specific sound application in an ethnographic museum into an on-going trans-disciplinary project operating at the above-indicated junction between art, science, and education. It all began in 2007, when my friend and mentor Richard Schuckmann asked me along on a trip to Zürich, where we were invited to discuss ideas for the acoustic complementation of a special exhibition on the Arctic cultural area at the NONAM, which eventually resulted in the construction of the Sound Chamber and its incorporation as part of the museum’s permanent exhibition. We built a room that was designed to bring the soundscape of North America’s indigenous peoples to the museum visitor, in high fidelity surround sound and without the distraction of visual or other sensual stimuli, because we believed that the experience of the sounds of a culture brings an 2

Schafer (1977b), p.4 ibid. 4 ibid., p.153f 3

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The Sounding Museum: Four Worlds.

immediacy and intimacy, an immersive quality, that the usual objectfocussed approach of classical exhibition design was lacking. After this first archive recording-based production on the Arctic cultural soundscape and the evaluation of its visitor impact the opportunity came along to leave the archives and go out into the field to make our own recordings. That is where my research design took off. I developed a project that follows all the steps in the making and implementation of a cultural soundscape production, from the planning stages over on-location recording activities and studio work to the use of the finished piece in a workshop conducted in and around the museum and the Sound Chamber located there, resulting in the composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” and the workshop concept “Das Tönende Museum”. It soon became obvious that this would require more than just skilled audio engineering. Once a work of art leaves the White Cube its contextualisation gains the utmost importance. “Two Weeks” was made in collaboration with members of the 'Namgis First Nation of the Kwakwaka'wakw (the Kwak'wala speaking Nations) of Alert Bay, British Columbia. And it was aimed at a target group eight thousand kilometres away, the visitors of a museum in Zürich. How could these people, living in worlds so far apart, be brought together? And would their intermediaries, the artist and the scientist, be able to mediate, or would they also just exist in their own bubbles of local time?

ii) Components: The Sounding Museum Box of Treasures The Sounding Museum is my approach to lessen the distance between these local time bubbles, to promote the rapprochement of cultures. For that I employ sound as a key medium of communication, for communication is the means to achieve this rapprochement: We need to listen to each other in order to understand, or at least respect each other, which also means to accept difference, diversity, as a virtue, not an obstacle.

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Four Worlds: A Sound Entry.

It is a project, which consists of the Sound Chamber, the composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”, an interactive map, a workshop concept, and, ultimately, this book, which documents and reflects the pedagogic and artistic devices developed in the course of the project. The book, it is therefore important to note, cannot serve its documentary and reflexive purposes very well if regarded detached from the practical applications that are the result of my work. Since not all readers will be able to visit the Sound Chamber, and therefore also cannot participate in one of the in situ workshops, I have compiled a collection of “tangible” products that came out of my research. These are • the audio CD “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”, second edition; • the DVD-video (sound only) with the original surround pieces; • the interactive DVD-ROM “Raven Travelling” containing extensive documentary footage; • and the book “Four Worlds”, all of which are in your hands now as parts of this boxed set, that I, if my boldness may be excused, chose to call, in line with Northwest Coast indigenous tradition, “The Sounding Museum: Box of Treasures.”

iii) The Totem Pole: Book Structure and Digital Media In front of the NONAM, right next to the entrance, there stands a totem pole carved by Tlingit artist Nathan Jackson. It depicts the story of Raven and Fog Woman,5 showing Raven sitting on top of his two slaves with Fog Woman holding a salmon at the bottom. As with many works of art, much of the story embedded in Jackson’s pole remains in the implicit. For it to become accessible for scientific or 5

cp. prelude to World Three; a picture of the pole can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI NONAM 6

The Sounding Museum: Four Worlds.

didactic use they have to be made explicit. Northwest Coast totem poles have occasionally been called “story-telling poles”. This is not entirely adequate.6 The poles do not exactly tell a story; they often merely depict key elements or characters featured within a story. So one cannot “read” a pole as one could read the course and outcome of the Battle of Kadesh at the walls of Abu Simbel. Distinct knowledge about the background is mandatory, and even then there remains quite some room for interpretation. “The Sounding Museum: Box of Treasures” is like a totem pole. It is centred around the cultural soundscape composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”, which is made available in two forms, an audio CD, containing the original full version of the composition in stereo and a number of supplemental tracks, and the DVD-Video, which consists of all three versions: the full length 42’ piece and the two shortened versions, the workshop edit of 21’ and the walk-in edit of 6’30’’ in quadraphonic surround sound.7 If you have access to a DVD home surround system I recommend to listen to the quadraphonic version, as, by enclosing the listener from all directions, it creates an immersiveness that cannot be fully achieved by means of stereo listening. However, to get a first atmospheric entry into the World of the Kwakwaka'wakw as I experienced it, the CD will do fine. Only after having listened to the piece for a first time will the contents of the book really begin to make sense, but also vice versa: The book contains all the background information on the project that cannot be brought across by the composition alone; it is the kind of artwork that requires explanation in order to be valued to its full depth. I argue, and that will be a recurring topos throughout the book, that, unless affectively effective, a composition, but

6

though more suiting than the term totem pole itself; see footnote 395 Because most players do not support DVD-Audio I have encoded the original 24bit/48kHz files into Dolby AC3 @ 448kbps; not my favourite, but acceptable. 7

7

Four Worlds: A Sound Entry.

also the presentation of scholarly research,8 has failed its purpose. So listen first, get excited, and then go ahead reading. Like with a totem pole to the uninitiated, this listening experience will very much stay on the surface, you will digest the formal and aesthetic attributes of the composition without much insight into its meaning. However, if its appeal is strong enough, you will develop an interest to find out more. If you then take up the book, like when peeling an onion, all the hidden layers of meaning will be exposed by increasing contextual knowledge. To dismantle the layers of the totem pole in the book, I have constructed four Worlds and a breakpoint between Worlds Two and Three, that build up on each other, each discussing a question that follows from the previous. • World One: What is a Soundscape (and are there any indicators that imply its active deployment in cultural education may be of use)? • World Two: How did I create my own cultural soundscape composition, working in the field, dealing with my interlocutors? • Between the Worlds: What is a “good” cultural soundscape composition, and which methodological framework should be employed to create one? • World Three: What reflexive potential do I find in anthropological theory, that can help me out of the dilemmas laid open in the work process? • World Four: How did the implementation in the museum take place? In World One I establish sound as a key phenomenon and tool for cultural studies by introducing acoustic ecology, soundscape studies and aesthetic

8

You may argue that science has the purpose to improve the living conditions of man (or something similar), and therefore the driest report may result in new innovative devises in service of that task. As you will already hear in World One, at least in case you aim at mediating your findings to a broader audience, this is inseparable from affective judgement nevertheless. 8

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perception as a trans-disciplinary field of research. From a brief look into sound history and the evolution of recording technology the chapter moves on to its main foci, Murray Schafer and Barry Truax’ conceptual principles of soundscape theory and the ideas of atmospheric perception as proposed by Gernot Böhme. An excursus into intangible cultural heritage insinuates the link between sound and identity. With this basis in mind I then take you with me on my field trip to Alert Bay in World Two. In a narrative style, paying tribute to the affective approach taken for the composition itself, but also the research project in general, the genesis of the soundscape composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” is described and replenished with background information on the cultural heritage and history of the Kwakwaka'wakw, the techniques of soundscape composition, and the production of the piece, with a special spotlight on my own doings and dealings with the people and the decisions I took in the composition process. The “Raven Travelling” DVD-ROM, that is also part of the Box of Treasures, comes in particularly handy at this point. It contains plentiful supplemental material, raw audio, photographs, videos, and other data, that broaden the scope of immediate knowledge about the situational context of the “Two Weeks” field experience. On an interactive map you can navigate to places and events that may help fill the information gaps in the piece and its documentation in World Two. The breakpoint “Between the Worlds” that follows, constitutes the watershed between the two larger themes of the book: sound, the soundscape, and soundscape composition as a cultural asset in Worlds One and Two on the one hand, and intercultural competence and education in Worlds Three and Four on the other. In the light of the experiences made during the fieldwork for the project, this chapter discusses related theories and methodologies to consolidate them into an improved framework, the Session Musician’s Approach, as applicable to the special field of cultural soundscape composition. The decision to place the objective/methodology discussion after the actual field report has also a methodological background, which 9

Four Worlds: A Sound Entry.

adheres to a central theoretical claim of this book: I want you to gain an affective access to “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” before analytically dissecting it. Between the Worlds is the transition from making to mediation, from action to reflection. World Three covers a number of problems that surfaced, but were not systematically addressed, in World Two: research ethics, orientalism, coevalness, and representation. These are rooted in the history of anthropology and its colonial heritage, and deeply intervened with my sound work, in theoretical as well as practical terms. Hence, World Three probes into these, looking at classical concepts by Boas, Lévi-Strauss, and others, and discusses, with Fabian’s claim for coevalness and the here introduced First Voices perspective, alternatives to “classical” anthropology with a special focus on a lay audience, the main target group of the Sounding Museum. World Four, after summarizing some main historical developments and a contemporary definition of the purpose of the museum, as well as reporting a number of examples of sound applications in various institutes, returns to the issue of representation in the light of exhibition design. Its main body, however, is dedicated to the second part of the fieldwork: After completion of the production, “Two Weeks” was used at the NONAM for workshops, which I analyse with regard to the assumed visitor impact of soundscape implementation. I have illustrated the various perspectives that are represented by the Four Worlds by applying different writing styles. While World One, explicating the theoretical background for the remainder of the book, has a rather didactic tone, World Two features a more colloquial, narrative style, and is written from a very personal perspective, appropriate to its field diary-like nature. Between the Worlds and World Three, which discuss my own, the Session Musician’s, approach and reception-related aspects of “classical” anthropology, despite its clear political stance, returns to an analytical, more impersonal point of view, and World Four get us back down to Earth with the observations I made while conducting workshops with school classes. 10

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The book closes with a concluding coda, which also offers a peek into potential future developments of the Sounding Museum, as well as a proposal for the introduction of an auditory anthropology. It offers my own conclusions, and it also leaves enough room for the reader’s ideas. This cannot compete with being Kwakwaka'wakw, but I hope that I have offered enough material to create an illusion, break it down again, and in the end allow you to make your own judgement.

iv) Addendum: Raven Tales Raven, who goes by the name of U'melth among the Kwakwaka'wakw, is one of the most important figures in Northwest Coast folk-lore, and my favourite among the supernatural beings that populate their mythological pantheon. He is a cultural hero and a creator-trickster in the same tradition as coyote and mink in other North American indigenous cultures, and in this double function he has always been of ambivalent nature, his often illmotivated, selfish actions ultimately resulting in beneficial outcomes for the people. He is the bringer of light and water, the creator of the land, and the teacher of many skills, but also introduced death into the world.9 U'melth, Raven, shall therefore be our Master of Ceremony throughout this book. Every new World opens with a Raven Tale. None of these are original in the sense of being reproduced here the way they have “always been 9

See also http://www.eldrbarry.net/rabb/rvn/raven.htm One general remark on the use of internet resources: I am referring to numerous web links throughout this book. Whole books were retrieved from the internet, or information from websites of institutions or companies concerning activities or conceptual ideas, which would not differ in depth or detail in printed form. Wikipedia, although frequently utilised, was only consulted for very basic data, like the birth dates of mentioned persons. 11

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told”. For once, it would be impossible in an oral culture (any culture, in fact) to trace back a myth to its literal origins, secondly, the tradition of storytelling draws its strength from the ability of adaptation, and thirdly, from the many versions available, there is no single one that could claim to be the only true form. So, also as a concession to my own narrative needs, I have decided to casually rewrite some of the stories in my own words, based on the versions I have heard, read, and in one case (“How Raven Stole the Sun”) even seen in the form of an animated TV show, while others I have been permitted to use as I have found them, if slightly edited, by the authors of the respective versions. The first and the fourth, “Raven and Mink Go Bear Hunting” and “Raven and Fog Woman” are nearly unaltered reproductions of accounts by Terry Coral Echo Hawk and Nathan Jackson, respectively, the second, “How Raven Stole the Sun”, is a rewrite by me, and the third, “Raven and the First Men” is a heavily edited melange of several stories with the “First Men” rendition at its core, based on a rather Victorian-style version published online by Barry McWilliams. The more I intervened with the original material, the less incoherent the story gets sometimes, because I was thriving for a logical sequence, whereas the “handed down” accounts tend to contain elements the origin of which may feel unclear, as, for example, the last paragraph in tale one, that abruptly brings in a new theme. The last story, “The Two Ravens”, that opens the concluding section of the book, has not even been inspired by Northwest Coast culture; it is a story that I had written years ago based on my own crude and orientalist ideas on African traditional folk-lore, which has been rewritten to fit into the scheme and tone of this book. To my knowledge, Raven never even had a sister…10 With this mix of adopted and reworked source material I have attempted to pay reference to the, musically speaking, feeling of the pieces, and the nonlinearity of cultural evolution, that for anthropologists is especially challenging to interpret, because there are so few straight lines to be fol10

According to Boas’ informant Ya'qolas he did; (Boas (1935), p.16, but that is another story. 12

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lowed. In indigenous cultures myths have long been used as a means for education and the dissemination and preservation of knowledge and legal systems. Often these are not easily understood by outsiders.11 Most importantly, however, is this: I have created the composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”; it may be based and thematically tied to Kwakwaka'wakw culture and contemporary reality, but it is my reality, my perspective, that is presented in the museum and elsewhere. Therefore it is only consequent that I also write the stories, everything else would be deceptive. They are also an integral part of my approach to (re-)presentation. They are the implemented affective turn that I herewith not only promote throughout this book, but also demonstrate by applying stylistic elements that resemble the storytelling techniques I found in the culture I am writing about. Also, I do not follow the requirements of myth building or reproduction in the sense of a structuralism of Lévi-Straussian coinage, nor any literature studies methodology; as long as the story reads well, I shall be content. Although I strive to write in the spirit of the old Northwest Coast myths, I am of course aware that I can never even come close, nor replace the stories as they are told by the peoples themselves. Accordingly, I do not attempt to do so. These are my interpretations, and I hope not to offend anyone by publishing them. The same myths told by William Wasden jr., Beau Dick, or another individual member of the Kwakwaka'wakw or another Northwest Coast First Nation will always be genuine where mine are not. As said above, the latter are part of the artistic and, what’s more, atmospheric/affective approach I have chosen as communication strategy between my source collaborators and my audience. The same holds true for the soundscape composition that forms the central product of this dissertation. By keeping this as transparent as possible I hope to elude misinterpretation.

11

See also World Three, First Voices section, subsection on Val Napoleon 13

Raven and Mink Go Bear Hunting One day Raven and Mink decided they wanted to hunt bear. They went up to the spawning grounds of the dog salmon, because they knew that a big grizzly bear would wait there for the weakened fish to catch them when they arrived after their long and exhausting journey up the river. They hid in the brushes, spears ready, but when they finally saw a giant bear strolling up the trail, they were too afraid to do anything. Raven then said he would hide in a fish tail that they could lay out as bait, and when the bear would eat it, Raven would, after having been swallowed, cut him open from the inside, while Mink would spear him from the back. But when the bear came, Raven got so scared that he jumped out of the fish tail and flew away. The bear also fled into the brushes. The next time Mink hid in the fish tail and did as Raven had suggested. He cut the bear’s chest open from the inside and waited for Raven to finish the job by spearing the bear between the shoulders. But Raven had his spear stuck in a tree, and so Mink had to wait until the bear bled to death from his chest wound. Mink was angry at Raven, but since the bear was dead, they started skinning and cutting him up. They also wanted to cook the fat to get grease from it, as their forefathers had always done. To collect the grease, they would use the bowel, which they strung up in a long line so they could fill it with the grease. The bowel went a long way; you couldn’t see where it ended from the opening where the grease would go in. Raven told Mink that this was the way their forefathers had done it and went off wandering into the woods. Mink filled the grease into the opening, but the bowel would not fill up. Mink was wondering why that was so, after all the grease he had already poured into it, so he went to the end of the bowel, only to find Raven lying under the opened end of the bowel, drinking all the grease that came flowing down. Enraged Mink grabbed a burned club-like stick and hit Raven on his forehead.

15

With Raven unconscious, he could finally fill the bowel with grease. When Raven came around, he returned to Mink, who had just finished filling the bowel. Mink asked him where the soot in his face came from. Raven said: “I was pushing a burned tree which my forefathers had left when one fell on me. That is why I have soot on my face.”12

12

Main source: Terry Coral Echo-Hawk (http://arcticrose.wordpress.com/2008/03/10/distant-time-stories-as-told-by-mygrandfather-raven-and-mink/); Raven’s answer is actually quoted from her version. 16

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World One:

Hearing Heritage.13 Sound and Sound Recording beyond Acoustics, Music and Ear Physiology Sound History, Sound Recording, Acoustic Ecology, Atmosphere, Intangible Heritage Alas! for them their day is o'er, No more, no more for them the wild deer bounds, The plough is on their hunting grounds; The pale man's axe rings through their woods, The pale man's sail skims o'er their floods; Beyond the mountains of the west Their children go to die. Charles Sprague: The Indians (1921)

0 Bells While at my writing desk, I like to keep the windows open. This not only takes care of the supply of fresh air required to keep the brain functioning, it also gives me the feeling of being in touch with my surroundings, because I can hear the local soundscape (which, in the places I regularly work at, fortunately features a moderate background level and not too many distracting signal sounds). From my office at the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences at Maastricht University I can hear the carillon of the Town Hall, playing a melody every hour. 14 The same occurs in my office at Fontys School of Fine and Performing Arts in Tilburg, NL, where I hear the bells of the Heikese Kerk. The tune is different, of course, and also a range of other parameters deviates noticeably: The bells have different envelopes, 13

This chapter contains several (heavily revised) sections that have been adapted from my Master’s Thesis “Virtual Historic Soundscapes – The Relevance of Sound in the Museum” (Maastricht University 2007), particularly the ones on sound history and intangible cultural heritage. 14 Its operator Frank Steyn plays live, mostly children’s songs, and sometimes, on Holydays, tunes of the Catholic Church. On a website the local residents can leave suggestions for their favourite melodies. 17

World One: Hearing Heritage.

the coloration caused by the spatial situation is another one, and so is the noisefloor. When working at home, I don’t hear bells, because the next church is too far away, instead I can hear train horns every now and then when trains arrive or depart from the nearby central station of Wiesbaden, Germany. And I hear the very special soundmark that tells me I am really at home: My (at the time I write these lines) eleven months old daughter’s enthusiastic crows while she is wreaking havoc in my book and record shelves. This little personal account already points towards where to find the value of the soundscape when trying to work out a set of features to be used to illustrate the cultural environment one finds oneself in. It tells me where I am (Maastricht, Tilburg, Wiesbaden…), thereby also telling me part of who I am: Considering sounds as signs and the soundscape as a system of signs, the bells communicate and signify church and religion – the church bell as a symbol of Christianity, as opposed to other religions, and of piety – the place you’re in (no bell tower sounds like another, old cities with old churches are different, and not only in sound, from modern metropolises), or, much more trivial, but no less powerful, time: how often was the bell struck, and what does this tell us about the rhythms of our daily routines as compared to a different time in history or a different place with different rhythms and thus a different culture? The ringing of the bell can signify all that, and much more.15 And all that places me in early 21st century middle Europe, where I grew up, where I know how to read the signs, and where my cultural roots lie. In the BigHouse in Alert Bay sounds are different. It is these soundmarks that bestow on every soundscape its unique appearance and, perhaps even with a stronger impact, the keynote sounds. By assessing the Tuning of the World, we can gain access to the strangeness and the familiarity of everyday life and of extraordinary occasions in our own as well as foreign or historic cultures. Listening as an

15

See Corbin and others in the following

18

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inwardly aiming, receptive sense is meant to offer a different approach, inaccessible to the cool calculation of the eye.16

In this part of the book I will lay out the foundations on which soundscape composition in the museum may become of value. I shall start this with a sightseeing trip into sound history and the history of soundscape research. The introduction of sound recording and how recorded sound has been used in artistic and anthropologic activities will also be exemplified. I will then look at the features of the soundscape and acoustic ecology as introduced by R. Murray Schafer, and acoustic communication models and their deeper implications for identity and aesthetics, mainly based on the writings of Barry Truax and Gernot Böhme. The meaning of sound to cultural heritage shall be assessed as well as why heritage display in museums can be enhanced by it. Accordingly, World One will be concluded with an excursus on intangible cultural heritage, a concept that will implicitly remain present throughout the remainder of the book.

16 This contemporary definition must appear rather ambiguous taking into account that during Renaissance the classification to our modern understanding must appear to have been turned upside down: While the ear was held in honour as the organ of intellectual reflection, the eye in turn was suspected to be easily distracted by emotional affection; cp. Woolf in Smith (2004), pp.112-116: Hearing Renaissance. Cp. also Ingold’s (2000), first critique on the anthropology of the senses; pp.251-53

19

World One: Hearing Heritage.

I Historic Soundscapes For the largest part of history the only records that could be preserved for the future were visual and tactile in nature, with an evident focus on the visual.17 These were, once script had been invented, not only flat and threedimensional depictions, but also written documents of all sorts, beginning with accounting tools as early as in Sumerian culture, historical reports and descriptions of world views, getting ever more complex in the course of time, and allowing us to reconstruct past societies to impressive detail. What could not be transported through time were the sounds that were perceived and produced by these cultures, except in the few written accounts that we find on them, although legends and utopian visions have been reported. The emperor of China, it is rumoured, disposed of a magical box that he could speak into for his emissaries to carry it into every last corner of his vast empire where his subjects then could listen to his commands in his own voice;18 a recording device all too common nowadays, but most unlikely to really have existed in these legendary times. Francis Bacon spoke of a multitude of sound gadgets unthinkable at the time he wrote his “Nova Atlantis” in the early 17th century: Devices that could store, play back, alter and even create new sounds,19 basically everything a modern sound studio uses for music or film sound production. However, as said, none of these devices actually existed, so the past is mute to us, up until the advent of the gramophone, and its successor, the (mobile) tape recorder (and the microphone and the loudspeaker, of course). The discipline of sound history has taken great efforts to break the silence, sometimes with impressive results. Nevertheless these attempts can only 17

Schafer tells us that in illiterate, or aural, societies, which, for most of history, would apply for most Europeans as well as all other people who did or do not read and write, things relevant were memorised; Schafer (2009), p.34. However, since memory may betray us and the stories handed down may change in content and meaning like in a game of Chinese whispers, such data understandably enough is handled with care by historians. 18 Schafer (1977b), p.90 19 ibid., p.244 20

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deliver hypothetical and approximate findings, as long as the original has not been preserved. The same holds true for how food tasted in classical Greece and what Plato really thought, of course, so it is an appropriate methodology, if we are to accept any conclusions based on the resources commonly used in historic research. The data on sound, however, are most scarce, so the reliability of the models developed on that basis often must fall behind that of many other reconstructive enterprises dealing with the past. The Sounding Museum does not investigate historic soundscapes, so I do not have to face the obstacles identified above to full extent; I do have accurate sound data at my disposal. My problems lie in different domains that will be discussed in the following chapters. But let me, for the moment, stay in the past, for it may tell us a few things relevant to the present nevertheless.

I.1 Sound History Examining historic soundscapes can be a potent tool to gain an insight into the everyday life of people in past cultures in various historic circumstances and thus into our intangible cultural heritage. We cannot tell how people used to perceive their soundscape in former times, because we cannot ask them. We can only indirectly make assumptions derived from written sources on how it might have sounded and what their authors thought of it. By that we can, given that we have some information on the social and intellectual background of the author, estimate how the society he or she lived in listened and how it dealt with what it heard. What we can calculate is which sounds people possibly encountered in their daily lives. From those we can try and reconstruct historic soundscapes and we can develop a historiography of sound and the changes in the soundscape. Schafer assumes that not only has the soundscape, for a long time, been influenced by man, it has also always influenced society and its 21

World One: Hearing Heritage.

way of thinking.20 In the light of this presumed interconnectedness of soundscape and culture (culture and nature, if we expand our framework), or individual and environment through sound, the presentation of sound in a (ethnographical) museum is likely to enhance the impact of an exhibition on its visitors. This section aims to develop a sense for the manifold effects of and people's reactions to their soundscape in the course of history by giving an overview on the notion of soundscape in history and, by elaborating on a few examples, give the reader some hands-on ideas on its impact on contemporaries.

I.2 The Meaning of Sound to Culture from the Historic Point of View It is difficult to tell at what point in time the artificial (man-made) soundscape ruled out the natural one as the dominant aspect of people's sonic environment. A strong divergence for different geographic areas and cultural circles, and for rural and urban environments has to be assumed, and no one with a sound level meter or a recording device21 was around to measure the shift in noisefloor, and soundmarks and keynotes22 or to interview the

20 ibid., pp.7, 17f ; Schafer’s musings on how maritime cultures are influences by the keynote offered by the sea, or how musical development reflects Zeitgeist. Schafer makes quite a claim of this, mostly backed up by literary references. Though not being a scientifically validated study, his arguments are rather convincing (and the extensive research done on sound history – see bibliography for some more references – since then seems to strengthen his position), which encourages me to accept them as highly probable. 21 The first attempts to measure sound volume levels date back at least to Hermann von Helmholtz’s experimental research in the mid 19th century (cp. his 1863 seminal work on acoustics and physiology of hearing, Die Lehre von den Tonempfindungen als physiologische Grundlage für die Theorie der Musik). Audio recording and reproduction was first made possible in very low quality with Thomas Alva Edison's invention of the phonograph in 1877. Soundscape recording however required portable tape recorders with reasonable frequency resolution and dynamic range, which were not available until the 1950's. 22 see below; section III: Studying the Soundscape

22

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people about which sounds they personally perceived as dominant, important, or annoying.23 The (pre-recording era) historic sources must be of secondary nature. Much data on sound can be drawn from reports on other aspects of life, such as which tools were used for labour, what was the musical inventory, what materials were houses made of etc. One reason for the small selection of written sources might be that the soundscape was no conscious subject of discussion back then (a condition that hasn't significantly changed in the mind set of most people). It was there as was the weather, the alternation of day and night, or the changing seasons. Only those sounds that were not an expression of the daily routines required discussion. Luckily we do have access to a number of ear witnesses24, whose reports on sound can be taken from their diaries, traveller’s logs, and other forms of written testimony. The sounds with the most obvious impact to early cultures were mainly of religious nature, and the noises of war. People believed in gods whose powers manifested in loudness; Thor of the Northern European peoples produced thunder by swinging his hammer Mjölnir,25 and Zeus of classical Greece could throw thunderbolts from his hand. He was the head of the Greek pantheon and was often depicted holding stylized bolts.26 There must have been reasons why supernatural powers were so heavily associated with loudness. Among the most prominent we can identify is the fact that men themselves were incapable of producing such sound pressure levels. The origin of religion possibly lies in the desire of people to explain the world without yet having the means of modern science to investigate it.27 Natural

23

The first large-scale studies were undertaken by the World Soundscape Project, most prominently among which ranges the “Five Village Soundscapes” (Schafer, ed. 1977a) study that features five European villages. 24 Schafer (1977b), p.8f 25 Bellinger (1986), p.159 26 ibid., p.168 27 Well aware of my Eurocentric phrasing, I’ll still refrain from any sort of theological or ontological discussion at this point, with all due respect to pious people from all religions or cosmologies, although they may be of different opinion concerning 23

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phenomena had to be interpreted and they had to be there for a reason, since all activities carried out by men had some reasoning behind them, too. Especially the destructive powers of thunderstorms, eruptive seismic activity, or floods, had to be explained by the caprices of supernatural powers, because they had a heavy impact on life and made no sense except if there was a directing will behind them. Natural catastrophes were regularly accompanied by heavy noise, so loudness eventually became a symbol of the gods, of power.28 From early on powerful men knew how to make use of that symbol. Hence, early loud sounds produced by men often were of religious nature, accordingly.29 It was the privilege of the priesthood to create or to command or allow for these sounds to be created by the community on religious festivities.30 The loudest sound-emitting object before the invention of gunpowder in Europe was the church bell, always reminding people of the presence of God and the authority of his earthly deputies, the clerics. The loudest musical instrument before electric amplification was the church organ, which, over a long period of time, was solely used for religious purposes.31

that matter (see also the comparison between naturalism and animism in Next World). 28 Among the terrible things beyond human influence, only disease comes silently creeping, as Schafer points out in “I have never seen a Sound”, the lyrical introduction he often uses for his workshops and lectures on acoustic ecology. Schafer (2009), p.32 29 Schafer (1977b) p.51f, Wagner in Bernuis et al., eds. (2006), p.91ff 30 Wagner in Bernuis et al., eds. (2006), p.91ff. 31 The first organ might have been built in Alexandria as early as in the 3rd century BCE. Hindley in Braun, ed. (2000), p.36 It was brought to Europe via the Constantinople, when the Franks tried to overcome the exclusive claim of Byzantine succession to the title of the Roman Emperor. Here the whole setup of the throne chamber was designed to impress ambassadors of neighbouring countries with a mindblower of technical gadgets like a rising throne (while the ambassador was staring to the ground in obeisance). This was accompanied by the roaring of a pipe organ, at the time not the loveliest of all instruments available, but by far the loudest, and equipped with low frequency pipes that made the whole room and the human body vibrate down to the bones. 24

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The bell may at this point serve as an example to be examined a little more closely. Corbin writes that "the bell tower prescribed an auditory space that corresponded to a particular notion of territoriality, one obsessed with mutual acquaintance."32 The bell bestowed and maintained identity to the village/community, obviating the insecurity that was imposed on the peasantry by the ever-present possibility of natural or man-made catastrophe such as draught, disease, or war. The range of the bell defined boundaries of inside and outside of community in rural society, just as the skin defines the inside and outside of the individual, the sound-attenuating walls and current sonic space enforced by the home stereo, or headphones, the inside and outside of post-industrial privacy. A hierarchy existed on how many bells a church was allowed to have, which church within the same sonic space had authority to ring its bells before the others and so on; power represented by din. Bells were a symbol of pride and a means of warning and orientation. Bells could, by the power of their sound pressure level, scare and drive away evil spirits and could summon angels.33 "The extent of a given community was sometimes defined in terms of the range of its bell",34 which might explain some of the heated requests for more often ringing the loudest bell available documented by Corbin.35 The second category of man-made high-level sound was the domain of chaos, namely of war. It might have been equally important to demonstrate an army's power by the noise it could produce before and during battle as the quality of its armament or its factual count in numbers. Even today When Charlemagne's engineers finally managed to erect a replica of this mechanic titan in Aachen, they felt they had mastered the final challenge to their imperial aspirations; Wagner in Bernuis et al., eds. 2006, p.99. Soon afterwards the pipe organ became Europe's sonic manifestation of heavenly power and grace on earth. 32 Corbin (1998) in Bull/Back, eds. (2003), p.117 33 ibid., p.119ff; see also the correlation of noisefloor/masking in Shipibo ritual song as exemplified in Next World, section iv) Towards an Auditory Anthropology 34 Corbin (1998) in Bull/Back, eds. (2003), p.124 35 ibid., p.121 25

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(within the very martially oriented heavy metal community) battles are fought and won by the band that plays loudest; at some time in the early nineties the US-American true metal band Manowar, by playing a concert with peaks measured at 129.5dB, humbled the members of the British group Iron Maiden, who had been the undisputed kings of heavy metal for several years.36 At such levels, permanent hearing loss is to be expected, and under “reasonable” circumstances only soldiers in war are exposed to comparably loud sounds. The horns of Jericho might illustrate that this is not a new concept of warfare. Clashing shields and spears, drums and horns and war cries have always been a means of attacking the morale of the opponent and giving the own soldiers a feeling of power, group identity, and selfconfidence. Everyday life in these days was quiet and not very much dominated by man-made sound.37 The sounds of work were less intense than the rooster's cry in the morning and the sounds of the house consisted of talk, a boiling kettle and occasionally some hand-made music. No stereo could be turned up against the noises from outside (to which people were much more exposed than nowadays due to weak insulation), but these consisted of wind and rain and birdsong,38 not of constant street and air traffic and factory noise (and, not to be underestimated, the neighbours’ extensive use of sound reproduction technology39). Back then, the dominant means of transportation was walking, the backbone of society consisted of village communities, on a very small scale, not 36

"A typical rock concert ranges from between 110 to a staggering 125 decibels. The loudest on record is The Who, at 126. Man-O-War claims to have reached 129.5 [no index or indication if weighted given] in 1994." (http://www.philbrodieband.com/muso-world-record-holders.htm) Rumour has it that Kiss, by peaking at 136dB, now hold the record as the most deafening musical show act in the world (Manowar, they say, again topped this during a sound check in 2008, reaching 139dB; http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manowar). 37 Please note that we are still in the medieval rural soundscape that was the predominant sphere of life before cities again gained in importance and size. 38 Wagner in Bernuis et al., eds. (2006), p.95 39 Bijsterveld (2003), pp.176f, 178ff 26

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apt for bigger concepts like a nation state with an all encompassing national identity, which would require symbols different and more abstract than the church bell.40 Noise used to be so scarce that it could even be perceived a welcome interruption of the silent routine.41 Only "since the dawn of the twentieth century, bell and cannon have ceased to be the sole rivals of the almighty thunderbolt."42 The average sound pressure level of a rural village in the High Medieval has been estimated to have measured around 40dB(C), with the highest sound level at the ear of the worker peaking at 74dB.43 For Centuries the blacksmith's workshop was the loudest place in the village apart from the bell tower. The rural soundscape therefore was more or less a natural soundscape mixed with a few human sound emissions here and there. Wagner speaks of 69% natural sounds against merely 5% of really artificial sounds produced by working tools, machines and means of transportation.44 An already deviating picture (or sonogram) would have been found in the towns and cities that crept back onto the European landscape in the Late Middle Ages (after the decay of the Roman Empire most towns in Europe had experienced a massive population decrease). Here the accumulation of great numbers of inhabitants in a small area alone would have led to a higher sound pressure level because the man-made sound production per square meter was higher. But it was also a different environment concerning the nature of the sounds produced. As trade flourished once more and people started to produce for that (which usually took place in towns) rather than for subsistence only, the number of workshops of various noisy businesses grew as well. The need for transportation vehicles grew along with it, as did 40

Corbin (1998) in Bull/Back, eds. (2003), p.118 ibid., p.119 42 ibid. 43 Wagner in Bernuis et al., eds. (2006), p.96; no weighting information given on the second figure; for the profession of the blacksmith significantly higher impulse noise levels must be expected to have occurred. 44 ibid., p.94; nowadays the ratio has been turned upside down: 68% of what enters the ear is emitted by machines, only 6% is of natural origin. The remaining 26%, man's sound emissions like talking, singing and farting, have kept a constant share. 41

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the need for paved roads. All of this led to a rising sound exposition for the residents. The labour in the workshops could be, depending on the profession of the respective guild, quite noisy, and wooden or even iron-shod wheels on stone-paved roads did their part. And when work and the other activities of daily life began to become more and more organized, exact timing became an important factor, at daytime to be announced by the bells of the church and during the night by the night’s watch that cried out every hour, until it was abolished by noise-abatement legislation because of the annoyance it caused. By that time it had become obsolete anyway, because everybody had mechanical watches at home and due to the rising noisefloor in the growing centres of industrialisation the cries had already sunken beneath the level required for them to remain audible against it.45 In the towns of pre-industrial Europe, the loudest sounds were still produced during religious festivities (even carnival, long forgotten to have been a heathen ritual to ban the evil winter spirits before the sowing, has strong religious roots) and perhaps on special events to demonstrate the power of the mighty or the glory of the town itself, but not as a by-product of work. Wagner argues, and in this he agrees with Behrendt and Schafer, that medieval culture was predominantly an ear culture, whereas modern civilisation is to be described as an eye culture.46 To a certain extent he identifies the reason for this to be the widespread illiteracy among the populations of that era. For a long time the clergy used to be the only class in European society that could read or write, even among the aristocracy literacy was scarce. Parchment was very expensive, so only important data were written down; in most cases it would be religious litany.47 After the invention of the printing press and the societal shifts of the era of Enlightenment a few centuries later, and prepared by the rise of the bourgeoisie in the independent cities

45

Schafer (1977b), pp.60ff, 63f Wagner in Bernuis et al., eds. (2006), p.101, Schafer (1977b), p.10, Behrendt (1988), p.17f 47 Wagner in Bernuis et al., eds. (2006), p.101f 46

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during these years, the situation changed. By now the change is so complete, that we have to re-learn to gather information on the aural plane. Daniel R. Woolf provides a differentiated picture of this shift from the aural to the visual. He doesn't deny that bureaucracy has always been adhesive to the advantages of written documentation (the Babylonians invented scripture to organize their administration), and that scientific texts and charts have existed for a long time, but he does not agree with the idea of a total and terminal replacement of a predominantly aural age by a new era of completely visually oriented perception. Neither does he point out one specific period within which the shift took place. During the Middle Ages, clerics stored knowledge in books, to be used as almanacs, preserved knowledge by means of scripture. The invention of the printing press only augmented the widespread distribution of writing, but during Renaissance it was certainly not replacing orality. On the contrary, written texts were, for a long time, used as an auxiliary. Many humanists, trying to revive the rhetorical traditions of the Ancients, designed their writings to be read aloud to an audience. As late as the end of the 16th century students were prompted to "write for the ear".48 The phrase "you have heard" was frequently used as a hook line to refer to earlier accounts (as compared to the more modern figure "we have seen")49, suggesting a "perceptual equilibrium"50 slowly shifting, rather than an abrupt change, traced back by Woolf to the middle of the 11th century and still found in the 17th.51 The access to visual forms of information grew from Renaissance onwards (the already mentioned printing press and the discovery of perspective for painting were certainly of influ-

48

Costello, cf. Woolf in Smith, ed. (2004), p.115 Woolf in Smith, ed. (2004) p.112 50 ibid., p.113 51 ibid., p.116 49

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ence),52 but historical awareness long relied on both visual and aural resources. 53 However gradually it might have happened though, judging from contemporary museums and other educational or teaching facilities, the equilibrium of the senses nowadays seems to have lost its presumed former balance. What is to be pinpointed here is that people learn through their eyes and their ears, through words (heard or read, most effectively perhaps through interactive discourse) and experiences, through tradition and trial, but especially that they are always influenced by their environment, and, not least of all, the sonic aspects of it.54 There are ways to gather such information, and there are ways to aurally re-enact distance,55 be it temporal, geographic or both, which may help to foster a deeper understanding. We can tell that from written sources, as will be exemplified by excerpts from the description of antebellum America by Mark M. Smith and a few other samples of historic notions of sound.

52

Johannes Gutenberg invented the movable type printing press in the mid 15th century, around the same time Leon Battista Alberti published mathematical methods to create perspective in painting. 53 cp. Schafer (1977b) pp.161-68; on morphology and symbolism of sound in history and culture. 54 A practical implementation of that claim can be found in World Four, section III.3: Workshop 55 For the discussion on distance please refer to World Three, section II.2: Time and the Other 30

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I.3 Historic Accounts of the Notion of Sound56 Although nineteenth-century Anglo-American elites came to define their economic, political, and cultural authority by emphasizing what James Joyce called 'the ineluctable modality of the visual', the heard world still retained considerable currency among ruling classes. Smith (2000) in Bull/Back (2003), p.138

In the young United States of America of 1815, Hezekiah Niles cherished "the sound of the axe (...) [that was] heard opening the forest to the sun". He went on: "The busy hum of ten thousand wheels fills our seaports, and the sound of the spindle and the loom succeeds the yell of the savage or the screech of the night owl in the late wilderness of the interior." Benjamin Franklin wished the "noisy, 'ungovernable' rivers" to be replaced by "'quiet and well manageable' canals".57 Whereas the replacement of the natural soundscape by the sounds of industry was a welcomed indicator of progress, silence was often (though not in the Franklin quote) perceived as a sign for recession; when the machines went silent, progress was stagnating.58

56

This section (as well as the previous one) has a Western/Eurocentric bias due to the accessibility/existence of documents. As it turns out, there are no substantial sources on the longer-term sound history of, most relevant to this research project, the Kwakwaka'wakw, as there was no one around to write them down for a long time; sound was there, it was part of the system, it was memorised and utilised to the extent required for its functioning, but it was not consciously included in such oral traditions as would later be recorded by researchers like Franz Boas, who even made some wax cylinder recordings in the 1930s (see section II.2: The Sound Hunters). Hence we don’t know much (if anything) of the sound history of the Northwest Coast, except that it can be expected that for the oral society of pre-contact times sound must have been of equal importance as for all oral societies (See Schafer 2009, p.32), and that the potlatch ban (including songs and noisemakers) and the language ban have caused grave injuries to the cultural identity of the peoples (See World Two). 57 Smith (2000) in Bull/Back, eds. (2003) p.139; a discussion of the term ‘savage’ follows in World Three, section 0.2: The Savage and the Civilised 58 ibid. 31

World One: Hearing Heritage.

Sound was also a means of demarcation between social class,59 gender,60 and race, which was especially apparent in the southern slave states. The slaves and their masters both had their means of putting aural pressure on one another; the masters by forcing the slaves to be silent or noisy at their command, whereas the slaves held secret religious services, masking sounds they made by inventive noise insulation techniques. And the silence of the slaves, though enforced by the masters, always also had a threat underlying, for you never knew when the ‘lurking savage’ would unexpectedly leap to cut the oppressors' throats (silently).61 As the differences between the Northern and Southern lifestyle and societal structure led to more and more alienation in ideology and to economic strife, so did diverge the claimed preferences concerning the soundscape. The urban southern soundscape became northern in respect to industrial sounds,62 which, on the one hand, was an economic necessity for the "southern slavocracy", on the other hand "the quiet retirement of plantation life" as an "invented pastoralism"63 gained high popularity among the slaveholders: We feel a sense of awe for which there is no accounting, whilst listening to and hearing only the sullen and continuous murmurings of the ocean, or the swelling mutterings of the wind among the treetops of the forest. The hum of men and city is puerile and childish to this great and solemn voicing of nature. We feel the contrast immediately, and by our own silence and awe, we seem to acknowledge ourselves in the presence of God. (William Gilmore Simms 1829, Southern Literary Gazette)64

59

ibid., p.141: "If lower orders distinguished themselves by producing noise, elites delimited their own aesthetic superiority through the consumption of sound." 60 ibid., p.140: John Greenleaf Whittier in 1850: "'quiet wives were knitting', while loud men worked" 61 ibid., p.145ff 62 ibid., p.142 63 ibid., p.143 64 ibid., p.144 32

The Sounding Museum: Four Worlds.

This reception was designed as a counterpart to the northern industrial soundscape that, with its factory bells, mills, and hammers, to the slaveholders represented the system of free wage labour,65 an "effort to promote a particular vision of social order in the face of an emerging bourgeois northern alternative", that "threatened to disrupt their organic, hierarchic society".66 For the elites in the North the quiet refuges of the countryside "were escapes (...), islands of rural serenity to be consumed for brief periods before they returned to their progressive, bustling society", whereas "for slaveholders, such islands were continents, a way of life to be preserved."67 "The northern bourgeoisie reluctantly deemed such noise [of the low class mob in the city] as necessary and entirely appropriate to a pulsating democracy,"68 in other words, din (also in its expressions in parliament) was perceived as the sound companion of democracy.69 The polemic Appeal to the Women of the United States" (1848) poses an eloquent illustration of the accusations against the South in the attempt to forward industrial society: Shall the air of our mountains and our prairies, that hitherto has borne only the songs of the wild bird, ring and echo of the pioneer's axe, and the busy hum of free labour, be burdened with the groan of the slave, the crack of the lash falling on women's back, the mother's wail as her infant is torn from her embrace, the husband's muttered curse as he sees with fettered limb the wife of his bosom made the victim of lust?70

65

ibid., p.149ff ibid., p.144 67 ibid., p.151 68 ibid., p.152 69 ibid., p.154 70 ibid., p.155 66

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The aural was exploited as a metaphor to criticize the opponent, describing "the ideological differences between North and South to augment an increasingly pronounced sectionalism."71 In the noise abatement campaigns that gained some prominence among intellectuals in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century in Europe and North America we can also identify the importance of sound to people (in this case again for social class distinction). The Austrian anthropologist Michael Haberlandt was of the opinion that "the more noise a culture could bear, the more 'barbarian' it was; in contrast, silence was 'the womb of higher intellectuality'."72 But the objection against unnecessary and disturbing noises coming from those intellectuals mainly referred to street music and other lower-strata activities, "neither Schopenhauer, Babbage, nor Haberlandt mentioned the roar of machines or motorized traffic."73 Noise was perceived as "the 'vengeance' of the labourer working with his hands against the brainworker who laid down the law to the former."74 Noise abatement initiatives as the Deutsche Lärmschutzverband (German Association for Protection from Noise; transl. Bijsterveld) founded in 1908 by the German cultural philosopher and physician Theodor Lessing reveal the elitist view of its protagonists, who distinguished themselves as being of moderate temper, requiring quiet for their intellectual work. Although Lessing despised the newly emerging mechanical noises, he saw them mainly as a nuisance for intellectual contemplation, disregarding the possible physical or mental health hazards they might pose to the labourers directly exposed to them.75 But as the industrial era came of age, another shift became felt concerning the perception of industrial sounds: High level machine noise went from 71

ibid., p.159 Michael Haberlandt (1900), pp177-178, cf. Bijsterveld in Bull/Back (2003), p.166 73 Bijsterveld in Bull/Back (2003); see also Schafer (1977b), pp.65ff, 71ff 74 Bijsterveld in Bull/Back (2003), p.167 75 ibid.; in his favour it may be assumed that he was not aware of such medical issues, which had not been elaborately investigated in his days. 72

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uncontested admiration (the Futurist movement of the early nineteenhundreds was full of enthusiasm, Luigi Russolo with his intonarumori even invented instruments to mimic traffic and factory noise76) to the judgement that noise could also be a sign of inefficiency,77 just as nowadays the classical light bulb is accused of wasting too much energy by emitting more heat than light. The most significant change during that time concerning the soundscape were indeed the sonic concomitants of industrialization that in many areas took place at a much quicker pace and deeper impact than in the slave states of antebellum North America as described above, or, as Bijsterveld puts it: The many manifestations of technology in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century drastically changed the sonic environment of Western society. The sound of factories, trains, trams, automobiles, buses, motorcycles, aircraft, telephones, radio, pneumatic drills, steam hammers, and of a thousand hooters, brakes, mufflers, and gear levers accompanied those of church bells, whips, street musicians, carpet beating, milk cans, and yelling people.78

Our soundscape is constantly changing. The discipline of acoustic ecology tries to examine the changes in the present soundscape, the influence of man in these changes, and the effects it has on people. A historiography of the changes in the soundscapes of the past may not only give an insight into what happened long ago, but also stimulate our understanding of the interrelations between the soundscape and culture of present day societies. The theory of the religious utilization of noise as well as the assumed shift from the feudalistic-agricultural soundscape to a bourgeois-industrial one in Europe, gradually as it might have happened, is a vast field of study that may hold many answers to societal changes yet not fully understood. 76 Bijsterveld in Braun, ed. (2000), p.121ff; as a side effect, at least from the angle of this section, Russolo, by transcending conservative limitations in respect to acoustic material fit for use in the context of music, became one of the great pioneers and contributors to modern musical concepts. 77 Bijsterveld in Bull/Back, eds. (2003), pp.173, 176 78 ibid., p.182

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II Captured Sound I will now turn to the changes brought about by the introduction of sound recording technology. Before the singular genius of one Thomas Alva Edison, probably the most successful bricoleur after Leonardo da Vinci in the Western World, resulted in the patent for his phonograph (see next section), a number of more or less successful attempts had been made to store sound for later playback.79 The recordings produced with the first devices of such kind were of modest quality, but their miraculous aura contested shortcomings in accuracy. Accordingly, reception was divided; while Thomas Mann was thrilled by the realism of original recordings reproduced by means of the gramophone, Hermann Hesse was disgusted by their artificiality.80 In present day audio equipment these early flaws have been largely overcome; it is now up to the consumer whether he/she is willing to give up fidelity for storage capacity or hardware size and price; the technically doable limit comes so close to reality that only the most trained ears stand a chance of detecting the difference.81 Today we can, by manipulating the original recordings, even create a larger-than-life hyper-reality, as is common in film sound and the production of popular music. No cigarette burns as loudly and with such crystal-clear resolution as when shown in a close-up in the movie theatre (in fact, it may be easier for a sound designer to create a new sound effect with completely different means than to record the burning cigarette itself), and no natural voice has as much body, spatiality, and spectral range as Madonna’s in her latest single release.

79

The “1860 phonautogram by Édouard-Léon Scott de Martinville is the oldest known intelligible recording of the human voice.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phonautograph 80 see also footnote 189 81 I will not go into the discussion about the difference between live experience and reproduction, Walter Benjamin and others have been grinding their teeth for decades; I am merely pointing out the linearity of current-day audio technology. 36

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The phonograph hauled the Chinese emperor’s magical box from legend into the real world; it would be used as a dictating machine up until the 1950’s. It also became a means of bringing the concert hall into the living room, independently from broadcasting times of the radio, that meanwhile also had come into being, following the telephone and early public address systems. But it would not be until after WWII that the potential of recording technology would be recognised as transcending mere storage and playback functions.

II.1 A Brief History of Sound Recording82 Long before the first sound recordings could be made, early efforts to preserve oral heritage were undertaken. The Brothers Grimm travelled up and down the German speaking parts of Europe and "captured in print the German oral tradition of peasant folklore".83 Thus ear witnesses of historic cultural diversity in speech come down on us in written form. In 1877 Edison invented the cylinder phonograph (patented in 1878). This was the first device capable of recording sound that could be directly displayed again as sound (earlier devices such as the phonaudiograph could only record sound events graphically by needles scribbling a waveform on paper; attempts on intelligible playback of these were not successful). Alt82 If not indicated otherwise, the information given in this section were crosschecked with Dickreiter (2001), Ballou (2005), and wikipedia.org (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Microphone, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loudspeaker, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sound_recording) 83 Kishlansky/Geary/O´Brien (2006), p.685 The brothers published their first two-volume edition of folk tales in 1812/15 (http://gutenberg.spiegel.de/autoren/grimm.htm). Back then their motivation was to establish a national identity in the still fragmented German territories, so, unfortunately for us, they smoothened the regional dialects to standardised language. Franz Boas’ collections of Kwakuitl and other NWC folk tales, however, comes to us with as little alteration of the original as possible. He would work with recordings, field notes, and texts written by his informants themselves; Boas (1935) a.o.

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hough the quality of these recordings was very poor, the cylinders quickly went into mass production and the idea of having a concerto in one's own living room at low cost and at any time desired appealed to many people, especially of the lower strata, who simply could not afford visiting the opera house on a weekly basis. The gramophone disk, that gradually replaced the heavy and bulky cylinders from its invention in 1888 onwards, furthered this development. The next important improvement came in the 1920s, when the mechanical recording process became enhanced by the introduction of electrical sound transducers. Until then, sound recording and reproduction had taken place on a purely mechanical basis. This had resulted in a preference for high-amplitude, percussive sound events, because the insensitive transduction mechanism of the microphones in use was incapable of capturing lowlevel sound or smooth dynamic changes. Hence mostly brass and marching band music was recorded during that time. Violinists took to exaggerating their originally moderately used vibrato technique in order to be heard on recordings, because the vibrato with its frequency and volume changes augmented the reception by the membrane.84 Eventually, electrical amplification in microphones enabled the sound recording engineers to capture a widened dynamic and frequency range, and on the other end of the chain the electrically amplified loudspeakers ensured acceptable sound levels when playing the records. A growing group of people now could listen to qualitatively significantly improved sound recordings. The refinement process was pushed even further when after WWII British engineers developed full frequency range recording (FFRR) on magnetic tape. Experiments with magnetised materials had been made with variable success in earlier times to replace the acetate disk recording technique that was expensive, difficult to operate, and impossible to edit after the recording was made.

84

Katz in Braun, ed. (2000), p.185ff

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All this, starting in the 1950´s and growing to maturity in the 1970´s, brought about the high fidelity age of sound recording. Finally, sound could be recorded, copied and reproduced across the full spectrum of the human hearing range.85 Binaural recordings (of which stereo sound is sort of the little two-dimensional brother) could fully serve the spatial capability of human hearing in all three dimensions. Today the digital surround sound home systems to be found in millions of households in Europe, at least theoretically leave almost no qualitative gap between the live experience of a sound event (such as a musical performance) and the reproduced event at home. The sound engineer in his studio can nowadays do all the things Bacon could only dream of. In fact, Bacon has long been rendered pusillanimous a visionary in the light of what modern audio technology can do. Especially the digital revolution that has altered the way we deal with recording, storing and copying sound will be of special interest later in this book, when I come to talk about the field recording devices that have been used for the on-location work in Alert Bay.

II.2 The Sound Hunters86 and the World Soundscape Project At this point I’d like to take a little rebound in time to introduce the sound hunters, since their activities could become a major supplier for sonic heritage preservation enterprises. Sound hunting used to be a moderately popular leisure activity in the times before the introduction of the video camera. Back then, mainly between the fifties and seventies of last century, when 85

The human ear can perceive ten octaves ranging from 20Hz to 20kHz (in comparison to the visual spectrum, which only ranges over one octave) over a dynamic range of 120dB. In the 1930´s the maximum ranges to be displayed would not exceed 100Hz to 4.5kHz and 30dB. Braun (2000), p.161 The frequency problem was solved with the FFRR technique. However, not before the introduction of the digitally recorded compact disk (CD) could the requirements concerning the dynamic range be met. 86 Data on the history of sound hunting taken from Bijsterveld (2004), pp.614-31 39

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portable tape recorders were developed and became affordable (I'm not talking about compact cassette players, they are a witness of a later era), it was, bluntly put, for an assorted group of nerds, a fashionable hobby to record not only their babies crying in the cradle, but to go out (into the “field”) on a hunt for interesting sounds. This was a very satisfying but nonviolent occupation, since the thrill of the chase was tended for, also the praise for a good catch among the like-minded could be expected, along with a feeling of exclusiveness, only the kill was omitted. It was a mainly male-populated field, accordingly. The sound hunters were a small group of people, in part organized in sound hunting associations such as the “Nederlandse Vereniging van Geluidsjagers (NVG), the Chasseurs de Son Belges, the Deutsche TonjägerVerband, the Dansk Magnettone Klub or the Federation of British Tape Recording Clubs“ with international competitions, 87 journals,88 annual conventions and other (semi-) public appearances. Back then, the sound hunters were mostly interested in blockbuster sounds such as mighty machines, heavy traffic or likewise crash-boombang, so not too much output in terms of complex, heritage-relevant soundscape recordings can be expected to be found in their archives (of course these sounds of industry serve as documentation of a certain historic era nevertheless). In a way, they were descendants in mind of the short-lived Futurist movement that tried to replace the back-to-nature-and-the-goodold-medieval-times oriented Romanticism with enthusiastic praise of technology and speed.89 The sound hunters used their expensive tapes over and over again until they broke, so little of their material has had the chance to survive. Even those tapes that still do exist must be expected to be of very poor quality 87

Bijsterveld (2004), p.614 ibid., p.619 89 The same technology ended the movement quickly after the publishing of their first manifestos in 1909/10 in the guise of WWI; cp. http://www.unknown.nu /futurism/; http://www.futurism.org.uk/futurism.htm.; Braun, ed. (2000), pp.97ff, 106ff, 121ff. 88

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due to magnetic erosion that inevitably will have taken its toll over the decades passed.90 But as introduced in the last section, things have changed a lot since then. We are living in the digital age; we have cheap, pocket-sized easy-touse equipment at our disposal to record whatever and where-ever we want; an mp3-player equipped with a microphone would already do the trick (and probably generate results of higher quality as compared to the tape recordings of old, even ignoring the deterioration over time). Today we possess seemingly unlimited storage capacity that, thanks to the miniaturisation of computer components, doesn't even require much space. Another advantage is the lossless reproduction capability of digital copying, a feature the magnetic tape was lacking, but which is most needed for long time storage, preservation and distribution. The standardisation of sample rates, bit depth, and formats, and the compatibility of hardware and software components have also reached a stage analogue equipment never really got to91. It has to be noted, though, that, with the development of new hardware setups, data may be lost due to the lack compatibility nevertheless; for instance, it will not be easy to retrieve data stored on an old 5¼’’ floppy disk or punched cards with contemporary home-use equipment, and that the magnetic hard drive will be with us forever should also not be taken for granted. So frequent copying of data archives onto the newest storage media needs to be maintained in order to ensure long-term preservation. Ever since recording technology was available, there also were those who hunted sounds for ethnographical reasons, not unlike the Brothers Grimm had collected the folk tales of German speaking Europe. Franz Boas, the 90

I recently digitised and denoised a number of tapes dating from the mid-1980’s to the mid-1990’s. They had been stored in a reasonably dry place, but even their quality was terrible. 91 It took decades to find the agreement on revolving speed, manufacturing processes, hardware and so on. Braun (2000), p.160ff; by the time the CD began to replace the vinyl record and the compact cassette, the standardisation was still far from satisfactory. 41

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éminence gris of Northwest Coast ethnography (and the American school of Anthropology in general)92 took a last journey to the Kwakwaka'wakw in 1930 with a camera and a wax cylinder sound recording machine to “gain those bits of information he felt were missing from his knowledge of the culture“.93 In Amazonia Theodor Koch-Grünberg94 did the same in the 1910’s with the Pemón. Alan Lomax contributed a vast collection of interviews and folk song recordings from all over the world (mostly from the southern United States) to the Library of Congress from the 1930’s onwards.95 Edward Curtis, the (in)famous portrayer of North American indigenous peoples, also made over 10,000 wax cylinder recordings of language and music in the early 20th century. 96 As can be read from the examples above, most of these recordings, from the early pioneers up until today, however, are focussed on language preservation, oral heritage and music,97 with few exceptions, one of which being the work of Steven Feld. When Feld started visiting the Bosavi region of Papua New-Guinea in the 1970’s, he not only recorded Kaluli language and song, but also the birds and other sounds of the cultural and natural soundscape the Kaluli people live(d) in, as can be heard on his CD “Songs of the Rain Forest” and many others.98 „Two Weeks in Alert Bay“ finds itself in this tradition. A very special brand of sound hunters were R. Murray Schafer and his associates, who adapted the techniques of sound hunting and sound archiving to their ideas about the sonic environment (“soundscape”), resulting in the first serious approaches to establish the field of acoustic ecology, a cross-breed of classical ecology with an environmentalist approach, focus92

More about Boas in World Three http://astro.temple.edu/~ruby/ruby/boas.html 94 Theodor Koch-Grünberg (1872-1924) was a German Anthropologist and field researcher. 95 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alan_lomax 96 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_S._Curtis 97 see also the passages on UNESCO and ICH at the end of this chapter 98 Feld (1991); also Feld (1981, 1985, 2001a, 2001b) 93

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sing on aural aspects of ecosystems, and related fields, such as perceptual psychology, architecture, hearing education, music theory, and many others. On his website Barry Truax summarises the work and aims of the World Soundscape Project that these first soundscapers put into force: The World Soundscape Project (WSP) was established as an educational and research group by R. Murray Schafer at Simon Fraser University during the late 1960s and early 1970s. It grew out of Schafer's initial attempt to draw attention to the sonic environment through a course in noise pollution, as well as from his personal distaste for the more raucous aspects of Vancouver's rapidly changing soundscape. This work resulted in two small educational booklets, The New Soundscape and The Book of Noise, plus a compendium of Canadian noise bylaws. However, the negative approach that noise pollution inevitably fosters suggested that a more positive approach had to be found, the first attempt being an extended essay by Schafer (in 1973) called ‘The Music of the Environment’, in which he describes examples of acoustic design, good and bad, drawing largely on examples from literature.99

In a way, Schafer (as many environmentalists) turned back to the romanticist perception of nature, only now it was not merely due to disconcertment caused by the quickened pace of industrial progress but also caused by realising the dangers of ruthless exploitation of natural resources to longterm overall health and wellbeing of people. He and his colleagues and followers (Barry Truax, Hildegard Westerkamp, Albert Mayr, and many others down the road) along with philosopher Gernot Böhme and others proclaim nature's sounds (and the soundscape in general, including its man-made aspects) to be as much a musical composition in its own right as a work deliberately put together in a written score. The individual elements of the soundscape and their relationships, if only to the classifying mind of the beholder, feature the same basic structural and aesthetic rules as does music devised by humans. And, following Marcel Duchamp, as long as you find someone to accept your claim, pointing at

99

http://www.sfu.ca/~truax/wsp.html 43

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something and naming it art will make it such, if you yourself are accepted as being an artist.100 Taking it a bit further, if much of what we are is the result of the mindless first (the gene) and second (the meme) replicators,101 a composer does not need a mind to create a composition. This composition, Schafer et al. argue, must adhere to a certain set of rules to constitute an atmospherically satisfying result. These rules have to be examined and to be considered when new soundscapes are created or existing soundscapes are subject to extinction or alteration. The ideas of the WSP have been taken over by the World Forum for Acoustic Ecology (WFAE), which was founded in 1993 as an "international association of affiliated organizations and individuals, who share a common concern with the state of the world's soundscapes."102 Their goals are to improve people’s sonological competence, to research and study as well as "publishing and distributing on all aspects of the soundscape,"103 and protecting and preserving as well as designing and creating "healthy and acoustically balanced sonic environments"104. With the Sounding Museum I follow that approach, for dealing with a foreign culture should imply always also a reflection of your own, and working with sound should stimulate a return to the equilibrium of the senses, a perceptive holism, which is so desperately needed if we are to develop a culture of consciousness, tolerance and mutual understanding. Numerous groups, institutes and websites today are busy with collecting and archiving field recordings and working with them with different approaches and on varying levels of quality control. All recordings made by the WSP have been digitised and are available at Simon Fraser University. The Acoustic Ecology Institute in Santa Fe and the Western Soundscape Archive of the University of Utah practice sound hunting on a professional 100

Duchamp’s ready-mades, such as his famous turned-upside-down urinal were found objects that became artworks by context, e.g. by being placed in a gallery. 101 Blackmore (1999), p.4f; see also Dawkins (1976), pp.189-201 102 http://interact.uoregon.edu/MediaLit/WFAE/home/index.html 103 ibid. 104 ibid. 44

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level. On freesound.org you can browse through an impossible number of sounds of varying level of content and recording/format quality. These examples are just the tip of the iceberg, and it seems impossible to coordinate a large scale collaboration in order to systematise the materials, as Truax said, “we’re glad to have managed getting our own archive into shape.”105 Nevertheless there is founded hope that much of today’s soundscape will be saved for future historians.

II.3 Field Recording in Music Next to (or even before) the sound hunters and environmentalists, the art world had discovered the opportunities of the new technology. Pierre Schaeffer would start in 1948 to experiment with tape recordings for compositional purposes, resulting in his theoretical and practical works on musique concrète and the object sonore. He deliberately detached the field recorded sound objects he used for his musical activities from their respective sources. In soundscape composition, and this is the qualitative distinction between the genres of musique concrète and soundscape composition (if listened to, it is not always easy to decide, and even their makers can be somewhat indifferent in their denominations), at least in their purest forms, the reference to the source is the defining factor. 106 The distinction between musique concrète and soundscape composition already reveals one removal from the purely artistic approach to sound, especially the sounds of the real world. The next level of removal, however, is even more important when it comes to the field of acoustic ecology, which the following paragraphs shall be dedicated to.

105 106

personal conversation January 2011 (much) more on soundscape composition in World Two 45

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III Studying the Soundscape Next to the advent of sound recording and playback technology and the historic “view” on sound summarised in the previous sections, sound has been “looked” at for quite some time now from the non-artistic angle (although it would often be difficult to really fully keep up the separation): Scientists from Pythagoras to Helmholtz and Fourier, from Winckelmann to von Békésy and Zwicker have been investigating sound propagation, acoustics, the anatomy and function of the ear, sound perception and processing in the human brain, frequency analysis and many other objectives related to what I will now set up as the basis for the project documented in this book. In this section the soundscape approach shall be introduced. The impact of the sonic environment on people's lives proclaimed in previous sections in numerous examples shall be backed up by theory, and, by introducing a multi-sensual107 approach on aesthetics, perception and atmosphere, be made the main argument to the claim of this thesis, that the implementation of multi-sensual concepts would enhance museum experience on the empathic as well as on the intellectual level, thereby improving our means of transcultural communication. The basic idea behind soundscape studies was that of looking at acoustic phenomena from an ecological point of view, forming the multi-disciplinary field of research that Schafer calls acoustic ecology:108 ACOUSTIC ECOLOGY: Ecology is the study of the relationship between living organisms and their environment. Acoustic Ecology is thus the study of the effects of the acoustic environment or SOUNDSCAPE on the physical responses or behavioural characteristics of creatures living within it. (…)109

107 not to be confused with multimedia applications which in themselves can often be confusing enough... 108 All boxed insertions in this section are definitions of basic soundscape terminology taken from Schafer’s original Glossary of Soundscape Terms in The Tuning of the World (pp.271-275) 109 Schafer (1977b), p.271

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Schafer’s main concern herein is the above mentioned sonological competence SONOLOGICAL COMPETENCE: The implicit knowledge which permits the comprehension of sound formations. Sonological competence unites impression with cognition and makes it possible to formulate and express sonic perceptions. (...)110

that he wants to raise by ear cleaning and reflecting on the acoustic environment, resulting in clairaudience. CLAIRAUDIENCE: Literally, clear hearing. The way I use the term there is nothing mystical about it; it simply refers to exceptional hearing ability, particularly with regard to environmental sound. Hearing ability may be trained to the clairaudient state by means of EAR CLEANING exercises.111

Generally, since from another angle, semiotics is as relevant to soundscape studies as is ecology, one could speak of a systems-theoretical approach when analysing the interrelations found in the acoustic environment.

III.1 Basic Features Behold the new orchestra: the sonic universe! And the new musicians: Anyone and anything that sounds! (…) The Universe is your orchestra. Let nothing less be the territory of your studies. R.M. Schafer, The New Soundscape (1968)112

I have made extensive use of the terminology of acoustic ecology, or soundscape studies, so far without offering much of a definition. Here now the 110

ibid., p.274 ibid., p.272; for a practical example of clairaudience training, see workshop evaluation in World Four 112 Schafer (1986), pp.95, 158 111

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terms and distinctions will be systematically introduced. Schafer’s 1977 glossary entry in the “Tuning of the World” offers this definition for his neologism: SOUNDSCAPE: The sonic environment. Technically, any portion of the sonic environment regarded as a field for study. The term may refer to actual environments, or abstract constructions such as musical compositions and tape montages, particularly when considered as an environment.113

In the Handbook for Acoustic Ecology Truax defines the soundscape as follows: An environment of Sound (or sonic environment) with emphasis on the way it is perceived and understood by the individual, or by a society. It thus depends on the relationship between the individual and any such environment. The term may refer to actual environments, or to abstract constructions such as musical compositions and tape montages, particularly when considered as an artificial environment.114

The soundscape is thus generally to be understood as the totality of sounds present in a specified geographic area and time period,115 not unlike the (visual, i.e. for example in referring to landscape painting) landscape would be the totality of all visual elements that can be seen, with the difference that such a landscape usually is associated with an outdoor, rural or natural environment, whereas the soundscape incorporates city blocks, bedrooms,

113

Schafer (1977b), p.274f Truax (1978/1999); http://www.sfu.ca/sonic-studio/handbook/Soundscape.html 115 In musical language, other definitions may be possible; musicians frequently refer to the soundscape as something less than the totality of sounds, often excluding instrumental elements, or may not refer to field recordings, but to background synthesizer pads, or sound installations within an environment, that in turn is then excluded from the definition (not unlike the Sound Chamber, where external sounds are not regarded as part of the cultural soundscapes presented to the audience, whereas according to the definition given above, they would be). 114

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and radio studios as well.116 The focus on analysis and the transfer to the more abstract idea of a virtual or mental environment as also suggested by Schafer and Truax come in as additional considerations within this basic definition. Also, as Truax points out, the individual aspect in a soundscape’s perception must not be ignored: “There are as many soundscapes of a particular environment as there are people in it to hear it.”117 In this book the emphasis lies on cultural sound and its technical reproduction and presentation in a museum environment. The individual features of each soundscape are its background sounds and its signal sounds (sound signs) that often correspond with soundmarks and keynote sounds. A distinction can be made between natural and artificial soundscapes,118 as well as between hifi and lofi environments, that influence the acoustic space and the acoustic horizon, and figure-ground relationships within the soundscape. It is also of importance to investigate rhythms and cycles that can be found in an acoustic environment or system, those that are long-term and system-immanent, as well as the microscopic ones that may appear within singular sound events. Everything in our environment that is sound, be it of natural origin like bird's song, the whistling of leaves, or a thunderstorm – the natural soundscape, or be it man-made like talk, music, or the sound of machines – the

116 Many objections have been brought fourth against this analogism (Ingold in Carlyle, ed, 2007, p.10, Truax, guest lecture at Maastricht University May 2013), but I would argue that for the “common people” this is of no relevance; quite the opposite: my experience shows that they understand exactly what I mean if I work with the comparison, whereas people would loose it if I started lexico-philosophical excurses. 117 Truax, referring to the intermediary results from the ISO Working Group 54, which is currently developing a standardised definition of the term; guest lecture at Maastricht University May 2013 118 The natural and the artificial soundscape have been introduced by Schafer; Schafer (1977b), pp.15ff, 71ff; for my purposes I will later add two further differentiations: The human soundscape and the cultural soundscape (see on the structure of “Two Weeks” in World Two, section i) The Composition).

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artificial soundscape, belongs to our personal soundscape the moment we perceive it either consciously or unconsciously. Every place and every time features its specific soundscape. If we take individual differences in physical perception and processing as well as personal mental factors into account, we find, with Truax, that every individual lives in his/her very own unique personal soundscape. A downtown main road sounds differently at daytime and at night, but also differently on a Monday night compared to a Saturday night,119 and it also sounded different a hundred years or ten minutes ago. In the wake of industrialisation a shift could be noted in the dominance of the artificial soundscape over the natural in our everyday experience. A soundscape is also perceived differently (and thereby creating a different sound experience) depending on whether the listener embraces it or feels disturbed by it, which may be influenced by many personal factors. In this text it is unnecessary to pay reference to vibrations below or above the auditory spectrum processed by the human ear.120 However, attention should be paid to cycles and rhythms that are relevant to structuring or atmospheric attributes of a given soundscape. I will also omit the effects of modern communication technology that nowadays allow the schizophonic121 distribution of sounds around the whole globe to form communities 119

And if I want to go to sleep I will have a different notion of the sounds of the nightly city than if I plan to go out partying; see also IV: Aisthetic Atmospheres. 120 Albert Mayr suggests that all vibratory cycles from the macrocosmic events up to the life cycle of the universe down to the microcosmic vibrations hypothesised on in quantum physics bear relevance to us to high extent; see Mayr in Giametta/Michi, eds. (2013), pp.97-101. These to my view rather metaphysical considerations are, however, not directly affecting the middle ground of cultural sound production and reception that this text wants to investigate. 121 Broadly speaking, the term schizophonia (which was also coined by Schafer) deals with various acoustic phenomena connected with technical reproduction or displacement where the sound is detached from its source in space and/or time. It also addresses defensive strategies against external noise sources that in turn utilize sound generating devices (such as stereo sets, radio, or television receivers) to mask the intruding sound instead of working on strategies how to eliminate the original 50

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and cultural units transgressing geographic boundaries. Although the installation of a soundscape production in a museum thousands of miles away from the field recording locations makes use of exactly that same toolkit, the point of origin is not blurred in the sense implied above. It would no doubt be a fascinating subject of research to look into these matters, and the facebook activities of young Kwakwaka'wakw suggest that there is great relevance to globalisation and networking issues in the field of contemporary indigenous cultural research, but it would be far beyond this book’s scope and goals to include them. It will be the task of a cross-disciplinary media-sociological and anthropological study to investigate this theme complex. I am concerned with the above-mentioned basic and individual features of soundscapes, as they form the basis of the decisions that have been made during field recording and mixing, first and foremost those affecting its mentioned spatial and temporal uniqueness. In general, a number of different elements can be named that comprise the soundscape. Let me begin with those sounds that form the background in any acoustic environment, which have been fittingly named background sounds. They tend to merge into a sort of blurry low-level sound carpet (in contemporary popular instrument-based music such effects are frequently realised with synthesizer pads or other ambience-creating tools), and as long as one doesn’t deliberately focus on them,122 they are not easily detected, let alone separable from one another. They have a tendency of being overheard, especially by those familiar with them. A resident of an area with a lot of air traffic will not consciously notice every single plane flying over his head (which does not mean that it looses its hazardous impact on physical and

source of the annoyance; see also Schafer (1977b), p88, p.90f. I will return to the concept and its implications for cultural soundscape composition in more detail in Between the Worlds and World Three. 122 see section III.4: Listening Types 51

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psychic health)123, whereas her guest from a more remote area with no airport in range will take some time to adjust to the situation, producing conscious annoyance patterns in the meantime. In audio technology they find, in their purest form, their pendant in the so-called noisefloor124, the component noise of the signal chain that is not part of the desired signal, but nevertheless, once thus added, belongs to the sound event. Picture an old record player with failing E-capacitors, using the internal speaker (porous membrane and all) and compare it to the latest high-priced Blu-Ray Player, attached to one of the really big and expensive surround sound systems with an A-class device taking care of the amplification. Listen to the same recording twice, first from an old, scratchy vinyl (or shellac!) record, and then from a virgin blu-ray. If you now compare the fuzzy record with all its crackles, the hum of the capacitors, the hiss of the speaker, and the noise of the cheap resistors with the sharp, crystal-clear, fullrange125 sound of the digital counterpart, you will understand the impact of the noisefloor on the audibility of the useful/desired signal, which in acoustic ecology may determine the quality of a soundscape.126 There we can find numerous analogies to this phenomenon outside the realm of audio technology. On a windless night in the desert, the background components of the soundscape can be expected to be rather low, whereas on the junction of two main roads in Berlin or Beijing during rush hour the opposite will be the case.

123

see Schoer (2004), p.31f on noise pollution as stressor http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noise_floor 125 This, of course, is not a problem occurring in the context of the soundscape heard directly without recording and playback technology in between the source and the human ear, as here the limits of frequency range always are congruent with the approx. 20Hz to 20kHz (or, as age and noise exposure take their toll, somewhat less on the upper end) that the hearing apparatus is capable of processing. 126 There you also have the difference between hifi and lofi at its best; see p.51f; see also the audio example “noisefloor” on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI NONAM, “Slideshow EthnoEar” 124

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Where the noisefloor discussed above offers little information in terms of stimulus-response schemes, the so-called signal sounds that accompany individual events supply us with relevant data for direct action. SOUND SIGNAL: Any sound to which attention is particularly directed. In soundscape studies sound signals are contrasted by KEYNOTE SOUNDS, in much the same way as figure and ground are contrasted in visual perception.127

Signal sounds are those that stand out against the background noise. They carry information that tells about discrete events to be identified against the continuous routine. In the ceaseless stream of cars, creating random static with stress on lower frequencies, you suddenly hear one car engine distinctly above the average level, along with screeching tires and a bellowing horn, all of the sounds rising in volume over a very short period of time. Here we have a triplet of sound signals in the purest sense of the word. It is a warning signal, that tells you that, amidst all the other cars, which are equally distant from you physically as they are from your consciousness (not bearing relevance to your current activities), one car is approaching you very quickly, and you should make haste to get out of its way. The same distinction can be made for many sounds and sound events in less dramatic situations as well. Someone’s voice talking to you is a signal against the background of an agitated crowd in the pub, the omnipresent sharp wind of the arctic tundra and ice plains forms the background for an approaching skidoo (motor sledge), and so are the speeches held in Kwak'wala at Bobby Duncan’s potlatch in Campbell River against the background of the crackling fire and the murmuring of the 800 or so guests present to witness the event.128 The examples listed here also illustrate some difficulties in respect to definition: The same car engine that would have been part of the noisefloor can turn 127

Schafer (1977b), p.275; a distinction between background and keynote sound is not established by Schafer. In the context of field recording it becomes particularly important, however (for that distinction, and the definition of keynote, see following pages). 128 See World Three, Fourth Movement 53

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into a signal in an instant, and if I, as the recordist (and incapable of understanding Kwak'wala), chose to focus on the fire instead of the speech, their roles as signal and background can easily be reversed to my notion, though not necessarily to others present, or later listeners of my composition. The moment signal sounds communicate with each other, forming a system within which the distinct sounds gain meaning through their relation with the other elements of the system, they may well be understood as sound signs in the Saussurean sense. Just that, for instance, rain, for anyone who ever got caught in it, is a sign that doesn’t require any set of conventions to be accepted as the source for getting wet. For language, on the other hand, which also is a part of the soundscape, this would be quite different.129

III.2 Figure and Ground In a figure-ground relationship comparable to the models developed in Gestalt theory, the noisefloor or ambient noise (level) forms the background to the signal sounds, or, speaking in semiotic terms, sound signs. These stand out from the background, are clearly audible and distinguishable, and convey information relevant to the receiver. Depending on the signal-tonoise ratio (SNR) we can speak of a hifi and a lofi type of soundscape, the lower the fidelity of the system (another analogy to audio technology), the higher the risk of relevant elements being masked by the ambient noise. Hence a lofi soundscape, in the environmentalist approach of early soundscape theorists often associated with industrialisation, features a poor SNR, which also critically affects the acoustic space ACOUSTIC SPACE: The profile of a sound over a landscape. The acoustic space of any sound is that area over which it may be heard before it drops below the ambient sound level.130

129 130

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See section III.5; Acoustic Communication: the continuum Schafer (1977b), p.271

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within which one can operate: the poorer the SNR, the shorter the distance a sound can be heard over, also affecting the directivity and spatiality of the soundscape, which gets lost in the din of a high ambient noise environment. With a shrinking acoustic horizon, an acoustic environment moves towards its lofi end; the farther away sounds we can hear (in relation to their absolute volume), the more we are dealing with a hifi soundscape. LO-FI: Abbreviation for low fidelity, that is, an unfavourable signal-to-noise ratio. Applied to soundscape studies a lo-fi environment is one in which signals are overcrowded, resulting in masking or lack of clarity. Hi-Fi: Abbreviation for high fidelity, that is, a favourable signal to noise ratio. The most general use of the term is in electroacoustics. Applied to soundscape studies a hi-fi environment is one in which sounds may be heard clearly without crowding or masking. 131

A lone cry of a bird in the desert from above that can be heard from miles away while no other sounds disturb the lonely traveller would be an example of the latter, a noisy street (remember Berlin and Beijing!) that makes it impossible to even hear one’s own footsteps on the sidewalk, of the first. Then the acoustic horizon shrinks to a circumference smaller than one’s body. This does also affect the unique qualities of a given soundscape. If we are no longer able to distinguish sounds from one another, if we cannot detect which direction a sound comes from, we become locked up in an impenetrable cocoon that makes communication with our surroundings, the prerequisite for interaction, very difficult. Apart from the rather general division of its elements into back- middleand foreground sounds, Schafer introduces the concept of the soundmark and the keynote sound. These two are the aspects of the soundscape that make its investigation worthy for cultural research.

131

both ibid., p.272 55

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III.3 The Distinct Soundscape Background sounds, which are characteristically continuous sounds that can be heard more or less all the time, do not exclusively act as a nuisance interfering with relevant signal sounds. To someone familiar with them, they can disclose data about his or her current whereabouts and also about the time of day or about the current season. In that case they may turn into keynote sounds. To make matters more complicated, background as well as signal sounds can both act as keynote sounds or soundmarks, respectively, for which the wind over the icy planes and the skidoo from two pages earlier shall again serve as examples, as they both are special to the Arctic cultural area, not heard elsewhere in the world in this particular constellation and coloration. In this manner keynotes and soundmarks, the latter being individual sounds identified with a particular area or venue, constitute the uniqueness of each soundscape. The main difference between the neutral signal/foreground and background sounds and the soundmark and keynote is the former two’s lack of individual identity, whereas the latter two are enriched with meaning that for the recipient acts as a means of identification and orientation beyond situational action guidelines. KEYNOTE SOUND: In music, keynote identifies the key or tonality of a particular composition. It provides a fundamental tone around which the composition may modulate but from which other tonalities take on a special relationship. In soundscape studies, keynote sounds are those which are heard by a particular society continuously or frequently enough to form a background against which other sounds are perceived. Examples may be the sea for a maritime community or the sound of the internal combustion engine in the modern city. Often keynote sounds are not consciously perceived, but they act as conditioning agents in the perception of other sound signals. They have accordingly been likened to the ground in figure-ground grouping of visual perception.

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SOUNDMARK: The term is derived from landmark to refer to a community sound which is unique or possesses qualities which make it specially regarded or noticed by the people in that community.132

The keynote, like in music, determines the basic tuning of a soundscape. That does not necessarily indicate that it is perceived consciously, but not unlike the drone of baroque organ compositions, it is constantly there.133 When in the Arctic (we shall stay in this area for a little longer, as it was the first of the cultural areas presented at the Sound Chamber134), there will come the point when you do not notice the wind anymore, nevertheless it is still there and sets the mood for everything else that happens. The skidoo rushes by, a rather new soundmark in these parts, then follows a man in snowshoes. From the sound these make on the snow, the trained ear can make assumptions on the temperature or the time of the year. If close to a village, dogs may be heard; it depends on their prominence and individual prerequisites if they will function as a soundmark or a keynote in a particular situation. Certainly a soundmark will be the church bell that strikes every hour, because no bell sounds like another, as we have learned from Corbin in the section on sound history. Anyone who has ever been to London will recall the characteristic sound and melody of the Big Ben against the sounds of the streets. Even if you have never actually been there, you will recognise it when you hear it in a radio drama or in a movie, immediately knowing that the following scene is set in London. Animal species (especially birds and insects, like cicadas) that are genuine to a given geographic area, at least in composition, sounds of water, machinery, language, of course, all these and 132

both ibid., pp.272&274; I disagree to the limitation of the soundmark as a reference to community (that’s a sociological or ethnographical angle, without any ecological reference; then again, whose soundmark is it – and who is affected by it – if not a community). Is the voice of an individual a personal soundmark? What about the difference in coloration when I hear myself in a recording? How do others perceive my identity in comparison to myself? 133 As with many definitions in acoustic ecology, it not possible to take this as an absolute; see next page and the excerpts from Schafer’s glossary. 134 The Arctic Soundscape can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI Arctic or NONAM 57

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countless other sounds create a uniqueness that cannot be found elsewhere or at other times. It needs to be stated that neither soundmarks nor keynotes are determined by natural law. They, as so many other aspects of the soundscape, only gain their relevance by ascription. To someone unfamiliar with the Big Ben’s melody and no association with Christianity, its bells may even be less than a signal. A projector’s hum in a classroom certainly is a weaker keynote than the cicadas at night in the Peruvian lowlands. But even their moodgenerating power depends on someone being empathic to it, otherwise they will be nothing but noisefloor. The relation between this noisefloor and the sounds that can thrive on it (the “melody” forming around the “piece’s” “key”), its possible relevance for systematic ecology notwithstanding, is created by the listener. If a tree falls at the seaside, the waves will not influence how it crushes to the ground; if it falls where no one hears it, does it make a sound at all? According to Schafer, the influence of the soundscape a culture exists in may go as far as to shape the music it creates.135 A substantial study on the soundscape’s impact on the evolution of cultures in general is still due, but, as noted before, interrelations can be assumed. Schafer goes on, stating that we are “to regard the soundscape of the world as a huge musical composition, unfolding around us ceaselessly. We are simultaneously its audience, its performers and its composers. Which sounds do we want to preserve, encourage, multiply?”136 If “Composers are the architects of sound”137, it is the soundscaper’s obligation to detect and classify these sounds, the background sounds and sound signals in general, and the keynotes and soundmarks in particular, also sound symbols, of the culture, natural environment, or other scenario that he

135

Schafer (1977b), p.44 ibid., p.205 137 ibid., p.206 136

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wishes to document, and to make proper recordings of these in order to create an “authentic” and presentable depiction of its soundscape.138 This must also include another aspect, the peculiarities of which in many cases are more difficult to detect and to reflect upon in an abbreviated form: the aforementioned rhythms and cycles that allegedly form the structural basis of each soundscape on the microscopic as well as on the macroscopic level. In the Arctic composition made for the NONAM by Richard Schuckmann and Harald Brandt, the composers have tried to keep the chronology of the seasons as the macro-cyclic basis of the piece, in which they seem to have succeeded, according to the recordist most of the audio material came from, Philippe le Goff, who commented: “The year is round”.139 A cultural soundscape composition must integrate archetypal, identityforming sound objects with the everyday. Which is, as will be elaborately dealt with in World Two, exactly what I have tried to achieve with “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”. One challenge in identifying such objects should become obvious by returning to the definition ambiguity of the keynote in Truax’ words: The reason for any Sound being termed “keynote” is not because of any characteristic that it has itself, but rather because of the way in which it is habitually perceived. Thus, a keynote sound may be part of the ambience, that is, at a low, constant level, such as an electrical hum or distant traffic; but it may also be a sound signal, that is, as sound that stands out in an environment and is clearly distinguishable from the ambient noise.140

138

Schafer’s bottom line, that the soundscaper should not only document found soundscapes, but also creatively seek to improve it, need not bother us in the context of this book. However, from the environmentalist’s point of view this is a relevant approach, which, following Schafer, should exceed mere noise abatement measures. Schafer (1977b), part four: Towards Acoustic Design; p.205ff 139 See also World Two: Exposition; on time compression 140 Truax (2001), p.25 59

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Hence, it is not expedient to come up with a final distinction between background sounds and signal sounds, or keynotes and soundmarks, respectively, although, generally speaking, accepting the tendency of rising volume levels and a shift from continuous to finite sound events from the background towards the signal sounds, the phenomenon can be roughly translated into musical language: Then the background would be at the piano end of the dynamic spectrum, whereas the signal can be expected to posses the character of forte elements, as well as short notes or phrases, with drones and keys corresponding with the background. But there exists always also a middle ground of such sounds that can, depending on the listener’s attention, move from one realm into the other (basically, all sounds can, with very few exceptions: fingernails on the blackboard will presumably never fade into the background). Moving sound sources can change character depending on their distance to the listener, like a siren that, as it approaches, rises above the background traffic volume level and turns into an alarm signal. Hence a sound is perceived as a signal or as part of the indistinct background, or as a keynote, depending on the meaning it has to the individual listener. It also depends on the listening type employed by the listener in a particular situation. And of course the same sound may fall into different categories depending on the listening situation, or on who is listening, and it even may switch from one category into another if the personal situation of the listener changes or his attention is drawn to or away from a particular sound event. So trying to get a fix on clear assignations of these theoretical classes in practice can often be a cause for debate. For instance, the point at which a keynote turns into ‘neutral’ background noise that merely masks without a constructive part in atmosphere creation, or if there are only stronger and weaker keynotes, or such that are temporal and others that are continuous, is impossible to finally determine. However, it is important to identify a sound’s function within a given communicational system. In this, the Big Ben will forever be a soundmark of London, as will the wind be a keynote in Nunavut. 60

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III.4 Listening Types Barry Truax defines three major listening types or strategies, representing varying levels of attentiveness and information processing: Listening in search, listening in readiness, and background listening,141 with decreasing attention towards the soundscape on the side of the listener. While listening in search, one deliberately concentrates on the sounds of one’s surrounding; the recipient is at the highest level of attention, scanning for a specific sound that he is expecting to occur and that he wishes to draw advice from concerning concrete action from his side. Listening in readiness is somewhat more relaxed in character, describing a non-purposefully opened information channel that allows for reaction towards upcoming events at any time if required, as one is ready to notice sound events relevant to oneself, but not explicitly expecting particular events. In background listening, the concentration on the soundscape is least strong, merely serving to halfconsciously record sound events or continua that are not of significance concerning the listeners’ plans of action. However, if something suddenly catches one’s attention – and the ears never shut down – the indifference to the acoustic environment can change into a state of highest alertness instantly. Hence different types of listening can seamlessly blend into each other if a change in the soundscape and thus a change in the action-relevant environment calls for it. As said before, with many elements of the soundscape this ambivalence holds true; whether a sound is perceived as figure or ground, as a sign/signal or part of the noisefloor, or even not noticed at all, lies pretty much in the ear of the beholder, and his control over this usually is strongly attached to unconscious processes. In any case listening is a process of pattern detection; either known patterns are recognised or unfamiliar patterns analysed if they catch our attention.142

141 142

ibid., pp.21ff, 24ff ibid., p.19 61

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Accordingly, you can listen to my “Two Weeks” composition in (at least) three ways: As a depiction of contemporary Kwakwaka'wakw culture (listening in search), as a musical composition (listening in readiness), or as a meditative journey (background listening). These correspondences are, as are the three listening types, always a little blurred, of course, and they can always fade or blend into each other. They are, however, the basic modes of attending to a soundscape, and I take the liberty of using the analogy in the explanation of compositional decisions as well as the purposes of the piece.

III.5 Acoustic Communication When talking about soundscapes, we are basically dealing with the interdependence between the individual and its environment. To gain selfapprehension, the individual has to make out the demarcation line that places it apart from its surroundings, thus defining itself as singular entity in opposition to the outside world.143 Further, in order to be able to exist within and along that outside world, communication must take place; information needs to be gathered and processed to allow for adequate (re-)action towards the outside. Hence, communication is a process of mutual information exchange, a duplex line constantly held open; the domain of sound being most potent in this respect, as we can create and consume it simultaneously with our mouth (and other tools) and ears.144 Regarding the sound-

143

Bolz (1992), p.9ff; see also Hajos (1980), p.15; depending on worldview, this almost monadic phrasing may be a contestable statement; in the theoretical framework of this work, however, it will serve well as a model. 144 The ear is a suitable organ for that purpose: It cannot be closed as easily as the eyes, it probes into all directions at once, and is thus our last watch post, even while we are asleep. And if you now feel tempted to object on the duplex claim by telling me that I may listen to the rain, but it will probably not listen to me, we have entered the domain of the philosophers and theologians, whose job, to explain the world in metaphysical terms, begins only where mine to make proper field recordings has long ended. 62

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scape, Truax proposes a model within which sound operates as a medium for the influence that individual and environment have on each other. 145 The density of information in acoustic data can also be classified along a continuum, in which speech contains the highest density, but also shows the highest level of formalism (which has to be known to sender and recipient alike and must be put into force strictly according to the rules if to be utilized for information exchange). At the other end of the spectrum we find the soundscape. Compared to speech (as illustrated by the English language, where 40 phonemes are sufficient to express whatever contents can be put into words)146, it commands over a virtually unlimited pool of micro- and macroscopic variations, while at the same time the information density decreases. On the other hand anyone can decode the sound of rain, even say if it’s raining heavily or softly, make assumptions on the surface the raindrops are falling on disregarding lingual and cultural boundaries, whereas the same information in verbalized form could fail to be understood even due to only a small deviation in the linguistic conventions of sender and receiver. For the mediation of abstract information the soundscape is not the adequate medium; here speech is the tool of expedience. Music may in this context be understood as sort of an intermediary form of sound organisation, its formal requirements varying from the very broad definition of contemporary soundscape composition to the narrow corset of twelve-tone music.147 Signifier and signified can be congruent in the class of environmental sounds, the sound being as sign actually pointing towards itself.148 However, referring back to Truax’ communicational approach, and to the environmental statement of Schafer, once the recipient is included in the equation, all sounds must function within a system and must therefore be regarded as being dependant on their interplay with each other as much as on the

145

Truax (2001), p.11 ibid., p.51 147 ibid., p.49ff 148 cp. Saussure (1913) in Adams/Searle (2005), p.787ff 146

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impact on that recipient. So, again, what sound does a falling tree make in the forest, when there is no one to hear it?

The cover illustration of Truax’ Handbook for Acoustic Ecology (1978) is a classical example of acoustic ecology visualised and illustrates the scientific value of the soundscape approach: Triangulated with other data, the acoustic information can be utilised to analyse an ecosystem and its functions. Transferred to the human domain, the same may be expected of cultural systems.

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IV Aisthetic Atmospheres Order is a necessary condition for anything the human mind is to understand. Arrangements such as the layout of a city or building, a set of tools, a display of merchandise, the verbal exposition of facts or ideas, or a painting or piece of music are called orderly when an observer or listener can grasp their overall structure and the ramification of the structure in some detail. Order makes it possible to focus on what is alike and what is different, what belongs together and what is segregated. When nothing superfluous is included and nothing indispensable left out, one can understand the interrelation of the whole and its parts, as well as the hierarchic scale of importance and power by which some structural features are dominant, others subordinate. Rudolf Arnheim149

In a darkened bedroom, at the edge of sleep, you notice a high frequency buzz of unidentified origin, which irritates you, keeping you from falling asleep. Eventually, you realize the cause of the sound to be a mosquito, although, due to the absence of light, you cannot see it, or determine its exact location. The irritation and the accompanying feeling of threat are now lessened by the identification of the sound. However, they remain present, because the sensation is spatially indifferent as long as the insect can elude visual detection under cover of darkness. Only by switching on the light you can fully relax, not only because now you can find and kill the insect before it stings you, but because now you have clarity about your own position in space in relation to the intruder that you are forced to share it with.150

149

Arnheim (1971), p.1; Rudolf Arnheim (1904-2007) was a German author, art and film theorist and perceptual psychologist 150 Böhme (2001), p.42 65

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The acoustic layer of our perception is embedded within an atmospheric experience of the environment. According to the German philosopher Gernot Böhme, (sensory) information about objects and processes is generally classified along affective and functional criteria, which are developed by the individual based on everyone’s personal cultural and social background and experience. External sensations can be measured.151 They can be recorded in charts, diagrams and databases. They include, concerning the acoustic domain, the psychoacoustic parameters established by Eberhard Zwicker, such as loudness, sharpness, roughness, tonality, and impulse content of a signal.152 By means of these parameters, generalised assumptions on the impact of an acoustic sensation on people can be made. However, as long as sociological and psychological factors are disregarded, the collected data can only be applied to borderline situations, in which the sensations are so overwhelming that they cause an immediate direct reaction, as, for example, a sonic event that is loud enough to cause physical pain. Böhme’s atmospheric approach calls for a more differentiated view on things. Everyone is familiar with metaphors like the quiet before the storm, the relaxed atmosphere of a holiday trip, or the tense atmosphere in a crisis meeting. Of course, none of these refer to weather conditions. They are the result of subjectively perceived external sensations analysed according to one’s current mood, personal characteristics, and aesthetic preferences. These factors are then integrated and combined to constitute the individually perceived atmosphere. Can the acoustic aspects of our surroundings be judged without meanwhile being influenced by other factors such as the view out of the window? Does Mozart still comfort us when we see a war documentary on TV at the 151

Hajos speaks of a duality of external and internal perception/apperception („functional monism“); Hajos (1980), pp.8f, 13ff 152 Zwicker (1982), pp.3f, 18, 72ff, 79ff, 84f, 106ff 66

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same time?153 Do we still marvel a picturesque rural village when the construction site of the new autobahn in our back threatens to disintegrate our eardrums? Do we perceive ourselves in relation to the observed phenomenon as a part of it or as a bystander? Can we separate the different sensations from one another or do they get indistinguishably intertwined; is annoyance154 under these assumptions a psychopathological phenomenon? To what extent are our judgements influenced by cultural conditioning? We can at least expect a certain amount of synesthetic and other blending effects to influence our atmospheric perception.155 In his lectures on Aisthetik,156 Böhme introduces a definition of aesthetics that expands (as compared to aesthetics’ traditional field of inquiry) the concept of beauty from the arts to many other aspects of life.157 Aesthetic insight (Erkenntnis) is to be understood as a special form of insight, different from such insight as can be gained from the methodologies of (natural) sciences, opening up to forms of knowledge/understanding that are inaccessible otherwise.158 To understand how sound can shape a culture, its aesthetic 153

Stanley Kubrick’s 1971 film „A Clockwork Orange“ makes extensive use of such contradicting elements, juxtaposing strong violence with Beethoven. 154 annoyance factor: unit to measure the qualitative impact of the environment in social sciences. 155 Böhme (2001), p.91ff; One confirmation of this assumption I found in the reaction of two interviewees questioned about their sonic environment during a study on the Soundscape Schlossstrasse; Schoer (2005), p.47): They identified a change in their sonic environment as the reason for their risen annoyance; only through qualitative analysis (and based on my knowledge that this sonic change had not occurred) was I able to determine a visual/emotional factor to be the reason of their dissatisfaction. 156 Böhme (2001) 157 „Aesthetics was originally conceived in the middle of the eighteenth century by Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten, as a theory of sensual perception. (...) While for Kant, Aesthetics seemed by and large to still be Nature Aesthetics, for Hegel they became simply a prologue to the actual field of Aesthetics, which was art theory. Aesthetics henceforth served primarily to inform aesthetic judgements and thereby art criticism, and it completely abandoned the field of sensual experience and affective understanding.“ Böhme (2000), p.14f 158 Böhme (1995), p.10 67

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(aisthetic) dimension needs to be investigated, especially how that determines the stimulus-response-action schemes by means of which man interacts with his environment. Translated into modern English the old Greek term Aisthetik means perception, or the "theory of sensory (sensual) cognition".159 Böhme depicts aesthetics as an extension, a doorway, to logic in the evaluation of sensory perception. An object may be classified with regard to its physical attributes such as size, density, reflexivity, texture etc., which may lead to assumptions about its potential uses or functionality. But only if these data are supported by aesthetic ratings, that is, an affective judgement, the value it holds to individuals can be classified. Hence, Böhme opposes pure rationalism. He wants it to be accompanied by aesthetic perception, or, in other words, sensuality.160 Beauty in this concept can have a positive or a negative connotation to individual perception. An object causing an affective reaction will be classified by the ascription of positive or negative attributes according to personal preferences independently from its factual practical use. The rational (functional) classification usually follows only after an aesthetic judgement has been made.161 It may follow the first impression or oppose it. This shows especially in arts. Rationally evaluated, most artworks do not serve any practical purpose. A painting will not get anyone fed (except the one who sells it), a musical performance will not provide shelter from cold and rain. Still there exists a broad consensus about the evaluability of the arts (though not about the aesthetic value of individual artworks) and large sums are spent for pieces of art sometimes too abstract even for their supporters (i.e. the buyers or the modern art market with its dealer-critic system in general) to understand their meaning or purpose.162 159 ibid., p.7; the term “sinnlich” as used by Böhme is not easily translated into English, as it can refer to “sensory” or “sensual”. The way Böhme applies it, it actually means both. 160 Böhme (1995), p.17, (2000), p.15, (2001), p.31 a.o. 161 Böhme (2001), p.31 162 Böhme (1995), pp.8, 13ff; see also Gielen (2009), p.26ff

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Perception feeds back on the wellbeing of the individual. It always tries to relate the object in question to its functionality. A door handle that is attached to a wall instead of a door will usually cause irritation (except perhaps in a museum for contemporary art). Since perception also functions as a means of separating the individual from its environment by pointing out interrelations between the two (and therefore can also be understood as an initial stage of the communication processes), aesthetic judgement is derived partly from the possibilities of demarcation offered by perceptive input.163 If these are low, the instinctive evaluation is likely to generate negative results. If an experience cannot be classified, thus not allowing for a description of the phenomenon, resulting in the perceived weak separation of source and recipient of the stimulus, this ambiguity of outside and inside causes Unwohlsein164. That takes us back to the opening example: The atmosphere is taken apart (analysed) by objectifying the mosquito.

163 164

Böhme (2001), p.7 roughly to be translated by indisposition or uneasiness. 69

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IV.1 Acoustic Atmospheres In many instances, order is apprehended first of all by the senses. The observer perceives an organized structure in the shapes and colors or sounds facing him. But it is hard, perhaps impossible, to find examples in which the order of a given object or event is limited to what is directly apparent in perception. Rather, the perceivable order tends to be manifested and understood as a reflection of an underlying order, whether physical, social, or cognitive. (…) The shapes and colors of a painting or the sounds of a piece of music symbolize the interaction of meaningful entities. Rudolf Arnheim 165

According to Böhme, “atmospheres constitute the ‘In-between’ between environmental qualities and human sensibilities”, they are “moods, which one feels in the air”.166 Atmospheres stand between subjects and objects: one can describe them as object-like emotions, which are randomly cast into space. But one must at the same time describe them as subjective, insofar as they are nothing without a discerning subject.167

Böhme’s concept of atmosphere aims to include subjective determinants that contribute to someone's state of mind. In Böhme’s line of thought, the individually perceived atmosphere incorporates all sensually acquired information (optical, olfactory, auditory etc.) processed in the cerebral system, with individual factors heavily influencing the outcome.168 Thus atmosphere is a subjective sensation, but to a certain extent it can also be defined as an objective attribute of an environment, as it can be reproduced and felt by different individuals in a similar fashion.169 Atmosphere can never be traced back to one singular object, but is always dependant on a set of conditions

165

Arnheim (1971), p.2 Böhme (2000), p.14f 167 ibid., p.15 168 see footnote 155 169 Böhme (2000), p.15 166

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found within an environment, although the aura as used by Benjamin170 might imply otherwise. However, this would require the exclusion of all adjacent conditions: The object (an artwork, an artefact from another culture, a specimen of an exotic animal species) is always placed within a specific setting and framed by certain expectations and information that determine how it is perceived. And although Benjamin explicitly refers to objects which he attributes the aura to, it is still an in-between, something that is effusing into space – the atmosphere – between (and around) object and beholder, not the object itself, that he is dealing with.171 The object’s aura in the museum is not created by the object alone, it is created by the circumstances under which the object is perceived. Thus connected to the world around it (including the mind of the observer) the in-between, the multisensory experience, the atmosphere, is what creates an object’s aura. Whereas aura and atmosphere may not be synonymous; however, I would argue, aura may well be regarded as a sub-form of atmosphere, where very similar mechanisms operate only with an unusual focus on one particular object. When Benjamin describes a mountain view,172 his own restriction to the object begins to blur. The mosquito incident introduced above shall serve us as an illustration of the concept of atmosphere and the situatedness of the individual in space (the environment). At the edge of sleep the experience of atmosphere can be most profound, yet relatively unconscious. Once your mind has stopped pondering all the important chores and responsibilities that rule your daily routines and wanders off to the unconscious, you are most open to the direct impact of atmosphere, when you are not distracted by your efforts to control your surroundings. Lying in bed, calm and without desire, you may sense your body and

170

see World Four, section I.2: Aura and Constructed Meaning see World Four; cp. Böhme (1995), p.25ff, Benjamin (1935), p.5f (German original) 172 Benjamin (1935), p.4 171

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its surroundings in a less exclusive manner, the sounds, the smells, the feel of the sheets creating a cocoon, a comforting hull, that you begin to sense yourself to be a part of. Everything that is now processed in your mind, the immediate sensations, external and internal, the afterglow of the impressions of the day that tuned your mood (and will probably determine the course your dreams will take), all these merge into one feeling, and it would be difficult to find out to what percentage the respective elements are responsible for the resulting atmosphere. But suddenly something changes. Something that had not been there before enters your cocoon. And that is when you are most alert. Change is the medium, which makes you most conscious (and wary) about the atmosphere, and more so as long as you have not yet identified the cause, for there might be danger. It is an old scheme, dating back to the times when abrupt changes in the environment would be the indicator for a deadly threat entering your abode. When we were still just hairless and helpless apes who started shakily walking on their hind legs and imitating their conspecifics,173 the crack of a twig nearby, half overheard in your light sleep could save your life, if you started running for it, so the hungry sabre tooth would not catch you. The perception of atmospheres thus appears to be the instinctive evaluation of potential threats, imprecise maybe, but far quicker than any conscious analysis.174 That must follow afterwards, otherwise our species would not have made it through these dangerous times. Given the short span during which, mainly due to the technological progress started in the Neolithic, we could rely on the relative safety provided by fire, walls, and weapons, it must come as no surprise that our instincts still have a tight grip on us and are the most powerful filters between neutral perception and arousal-relevant information. Once the intrusion, the mosquito, is identified, the atmosphere becomes less relevant, since now object-based perception and evaluation can take over.

173 174

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cp. Blackmore (1999), p.4f Böhme (2001), p.43

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Not only does the mosquito tell us about atmosphere, it also tells about the impact that sound can have in respect to it; after all, it is the insect’s highfrequency buzz, not the animal itself, that acts as an intruder into the atmosphere, thereby stimulating arousal in order to re-establish the spatial relation one has with one’s surroundings. The relevance of the acoustic component as a contributor to the Sichbefinden175 in space, accordingly, cannot be overestimated, since sound fills, along with its temporal qualities, especially the spatial dimensions.176 The sensation of hearing is in fact mainly spatial, which is the reason why many people tend to feel sick in an anechoic chamber. They literally loose their means of orientation.177 The extensive existing literature on physical and psychological effects of noise exposition notwithstanding,178 there exists an aesthetic/atmospheric side to a soundscape out of balance. Referring to Kant's idea of music as language of emotion,179 Böhme as well as Schafer, in respect to today’s very broad definition of music, declare our acoustic environment to be a musical composition in its own right,180 which has an impact on our emotional state. The stronger this composition shifts from the hifi-symphony of the nearnatural soundscape to the lofi-cacophony of our post-industrial urban world, the less the aesthetic needs of the individual are met. The result is a rising annoyance factor. Not only the toxic impact of certain levels of sound pres-

175

self-situatedness, “sense of self”; Böhme (2000). p.16 Böhme (2000), p.17f, also Böhme (1995), p.9 177 several personal conversations between 2002 and 2011 with Michael Kemp, Richard Schuckmann, students of Hochschule Darmstadt; it is in this respect not surprising that the organ within which the equilibrium sense is located, is found in the inner ear, and that it is subject to the same basic physiological build-up as the cochlea (tubular structures filled with lymph, the movement of which excites hair cells to send information to the brain); Thews/Mutschler/Vaupel (1989), pp.511-14). 178 cp. Schoer (2005), p.19f 179 Böhme (2001), p17, Böhme (1995), p.9; see also Charlie Mingus open letter to Miles Davis from 1955, where he states “Music is, or was, a language of the emotions.“ (http://mingusmingusmingus.com/Mingus/miles_davis.html) 180 Schafer (1977b), p.5; see also section II.2: World Soundscape Project 176

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sure can prove hazardous, also the meta-rational conclusions of aesthetic perception can cause sustainable damage.181 The soundscapers are not opting to replace seeing by hearing; instead they demand that the aural realm should be valued equal to the visual. Apart from being another tool to gather information, and this on an impressing scale (10 octaves, amplitude changes of 120dB) and with high resolution (0.5dB and at least 650 individual centre frequencies, time resolution less than 10ms),182 I argue that the impact of looking at a picture, let’s say the photo of a war scene, is different from hearing what happened. It may be easier to move someone to tears by playing music than by showing paintings or photographs.183 Music as the idealized imitation of the natural soundscape184 can connect people to the roots of culture, to the origins of language and communication. Some rural African cultures are said to define themselves rather through sound than through vision.185 The Kaluli of the Bosavi Region in Papua New Guinea "can imitate the sound of at least 100 birds, but few can provide visual descriptive information on nearly that many."186 The loss of their soundscape would result in a loss of vocabulary (why name something you don't experience any longer) and thus in a global loss of cultural diversity. It should therefore be possible to find and prove manifold strong relationships between the life rhythm of a society and the soundscape it grew in.187

181

Böhme (2000), p.14 Schoer (2004), p.41f 183 At least, this would be the claim of Schafer or Behrendt. In earlier times, the ear was sometimes claimed to be the instrument of logic, whereas the eye was attributed with more affectionate qualities (see footnote 16). However, both should be regarded as equally relevant to the evaluation of our environment; see also Böhme (2000), p.16f 184 cp. Schafer (1977b), pp.40ff, 44 185 Schafer (1977b), p.11 186 Feld (1994), cf. Wrightson (2000), p.10 187 Schafer (1977b), pp.7, 15ff 182

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The soundfloor of the seas, the prairies, the woods have surely influenced music, but also many other cultural manifestations. Time has always been subject to sound, the shifting soundscapes of the seasons, of night and day, and later, when in Europe God handed down His rule to rationalization, His bell towers announced the time of the day more vigilantly than they called the herd to the sermon, emphasizing the shift of the domain of noise from the sacral to the profane. Our new god technology is no less eager to demonstrate His power through noisy machines than are war and religion.188 Today we conceal ourselves behind our walls and build up our own wall of sound against the outside noise to keep up the barriers. Schafer calls this creation of an artificial hifi soundscape with its total independence from space and time (with closed headphones we can travel to distant places, no matter what happens even in the same room) against the lofi environment schizophonic. In imaginary spaces like concert halls we can recreate the above mentioned idealized soundscape almost without outside intrusion. The relevance of historic soundscapes occurs to us usually only when they are lost. Who would worry about the sound of the butter tub, as long as it is heard on a daily basis on the farm? But when it has been replaced by modern technology, we might nostalgically try to recall its sound. Our children won't be able even to do that. I suggest a holistic approach that will widen the scope of sensations and will root the experience of alien or historical cultures in an overarching way, intellectually and emotionally. And the importance of emotional appeal to public education as starting point of intellectual analysis cannot be overestimated. From Homer and Vergil over Tolstoy and Tolkien to Hermann Hesse and Thomas Mann numerous examples of the informative, but especially of the emotional impact of sound and its influence of the perceived atmosphere can be found.189 Joyce’s “Portrait of the Artist as a

188

see section I.2: The Meaning of Sound (…) Homer: Iliad, third chant (on the roaring sea), fourth chant (the sounds of battle), 8th cent. BCE, http://gutenberg.spiegel.de/homer/ilias/ilias50.htm - 70htm; Vergil: Georgica, fourth chant (on apiculture), between 37 and 39 BCE, 189

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young Man” is full of accounts where the mood of the protagonist is determined or laid bare in synchrony with the soundscape around him.190 And Hollywood has recreated soundscapes since the introduction of sound in film. Of course when applied to scientific and educational ends, the presented soundscapes should not be larger than life as in the movie theatre, but nevertheless, as I will show by means of reporting from my own work in Worlds Two and Four, it is possible to present the Tuning of the World in a suitcase.

IV.2 Museum Atmospheres Since outer order so often represents inner or functional order, orderly form must not be evaluated by itself, that is, apart from its relation to the organization it signifies. The form may be quite orderly and yet misleading, because its structure does not correspond to the order it stands for. Rudolf Arnheim191

If I am to successfully deal with the pedagogic dimensions of the aural heritage to be presented at the NONAM and the evaluation of its impact I need to take into account the function of the sensual apparatus, at least to the point where I can make assumptions on why certain excitations cause distinct arousal reactions. Gibson’s Ecological Approach192 to perceptual psychology as a revision and extension of Gestalt psychology states a number of analogies and differences of the perceptive systems, namely the ear http://gutenberg.spiegel.de/vergil/georgica/georg4.htm; Lew Tolstoi, War and Peace, part 3.18 8 (battle sounds), 17. 4-7 (hunting sounds), 1868/69 (Tolstoi 2002, pp. 381-88, 672-701); J.R.R. Tolkien: The Silmarillion, Ainulindale (on the music of creation), 1977 (Tolkien 1990, pp.13-24); Hermann Hesse: The Steppenwolf (on sound reproduction) 1927 (Hesse 1979, p.230); Thomas Mann: Doctor Faustus (on music, schizophonia a.o.), 1947 (Mann 1947), basically the whole book 190 Joyce (1914-16); http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4217 (document does not contain page numbers) 191 Arnheim (1971), p.2 192 cp. Guski (2000), pp.70-77, Goldstein (2010), pp.156-66 76

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and the eye. Further, Gibson describes perception as an evolutionary precondition for action in order to survive.193 Information gathering in this sense can be seen as a long-term application to broaden and deepen our experience, thereby improving our options to react in critical situations. Emotional and social influences and aesthetic judgement of perceptive events have to be taken into account as well as the postulate of a “coalition of the senses”,194 that may cause equivalent or analogue information coming from different perceptive channels, but also different sets of data unconsciously integrated into conscious awareness of our environment. Without the perceptive apparatus the identity-forming processes dealt with in the previous paragraphs could not take place, as it is based on interaction and communication with our environment. One major claim of the psychology of perception is that this sensual synthesis with its quasi-synesthetic effects results in the data processing strategy that I have identified with Böhme as being atmospheric.195 We may learn about that world in the museum; it is a place of information gathering and mediation.196 It is a place of communication. People visit a museum in search for a compressed version of the world, where they are offered a learning environment that is optimised to their needs, granting them access to complex subjects in a comprehensive manner. To reintroduce sound and to introduce the soundscape as a communication device therefore should be attempted in this environment, where people are most open to unfamiliar ideas. But we should be warned. Communication in the museum is predominantly unidirectional. The risk of bias and lack of transparency in exhibition design, as will be discussed in World Four, are most imminent in sound. As has been mentioned, Kant argued that music, and Böhme transfers this 193

Guski (2000), pp.70, 76; on affordances Cruikshank (2010); online resource w/o page numbers 195 Goldstein (2010), p.158f , Hajos (1980), p.43f 196 How sound can actually be integrated into its pedagogical mission will be discussed in World Four. 194

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notion to sound in general, was a “method of communicating emotions”.197 So sound, compared to the (at least in our habitualisation) more analytically tuned vision, which is believed to evoke conscious reflection processes, impacts on a deeper, unconscious level, in a suggestive manner. Although listening, when dealt with on the conscious level, is “as a rule object oriented” (“I hear a car driving by, I hear a clock strike twelve, I hear somebody talking, I hear a mosquito…”), thus “serving to identify objects and locate them in space”198, it strongly touches upon atmospheric perception, most of which, as I have argued, takes places in the realm of prehension, preceding, often also even eluding, conscious analysis. And it is this latter notion that makes sound so dangerous in museum applications. Arranging tangible objects in a certain way already manipulates the visitor. But arranging sound, schizophonic and deceptive, opens up a whole new world of suggestive manipulation. Treated with the same care that I expect in the design of visual exhibitions, however, this very attribute of sound, touching upon deeper levels of the self, can be a powerful presentation tool, creating an empathic link between the visitor and the presented that cannot easily be achieved by vision alone. Böhme’s concept of atmosphere, however, teaches us that when analysing the soundscape and its implications to acoustic communication mechanisms by investigating people’s receptive and active acoustic behaviour, we have to take into account that there are countless additional parameters that should not be ignored. The other channels of the sensual apparatus are equally relevant as are all the distorting elements of the personal aspects of a given test subject.199 Naturally it is impossible to take all factors into account at once, to calculate all parameters with an equally high resolution in such a complex setting, but we can avoid the mistake of generalisation from the examined 197

Böhme (2000), p.17 ibid. 199 ibid., p.15 198

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sample if we keep this in mind. At the Sound Chamber, a laboratory situation is created, that in the light of Böhme’s ideas should be avoided.200 However, sometimes things have to be separated in order to start an analysis, especially when there exists an imbalance (with dominant elements masking others, namely sight over sound). Since I postulate a great impact of the soundscape on the aesthetic atmosphere,201 I must risk focussing on this currently marginalised aspect of sensual perception. The integration with the other parameters may follow once this first stage has been completed.202 Another integration, however, should not wait any longer: I have laid out how I consider sound and the soundscape to be a major determinant in our definition of self and identity. In a museum the target group usually is approached as having roughly the same cultural background, whereas the ethnographical museum usually features narratives on peoples from a different cultural background. All these must be understood as also identitygenerating devices, in short, cultural heritage. The Big Ben is not only a soundmark that tells me I am in London, it is also a heritage mark that reassures the Londoner of his identity and that the outsider associates with certain aspects of London-ness or Englishness. So before I move on to my actual field work and the difficult issues of representation connected with it, it seems advisable to address the heritage complex, since, while this book may not be dedicated to the past, but very much the present, without our heritage we wouldn’t be who we are today. Due to the intangible nature of sound special attention will be given to Intangible Cultural Heritage.

200 In that he is in line with Schafer’s call to take the music „out of the concert hall“ again. Schafer (1977b), p.109f, Schafer (2009), p.33; Böhme (2000), p.15 201 See also Böhme (2000), p.15ff 202 See Next World: The Way of the Mask

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V Intangible Cultural Heritage The open-air museum Hessenpark in Neu-Anspach, Germany, offers an insight into the rural culture of Hesse over the last 400 years with buildings inhabited by employees who publicly re-enact the historic everyday life including traditional craftsmanship, festivities, agriculture, etc.203 The original soundscape, the artificial as well as, to a certain extent, due to the remote location of the venue, the natural, accompanies all activities as a by-product, playing a pivotal role in the build-up of the atmosphere of the place. The soundscape in the context of cultural research can be regarded as a subcategory to intangible cultural heritage. Intangible Cultural Heritage (ICH) nowadays commonly refers to genuine cultural expressions of an existing people or an otherwise defined cultural unit that are not aimed at physically creating artworks or otherwise tangible objects.204 This means especially that ICH directs its focus from the products of the fine arts (a Eurocentric concept not easily applied to all cultures anyway) to all kinds of religious and non-religious cultural expressions, including the so called low culture, common practices a cultural unit can be identified with and distinguished by from others, thus being an expression of its group identity. It can be the way people weave their clothes or initiation rites for adolescents205, or many other activities that require the presence of a living tradition.206 A practice identified as being intangible 203

http://www.hessenpark.de see also section V.3: Rise of the Intangible; domains of ICH as defined in the UNESCO Convention 205 which, as might be sensible to point out, not only refers to whatever stereotypical images come up when thinking of the exotic, stone-age rites of some „undiscovered“ people in the depths of the rain forest, but naturally to catholic holy communion or protestant confirmation as well 206 cp. definition according to UNESCO from the “Convention for the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage” (http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?lg=en&pg=00022). 204

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heritage may well, but not necessarily, result in the production of a tangible object. Often these objects are made of less durable material like wood, skin or cloth, only seldom do they result in those mighty enduring stone monuments like the Pyramids in Egypt, Mexico, and elsewhere, or the Acropolis. However, the way these were created, the knowledge and motivation behind the effort, may on the other hand well be defined as intangible heritage. A very good example of the difficulties in differentiating between tangible and intangible heritage comes from Japan. The wooden architectural structure of the Grand Shrine in the city of Ise, per definitionem a tangible object, is dismantled and rebuilt in exactly the same way every 20 years. This raises the question of authenticity in terms of ancient tangible heritage, since on the one hand it has looked like it does now for centuries, on the other hand the materials it is made of are only a few years old. Then again, the traditional rules in which it has to be rebuilt date back a long way and are therefore living heritage.207

V.1 A new Historic Consciousness Intangible heritage in its modern form is a very young concept. The idea of the soundscape as part of this heritage has not yet entered the discourse on a large scale. Only a few specialists, some of them obviously inspired by Schafer's work, have started to publish on historical soundscapes. To some extent this may be attributable to the "eye culture"208 in the academic culture of our time, and of course to the scarce data on sound from the past. With living heritage, as the Sounding Museum project demonstrates, and despite the many difficulties that have to be dealt with, it becomes much easier. But let us first recollect how the modern idea of heritage came into existence.

207 208

Nara Proceedings (2004) p.94; see also Honour/Fleming (2005), p.277f Wrightson 2000, p.10 81

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From the Renaissance Italian city-states, where the slow shift from the agriculture-based aristocratic system to a trade and industry-based bourgeois society were felt first, humanist ideas slowly spread, sped up by the Lutheran reformation and the freshly introduced printing press, all over Europe, to culminate in the French Revolution. Here the aristocracy was, for the first time,209 officially replaced by the bourgeoisie as the new ruling class. The bourgeoisie did not have lineage or the grace of god they could invoke, so a new instrument of justification had to be developed if the system was to work. Nationalism was a brilliant scheme in that respect, but it needed backup, historical backup. Now it was not the ancestors of kings who were called upon, but the glorious history of a whole people, e.g. nation.210 But the overall objective of heritage nevertheless didn't change a bit. It still was all about identity.211 Only now it aimed at establishing and maintaining a collective community sense, backed up by historically handed down customs, achievements and values, instead of some princeling's rightful claim to the throne, or the divine right of the clergy to collect the tithe and to appoint the worldly sovereign. This had to be represented by artefacts, monuments or building assemblies that stood for those collective goods to make this (intangible) heritage tangible.212 That can be identified as one of the main reasons why the conservation of such objects has of late gained such prominent a position.

209

On a smaller scale, this had been prepared for a long time, as the example of the Medici family in Renaissance Florence may illustrate. 210 Lowenthal 1998, p.60ff 211 ibid., p.128ff 212 http://amor.cms.hu-berlin.de/~h38302qf/lieuxeneurope.htm (on European Lieux de Memoire); not to forget the introduction of national anthems and other quasimythological songs, the power of which could get people into a war frenzy through collective singing 82

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V.2 Folklore and Nationalism: Birth of the Intangible The occupation with distinct collective cultural expressions that nowadays are summed up under intangible cultural heritage can be interpreted as a byproduct of the nationalistic tendencies of Romanticism, as when the aforementioned Grimm Brothers published their collection of Hausmärchen in an attempt to preserve the German Volksgut in order to strengthen the national identity in the back then heavily fragmented and ever quarrelling German speaking territories.213 The interest in foreign indigenous cultures started in a rather unpleasant and, looking back, perfectly inappropriate way. When artists like Gauguin, Picasso and Nolde became aware of the value of so called primitive art they could only study exhibits on display in anthropological museums,214 established by the colonial powers to demonstrate their hegemony and supremacy over the conquered peoples. Human zoos became an exotic attraction on world exhibitions.215 According to Chérif Khaznadar, director of the Maison de les Cultures du Monde in France, this led to the paradoxical situation, that the same colonialists who preserved the exotic cultures in their museums became a threat to their survival after the former colonies gained independence in the second half of last century, because to the people in these countries their own "folklore" became the symbol of their ascribed backwardness and inferiority, which they wanted to prove an antiquated prejudice.216 Only in the late 20th century a shift became felt, illustrated by the

213

This dedication to the common people's ways was termed Folk-Lore in 1846 by W.J. Thorns. (http://unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0005/000549/054905eo.pdf) It was meant to "contain religious or mythic elements, [to] equally concern(.) itself with the sometimes mundane traditions of everyday life. Folklore frequently ties the practical and the esoteric into one narrative package." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Folklore) 214 Honour/Fleming (2005), p.770ff 215 more on primitivism and human zoos in World Three, section I: Conquista Histórica 216 Khaznadar (2003) in Nara Proceedings (2004), pp.100, 102 (http://unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0014/001470/147097M.pdf) 83

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many so called “third world” countries that have joined the Convention for the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage since 2003.217

V.3 Rise of the Intangible The first multinational attempts to develop a legal framework for the protection of cultural heritage also date back to the late 19th century, when "European, American, Asian and African powers agreed to include consideration for the protection of historic monuments, museums, libraries and other places dedicated to the arts and sciences in texts for the regulation of war"218 and culminated in the 1954 International Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict.219 The Proclamation of Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity was launched by UNESCO in 1997/98. In these years UNESCO started co-operations with the Moroccan National Commission (preservation of popular cultural spaces in Marrakesh, Morocco 1997) and with the Smithsonian Institution (Conference: “A Global Assessment of the 1989 Recommendation on the Safeguarding of Traditional Culture and Folklore: Local Empowerment and International Cooperation”, Washington DC, USA 1999). The UNESCO has initiated numerous projects worldwide to protect and preserve heritage sites. This includes landscapes, buildings and other physi-

217

ibid., p.102 (see also the following pages) Bumbaru in Nara Proceedings (2004), p.44 ("Overview of the Development of Trends in Heritage Management since the 1964 Venice Charter" by Dinu Bumbaru); according to Bumbaru the Venice Charter "refers to 'authenticity', 'integrity', 'setting' and to national and cultural adaptation of universal principles. It speaks of 'traditions' and 'acquired cultural significance', recognising monuments and sites as accumulations rather than single dimension objects." (ibid., p.46). The coherency of historic objects/sites and identity, making them heritage, is phrased here. 219 ibid., p.44 218

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cal remains of history, but also traditional customs, music and endangered languages.220 In 2001 the first 19 Masterpieces were proclaimed and the UNESCO’s Member States adopted the Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity. 2003 saw the Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage adopted (with Algeria to become the first state party to deposit its instrument of approval one year later) and 28 new Masterpieces proclaimed.221 The List of Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity (last proclamation 2005) contained 90 examples. After the Convention has come into force in 2006 no further masterpieces were added, the existing masterpieces have instead been included in the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, to which another 76 elements were added in 2009 and 47 more in 2010, the

220

In his address at the Nara conference held in October 2004 in Nara, Japan, Koichiro Matsuura, director-general of UNESCO, expresses his devotion to the idea of intangible heritage as follows: "(...) It is widely recognised that certain domains of the intangible cultural heritage can be important for the protection of tangible heritage. One may, in this respect, think of traditional knowledge about the natural environment or the knowledge and skills related to traditional handicrafts. The 2003 Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage also uses the term "cultural space" in its definition. The continued existence of such spaces is a condition for the safeguarding of elements of the intangible heritage; and they, therefore, need to be protected. On the other hand, it is evident that there are innumerable examples of intangible cultural heritage that do not depend for their existence or expression on specific places, monuments or objects. In addition, it has been recognised that the associative values of many sites or monuments belong to the past and not to the living heritage of present-day communities. This distinction between those aspects of intangible heritage that belong to the past, and those aspects that form part and parcel of the traditions and practices of living communities, has acquired a new significance given the fact that the 2003 Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage is exclusively aimed at protecting and promoting living heritage. (...)"; Nara Proceedings (2004), p.29 221 All data taken (if not stated otherwise) from www.unesco.org/culture/ich (http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?pg=00003 to 7; 00022 to 25; 0005357) 85

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numbers growing in subsequent years.222 All masterpieces fall into one or, in most cases, several categories, defined in the Convention. These domains are "oral traditions, (...) performing arts, (...) social practices, rituals and festive events, (...) knowledge and practices concerning nature and the universe, (...), traditional craftsmanship."223 Outside the UNESCO the 2000 Quebec Declaration of Heritage ("people, places and objects carrying memory"), the 2003 Hoi An Declaration on Conservation of Historic Districts of Asia as well as the Final Declaration of the International Symposium on Cultural Diversity and Heritage (Tokyo 2000) all acknowledge the importance of interdisciplinary linking tangible and intangible heritage.224

V.4 Intangible Heritage today The question about the nature and the value of intangible cultural heritage has been approached by different stakeholders from varying angles. The definitions provided by the Convention cannot sufficiently resolve its nebulosity. The first controversial issue is that of the exact nature of intangible heritage. Dating back to the questionable reception of exotic cultures by the "civilized" world,225 intangible heritage has long been subject to outside examination, treated as something that could be exhibited in anthropologi-

222 UNESCO heute 1/2007, p.20f and http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?pg=00011 223 "What is Intangible Cultural Heritage?", http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?pg= 00003.; for the full text of the convention see http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?lg=en&pg=00006. 224 Nara Proceedings (2004), p.66ff (appendices 1-3 to the Bumbaru article); none specifically mentions sound as part of heritage (only in the context of musical or likewise traditions). At least the logframe matrix (ibid., p.70; app.4) presents landscapes as part of heritage (soundscapes being integral part of landscapes, but, again, not explicitly mentioned). 225 as discussed in World Three

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cal museums. Khaznadar argues that "[i]ntangible heritage has no place in a museum; if it is put there that means that it is dead."226 In his opinion one cannot treat intangible heritage as something closely linked to tangible heritage (as stated elsewhere by other authors in the same proceedings). He identifies an unbridgeable rift between the tangible, which tells of bygone historic periods, and the intangible, the characteristic of which is that it "reflects today's reality: it is here, it is living, it is constantly changing. Its foremost characteristic is this vitality, this possibility of adapting to the changes in individuals of whom it is the expression."227 Here we are faced with the difficulty of whether archiving work, valuable as it might be for cultural research, is a possible threat to the living heritage of the world. We even have to ask ourselves what dangers lie within the proclamation of a masterpiece; to which extent does the practice in question become "musealised", thus loosing its vitality, due to the proclamation itself? On the other hand, is it better to let old traditions die out without keeping at least records of them and without trying to keep them alive, despite the possible outside influence, without which it would cease to exist anyhow?228 On many occasions during my field work in Alert Bay, but also on a recent visit to Leiden, where a group of Kwakwaka'wakw had raised a totem pole in the Rijksmuseum Volkenkunde, I could sense this ambiguity; should the traditions be held up the way they have “always been”, risking their loss if their owners die out or neglect them, should they be incorporated into, or separately practiced from, the contemporary everyday life? How can Boas, the white anthropologist, be a main source of information on one’s own cultural roots?229

226

Khaznadar (2003) in Nara Proceeding (2004)., p.102 ibid. 228 Here we stumble upon the old controversy between Morris and Viollet-le-Duc, the latter claiming that heritage is always in flux and therefore alterations in existing heritage objects are part of the game, while the former would have preferred all historical sites to be cast in crystal balls; cp. Schoer (2007), pp. 18-20 229 cp. World Two, section xii) Potlatch 227

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According to UNESCO and most experts, all expressions of heritage that can only be preserved by secondary means such as audio-visual recordings or safeguarded when actively performed by live people fall into the category of the intangible, because one cannot touch them as one could touch a stone monument. The Ise Shrine mentioned above proves that the interdependence of the two categories does well exist, since without the knowledge and practical work it couldn't be rebuilt every 20 years, but still it is a built monument that can be visited and experienced without the practitioners who did the building. Secretary General of the German UNESCO commission Roland Bernecker notes that the Cologne Minster is eventually nothing else than "beliefs, expression of a life attitude and witness to a tradition of craftsmanship turned to stone"230. Christoph Wulf defines intangible heritage as "practices, forms and figurations (...) [that have] the human body as medium" and that are not fixed (as the Cologne Minster) but are "subject to transformation" and thus less easily protected against the "standardizing processes of globalization".231 Rosemarie Beier-de-Haan adds that most definitions are too narrow, only incorporating explicit and exemplary practices, rites, or knowledge, excluding everyday life scenes like "the breakfast scenarios in households, including the held conversations (...) or the consumption habits in the supermarket"232, which is so crucial to social researchers, agreeing in this with Annette Rein, who would include, for instance, the manners of shake-hands into the concept.233 It seems that the understanding of what is intangible cultural heritage and whether or how deeply it is intertwined with tangible aspects of heritage will stay a matter of dispute. For my task, preserving or recreating sonic heritage in a museum, I have to underline again that it is living heritage that 230

Bernecker 2007, p.16f (UNESCO heute 1/2007) Wulf 2007, p.41 (UNESCO heute 1/2007) 232 Beier-de-Haan 2007, p.57, (UNESCO heute 1/2007) 233 Rein 2007, p.62, (UNESCO heute 1/2007); this applies also to the soundscape approach, which is not dealing with exemplary sounds such as a certain traditional song, but with the whole sonic environment in question. 231

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I am dealing with, not re-enacted expressions of everyday life in the past. These expressions are intangible in the sense that they can only be preserved by secondary means. However, once put in the museum, do they cease to be living heritage? How can I deal with the musealisation of people that I have talked to not long ago, and how authentically contemporary can the museum display be, if not updated with high frequency?234 The distribution of intangible heritage via mass media can be seen simultaneously as a threat and a blessing. The protection of historical roots, with all its standardization fears, pointed out by Khaznadar, Bernecker, Jacobs and others as frequently being an expression of western arrogance,235 stands in opposition to broad accessibility. The de-contextualization of cultural expressions236 such as genuine sounds might create a wider audience that may, in exchange, develop an interest in something that in its full extent would have been too alien for starters. It also pays respect to the relevance of the new media in the creative development process of contemporary culture. It is never easy to take sides in this matter. It depends on the preconditions, and one can always make the wrong decision despite the noblest intentions, but at all events, every culture should be given a chance to choose its future for itself. The alcohol abuse issue in Indian reservations was certainly not caused exclusively by cultural researchers or the distribution of television sets and refrigerators. Despite diverging opinions on definitions and purposes, UNESCO can be accredited to have forwarded the safeguarding and rising public awareness of intangible cultural heritage quite a bit. But the soundscape approach, dealing with the wider sonic context of heritage and culture, is largely miss234

Some suggestions are offered in World Four and Next World. Khaznadar (2003) in Nara Proceedings (2004), p.102ff, Bernecker & Jacobs (both UNESCO heute 1/2007), p.16 & 10, respectively 236 We will revisit this problem in World Four, section I.2: Aura and Constructed Meaning, where Benjamin’s musings about aura de- and reconstruction will be put in relation to museum exhibition design. 235

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ing in the debate within the published UNESCO proceedings.237 Of course, almost all proclaimed masterpieces are somehow intertwined with aural aspects; music, oral expressions, and handicrafts always have sonic qualities. And the domains defined in the Convention are also dealing with sound in one way or another; the transmission of "oral traditions (...), social practices (...), traditional craftsmanship (...), [and even] knowledge and practices concerning nature and the universe"238 are, as the masterpieces illustrate,239 mostly unthinkable without the production of sound along the way. Insofar, sound does play a role in ICH, in theory as well as in safeguarding practice. By protecting the masterpieces, their aural attributes are protected along the way. But the interdependency between a given cultural unit and its surrounding soundscape are neither explicitly mentioned, nor examined in the UNESCO agenda. What is missing in my view, and insofar I have to agree with Beier-de-Haan and Rein, is the focus on the mundane aspects of people's lives. To record and preserve traditional music is a honourable task, but to preserve the soundscape within which this music could emerge is nonetheless important to understand and preserve the cultural characteristics of a people.

237

The UNESCO Courier from 1976 entitled „Exploring The New Soundscape“ (http://unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0007/000748/074828eo.pdf), and articles like Nils Lennart Wallin’s 1986 contribution „The Modern Soundscape and Noise Pollution“ in the same journal, as well as the UNESCO’s financial support of the WSP in its founding days, seem to date not much more than notable exceptions, although I hear that internal discussions have recommenced (personal conversation with Marc Jacobs, July 2012). 238 http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?pg=00003 239 The “List of Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of the World”, containing 90 elements in 2007 has been incorporated in the “Lists of intangible cultural heritage and Register of best safeguarding practices”, to-date consisting of 257 elements in the “Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity”, 31 elements in the “List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Safeguarding”, and 10 elements in the “Register of Best Safeguarding Practices” containing “programs, projects and activities that best reflect the principles and the objectives of the Convention.” To get an idea what these are, visit http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?lg=en&pg=11&inscription=2&type=2. 90

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Heritage is all about identity.240 As an individual I feel the need to know where I come from, where I belong to, and more so if my current situation is not all too favourable.241 Much that what was once called history or tradition is now subsumed as heritage.242 Much of this is a fabrication, based on a set of historic facts perhaps, but constructed to strengthen group morale.243 As hinted on above, the Kwakwaka'wakw of Alert Bay know of many of their traditions only through the records of Franz Boas, yet they use them to keep their community united. Soundscapes as part of our heritage are thus also forming our identity. The historical context within which the current notion of intangible heritage could evolve therefore is of high interest to the main lines of this book. For that it should be recalled that history holds, apart from the listing of great battles and lineages of royal houses also a socio-cultural component. We want to know how people lived and thought in order to understand where we come from. A recorded soundscape is a window into time and heritage. “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” is such a window.

240

Lowenthal (1998), p.xv; Lowenthal engages in an exhaustive discussion of personal and collective heritage, in “The Heritage Crusade”, especially in chapters one through three, challenging the differentiation of ‘heritage’ and ‘history’. 241 „Heritage in Britain is said to reflect nostalgia for imperial self esteem (...), in America to requite economic and social angst and lost community, in France to redress wartime disgrace (...).“ Lowenthal (1998), p.5f How much graver must that need be for a people that was almost wiped out and now struggles for cultural survival, the survival of its identity as a people, like the Kwakwaka'wakw of the Northwest Coast, trapped in the hostile environment of the American Leitkultur! 242 ibid., pp.5, 105ff 243 ibid., p.xvif 91

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Chapter Summary and Outlook I In World One I have prepared the ground on which the Sounding Museum stands: By looking at historic data on sound perception – investigating the impact and meaning of sound and the soundscape to culture from the historic point of view – and introducing acoustic ecology and the soundscape approach, I have established sound as a key medium for communication, the soundscape as a constituent element for identity formation, and intangible cultural heritage as an “institutionalised” opportunity for the inclusion of the soundscape approach into a discourse on cultural identity, which makes sound and soundscape studies valuable assets for the understanding of foreign as well as one’s own culture. I have embedded the auditory aspect in the broader framework of the atmospheric experience of the environment, which incorporates all sensory, but also mental pathways of perception, stressing the affective nature of scene analysis. The conceptual framework of acoustic ecology with its terminology will help in the following chapter, World Two, to analyse the (field-) work process and compositional concept that resulted in the cultural soundscape composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”. Along with the implications brought in by the theory of atmospheric perception it will also be reapplied in World Four, where the implementation of cultural soundscape composition will be revisited in the light of museum applications. The discussion of intangible heritage, and the briefly hinted on phenomenon of schizophonia are already foreshadowing obstacles where it comes to matters of anthropology and ethnography, which cannot be ignored in the context of cultural soundscape composition. This will be investigated in Between the Worlds and extensively in World Three.

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How Raven Stole the Sun In the days of the Myth People, long before the flood, the world was without light, because there was no moon and sun, not even the sky and the stars were there. One day U'melth, the Raven, who had become bored of counting the raindrops in the dark, thought of a way to obtain light for the world. From Frog, who was very wise, he knew of an old chief and his daughter who lived in a cabin at the mouth of the river just over the top of the hill. Raven thought, this man must have the light in his house, and he wanted it for himself. His friend eagle warned him to consider his actions, but from that day on all Raven could think of was to find a way to steel the light from the old man. When he got to the cabin he found that there was no way for him to get inside, for it had no door or other opening that he could slip through, but through the smoke hole he could hear a comforting fire crackling, which would even strengthen his determination. Every day the chief’s daughter would get down to the riverbank to fetch water and carry it back to the cabin. Raven watched her for some time and finally came up with a plan. The next time the girl came down to the river he transformed into a spruce needle and let himself fall into the water so he would float into her bowl. But the girl discovered the needle and fished it out before she went back inside. This went on for three times in a row, but at last raven made may other needles float with him into the bowl, so that the girl had a hard time taking them all out of the water. He made himself sink to the bottom of the bowl and when the girl had collected all the other needles she had grown tired of it and left the last needle, which in truth was the transformed raven, inside. She had grown thirsty now, so she took a deep draught. Raven made sure he floated into her mouth and thus was swallowed. After only a short time the girl’s belly grew big and her father wanted to know what was going on, because he suspected his daughter to have become pregnant. She was very embarrassed, because she had never been with a man, but after some time she gave birth to a boy with unusually 93

sharp eyes. The boy was Raven who had transformed himself into a baby in the girl’s belly, and being of supernatural origin, he grew very fast. His grandfather was very fond of him, and he let him play with everything in the house, except for four bentwood boxes that had mystical signs engraved on their outsides. Raven-Boy was not allowed to touch them, let alone open one. So he began to scream as loudly and annoyingly as only a little baby can, reaching out towards the boxes with his little hands and let tears flow down his cheeks. Soon the old man’s heart softened in pity, and when he could bear it no longer, he gave Raven-Boy the biggest box to play with. The boy seemed to be content for a while, playing with the box, but all of a sudden, he removed the lid, and out came the sky, and before you could grasp it, it was out of the smoke hole and spread out over the barren land. The old chief was furious, but he could do nothing but forgive his beloved grandson. It would not be long before Raven-Boy started crying again, because he wanted the other boxes too. So, reluctantly, he was given the second largest box. Again, after playing a while seemingly content with it, when the chief was starting to loosen his guard upon the boy, he opened the box, and it contained countless little glowing marbles, that soon splashed over the floor and then escaped out of the smoke hole as well. These were the stars, that now arranged themselves in the sky. But Raven was far from done with his business with the treasures of the old chief. The next time he started a row about the boxes, he received the third largest of them, and by opening it, released the moon into the sky. The chief swore never to let the boy near a box again, for in the last one that he had now left, which was also the smallest one, he kept his greatest treasure of all. But you know how it is with crying little babies, in the end you cannot refuse them anything. So, finally, Raven-Boy was handed over the last box. He soon opened it and was almost blinded by the bright light that shone out of it. A big yellow-glowing ball came floating into the room. Immediately, the boy transformed back into Raven, caught the ball in his beak and went to escape through the smoke hole. But because he had been treated well in the old chief’s house, and had 94

always been fed with large quantities of fresh and smoked salmon and eulachon grease, he was too fat, and he got stuck halfway through the hole. The fire below him was smoking heavily and he got burnt from the heat, so he struggled hard until eventually he came free and flew into the sky. The ball in his beak was very heavy and it also burned him, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it there for much longer. He thought, if I cannot have this ball of light, no one shall have it, and with that, Raven threw the ball high into the sky, where it became the sun. This is how Raven brought the light to the world, not out of generosity, but because in his greed he took more than he could swallow. And when the daylight was there, and Raven looked down on himself, he saw that his white feathers had been blackened when he was stuck in the smoke hole. That is why today the raven is black instead of white.

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World Two:244

Into the Sonic Wild. Two Weeks in Alert Bay, Five Months in the Studio The Piece, Fieldwork & Production Process

o) Prelude In the previous chapter I have established sound as a key tool for communication and have pointed out the relation between sound and intangible heritage. I now want to illustrate these theoretical elaborations with a hands-on case, namely the soundscape composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” that I produced in 2009/10 as a commission from the NONAM, covering the cultural area of the Pacific Northwest Coast of North America, particularly introducing the 'Namgis First Nation of Alert Bay, one of the 17 branches of the Kwakwaka'wakw. In the course of this chapter I will introduce a feasible practical approach for creating a piece of acoustic heritage for museum presentation. I will in this chapter refrain from theoretical discussion; it is aimed to read as a travelogue (although the theory was always tacitly with me). I do, however, already point at difficulties that arise in the particular context of working with indigenous people. These will be discussed from a more general angle in World Three, whereas the second part of this case study, the actual implementation of the piece in the museum, will be dealt with in World Four.

244

All secondary information on the Northwest Coast, its indigenous inhabitants, and the impact of White-Indian relationships in this chapter, next to the first hand data gathered on location, taken from the Handbook of North American Indians, Volumes 2 – Bailey (2008): Indians in Contemporary Society; 4 – Washburn (1988): History of White-Indian Relations, esp. pp.81-95, 375-90; and 7 – Suttles (1990): Northwest Coast; esp. pp.1-51, 119-48, 159-68, 359-90 if not indicated otherwise. Many details have also been reconfirmed in personal conversations with my Kwakwaka'wakw informants. 97

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World Two follows the narrative structure of the composition. Every section opens with the plot underlying one of the movements of the piece, followed by supplemental background information relevant to the passage in question, such as an introduction to the indigenous cultures of the Northwest Coast, field observations, and reflexive commentary. To prevent confusion I have refrained from integrating the factual chronological order of events of the field trip, which would significantly differ from the thematic and narrative structure of the composition. In the Exposition I describe the piece itself, and its technical and musical preconditions. Soundmarks and keynotes are identified in the composition. The atmospheric slant of the piece should be self-evident and is therefore not further commented on in this rather technical analysis. The First Movement, covering “The Natural Soundscape”, is the place to talk about the geophysical features of the Northwest Coast and define the 'Namgis’ territory covered by the piece, whereas in the Second Movement (“The Artificial Soundscape”) the focus lies on the historic-cultural background of the Kwakwaka'wakw and offers a first glimpse of Alert Bay and its people today. The situation the 'Namgis and the indigenous peoples of the Northwest Coast in general are facing in the light of the historical development is the main subject of the Third Movement, “The Human Soundscape”, illustrated with case studies of the T'lisalagi'lakw Native School and the U'mista Cultural Centre. After a short detour deep into traditional 'Namgis territory (“Intermission”) I talk about the power of cultural revival by the example of a potlatch that I visited and documented in the Fourth Movement (“The Cultural Soundscape”), then getting back “Down to Earth” in the Reprise, reflecting on my experiences and what they mean for the piece and its reception. The material presented here is the output of a field trip to Alert Bay, BC,245 and adjacent locations, from September 28 to October 11. Record245

It is not always easy to clearly distinguish between the village of Alert Bay, the two Indian reserves, and Cormorant Island, on which the three are located, occupying large portions of its total surface area. In the text, hopefully not causing too 98

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ings were made between September 29 and October 11. From September 28 to October 06 I was accompanied by the NONAM’s ethnologist Heidrun Löb (called Runa in the following). Postproduction took place from October 2009 to April 2010. This chapter is not an exhaustive account of Northwest Coast indigenous cultures. For the interested reader I have assembled a number of recommended publications, print and online, in the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM. This DVD-ROM, that is included in the Box of Treasures as a substitute for a regular appendix, also contains extensive supplementary material for this chapter, such as over ten hours of raw recordings, hundreds of photographs, and other logistical and organisational information relevant for the fieldwork and the composition process. There you will also find screenshots of the compositional arrangement and a full list of sounds used in the composition (in compensation for classical a score sheet), as well as exact travel dates and a detailed hardware list, and excerpts from Runa’s and my own field diaries. I recommend to run the flash application found there parallel to reading the chapter; that will allow you to access the additional information where applicable (in especially relevant passages I have added footnotes hinting at the respective element in the application). That said, I suggest now would be the proper moment to put the book aside and listen to the piece, in cased you have not already done so, that you can find on the “Two Weeks” CD. After having heard “Two Weeks in Alert Bay: One Day in the Life of Raven” you will gain a much deeper understanding of what you have heard when reading the following pages. Then listen to it again, and the world of the Kwakwaka'wakw/'Namgis of Alert Bay as I have experienced it will unfold before your imagination.

much confusion, “Alert Bay” is regularly used generically to denominate all of the above. 99

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0:00’00’’ Exposition: Coming to in Alert Bay A raven croaks. I hear faint broadband noise, not static but gently varying in volume, centre frequency and Zwicker’s parameters. At first there are only short blows that enter my consciousness, but as I regain awareness, it becomes a constant, swooshing sound, that, as I realise after a moment of mal-orientation, arrives at my ears mainly from the half-open window of my room at the Alert Bay Lodge facing the forest behind the rear end of the house. It is still dark, and so I keep lying and listening. The ocean waves manage to escape the masking grip of the wind in the trees. Even if the sun was already up I would not be able to see the agitated waters, because the shoreline is faced by the house’s front. But I can hear them very well now, and although their frequency range is not that much different from the wind’s, the internal structure of the waveform allows my brain to distinguish them from one another. Stretching and yawning, I rub the fatigue out of my eyes and slip into my clothes as fast as possible, because if I don’t, I know I’ll be asleep again in a matter of seconds, the soothing soundscape not being very efficient as an alarm clock, plus, it is October already, and at night it can already get chilly. I grab my gear, that I had prepared in the evening, a massive black plastic suitcase filled with hardware with lots of metal parts to them, so the weight is considerable. But there’s nothing for it, I had planned this for days (counting in everything that lead to this moment would add up to at least a year of preparation), so I don’t intend to let this opportunity pass by. I am the only one awake in the Lodge, including the two dogs, so there is no coffee ready for me. Putting on my hiking boots I leave the building and 100

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head for the forest. Well, in fact I jump in the car that Andrea246 has borrowed me for the time of my stay and drive to the parking lot at the campsite next to the entrance of Cormorant Island Ecological Park, so I have probably 15 minutes walking time to my destination, the boardwalk that crosses the swampy opening in the middle of the isle, that is otherwise by two thirds covered with conifer forest, except for the part that is occupied by the houses and streets of Alert Bay and the two Indian Reserves. I haven’t tried, but I am sure you could circle the island on foot in not much more than an hour, if you found a good path, but here, at it’s highest point, you wouldn’t be able to tell if the sea was around the next corner or a thousand miles away. The spirits of the skies are with me tonight, I think, as the wind recedes. I had been up here late in the evening, and had made a good three quarters of an hour of nice ambience recordings, but the dominant sound had definitely been the wind blowing, not an undesirable sound, but for the morning atmo I prefer a low noisefloor to be able to capture more of the awakening wildlife. The whole island is still asleep, so the dying wind leaves me in almost total silence. I curse my tinnitus, it’s around five and a half key, at 10, maybe 15 dBSPL, inaudible under regular conditions, but it spoils these precious moments, when you could really listen to your inside, as no outside distraction can blur your attention. My distraction is chronic, and it’s inside. But I have more or less learned to accept it and to ignore it, so I enjoy the moment nonetheless.

246

Andrea Sanborn, director of the U’mista Cultural Centre at the time of my visit, will be introduced in the Third Movement. 101

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i) The Composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” is a soundscape composition. As such it follows the basic rules of the genre as established by Barry Truax at Simon Fraser University, and others. Thus it is “characterized by the presence of recognizable environmental sounds and contexts, the purpose being to invoke the listener's associations, memories, and imagination related to the soundscape.“247 Early pieces were often limited to the simple exercise of 'framing' environmental sound by taking it out of context, where often it is ignored, and directing the listener's attention to it in a publication or public presentation, meant that the compositional technique involved was minimal, involving only selection, transparent editing, and unobtrusive cross-fading. This 'neutral' use of the material established one end of the continuum occupied by soundscape compositions, namely those that are the closest to the original environment, or what might be called 'found compositions.' Others [sic.] works use transformations of environmental sounds and here the full range of analog and digital studio techniques comes into play, with an inevitable increase in the level of abstraction. However, the intent is always to reveal a deeper level of signification inherent within the sound and to invoke the listener's semantic associations without obliterating the sound's recognizability.248

According to Truax, the following principles are inherent to soundscape composition (as opposed to musique concrète)249:

247

http://www.sfu.ca/~truax/scomp.html ibid. 249 cp. World One, section II.3: Field Recording in Music 248

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• Listener recognizability of the source material is maintained • Listener's knowledge of the environmental and psychological context is invoked • Composer's knowledge of the environmental and psychological context influences the shape of the composition at every level • The work enhances our understanding of the world and its influence carries over into everyday perceptual habits250

The approaches that can be followed when creating a soundscape composition can range from the above indicated found sound, unaltered and pure, to a level of abstraction where, if at all, only the composer himself will be able to trace back the origin of the composition’s elements without extensive explanation. A variety of perspectives can be applied; in the fixed perspective, emphasis is laid on the flow of time inevitable in musical composition, as it is a time-based art form by nature. The moving perspective allows to introduce a spatial dimension, not only in a stationary way (as in that one can hear the spatial attributes of the place where a recording was made), but also create an image of motion before the listener’s ears. One level up, there is also the option of using variable perspectives, leaving the concrete or figurative ground in favour of more abstract concepts.251 A number of techniques can be employed to reach these ends that are derived from classical audio engineering for music, film,252 or other applications. Time compression is one crucial tool, if one aims to tell a story that in real-time would be impossible to listen to from beginning to end. In “Two Weeks” this was applied all over the piece; 35 hours of field recordings were taken over the course of two weeks and then cut down to a composi-

250

http://www.sfu.ca/~truax/scomp.html ibid. 252 As a matter of fact, good film sound often is nothing else but a soundscape composition in service of (or in symbiosis with) the picture; potent examples may for instance be found in the oeuvres of Sergio Leone, Stanley Kubrick, or Peter Jackson. 251

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tion of 42 minutes, or, in the shortened versions, even less. In terms of the narrative structure, the main version, entitled “A Day in the Life of Raven”, spans the course of a whole day, beginning in the early morning and ending in the late evening; its superstructure with the depiction of modern-day Alert Bay and the traditional lore of the Kwakwaka'wakw dating back centuries, if not, as according to some, millennia,253 reaching much further. Another tool is the layering of several discrete tracks in order to create a richer image, which is very apparent in the First Movement, where up to five layers represent the forest atmosphere (although, if you didn’t know it, you probably wouldn’t notice). In the real world, much less was happening in the same timeframe. Although this is quite a dangerous one, as it strongly obscures “reality”, it can be very helpful as an additional mode of compressing information. Cross-fades can be very handy in order to create smooth transitions and, if applied carefully, can add to a concise narrative. And then there are of course all the funny little gadgets that the SFX rack in the studio can offer, beginning with technical mastering tools such as denoisers, over dynamic and frequency adjustment, and ending with the really heavy stuff, artificial echo (dislocating the source by alteration of its spatial appearance), and other modulation tools like phasers, flangers, distortion etc. that create effects not found in the real world at all. I have deployed my magical box of special effects only in the Spirit World section of the Fourth Movement, but extensively so: although still the basis of the audible material, the source sounds become irrecognisable. Using tiny bits of found sounds to create artificial rhythms, drones and other musical elements in that way, leaving the sources of the material behind for the sake of musical/aesthetic considerations, we have moved very close to what is better defined as musique concrète.

253

cp. Schoer in De Bruyne/Gielen, eds. (2011), p.255: Bruce Alfred claims the art style of the Kwakwaka'wakw took „eight to ten thousand years to evolve“. 104

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“Two Weeks” as a semi-documentary work sticks pretty much to the classical, unaltered found sound, fixed perspective idea. Very few adjustments to the field recordings have been made, except for noise reduction, some layering, where deemed necessary, and of course a lot of editing in terms of which passage of which recording was to be placed at which point in the composition. This was mainly determined by the predefined structure of the piece. It is made up of four movements, and an exposition, an interlude between movements three and four, and a reprise. Two additional tracks, one recounting the Raven story opening this chapter, and a speech in Kwak'wala and English given by Kwakwaka'wakw elder Vera Newman, adding a first voice perspective to the piece, have been included in the second edition of the CD presentation format to complete the picture, along with a couple of snapshots from a consecutive visit to the Bay two years after the first. With these four movements the piece is arranged along the line of the Four Worlds as taken from Northwest Coast indigenous lore: The Land, the Sea, the Sky, and the Spirit World. I have decided not to relate the individual movements too closely to the respective worlds, which would have resulted in a deviating structural approach. In the present composition the progression follows a road from natural sounds over everyday artificial sounds and indigenous language to genuine cultural expression, the four worlds of indigenous cosmology being substituted in the following order by the Natural Soundscape (nature recordings from the forest and the seashore), the Artificial Soundscape (Alert Bay village atmo, people, woodcarving as a typical artificial element/soundmark from the area), the Human Soundscape (focus on language and education), and the Cultural Soundscape (traditional song). This constitutes a comprehensive guided tour into the world of the Northwest Coast peoples, as compared to a structure that would actually work with sounds from the land (animals, people’s sounds of all kinds), the seas (whales, sounds of water), the skies (birds, wind, and, very uncultural, but nevertheless part of the soundscape, planes) and the spirit world (what105

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ever that may sound like; in the Fourth Movement you will find my imagination of it). That would have been too loosely tied in terms of a narrative, and could not as easily have been fitted into the cycle of one day as I have done in the full version. The full version of the piece has a total duration of 42’, a Workshop Edit of 21’ has been added as well as a 6’30’’ Walk-In Edit, in which the four movements, however, can barely still be recognised (they are indicated in the beginning of the piece by playing a snippet of each movement, one after the other, in the right order, and each being panned to a different one of the four speakers in the quadraphonic array, thus forming a closed circle).

ii) Field Recording The source materials for a piece in the genre of soundscape composition are usually recordings that are made in the field. Opposite to the controlled environment of the recording studio or, a little less controllable, but nevertheless generally well prepared and under known conditions, the concert hall, such recordings are snapshots made under widely uncontrollable conditions. The recordist and the hardware he uses have to account for unexpected sound events that may or may not contribute to the sound information the recordist wishes to collect. In most cases there exists no script or score that can be followed, and the involved sound sources are not bound to instructions given by a director or producer. That ordinarily results in a collection of incidental sound bits the usability of which can only be determined afterwards.

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For “Two Weeks” a list of desirable sounds254 had been devised, which was based on my pre-contact knowledge of Kwakwaka'wakw culture and contemporary society, and imagined “good” sounds that would be fit to assemble a representative acoustic display of those. When reality hits in, you tend to simply put up microphones and press the “record” button (in case people are involved only if they have given their consent, of course) whenever something promising comes your way. In outdoor situations you usually have to account for wind and background sounds, the latter depending on the purpose of the given sample either a heavy disturbance, or part of the ambience. Indoors, ventilation systems can act similarly in nature. Once working with people, either in public or in private situations, there are always limitations as to where you may place a microphone in a non-staged recording situation. A dance performance, for instance, where the ideal position for a surround recording might be right in the middle of the dancers in order to catch the whole image of space and movement, you may have to resort to a lateral recording position to prevent the dancers from falling over or damaging your equipment (in case of BigHouse events the ideal recording position is usually taken by the fireplace, a rather unfavourable spot for heat-sensitive gear), or simply due to optical reasons. Often a recording fails because the time span, however quick you may be, from hearing something interesting until the recording starts may be too long and the sound event has already passed, just like in snapshot photography. The most feasible strategy to meet to such obstacles, next to a healthy dose of good fortune, is to gather as many hours of recordings as possible, to scan for functional but unobtrusive recording positions, to prepare for every eventuality in terms of hardware limitations (wind protection, different directivity patterns, sensitivities and shock protection of microphones, long 254

See Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI Cormorant Island: Field Log Data (Strategy Notes, p.1) 107

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battery life and spare recorders etc.), and especially to be resourceful in terms of working with the material you could get once you lock yourself up in the studio. The latter depends to a great extent on the creativity of the composer, who must use all his imagination and skill to develop a concept and a score that can draw from the strengths of the material and can compensate for its flaws in terms of low quality recordings (be that due to an unfavourable recording setting or weak content) and sound events that were missed to record. It was easy in my case to deal with missing sounds as soon as I had decided to make a composition that does not attempt to represent Northwest Coast culture as a whole (which would be as futile an attempt as it would be presumptuous), but instead to present a glimpse of Kwakwaka'wakw contemporary life in Alert Bay from my personal perspective. Anything I did not get to record had not been part of my experiences during the visit, as I had been recording almost constantly, so I more or less recorded everything that I would deem to be worth it. The technical difficulties luckily could be met quite successfully by means of the highly sophisticated hard- and software I had at my disposal.

iii) Heavy Machines I have always considered surround sound to be a pointless gadget of a media-technologically overfed society. We only have two ears, so stereo should be fine. And there is barely anyone with the required knowledge and space in his living room to arrange five speakers in a way that sweet spot and seating position really coincide. Which, due to average living room dimensions, could only work for one person at a time anyway. So my attitude towards surround sound used to be a rather sceptical one. Until Peter Jackson did the impossible. The greatest fiction book of all times, that everyone agreed would never work as a movie, had been brought to the silver screen and, as an extended edition, released on DVD. The day The Fellow108

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ship of the Ring came to the stores I bought a DVD-player with a 5.1 Dolby surround sound system and – behold – after cautiously placing speakers and tapestries, it was a mindblower! A couple of years later we equipped our Sound Chamber at the NONAM with a 4.1 quadraphonic speaker array (there was no need for a centre speaker, which is only relevant for dialogue in movie theatres).255 The first production that we installed in the Sound Chamber was the Arctic Soundscape, made from mono and stereo material that we very conservatively arranged in its new surround environment. Since then, seeing (hearing) the limitations of this technique, I had hoped once to be able to not only up-mix to four channels but to already make recordings with a surround microphone setup. With the field trip to Alert Bay, this dream would become reality; I would finally be able to deploy my training as an audio engineer and my affinity to high fidelity hardware that comes along with it, to satisfy my hunger as an audiophile for top quality, crystal-clear, super-versatile sound recordings. Three different types of microphones would help me to take home the soundscape of Alert Bay. A matched pair of the Oktava MK12, a small-diaphragm condenser microphone with excellent SNR, linearity, and an input level easily besting that of the AKG C451, my reference microphone in this category and price range, would be used for indoor stereo recordings. In an ORTF stereophonic setting they could guarantee a two-channel recording with clear directivity and depth, when used with cardioid polar pattern capsules. For particularly noisy environments a -10dB attenuation module could be mounted behind the capsule. A stereo bar would allow me to set up the ORTF with only one stand (less luggage, less visual intrusion!). For highly directional sound sources I had a Beyerdynamic MCE86SII shotgun that could be mounted in a Rycote blimp and wind muff for windy outdoor situations. Being a dynamic microphone, it was the only one in my 255

For a more detailed description of the Sound Chamber, please visit World Four; technical sketches can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM. 109

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collection that would not require phantom power for its operation, relevant in situations where long battery life would be of the essence. But the star of my collection certainly was the SPS200 that had just been introduced by SoundField. This surround microphone is comprised of four figure-of-eight transducers, which are arranged in an equally angled 3D array, making it possible to record in a ball shaped polar pattern, that can be coded into virtually any multi-channel format from stereo to hypothetically (haven’t yet heard this being done) a three-dimensional audio image retroactively. The capsules are placed as closely together as possible to eliminate the phase problems associated with ‘spaced' multi-microphone setups where further processing compensates for the small spacing that remains between the capsules, effectively creating a single-point pickup. The source sound is received equally effectively from all directions, reproducing a realistic listening experience. Essentially, the output from the four capsules of the SoundField SPS200, once processed, convey a three dimensional snapshot of an acoustic event: width, depth and height.256

Since the Sound Chamber at the NONAM features quadraphonic surround sound, this is the format that I chose for the processing of the SPS200 recordings. The so-called A-format file, the format in which the original recordings are stored must be routed through a plug-in called Surround Zone, where it can be decoded into the desired number of channels, whose directivity can be adjusted. Since there exists no quadraphonic preset, I muted the centre channel of the 5.1 preset and set the angles between the speakers to 90° each (as compared to the ITU recommendation for a 5.1 speaker array, where the front L/R speakers are set to 30° from the centre, and the rear speakers are set to 110° from the centre)257. Another very helpful feature in the software is the possibility to zoom into any desired direction, meaning that a recording can retroactively empha256

http://www.soundfield.com/downloads/sps200-manual.pdf http://www.itu.int/dms_pubrec/itu-r/rec/bs/R-REC-BS.1116-1-199710-I!!PDFE.pdf

257

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sise a certain direction, ideally that where the source to be featured most prominently was located. One example would be the potlatch recording that I made in Campbell River, where I had the singing/drumming direct signal coming from one distinct direction, and the ambience and reverb coming from everywhere. I zoomed into that direct signal, thus stressing it against the ambience, which nevertheless stayed in the mix, thereby creating at the same time the directivity and the spatiality I wanted. I still miss the option to make use of the altitudinal information also recorded by the microphone array; the plug-in does not feature such a possibility, except for a 45° tilt, which however is only applied to the horizontal surround mix. Maybe with the newly emerging 3D-EST speaker concept258 the idea can be brought in again (no use producing 3D sound when it cannot be played back). In order to achieve optimum results I brought a state-of-the-art portable multi-channel recorder, the Sound Devices 788t, which to my knowledge has as of yet not found its master in terms of accuracy in processing and channel linking and SNR of the microphone pre-amplifiers in the category of mobile audio recorders. As a spare unit and for situations where either more than one microphone setup would be used, or the 788t would be too bulky, a Tascam DR100 was included in the collection. It could also be used as a standalone handheld recorder with its internal mini-AB stereophonic microphone setup. In many cases I would use the SPS200 with the 788t for the ambience while at the same time making highly directional recordings with the shotgun and the DR100.259 Next to all the cables required and heavy wind protection for both the SPS200 and the shotgun (the Oktavas were only to be used for indoor situations; for the DR100 internal microphones I had a foam screen), a 60cm regular stand and a table stand would complete the hardware, along with soft cases for the individual recorders as well as a hard case to store all 258 259

https://sites.google.com/site/3destwiki/ See, for example, Intermission: The Wa Experience 111

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hardware in for transport. A notebook for backup copies of the audio data and log notes, a digital SLR with a GPS module, and a couple of adapters to adjust to North American power outlets were placed in my hand baggage.

iv) The Music of the Coast: The Piece The composition has been divided into four distinct movements in order to create a chronology, and also in order to be able to display different aspects of the Alert Bay Soundscape in a comprehensive manner. Therefore we have to investigate these movements individually, as they represent very different environments that are comprised of different main features and cannot be evaluated all at once.260 The First Movement, as it evolves out of the Exposition261, is made up from a limited number of main sounds: Wind, a creek, different birds (that we will take a closer look at in a minute), and soft waves. It is pretty much a hifi soundscape; when you sit in the woods at night, and there is little to no wind, everything is crystal clear, and at daytime this is not much different, even the occasional car engines that can be heard from the village do not really intrude. The first keynote to be identified is certainly the wind in the trees. However, it is not a very specific keynote; I am doubtful that, even with a lot of practice, it would be possible to identify Cormorant Island Ecological Park by the way the wind sounds there. The same applies for the birds; that crows are dominant in the acoustic space of the place is uncontested, but 260

A full chronology of the composition can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM. 261 The Exposition in the Workshop Edit differs significantly from the original version: Next to being somewhat shorter, it features the same quadruplet of short sound bits already foreshadowing the following four movements, that is also found in the Walk-In edit. This is owed to its didactic function, where I decided to carefully disrupt the narrative build-up for the sake of clarity. 112

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then again, crows can be heard in the Southwest of the United States as well as in Wiesbaden, Germany. And Raven, whom I would certainly name a cultural soundmark, must face the same ambiguity, as his species is not limited to the Northwest Coast, let alone Cormorant Island. However, due to his significance to Northwest Coast culture, he becomes a more important part of the soundscape here, disregarding that he may part of it elsewhere as well. And the creek even is a cheat, for it does not exist on the island, but was recorded 300 miles to the south. What we have here is an illustrative example of the difficulties we face when we try to create a laboratory situation, to isolate one channel of perception from the others and from the human mind. It is imperative that we have some background knowledge in order to understand what we are listening to; we have to be acquainted to the signs and the way their interrelations are structured, otherwise we will not be able to detect the communication patterns and thus comprehend the information system presented to us. This goes hand in hand with additional sensory information. The sound alone will tell us that we probably are in the woods, and that there is a shoreline nearby (in the second half of the movement). No more, no less. Once we see, smell, feel, we still will not be one hundred per cent enlightened, but, if familiar with the geographic features (which cannot really be heard in this composition), we may be able to test our assumptions as to where we are, limiting the options to the Canadian west coast or Scandinavia, perhaps. Temperature, moisture, and other data of tactile nature may support that assumption. But what is most important to understand the situation is knowledge about the interrelations. With a proper introduction to the circumstances, a listener will be able to draw a lot of information from listening. This can be achieved by well-phrased labelling, and by visualisation. At the NONAM this is done by the accompanying Northwest Coast section of the permanent

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exhibition, the CD version262 of the piece contains photography and text. I have tried different approaches when presenting the piece to audiences,263 and it turns out that it works best with a brief introduction and a small selection of pictures taken on location. There is no need to get scientific for this first impression, that the piece tries to offer, but without any liner notes, it is at risk to fail to meet its main purpose. Now, let’s return to our analysis. We have realised that the First Movement as a stand-alone is not very specific. It contains keynotes and soundmarks that are generally associated with temperate arboreal/coastal regions. Perhaps that is different in the Second Movement. What is certainly a set of soundmarks to be associated with Alert Bay are the various sounds identified with woodcarving. They cannot be heard all over town, but they are an integral part of the lives of many of its inhabitants, and they are the companions of a cultural practice and renewal that would well deserve to be added to the List of Masterpieces introduced in World One. Next to that, most of the sounds to be heard are pretty much of background sound nature, becoming figure only due to their explicit use in the composition; people talking a couple of dozen metres away, a car passing, more crows, and the like. In master carver Beau Dick’s workshop we have a mix of different elements that have an almost equal weight, Beau talking, the music from the radio, the sounds of woodworking, the telephone ringing. Isolated, they would not come close to the rich story they tell when heard altogether. Another case of one plus one equalling one and becoming more than its parts at the same time. And then there is that very personal moment with the old man, who starts talking to me about the decline of fish prices. Without knowing who he was 262

First edition; not included in Box of Treasures, which has many more pictures collected on the Raven Travelling DVD 263 see also concluding chapter Next World, section ii) Expanding 114

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and in what relation exactly he stands to the community, I took him to be the guiding character of the first part of the movement, letting him introduce the world of the 'Namgis people (whom he apparently belonged to) from a very close point of view, closer than I could ever get. He is the keynote, on the ground of which all the soundmarks, the singing, the carving, the potlatch speech, can thrive. The Third Movement does not have any real keynotes. There is the usual amount of background sound you have in classrooms, children’s chatter, some air condition, and the like. But it so much focuses on speech, that it is almost signal sound only, and in that also a hifi soundscape, much more so than the Second Movement, where the background is featured almost as prominently as are the fore- and middle ground. When you start identifying the languages spoken, these signal sounds turn into signs, and, if analysed according to cultural or linguistic traits, soundmarks. The movement is made up of stationary recordings, changing location every now and then, but not playing around with directivity, it is plain speech and song. Then we have the Interlude, certainly lofi, Wa264 being the soundmark against the roaring keynote of the waterfall; simple and effective. The Fourth Movement, which we have now arrived at, is of different nature. It begins with the introduction of the BigHouse atmo, crackling fire and the murmuring of some eight hundred witnesses as a composite keynote. When the music hits in, all other sound is drowned in it (masked), the beat becomes the key, the singing, well, becomes the song that is grounded in that key. Once we enter the spirit world, the music remains the keynote, only now it is so heavily processed that you can barely still identify it; at some point you will completely loose it. Unconsciously, though, I am sure that it cre264

William Wasden jr., who will be introduced in the Intermission 115

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ates a continuity that would have been lost, had I used artificially synthesised pads instead of processing the original soundtrack. Clearly the animal and spirit cries of Marcus Alfred that I let then come from all sides, encircling the listener,265 are signals and soundmarks here, with some of the interpolated sounds like the muffled speech bits and the scrambling of breakfast eggs (with lots of delay) ranging somewhere between back- and middle ground. Even Marcus’ cries, as distinct and signalling as they may be, are not that clearly foreground sounds due to the added heavy reverb. Spatially they are almost as far in the distance as the sound floor, they just have the more distinct and comprehensible structure to tell them apart from the rest. What is left now is the reprise of the piece, which isn’t a reprise in the classical sense of the word, no more than the exposition really meets its classical criteria, as I am not returning to all the themes of the main movements, but rather, after a short detour to the sea lions, to the soft basic tuning from the exposition. They are more of a pro- and epilogue, I guess. Raven (U’melth) alone is the alpha and the omega of my acoustic world of Alert Bay.

v) Being a Visitor Creating an Alert Bay soundscape composition cannot be a simple task. The richness of every soundscape is here even further stressed by the impossibly complex cultural and sociological situation that comes into play and needs to be worked into the composition, which is the reason why I decided to work in movements (next to paying respect to the sacred number) in order to allow at least parts of that richness not only to be presented, but made identifiable to the listener. Listening to the shortened versions, which I 265

only works in the surround version; available on the audio DVD in the Digital Treasures collection and in the Sound Chamber 116

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deem as inevitable compromises, shows how much is lost by too severe editing. The duration of 42’ is admittedly rather long compared to the 3’30’’ rule for billboard chart listed pop songs. But obviously the latter was never the point of departure. I think that I have taken it to the limit of acceptable length, when it comes to pure audio without spoken narration or obvious musical themes; it does have exactly the duration that works best, no longer, no shorter. Did I now really find that well-balanced mix of keynotes, soundmarks, signal, fore- middle and background sounds that appropriately represents the indigenous cultural circle of the Pacific Northwest Coast of North America? I think not. But when I listen to the piece, especially its full version, I feel that I have arrived at a well-balanced mix of sounds from Alert Bay that perfectly represents my impressions and experiences. One thing cannot be overstressed: “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” is a personal account. It is not the story the 'Namgis would have told. They may agree with the result, but it is not their story, it is mine. This is also the reason why I refrained to list my “informants” in the beginning of this chapter. Of the many people I met and that supported me and worked with me, some are introduced in the course of the chapter as they appear in the piece; I cannot express my gratitude to all of them, named and unnamed, in words doing justice to their contributions (tried my best in the acknowledgements). However, since this is my story, and my song, I will tell it from my point of view, and no other’s.

vi) Aftermath: When the Music’s Over When I pieced the composition together I did not write a score, nor did I identify key features like sound signals, background sounds, keynotes or soundmarks according to the ecologic acoustician’s toolkit prior to composing. There were a few basic structural stipulations that I had defined, like 117

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the number of movements, and their respective foci, and of course I spent some time looking at my recording logs in order to determine which recordings would be most suitable in terms of representative and narrative potential, as well as how to balance them for a smooth and entertaining listening experience. But I did not make the composition slave to its pre-defined purpose, rather the reverse. I regularly double-checked if the result of my artistic decisions would meet its didactic demands, and would adjust and refine some passage here and there. My compositional approach, however, was ruled by musical feeling, the same way I would play the Blues, and affective response, for in my experience, as indicated in World One, the atmospheric entry is most fit to trigger affection and thus interest in a subject.

April to September 2009 How, of all the Jerkwater Towns on Earth, did I Happen to End up in Alert Bay? It takes more than a towel and a reassuring book cover to go soundscaping in Indian country. Extensive preparations preceded the actual trip. More than a year before I finally left I had started to make plans for an on-location assignment in order to get footage for consecutive soundscape productions, hereby referring to the fact that we already had the one on the Arctic Cultural Circle, which was to be followed up by four more soundscapes to, in the end, cover all five cultural areas presented in the NONAM's permanent exhibition. I was only halfway content with that Inuit Soundscape for a number of reasons: Despite around 200 hours of recordings the sound quality of the final picks was still rather poor. This might have been due to what the harsh conditions in the Arctic did to the hardware, but I suspect that the lack of audio engineering skills did play a role as well. So I was determined to send a trained engineer next time. Secondly, we had had to work with archive 118

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material, so we didn't have all too detailed data and especially background information I deemed mandatory for appropriate composition and documentation. Consequently, the one who would direct the next soundscape production should ideally be the one who had also made the recordings (and made all those notes and remarks that would enrich the database). Being in charge of all the practical, theoretical and creative processes that lead to the final product, I would be able to write about all steps first hand. Going Sound Hunting in Alert Bay for the Northwest Coast Soundscape was a practical decision. Denise Daenzer, the director of the NONAM, and the museum's ethnologist Heidrun Löb (or Runa, her calling name) had paid a visit to the U'mista in October 2008, so the contact had already been established. Back then they had even already talked about the soundscape project, so the people had a rough idea what we would be up to and they had left the impression that they might support our efforts. I had never been to Canada, and had never had any dealings with North American Natives either, so for me this was a convenient solution to an otherwise highly complicated matter: To get in touch with the right people, say the right things to them, and then comes in the random factor: If you don't know your way around, you need a considerable amount of luck to pick the right spots, both in terms of place and time. But the road had already been paved for me, I just had to travel it. We knew that the U'mista would receive us well, we knew that there would be people, places and activities to record that would fit into our scheme, and we knew how to get there. So, after a planning phase of almost a year, we were ready for action. For three weeks I would go to Canada, the first two of which I would spend in Alert Bay with Runa, who would accompany me as my guide and as representative for the NONAM. I would bring the hardware, whereas she would help me out with her knowledge of the people's cultural background. For logistical reasons the travel period was set in early October. 119

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0:02’00’’ 1st Movement: The Natural Soundscape So here I am, sitting on the wooden bench halfway through the swamp. I’ve decided to place the mike on the earthy path under the trees next to the boardwalk this time, so I don’t have to be as careful not making any noise as last night, and also because I hope that there will be more birds closer to the recording position that way. I am not fully awake yet, though conscious of my surroundings, a part of me still lingers in the realm of dreams. I recall the voices of the wind and the river, that runs beneath my feet, but no, the wind indeed blows on the island, but I will not get to record the creek that I use in my composition until I get to Nanaimo, hours away by car and bus, and almost a week from now, far behind the southernmost border of 'Namgis territory. But because Nimpkish River with its abundance of sockeye salmon (that was before the industrial depletion of the fish populations, mind you) used to be (and in spirit still is) the lifeline of the people, I feel it needs running water in this piece, even though I will find none on the island itself. With the river slowly fading from my precog mind, and with the wind keeping a low profile, I now listen to the forest as it awakens from its nightly repose. The crows are the first to come alive, some distant, some closer to the recording position, and all around the place, making it evident that they, at this time of the year, are the dominant species in the sonic layer of the local ecosystem. Raven may still be the trickster lord of the spirit realm, but he is definitely not alone in the animal kingdom. Next to his croaks a woodpecker knocks on a tree to startle some bugs to feed on, and a number of smaller birds, the names of which I do not know, claim their territory (I suspect starlings to be among the crowd).

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I wish I had the keenness of the Kaluli who Steven Feld visited years ago, then I could attach names and meaning to their song. Instead, I couldn’t even tell how they look like. I feel a bit stupid, but luckily I haven’t come here for ornithological studies. A twig cracks nearby, and the birds are becoming lively. At the inhabited end of the island there also seems to be some early bird, as I can hear a car engine going off. As the sun rises above the trees, I turn to the stony beach. The nuthatch that had accompanied me with its sharp high-pitched short yelps for a time now has to share the acoustic space with numerous seabirds, above all seagulls, but also some duck- or gooselike critters. I have to admit that there is some layering going on here; at an audition of the completed soundscape I will arrange for some friends, one of them remarks that his idea of nature would be way more calm and relaxing, “there isn’t that much commotion going on in the woods”, he’ll say, and, yes, he’ll be right. I have to face the dilemma that, if I play it out the right way, I will need too much time for the natural soundscape, time I do not have, because if I let the morning atmo develop the way it really happens, many a listener (remember, we’re talking about a museum audience as the initial target group) might not wait for the end of it, because nothing’ s happening. So I layer up to four or five recordings taken on the same spot, but at different times, to get all the birds compressed into two minutes. That brings up yet another difficulty. In the quiet environment I am recording in, I have to crank up the microphone preamps considerably, resulting in not only the signal sounds to gain in volume, but also a rising noisefloor caused by the analogue components of the hardware (mainly of the microphone). It will be quite audible on the individual recordings already, and now imagine the effect of four layers of background static from four tracks huddling together in one place! I will take quite some effort in post production to reduce that undesirable noise; to fully remove it would affect the signal sounds too much, and it would add lots of nasty mp3-like artefacts, so I will have to choose for a compromise where both extremes 121

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will be more or less in balance. I admit I may even low-cut some passages in order to get rid of a far away motor engine I would not want to disturb the nature effect. Since nothing natural is going on in the frequency band removed, however, I don’t feel bad about it. Another obstacle to deal with when recording in the open is wind, the nasty little bugger. The membranes, that are supposed to vibrate in unison with the subtle periodical compressions and decompressions of the air that we perceive as sound waves, are now jammed by unidirectional air movement and cannot react to the sound information anymore, resulting in a lowfrequency rattle that cannot be removed afterwards. Of course there are various forms of wind protection, but they all affect the frequency spectrum that arrives at the membrane, the better the protection, the bigger the frequency loss, especially at the high end. And even the strongest jammer cannot withstand an upright BC autumn storm. The second problem with wind is its credibility. It can sound beautifully when you’re on location, seeing the trees, smelling the forest, feeling the chill on your face, and then, back in the studio, when you listen to it again, you ask yourself if you have really recorded genuine wind, or if what you are listening to is just static, because you forgot to jack in the mike. Again this calls for compromise when you wish your audience to believe you. I will choose for heavy filtering with a wah-wah effect to achieve this howling wind sound that we are used to from conventional Hollywood sound design, and carefully cross-fade that into an unaltered wind recording in the hope that the latter will then be recognised as what it is. This method bears some resemblance to the common sound policy in film, where you rather work with conventions than with reality, as reality would fail to convince the audience: There is this example I always use when talking to students about film sound aesthetics: When an airplane lands on a silver screen airstrip, you always hear its tires screeching once it touches the ground. Try that on your local airport; you will have risked permanent hearing loss long before you get close enough to hear any tires.

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But convention demands that screech; once left out, the viewer/listener in the cinema will have trouble believing the plane has really touched down. So the natural soundscape offers one or two challenges when it comes to make good recordings and afterwards to make people believe you, especially when you want to be authentic and entertaining at the same time. Luckily there were also those takes where the wind held back. Now I have to wait for rain, as no BC soundscape can be complete without the constant rain that covers all the land and the sea with a veil of thin grey braids.

vii) Caught between the Rockies and the Pacific Our story takes place in and around Alert Bay. The village is located on Cormorant Island, a small island in Queen Charlotte Straight, off the Northeastern Coast of Vancouver Island near Port McNeill. The Island has a total land area of about four square-kilometres and is, apart from its inhabited area, as most of the coast and its countless smaller and larger islands, heavily forested.266 The indigenous cultures found on the North American continent are distinguished by ethnographers by their ascription to ten cultural areas. One that is very distinct from the rest of the continent is the cultural area of the Pacific Northwest Coast,267 that geographically runs west of the Rocky Mountains “from the Copper River delta on the Gulf of Alaska to the Winchuk 266

Maps can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI Cormorant Island. Suttles (1990), p.1; Suttles points out the uniqueness of the Northwest Coast as a natural region, very different from the rest of the continent, but also remarks that its human inhabitants did and do not significantly (biologically) differ from the other inhabitant of North America. He also remarks the linguistic diversity of the area, and the fact that two of its twelve language families have members outside the Northwest Coast. 267

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River near the Oregon-California border, extending inland to the Chugach and Saint Elias ranges of Alaska, the Coast Mountains of British Columbia, and the Cascade Range of Washington and Oregon.”268 The borders are slightly varying in different definitions, however, the coastal strip of southwest Alaska, British Columbia, and Washington (and the indigenous peoples living there) are always included.269 Since my fieldwork took place on Vancouver Island only, I do not have to discuss a couple of miles to the north or to the south of a coastline that spans at least 2000km, though with a maximum inland extension of only 300km. Since we are still in the natural soundscape, this seems to be a good spot to bring in some scenic features of the area visited. A journey with a ferryboat along that coast270 reveals a landscape that is at the same time appealing and confusing. Hundreds of small islands, inlets, and fjords between steep mountainsides, dangerous currents and shallows, unpredictable winds, and sudden fog demand the skipper to have a good geographic memory, skill and a big barrel of luck. Gloomy coniferous forests cover the steep shores, often hiding the signs of human presence, small villages or lonely wooden cabins. Through small and broad river valleys one can see the snowy peaks of high mountains.271 As rough as this coastline presents itself, the climate is relatively mild. The Kuroshio, a powerful oceanic current also known as the Japan Current, carries warm water from the southern parts of the coast up to the Aleute Islands, circulating in the North Pacific comparable to the impact the Gulf Stream has on the Northern Atlantic coastal regions of Europe. The moist air climbs from the sea up the mountains where it cools down and releases 268

ibid. ibid. 270 In my case the short ride from Port McNeill to Alert Bay; but since I’ve seen a lot of the area from above when flying in from Vancouver, I fathom most of it resembles the features described above, which is also confirmed in the pertinent literature. 271 Inspired by Bruggemann/Gerber (1987), p.25 269

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its waters. As a result, the temperature seldom rises above 18°C during the summer, but also does not fall below freezing point in wintertime, and rain is a constant companion for the peoples in the area.272 As if trying to compensate for the never-ending rains, that might have fuelled the rumours of a Big Flood that once covered all the lands before the Myth People had left for the Spirit World, the Creator has (often with the unknowing and most likely unwilling assistance of Raven) made sure that food, clothing and shelter would be found in vast supplies, if the people held true to the commandments handed down to them by their ancestors. Fish, especially salmon and in some areas eulachon, but also halibut, clams and other molluscs, and sea mammals such as whales and seal were the nutritious basis, along with a few land animals and berries; houses, clothing and ceremonial artefacts could be manufactured from the red and yellow cedar of the forests. For millennia the wood, bark, withes, and roots of the red and yellow cedar (thuja plicata and chamaecyparis nootkatensis) were the main material basis on the Northwest Coast. Both are not really members of the cedar family, but at least conifers; the names, however, have become naturalised, so I shall stick to them. From them, almost all goods for everyday and ritual use could be produced. The red cedar, which can reach heights of up to 70 metres and trunk base diameters of 4.3 metres, provides strong, but light, wood for house planks, beams and posts, dugout canoes, bentwood boxes, and many other profane and ceremonial objects. The art of bending wood was so sophisticated that bentwood vessels could be used as waterproof transport cases and even for 272

The Handbook of North American Indians, Vol.7 – Northwest Coast – states that „[t]he widely held belief that the Japan Current warms the Northwest Coast is without foundation“ and gives an explanation as to which currents actually really are to be held responsible for the regional climate; Suttles (1990), p.20. However, since the Kuroshio is colloquially accepted as the North Pacific’s Gulf Stream’s cousin, it is enough to know that certain peculiarities in the temperature of the seawater are causing the moderate temperatures and high humidity. 125

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cooking food by inserting red-hot stones into a box filled with water until boiling. The tree’s natural fungicide thujaplicin prevents even the dead wood from rotting for up to a hundred years, thereby making it most suitable for products requiring durability. From its bark and roots baskets, clothing, and blankets were fabricated. The wood of the yellow cedar, somewhat smaller, has a less porous structure, corrupting the formidable insulation properties of its larger cousin, but making it the perfect material for masks, dishes, and other smaller objects.273 Six (or five, if you leave out the rainbow trout) species of salmon provided the most prominent nutrition source for the people on the Northwest Coast: Spring salmon (oncorhynchus tshawytscha), dog salmon (oncorhynchus keta), coho salmon (oncorhynchus kisutch), pink salmon (oncorhynchus gorbuscha), and sockeye salmon (oncorhynchus nerka), and the Steelhead (oncorhynchus mykiss, the sea-run rainbow trout), the largest of which, the spring salmon, can weigh over 60kg.274 Travelling the coastal rivers in several runs during autumn to get to their spawning grounds, they were easily caught in large numbers, and could be smoked for preservation to provide food for the cold season. Of the first salmon caught in a season, traditionally the bones were thrown back into the river so they could return to the underwater houses of the Salmon People in order to be renewed for the next year. Not to do this would ultimately kill him and upset his kin, who would then refuse to return and offer themselves to be eaten. If the carcass was incomplete when returned to the river, the salmon returning to his home might miss a limb; he and his people would also not return.275

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Stewart ([1984] 1995), pp.21-24 (red cedar) & pp.25f (yellow cedar) Suttles (1990), p.24f 275 cp. Suttles (1990), p.468 (about Bella-Coola beliefs), Suttles/Wayne in Suttles, ed. (1990), p.496 (about Coast Salish beliefs); both also apply to Kwakwaka'wakw beliefs, as confirmed by William Wasden jr. (personal conversation 10/2009) 274

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October 2nd Ecological Park: Wind and Water, Owls and Ravens, and the Crows One day, after recording sessions at the Native School and the U’mista Cultural Centre, Runa and I had a couple of hours off. So we decided to visit Cormorant Island Ecological Park, a small nature reserve that comprises the areas of Cormorant Island that are not part of the village of Alert Bay or the reserves. Beau Dick had told us of the many ravens that lived there, and I wanted them on tape, especially in respect to the importance of Raven in Kwakwaka'wakw mythology and ancestry tables (which, not being an ethnographer, I luckily did not have to document). Since the island in total is not that large, you can get around without too much effort, but of course we would take the car because of all the heavy gear I would carry around all the time. From a parking lot that at the same time was some sort of campground we would make our way into the wilderness. We stopped at a small clearing where people could barbecue during summer time to record our first bunch of crows. We went on a short path through thick cedar forest, in the middle of which we found an opening of a couple of hundred yards in diameter. It was swampy, with moss and reeds and dead trees, a boardwalk crossed it from side to side, with a bench in the middle to sit down. The opening was almost circular, surrounded by a solid wall of cedar trees, and occupied by many birds, most of them invisible to the eye, only marking their presence by their frequent calls. Not so for the crows. They were omnipresent to the eye as much as to the ear, giving a never-ending big-piece concert. But no raven would show even a tip of a feather, let alone raise his voice for us.276 Moving on we would eventually, after climbing down a steep slope, come to the stony beach on the opposite side of the island, and I finally 276

That was the case in early October 2009; upon my return in winter 2011/12, the crows held back and the ravens had taken over. Recordings from that later visit can be listened to on the Two Weeks CD and the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM. 127

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caught my raven, with flapping wings and all, on our way back. I would come back several times after Runa’s departure to place the surround mike in the middle of the boardwalk, move a few steps away, so my breathing would not be on tape, and just let it roll for a while. That way I made some more recordings at daytime, at dawn and during the night (that time I carried the microphone all the way to the other side of the clearing and even a little further, into the forest), when all Alert Bay was asleep, and the crows had finally taken a break. I caught an owl flying by in the far distance (which I couldn’t find anymore when listening back to the recordings), and some overall pretty impressive night atmosphere, and also, at one occasion, a lot of wind recordings in several places. I had gone to the boardwalk hoping to make some good wind recordings under the protection of the surrounding trees (earlier, less protected attempts had miserably failed despite the use of the heavy, furry windjammer that comes along with the SPS200), which I then did, but on the way back I would stop half a dozen times in the woods and set up the mike again and again, because the sound of the wind (it was quite heavy that day) would change every few yards. I (and the microphone along with me) was always well shielded from the wind by the trees, but I could hear it very well, howling and booming and squealing around me, and trees creaking.

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0:06’20’’ 2nd Movement: The Artificial Soundscape Back in the composition, the natural beach atmo mixes with an Alert Bay ambience. Now the day has really started, the town is getting busy. I hear cars passing, harbour activity, and the starlings and crows in front of the U'mista Cultural Centre. I never caught the voice of the bald eagle, although I was told there’d be plenty of them fighting over the crumbs when the people of Alert Bay dispose of their leftovers after having had a fish dinner. I saw one sitting on a pole in the water one evening while I was making my log entries at Runa’s place, where we used to meet to discuss the impressions of the day. He was staring at me for an hour, and I stared back, shotgun mike ready, but he wouldn’t make a sound, so I only got his picture.277 The participants of the totem pole restoration workshop have their morning coffee at the U'mista’s front porch. An elderly chap starts talking to me about the declining fish prices and how that’s winding down the local economy, before he goes off to a doctor’s appointment (the 'Namgis Health Centre is located right behind the U'mista). I’m not sure whether he realises that I am recording. I hope there

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It was sometime around that eagle incident that I finally realised that it would be folly to try and create a representational soundscape covering all there is to Northwest Coast indigenous culture and wildlife (which had been apparent even during preparation for the trip, but when you write those idealised lists on what you would like to record, everything seems to be, at least hypothetically, possible). What I have made instead, as mentioned before (and will be further discussed in Between The Worlds and World Three), is a very personal, locally and temporally constricted composition, presenting my impressions of a two week stay at Alert Bay (and a potlatch at Campbell River), featuring the persons I met, the events I visited, and the atmospheres I heard in nature and around people. As for the eagles: On a later visit I heard a whole bunch of them. A brief recording has been included on the Two Weeks CD. 129

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will be a chance to find out who he is afterwards, so I can ask permission to use his voice in the composition.278 Forebodings of the potlatch, of my encounter with Beau Dick, and of the many visits to the T'lisalagi'lakw Native School shift into focus and die away again, as I turn my attention to the carvers, who are busy in and around Beau Dick’s house. I had spent some time with Bruce Alfred in the carvers’ workshop at the old residential school the other day, made recordings of woodworking tools in action, and a long interview about the difficulty of finding apprentices to continue with the traditional arts and how the old ways can help the young to find their place in the world. But now I am at Beau’s, recording him bucking some block of wood with a handsaw and one of his colleagues hollowing the backside of a small totem pole. Then we get inside, where I just sit for a good hour to talk and listen and watch the carvers at work, while the microphone patiently records the workshop atmosphere. Beau is very interested in what I’m doing, as he acknowledges the importance of sound to his culture and identity, and he tells me how through sound, the singing, his people “get embodied”, possessed with the spirits who’s dances they dance, “something takes over.” He also has some recommendations what and where to record next; he is the one who advises me to go to the ecological park the first time we meet. Before the end of my stay, he organises me a boat trip to a rock on the coast, where a colony of sea lions resides, not forgetting to warn me to prepare for their pungent stench

278 Despite asking several Alert Bay residents after playing them the piece, I still don’t know who he is. I have left him in the piece, hoping he wouldn’t mind. Since the people from his own community do not recognise him, I think I can take the liberty of assuming no one else will.

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Being in this busy work atmosphere offers you a comprehensive insight into the many facets and layers of a living culture with such ancient origins as that of the Kwakwaka'wakw. The masks talk of a mythic past and tradition. Some of them will be used in the spirit of that tradition, but others are carved to make a buck, charging the Man who craves for exoticism in his living room. Beau talks about the ancient urges he feels when hearing the singing and beating at a potlatch, while Rod Stewart’s rendering of the old Stone’s classic “Street Fighting Man” is blaring out of the radio, and a cell phone rings next to it. You have to be, as Wa puts it, “in balance” for this tightrope walk, to master the tension between the call of the city and the need for roots and identity. It is almost noon now, and I have to move on. Runa and I have an appointment at the T'lisalagi'lakw Native School, where we have been invited to attend the classes in singing, dance, Kwak'wala, and science. I hope to get more impressions of the transitions of the living culture, and to see how it’s being handed down to the children who will, if anyone, ensure the survival of the of the Kwakwaka'wakw as a people.

viii) Peoples of the Coast The Kwakwaka'wakw (“Those who speak Kwak'wala”) are a people of the Wakashan language group. Their original residential area was the north western part of what is now known as Vancouver Island and the adjacent part of the mainland of British Columbia, an area which according to archaeological finds may have been subject to human settlement for more than 10,000 years. With their neighbours on the Northwest Coast they shared a number of cultural traits when first encountered by overseas visitors that have served defining the region as a distinct cultural area. Material culture, as mentioned in the previous section, strongly relied on woodworking technology. Housing was permanent or semi-permanent. 131

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Clothing was mainly made from fibre produced from cedar bark, which proved much more resilient to the moist climate than fur or leather. Maritime fishes and sea mammals were a main source of nutrition, the salmon ranging most prominently in dietary and ceremonial traditions. Agriculture, perhaps due to the abundance of natural resources and also the unfavourable conditions for farming activities, did not play a role in Northwest Coast society, apart from a little tobacco growing by the Coast Salish in the southernmost regions. Intoxicants were uncommon. The discrepancy between a non-horticultural subsistence base and a highly complex society has often been noted.279 Society was organised with strong emphasis on differences in status, ranging from nobility over commoners to a slave caste. Most notable to many outsiders are the artistic expressions found on the Northwest Coast, especially the so-called totem poles and the unique formline visual art style applied to flat and three-dimensional objects. Potlatch280 and secret dance societies formed an important element of distinction. Due to the relative isolation from other North American cultures on the other side of the inhospitable mountain ranges the peculiarities of the Northwest Coast culture(s) could develop in relative independence. Since the impact of newcomers from the Old World have gravely changed life on the Northwest Coast, it is not possible to limit an investigation of indigenous culture to its traditional features. First contacts to Europeans might have taken place as early as 1592, however, lasting relations were not established before mid-18th century, when Russian explorers started sea otter fur trading with China, the pelts being supplied by indigenous trappers. Spanish, English and French traders would soon follow; by the 1850’s the area that is now the Canadian prov-

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Presumably due to the geophysical situation with only a small coastal strip as habitable area the complexity of Northwest Coast societies developed in comparably small units; there was room for sophisticated cultural evolution, but no room for large settlements. 280 More on potlatch in the Fourth Movement. 132

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ince of British Columbia281 was virtually in the hands of European immigrants. Large parts of the indigenous population had by that time fallen victim to a series of smallpox epidemics and other ecdemic diseases.282 The fur trade, along with the disease-related decimation of the population, which did not halt before the ruling class, enabled members also of lower societal strata to accumulate wealth unheard of in former times, which in turn would eventually lead to claims also to privileges associated with rank and inheritance of positions now vacant (because their rightful claimants had died of disease, leaving no heir), causing frictions in societal organisation.283 Wealth displays on potlatches would grow in magnitude to a point where not only missionaries could criticise its heathen nature, but also “concerned” white governmental bodies would find its ruinous excesses a well-founded reason to install a ban of the practice, that would be upheld for decades. All this happened a long time ago, but the repercussions can still be felt today.

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although it would not become a province of the Canadian confederation until 1871 282 this section: Suttles (1990), pp.1, 4f, 24ff, 39f, 60, 70f, 81ff 283 During one of my stays in Alert Bay I was witness of heated debate about who was entitled to use certain dances identified with family privilege, and also of who would be allowed to share in knowledge originally reserved for privileged individuals. Since much damage has been dealt to the internal social structure of Northwest Coast indigenous society, the matter remains unresolved. 133

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ix) Alert Bay We have now arrived in the village of Alert Bay, a small settlement on Cormorant Island,284 which is not much more than a piece of fly crap on the Northeast coast of Vancouver Island, BC, housing approx. 550 inhabitants, half of which are of Caucasian origin, while the other half mainly belong to the 'Namgis, one of the 17 tribes or nations of the Kwakwaka'wakw. In addition to the municipality of Alert Bay the island contains two Indian reserves, which from here on for reasons of simplicity and in accordance with the colloquial conventions on the island, will be included in the generic term Alert Bay. Alert Bay ('Yalis) is not the 'Namgis’ original main habitat, they came in the wake of the fishing industry that had wreaked havoc in their original territories around Nimpkish River (named after the 'Namgis the way the Man’s ear was able to process the original word) in the northern part of the mainland of Vancouver Island from the 1870s while promising work in the salmon saltery on the isle.285 “Cormorant Island is governed by two principal jurisdictions, the village of Alert Bay and the 'Namgis First Nation. Reserve lands occupy about 30% of the island's area. Out of a total island population of 1500, over 60% live on the reserves.”286 Despite its small population, Alert Bay is one of the cultural centres of the Kwakwaka'wakw, not the least due to the U'mista Cultural Society that is located here, and, as claimed by Bruce Alfred, one of the few who still possess the knowledge and the skill to create bentwood artwork, the heart of woodcarving at the Pacific Northwest Coast.287 Therefore the art of carving has been granted a prominent position in this movement as well as in the

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Maps of the Northwest Coast and Cormorant Island can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM. 285 http://www.alertbay.ca/history.htm; all websites last visited 03-12-10 286 http://www.namgis.bc.ca/community/Pages/OurCommunity.aspx 287 Bruce Alfred in private conversation, Alert Bay10-06-09 134

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textual reflection, with Bruce Alfred and Beau Dick featuring two major protagonists of the craft.288

September 29 The Carvers Our first encounter with the local indigenous artists took place at the old St Michael’s Residential School that is located right next to the U'mista Cultural Centre. In the basement a group of carvers operates a workshop. We met Bruce Alfred, a senior carver who had made a bentwood box for the NONAM a couple of months before. Unfortunately it had been damaged during shipping, so when we arrived, he was working on a replacement, which would be bigger and more detailed than the first one. We would later see it finished and had a rather unpleasant day on which four people (Runa, Andrea, Bruce and I) would spend their whole afternoon trying to figure out a way to get this thing packed safely and according to shipping rules of airlines. But it is indeed a marvellous piece.289 Along with Bruce there was 19 year-old Darren Alfred, who was working on an enormous spoon that probably was made for use as ceremonial grease spoon in a potlatch.290 He was working with heavy metal music coming from a ghetto blaster, but turned it off for us so we could make our recordings. Bruce would use an elbow adze, and Darren would work with a 288

More on the interrelations between community involvement and artistic practice can be found in Schoer in De Bruyne/Gielen, eds. (2011), pp.252-262, which I warmly recommend to read at this point or another, as it deals with a number of issues not elaborately addressed in this chapter, but nevertheless highly relevant to my approach; Raven Travelling, POI Carvers’ Workshop (Northwest Coast -> Vancouver Island -> Cormorant Island). 289 The technique of steam-bending wood, which is native to the Northwest Coast is well described in Stewart ([1984] 1995), pp.84-92; bentwood boxes were used for storage at home and on journeys, and, as described in the myth opening this chapter, could also contain supernatural treasures. 290 A photograph of that spoon, along with other historic and contemporary works of Northwest Coast carvers can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM. 135

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curved knife. I recorded these sounds for a couple of minutes, and they found their place in the second movement of the composition. But much more interesting were the extensive talks we would have with Bruce (I also recorded a one hour interview with him on a later occasion), Sean Whonnock, another carver who works at the residential school workshop, and also Don Svanvik. In the afternoon we visited Beau Dick in his old house near the Christ Church. Beau Dick is one of the Native Art bigshots of the Pacific Northwest Coast, his pieces sell for respectable prices in galleries worldwide.291 I could convince myself of his skills when I was at his house: I saw the outer piece of a transformation mask representing a deer with a human face inside. By pulling a string one can open the deer face to reveal that the deer in fact has a human spirit inside. On a later occasion I also saw the raw cut of the inside piece, and on the potlatch at Campbell River I saw Chief Bobby Duncan wearing the finished and painted mask in a treasure dance.292 In a gallery this mask might have been priced at $15.000,-, but it was a priceless gift to the chief with supernatural powers that only he would be allowed to display. This is an important notion within the analysis of Northwest Coast indigenous cultures as compared to the current “Western” status quo: We don’t have privately owned songs, dances or names, that may not be sung, danced, or taken by anyone else, in our world the copyright system takes care of such things. For a little fee, everybody is more or less free to do anything with any intellectual property. In the indigenous Pacific Northwest Coast legal system this is different. The ownership of those aforementioned items does not represent copyright claims in our sense, it is about hereditary privileges concerning individual and family ranking in society, as connected 291

cp. http://www.artwise.ca/beau-dick-maker-of-monsters/ Well, that’s what I believed to see; as Beau clarified when we met in 2012, it was him dancing the mask, not Bobby Duncan; see Fourth Movement: Potlatch. 292

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to ancestry and supernatural powers of these items in a society that used to be highly hierarchical, with an aristocratic, as well as a slave class. A mask usually represents such a privilege.293 Beau’s house is the gathering point for a number of carvers that meet every day to work together, on pieces for tourist sale, for galleries, and on pieces that are for private use. Sean Whonnock said he tried to sell enough pieces in one half of the year so that he could carve for potlatches during the other half. When you enter the house, you find yourself in a place, that at first sight appears chaotic and messy; several people are sitting around talking, some seem to be working, some don’t, loud music comes from a radio in the kitchen area of the big main room. Tools and bits and pieces of woodwork lie on tables, chairs and on the floor. Beau himself has a shaggy look, wearing a worn-out coat and a hat with feathers and other trinkets attached to it, long hair and beard completing the impression, as if he was an Indian Captain Jack Sparrow of sorts. He talks slowly with a deep, low voice, and when he talks, half of what he says has a mysterious air to it. On our first encounter Beau gave an impressive demonstration of the art of storytelling that has always been of high value to the originally illiterate culture of the Northwest Coast Natives. Traditional legends, in many cases identified with historic and mythic origins of the tribe, clan, or family, with references to current events or political discourses, are told in a way that suit the intentions of the storyteller as well as the expectations of the addressees. But he also showed the qualities of the trickster, reminding me of the wily raven, when he would start telling his story the moment I had to pack away my microphones because it was starting to rain (it was outside). Along with him there were Ned Matilpi, Beau’s daughter Kerri (she is one of the few who still knows how to practice the art of weaving Chilkat blankets), and two or three more carvers. Runa talked a while to Ned while I explained our project to Beau and then we had a longer chat with Kerri on 293

more on this in the Fourth Movement 137

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weaving, Native politics and raising kids. An interesting observation should be mentioned here: When asking Ned if he thought that we could make some recordings with them, he said something like, just ask Beau, and if he gives his ok, it’ll be all right. We would have several of these experiences in the following days in different situations with different people; it became obvious that there (still) exists a very strong hierarchical structure among the people,294 authority to quite some extent depending on who is holding which hereditary position. Beau’s status a as a hereditary chief of the 'Namgis grants him high informal authority among his people. His opinion is respected, his word will be followed; maybe not always and not by all, and internal rivalry may sometimes interfere, but by and large, rank counts. On the day before my departure from Alert Bay I paid him another visit, after we had planned to stop by a second time for almost two weeks but had never managed to find the time (maybe it was also due to that almost arcane aura around him and his peers that sort of held us back) due to all the many things that were going on. I placed the SPS200 in the middle of the room, resulting in a good hour of surround sound workshop atmosphere, and we talked a bit about my progress. I told him how well things had been going, and that we had collected many interesting sounds, but that we were still missing sea mammals, because the whale-watching season had already been over and there were no more boats leaving to find us some. Beau offered me to call Porgy, who, according to him, knew his way around in the waters very well and might take me to a rock where a pack of sea lions spent their day for “a hundred bucks”. Of course I was interested, so Beau gave Porgy a call and on the next morning at ten o’clock (well 10:45 rather) I was on my way. I am convinced that Porgy would have never done this without the instruction by his chief, 294

In Naomi M. Stokes’ novel “The Tree People” (1995), the villain (who is too wretched to be a veritable antagonist) is the descendant of slaves, whereas the protagonist is of highborn descent. This relation is mentioned as a matter of course. 138

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because the regular fee is either eighty or a hundred bucks each, or four to five hundred dollars in total, and here I was, one passenger on a boat with a crew of two, that presumably used up all the money I paid for fuel alone. On that first day of our recording attempts, however, I didn’t want to rush it, so I didn’t set up my mikes inside, but followed Beau outside when he was going to cut a log with a power saw. But as soon as I had all my gear ready it started to rain, so I had to pack it up again. When Beau noticed that the mikes were off, he started to talk about a sound that he said was very special to him and that was when he gave us his account of the traditional tale of Dzunuqua, the Wild Woman of the Woods, and I’m a pretty sure he had waited on purpose, to make the experience more personal rather than having it recorded. As long as I was recording, he had only talked about trivial matters, but as soon as the machines were offline, he gave the most beautiful account of the story that I have heard (or read) so far. That’s why I name him trickster, along with his overall somewhat plurivalent way of talking. In a later meeting, two years after our first encounter he would, to my delight, actually ask me to bring my microphones, because he wanted to tell a story for me to record.295 So he’s the one who decides what and when to record, and I am very happy with that (and it will become clear why once I have introduced my take on first voices in World Three). What he told us on that first meeting also gave us an insight in the way many of the people here think, where the ancestors are still very alive, and the spirits and the creator are much more real to them than any Christian tales would be to me. However, as with many other instances, it is difficult for me to tell from the outside how much of this is rooted in true belief, how much of it is a means of strengthening and reassuring a feeling of identity, and how much is simply mockery, making fun of nosy ethnographers. You can get into trouble whistling in the streets at night because you may 295

Not part of the original „Two Weeks“ footage, it has been included on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI Beau Dick (Cormorant Island). 139

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anger the spirits, on the other hand even the hamatsa of old used to play ingenious tricks on their audiences by staging complex illusions during their performances of mimicking frenzy and possession (Wa and Beau are known to still do it), well knowing that it was just an act. I suppose it comes down to a mixture of all of the above, although I would never claim to really know. Concerning the carving sounds themselves, the original reason why we met these people, well, I could make some adequate recordings, as indicated above: I do have the elbow adze, the curved knife, a power saw (Don Svanvik outside the residential school), someone hollowing the back of a log to prepare it to become a small totem pole, and the workshop atmosphere at Beau’s house, all of which have been worked into the composition.

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0:11’23’’ 3rd Movement: The Human Soundscape At the T'lisalagi'lakw Native School (named after Mink, another important character in Kwakwaka'wakw folk-lore, and fortunately in colloquial language simply called “T-School”) great efforts are made to counter the effects of centuries of systematic cultural deracination. Teachers like Sandi Willie, Lina Nichols, and Vera Newman not only teach the children how to read, write, count, and about the different parts of the nervous system, there are also daily classes on traditional song and dance, and Kwak'wala language class. We first meet with Sandi Willie at singing class, where the pupils sing the old songs in the old language. You can hear that these are young kids with little musical schooling, as the harmonies remind you more of an avant-garde micro-cluster than of a well-conceived melody line, but the intention is clear. The walls are covered with big sheets that contain the lyrics of the songs that are being taught, some with translations next to the Kwak'wala original, and to the reassuring beating of Sandi’s drum the children give their best to revitalise the old tunes. I choose the River Song they sing to be used in the composition, because Wa will sing it for me on our camping trip on the weekend sitting next to a river. It might be neat for the listener to recall singing class, when he hears it sung again by Wa later in the piece. We move on to science class, Lina Nichol is talking about the brain, the nervous system, and the five senses. There is nothing particularly Indian about this, they really just treat a regular school subject, using a regular fourth/fifth grade science book as it is used in elementary schools all over Canada. These are regular kids, they are interested in bicycles and Nintendo DS, they love to eat cake, especially these mean, neon pink, creamy Cana-

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dian style high-carb calorie bombs, and they listen to and they listen to Rod Stewart, Lady Gaga, and Justin Biber. I present them as I see (hear) them, not focussing exclusively on the (for Middle European ears) exotic parts of the Alert Bay Soundscape, but rather trying to provide the audience with the whole picture of my two-week stay, which includes science class and steak sandwich dinner (which I don’t record, though) at the Nimpkish Pub just as much as a Hamatsa initiation (can’t include that, because it’s not approved for public presentation) at a potlatch. Vera Newman acts as a language teacher for the school. Class today consists of little games, in which the students learn some basic terms, such as the words for the colours, and we listen to them sing a song in Kwak'wala to a melody that sounds pretty much like songs we sing with our own children in “Western” culture. The children are obviously having fun, but also a hard time catching up, to me it seems doubtful if they will ever fully master this language, as they are growing up with English at home and everywhere else. Kwak'wala is not spoken in everyday conversation, the residential school system has taken care of that. Next, we follow the boys to dance class (we stay with the same class during our whole recording session). Sandi is there, providing voice and drumbeat, but today the boys have a special guest instructor as well. Marcus Alfred, initiated Hamatsa and one of the finest dancers I’ve ever seen, drops by to instruct the young ones in the art of Hamatsa dancing. Hamatsa is the name of a secret dance society in Kwakwaka'wakw culture, that is traced back to some brothers who discovered the house of Baxbaxwalanuksiwe, the Man Eater at the North End of the World, whom they killed and thus acquired a number of supernatural treasures that from then on could be handed down as a heirloom in their family. To be initiated into this society is a great honour and a privilege that is only open to members of certain families with aristocratic roots, and a posi142

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tion can only be claimed in a complex ceremony, in which the young man who will become a Hamatsa (cannibal) has to perform a number of dances representing his possession by the cannibal spirit and his overcoming this spirit, with the help of the senior members of the society. Some of the boys that Marcus is teaching will never be initiated, because their lineage doesn’t permit it, but as an attempt to preserve as much of their culture as possible, even by dispersing privileges that originally used to be reserved for only a small group of people, the acceptance to include “outsiders” has been growing lately. The boys have to practice the dances to be shown at the BigHouse during initiation, pretending to be hungry for human flesh, with pursed lips, making the hand movements that symbolise how they try do lure the flesh of the potlatch guests to their mouths, uttering the powerful cry of the hungry Hamatsa. Not only the young ones are subject to the endeavours of the language community. At the U'mista Cultural Centre, our next stop for today, language classes are held for the grown ups as well. It is 3.30pm and we wait for Pewi Alfred to start her language class, held in the main exhibition room of the Centre that is built in the style of a BigHouse and accommodates all those wonderful old masks from the Potlatch Collection. Therefore it has to be air-conditioned, as moisture would be hazardous to the artefacts. I decide to keep the hum of the ventilation system in the mix, I won’t try to remove with my denoising tools; unlike the component noise of the used recording hardware, it is part of the original soundscape, annoying maybe, but genuine. Mariah Wadhams is there, she is in training to become a language teacher as well, and Don Svanvik, a Native artist, who, as I learn incidentally, owns the Animal Kingdom dance, a very powerful supernatural treasure. Runa also participates. Pewi explains us her teaching method, Total Physical Response, in which the apprentices are not allowed to talk, let alone use 143

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English, but are supposed to learn through repetitious commands given in Kwak'wala that they have to act on. The next morning we are taking part in the repetition session, where we play a card game to memorize the vocabulary from the afternoon before. Andrea Sanborn joins the game shortly before the end of the session and wins all cards that I had already collected. But we shall return to T-School to watch the girls dance in full regalia, with their family crests on their button blankets. We witness four traditional dances: Ladies’ Professional, Salmon Dance (with eagle feathers), Paddle Dance (I will see that one again performed by dozens of children at the potlatch), and a dance with red shawls (Runa suspects this one to belong to the Hamatsa cycle, the red probably representing intestines). One of the girls passes by the microphone, you can hear the bells ringing that are stitched to her dress (back in the olden days these would have been clam shells), before we pop into Vera’s language class one last time, as the children take a second shot at the song we heard earlier.

x) Residential School Since the days of the fur trade much change has taken place. The 'Namgis have moved from their homeland around Nimpkish River and Woss Lake to Alert Bay, some to Victoria or Vancouver, or even farther, and their ways have changed as well. They have taken over most of the cultural traits of the Man, some freely, many by force. It is a hard struggle for them to keep their identity as 'Namgis and Kwakwaka'wakw along with all the cultural jetsam from the Old World threatening to outshine the remnants of their traditional ways, with so many dead and the roots dug out and cast away on the dump of lost history, as the example of the residential school system will illustrate in the following. 144

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One does not directly see the scars, and when you are a visitor to Alert Bay you don’t get introduced to violence, drugs, sexual abuse, or racist tensions, but even though the situation has improved significantly over the past decades, the wounds have not fully healed yet, and the truncated limbs cannot easily be replaced. Nevertheless it seems that many have arranged themselves with the present, trying to keep alive what is left of their own culture and using what seems fit from the new. The Canadian Indian is as much a member of Canadian society he has been born into, as he is a member of the First Nation(s) his ancestors came from. Probably the deepest gash you could deal to a culture next to physical annihilation has been forced mercilessly and with devastating success upon the indigenous population of North America at the residential schools: Out of the five and a half thousand people that consider themselves Kwakwaka'wakw (“Those who speak Kwak'wala”), today less than five per cent, less than 250 individuals, are fluent in their own language.296 I would argue that the death of a language inevitably leads to the death of the culture belonging to it in the long run. The residential school system (called boarding school in the US), that has existed from the mid of the 19th century to the eighties of the last, has taken a gruesome toll on the mental constitution of North America’s Natives. Whole generations of indigenous children had their roots beaten out of them, violence and sexual abuse were common, and the death rates would range from 30 to 60%.297 Separated from their families, children were prohibited to speak their mother tongue; they were supposed to learn the ways of the Man, while completely abandoning the traditions, knowledge, and self-image of their own culture. The Canadian government has issued an official apology after the full scope of abuse had been laid open, but the repercussions are still 296 297

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kwakwaka%27wakw http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canadian_Indian_residential_school_system 145

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heavily felt among the aboriginal peoples. Some of the damage dealt can be expected to be permanent, especially the loss of knowledge. Alcohol, drugs and violence are indeed a great problem in Native communities. Many of the adults have a police record, and the forcefully disrupted family structures will take much more time to fully mend. Currently the 'Namgis First Nation Council discusses if the old St. Michael’s Residential School of Alert Bay should be torn down or if it should be preserved as a memorial site.298 For the time being it houses the carvers’ workshop, where we talked to Bruce and Darren Alfred, Sean Whonnock, and Don Svanvik and watched and recorded them at work. In the time of my field trip, there used to be a Kwak'wala lunch held every Tuesday where Native speakers came together and practiced their language, but unfortunately I missed the chance to attend. This would have been desirable for ethnographical purposes, the museum would have surely loved to get more language recordings than I was able to offer.299 But then again, since I did not come to grab all the exotica and ignore the real world, but to experience the living culture of the indigenous people at Alert Bay, that does not affect the piece’s intention. In daily life, Kwak'wala is of high importance in its notion as a cultural asset and subject to considerable preservation activity,300 but it is not spoken on a regular basis. Some terms are more or less common (“gila'kasla”, “thank you”, also “welcome”, for example), but to have a full conversation is out of reach for most people. Pewi Alfred, herself a language teacher for the U'mista and at T-School, told us an anecdote of an elder woman saying something to her in Kwak'wala. She begged her pardon, admitting that she had not understood what 298

Andrea Sanborn in private conversation, Alert Bay, 10/09 The Kwak'wala rendering by Vera Newman as recorded in January 2012 has been included in the second edition of the „Two Weeks“ CD that comes along with this book, and on the listening station at the Sound Art Exhibition at the Walkmühle in Wiesbaden, as well as all further editions of the “Mobile Sound Chamber”, but not at the NONAM. 300 As of January 2012, a Kwak'wala app can be downloaded for smartphones. 299

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the woman had been saying. The older one looked at her with disdain, and said “and you never will.” That tells us a lot about the trouble the Kwakwaka'wakw have with the preservation of their language, when even the teachers, and Pewi does speak rather fluently, have to struggle that hard to dig their way to the core of the business.

September 28 to October 09 U'mista Cultural Centre: New Acquaintances The U'mista Cultural Centre (U'mista: “The Return of Something Important”) was opened in 1980 in the course of the repatriation of a large collection of potlatch artefacts (which is still in process)301, particularly a great number of ceremonial masks that are now on display in the permanent exhibition, and that had been seized in 1921 by the Canadian government during a raid on a secretly held potlatch, which had been banned from 1884 to 1951.302 It is operated by the U'mista Cultural Society.303 The masks and other items that have been returned (“repatriated”) are exhibited at the main hall of the U'mista, which is built in the style of a traditional BigHouse. They are no longer in use for ceremonies that are held either at the U'mista or at the 'Namgis’ BigHouse; rather the contemporary native artists use them to model new works after them. All of the objects are heirlooms of specific families and there are clear rules who is allowed to own or dance them, or even tell the stories that circle around them. The carvers also create new masks for potlatches or for commercial sale all the time, only these are not to be seen at the collection, but in the shop of the 301

See also Sanborn (2009); when I visited some of my Kwakwaka'wakw friends at the opening weekend of a special exhibition around a totem pole made by Rande Cook at the Rijksmuseum Volkenkunde in Leiden, NL, in November 2012, the U'mista’s new director Sarah Holland and her collections manager Juanita Johnston undertook a short trip to London to negotiate the repatriation of yet another mask from one of the museums there. 302 http://www.umista.org/exhibits/index.php 303 http://www.umista.org 147

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Centre, or they are bestowed upon important persons at a potlatch. The U'mista presented itself to us as the cultural heart of Alert Bay (during the time of my first visit nothing was going on in the BigHouse) and would become our strategic base for the two week of our stay. Its director Andrea Sanborn and staff member William Wasden jr., the two individuals who took us under their wings, worked there, and many recordings, talks and other activities would also take place in or around the U'mista, such as language class with Pewi Alfred, her brother Marcus imitating spirit and animal voices for us, Wasden blowing the sacred Hamatsa whistles from the collection, dance performances, the carver interviews, to name those that come to my mind first. On our first day in the Bay Runa and I, after we had installed ourselves in our respective residences for the two weeks to come, headed straight for the U'mista Cultural Centre, where I had arranged a meeting with Andrea Sanborn for this afternoon. She introduced us to her colleagues, those that were around at the time, and went straight to business. It was my first encounter with William Wasden jr., called Wa, who would become one of my major sources of information and recording material. I talked to him about my project and the approach I would take, when it came to processing the recorded data into the final product for the museum. Apparently, I said the right things, when I explained how I planned to deal with the issues of authorship, privacy and, I think the term applies here, respect. When he heard that I was going to record the sounds of Kwakwaka'wakw culture, he was very serious about recalling how they had been treated by ethnographers in the past; people coming, taking all they could get, and then be gone for good. Later, you would find bits and pieces of these expeditions published out of context and without any credits given to those who provided the material.304 I had made it clear without having been asked for it, that I would publish nothing before I had full approval of all who had provided 304

see World Three, section III.4: The Apple Tree

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information, sound or other data that I might use. I think that was the key to all the doors that would open before us in the following days. William (Wa in the following) invited us to a dance performance he was scheduled to give with some colleagues a few days later, and he also mentioned the possibility to come to a potlatch.305 I think the reason why all doors opened, no matter where we went, was, next to the things I had said to Wa upon our arrival, that the people understood that we were really interested in their culture and the problems related to it, the tensions of being torn between two worlds, we did have a certain understanding of those problems, and, above all, we were interested in their own opinion about what our acoustic presentation should sound like. The entire soundscape approach was something new, which also helped. Practically everyone we talked to seemed to feel it might be something worth contributing to. Andrea had already made appointments for us with Bruce Alfred and Beau Dick for this afternoon, and we were also scheduled to stop by at TSchool the next day, so we got ready to go. We would be back many times and would have wonderful conversations and recording sessions at the U'mista. So, when we first arrived at the U'mista, we were received very well, Andrea borrowed me her private car to carry around my recording equipment, and every time we came back, we could count on the people that were around to assist us with any question or task we might have. Especially Andrea, who was the sleepless good spirit of the place, would always be around, looking up behind her desk when we came in, asking “What can I do for you today?”

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This potlatch will be the subject of the Fourth Movement of this chapter. It will become clear then, why I think this offer, after we had been around for just few minutes, is quite unusual and an impressive proof of trustworthiness to us. 149

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Of course we took the opportunity of seeing the collection, the exhibition, and the library, as well as the merchandise, most of which was genuine work of local artists. Due to her flight schedule, Runa missed the pompous seafood dinner that had been arranged for a group of academics and First Nations people from all over North America participating in a workshop on restoration and preservation of totem poles late in my second week in the Bay. Of course I was invited to join; I had grilled salmon, smoked salmon, teriyaki salmon, prawns, halibut, fresh and smoked eulachon and other foodstuffs, I can’t recall them all, but I remember I was glad to have a car that night, because by no means would I have been able to walk back home, stuffed as I was. Strangely enough this would be (almost) the only time I would get any fish (especially salmon) during my stay. Traditionally there shouldn’t have been much else, but the fishing season had not been too good, and there apparently are laws that allow the 'Namgis to catch only a certain (and, in their opinion, way too small) number of fish per species and per capita, so our nutrition would be rather “Canadian”, with burgers and fries and other intoxicants. The two other main attractions mentioned above were Wa blowing the Hamatsa Whistles and Marcus making spirit sounds. The whistles are part of the U'mista collection, but they are not on display, because they are too sacred to be seen by every ordinary person, especially white outsiders. So it was another special honour granted to us not only to look at them, but to actually being allowed to hear them and record them. The second was Marcus Alfred, whom we already got to know as an instructor at T-School. I wanted him to repeat some of the cries he had used in his performance. In front of the U'mista he imitated more than a dozen animals and spirits and gave explanations on how he learned to do it, and what the respective cries meant, and stories about the entities they represented.306

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Marcus’ cries have been used for the Spirit World section of „Two Weeks“. In their raw form they can be listened to on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI 150

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The school and language part of the soundscape is rather long; for almost ten minutes you hear people talking and sometimes singing, which might appear a bit too much as compared to the total duration of the piece. If it was for entertainment only I would agree, but it is not. The T'lisalagi'lakw Native School and the U'mista Cultural Centre are two of the most valuable treasures the people of the Kwakwaka'wakw can call their own. It should have become clear how important language is to a culture, and I also feel I should stress that in any culture, communication as a means of exchange of knowledge, experience, opinion, or other intellectual or spiritual goods is at the core of the business. I have not been sitting in the woods most of the time during my stay, or in some dreamy ancient ceremonies, but I’ve talked and listened to people. And so does everyone who is part of a community. I’ve listened to many a song rehearsal at the U'mista and elsewhere, and we will come to the musical part of the piece in a minute. Due to the efforts of the people, the music of the Kwakwaka'wakw is quite safe at the moment. Their language isn’t.

U’mista, as isolated samples as well as one full recording including all of Marcus’ comments and explanations. 151

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0:20’00’’ Intermission: The Wa Experience We have had a tight schedule so far, we are at minute 20 in the composition, and it’s already late in the afternoon, so maybe it is time to take a little break with Wa, his cousin Shelly Cook and her two boys Mark and Kyle at the 'Namgis Band Cabin at Woss Lake, before we move on to the climactic Fourth Movement. *** After we have left Vera and her students we are engulfed by the creek near Nanaimo that I recycle from the beginning of the piece, introducing also a small waterfall from the same place, Little Qualicum Falls. The canoes have already been taken in for the winter, so we can’t go to the big one at Woss Lake. We hear a short recap from the carvers’ workshop at the residential school, featuring Bruce and Darren Alfred on elbow adze and curved knife (if you listen closely you can hear Andrea say something at the end of the sample), that fades into a clip from the breakfast we have in the morning at the cabin, with Wa talking about cultural things, while Shelley scrambles some eggs and the boys chat in the back. We visit the Huson Caves, a number of, you’ve probably guessed it, caves. The largest one has a wild creek running through it. You can walk inside and listen to the booming voice of the river as it is thrown back at you a thousand times by the cave’s walls, a drone that soon fills your head and sends you off to some other place, that is violent and peaceful at the same time. Wa wants to sing a River song, which is also taught at T-School (you may remember it from singing class). I record the ambience with the SoundField SPS200 surround microphone, that is connected to the Sound Devices 788t 152

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portable recorder, about 1.5m away from Wa, and I close-mike his voice with the Beyerdynamic MKE86IIS shotgun (Rycote wind protection mounted) attached to the Tascam DR100, the membrane approx. 15cm from his mouth, just out of range of the proximity effect. Later I will lock the ambience to the direct recording, resulting in a (that’s what I feel) breathtaking natural reverb, that no convolution plug-in could have mimicked, let alone, done any better. Some deception is taking place here. Although the Huson Caves and the river thundering through them, are the location where Wa would sit and sing, it is not Nimpkish River that we hear, Little Huson Caves Regional Park, though being inside traditional 'Namgis territory, is in fact some distance away from Nimpkish River, and the waterfall used in the beginning of this passage was even recorded days later and several hundred kilometres south of it. The song’s function is that of transition; from the everyday we will soon turn to the modern-traditional cultural expressions of the Kwakwaka'wakw people. The flow of the river is in service of that transition in two ways. On the one hand it represents the flow of time. Time is, in part, being reversed here, as the modern soundscape of Alert Bay will soon be overpowered by the ancient sounds of the potlatch. However, both are integral parts of the contemporary soundscape of the Kwakwaka'wakw.

xi) The Grease Trail We are in the heart of 'Namgis territory. The 'Namgis used to live on the banks of what is now called Nimpkish River (Gwa'ni); before they relocated to Alert Bay, it was the pulse generator and main artery of their lives, with its annual salmon runs as the key source of nutrition. Woss Lake (Wa'as) not only has seen a lot of water flow past its banks, but over the years vast amounts of precious lard must have been stowed in canoes for further transport down the river here as well. It marks one end of the old Grease 153

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Trail that crosses Vancouver Island to the West and joins Nimpkish River a few miles to the North. The candlefish, or eulachon (thaleichtus pacificus), can contain up to 15% of its bodyweight in fat, its name relating to the fact that, if dried and equipped with a wick, it can be lit like a candle. For the Northwest Coast inhabitants it was an important source of highly nutritious fat (grease; t'lina) and a valuable trading item. Every family that owned fishing grounds on which the annual eulachon spawning runs up the rivers would take place had (and still has, where the eulachon population has not collapsed) their own recipe for preparing the grease. This includes letting the freshly caught fish rot (“ripen”) for some days in large wooden boxes or dugout pits,307 and then slowly simmering them in large water kettles so that the fat can be extracted. Once risen to the surface, more water is added to “make a distinct oil/water interface”.308 During potlatches it was common and an effective demonstration of the host’s wealth to distribute large quantities of eulachon grease to the guests, an even greater gesture would be the burning of grease in the fire, demonstrating one was so wealthy that one could afford to deliberately destroy such a valuable good. The giant spoon carved by Darren Alfred while we had visited the workshop at the residential school was a ceremonial grease spoon. Grease was traded all over the Northwest Coast. One of the very few inland trading routes on Vancouver Island, crossing from the east coast to the west coast, had its eastern starting point at the head of Woss Lake. To that point travelling could take place in canoes, but from there to Nootka Sound on the west coast, one had to continue on foot. It was a harsh passage through thick forest, but the route was comparably short and the elevation at a maximum of about 500 metres considerably lower than in most other places. To take the coastal route around the northern end of Vancouver 307 308

http://www.firstnations.de/fisheries/kwakwakawakw-namgis.htm Kuhnlein et al. (1982), p.156

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Island would have taken more time and certainly would not have been less dangerous. Of course trading goods carried on that route would include other items as well, but due to its outstanding importance, the path through the mountains became known as the Grease Trail. I missed the opportunity to try some grease during the seafood dinner at the U'mista, but since I was told by connoisseurs that for white tongues the pungent taste is rather difficult to accept (after all, the produce is extracted from rotten fish), I am not sure if I regret it.

October 02/03 A Night at Woss Lake Right after work (the U’mista closes at five, although Andrea was known to stay longer from time to time) we grabbed our bags (kindly enough, Andrea had borrowed us some blankets and sleeping bags) and made for the ferry that took us over to Port McNeill, where we got us groceries for the weekend. It was a one-and-a-half-hour drive to the 'Namgis band cabin at Woss Lake. We had seen a cougar on the way down, crossing the highway and then looking back at us from the mouth of a logging road. Wa thought this was not a good sign and seemed uneasy; he said cougars were mean and unpredictable, which also might be the reason why his people “never hooked up with them in a cultural way.” We crossed Nimpkish River in the early evening and the salmon were jumping. Then we disappeared into the woods. After another half hour on bumpy logging roads we reached the cabin. At the time of our arrival it was already dark. Soon we had a fire going, and I started cooking for Runa, Wa, Shelly and the boys. The night was deafeningly silent, standing on the small stony strip between the dense black forest and the smooth-as-glass water of the lake, the only sound I could hear was the waterfall at its far end, which was at least half a dozen kilometres away from the cabin. It must be pretty big, but even 155

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taking that into account, that I could still hear it from this distance says a lot about the peace I could have found here if I only had had enough time to appreciate it. The ground floor of the cabin housed one big room with table, kitchenette, some chairs and a sofa, and a fireplace. On the upper floor there were three rooms with mattresses, where we would soon after dinner disperse into, to find some sleep. In the morning I went back to the water and recorded a morning atmo, interrupted by Shelley’s sons, who followed me. I also recorded the breakfast atmo that soon unfolded inside the cabin, with Shelley preparing eggs and sausages, the boys playing, Wa talking and singing and all the other sounds that belong to people waking up and getting ready for the day. William Hiłamas Edward Wasden jr. (Wak'analagalis; „The River Runs Through Him Forever“), called Wa, to me is the living memory of the Kwakwaka'wakw. There sure are many who contribute by sharing their knowledge, but Wa is a walking encyclopaedia, and an open book to his people, and, for a short time, he read some of the pages for us. And he barely ever stops talking. He knows hundreds of songs, all the stories that go with them, has all the complex family relations of almost everybody in the community in his head (and the families are big, but to the Kwakwaka'wakw to know all your relatives down to the most capillary ramifications comes as natural as for me to recall the names of my first grade uncles and aunties), he’s a dancer, painter, carver, and singer. All my recordings of traditional songs feature his voice, some of the newer ones he wrote himself. The following day, on our way back from the cabin to the main road we met two relatives of Wa’s from Victoria, who he referred to as “the Urban Indians”. They joined us on our tour. With them we went looking for “Quartz Mountain”, a place Wa told us was important, if not sacred, to his people, and where he hoped to find some quartz. He did not, but the panorama was 156

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impressive nonetheless, and to travel on those rough logging roads is an adventure by itself. We returned to the cabin sometime in the later afternoon. On the beach was another group of people, friends and family from the Bay and elsewhere, who had arrived in our absence, busy preparing hamburgers on an open fire, and they welcomed us with great hooray. We went inside and had an extensive dinner with lots of foodstuffs that the people had brought; there were the aforementioned hamburgers, a grilled salmon (also prepared on the beach fire), salads, seaweed and other side dishes. It was a loud and merry gathering that went on until late into the night. I recorded a good hour of it, then the batteries of the recorder ran dead. It became a beautiful snapshot of a dozen feasting Northwest Coast Indians having a good time, but also talking politics, family relations and history, with Wa singing and telling stories, children (two more girls came with their families in the evening, one of them we had already met at T-School) and lots of laughs (Wa told some really dirty pranks and anecdotes, which unfortunately he did after I was done recording; then again, I probably wouldn’t have included them anyway). Runa had retired a little earlier, because one of Shelley’s boys had managed to place a fishing hook in her eye in a fishing attempt at the lakeshore. In the morning we left early and in a hurry because Wa had some appointment in Alert Bay and we had to catch the 10:30 ferry.

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0:22’30’’ 4th Movement: The Cultural Soundscape Coffee break’s over.309 Let me invite you to accompany me to the focal point of probably any cultural soundscape, where we will listen to the most complex and meaningful acoustic expression that a people can devise next to speech: Music. Wa has invited me to join him at Chief Bobby Duncan’s potlatch at Campbell River, two hours to the south from Port McNeill. We leave early in the evening, in the pickup truck of young Waylon Isaac; both Wa and him will be sitting at the singers’ log during the feast. We arrive at the BigHouse at Campbell River around ten in the night. A rehearsal of the Animal Kingdom dance performance is going on, and Wa takes off to join a preparation meeting for the next day. We will spend the night at his cousin Coral’s place, I get to sleep on the couch in the living room. But there’s no rest for me until way after midnight, because Wa, Waylon and Coral keep rehearsing songs for the potlatch. I get some nice recordings with Wa beating time on a hide drum with a spoon, hard copies of the lyrics provided. Waylon orders a Meat Lovers pizza, and I tell him to make it two. The next morning sees us at the BigHouse at nine o’clock. The potlatch honours the chief’s late mother, who had died a year earlier; mourning songs have to be sung before noon, otherwise they will invite the spirits to come and prey on more people. This potlatch lasts only one day, its impact on me nevertheless is profound. After having been around the people of Alert Bay for two intense weeks, 309

In Germany, and apparently also at the U'mista, at least while we were around, coffee break traditionally takes place in the afternoon. Tea would also be admissible, but at the U'mista we usually had coffee. 158

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getting acquainted to their world as much as is possible in such a short time, this event is truly the absolute climax of my voyage. I will not attempt to try and describe what happens here, one has to be there, has to watch and to listen, and even then an outsider like me can only get a vague idea of what this all means to the people involved. I listen to the fire, to the speeches, and, most importantly, the singing. It will go on until after midnight, countless dances and songs, most of which I do not know what they are about, a Hamatsa initiation, a clown’s act, the chief will open his box of treasures, we will all eat and drink and have the stripes of red cedar bark around our heads, countless speeches will be held in Kwak'wala, and some in English, Wa will spread the eagle down… I am seated in the family section, and with kind permission from chief Bobby Duncan I may put up my microphones. Over eleven hours of directional, stereo, and surround recordings I will take home with me. I don’t know how common it is for the Man to be at a potlatch at all, but I don’t see too many pale faces around me, and those I do see appear to have married into an Indian family, so they are inside the circle. I feel honoured by the trust Wa (who talked to the chief to allow me in) seems to place in me. There are around 800 guests. The whole Duncan family (remember that Indian families are much bigger than the nucleus usually meant when using the expression in my world) has prepared for at least a year for them to be catered, given presents, and shown the performances and treasures so they could witness and approve privilege and rank displayed, claimed, or passed on by the family. We shall continue our day where our break at Woss Lake has left us, so the song I use for the composition310 is sung sometime in the early evening, soon after dinner.

310

Trevor Isaac of the U'mista later identified it as a wolf dance. 159

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Two dozen men are sitting around a hollowed cedar log and beat it rhythmically. An old fellow (I presume he is a high ranking member of the host’s family) starts singing, after the first verse the group joins in. I feel I am being swallowed up by this wall of sound that soon is all around me. I travel back to the U'mista, where I listened to Wa and Pewi practising a Raven song, and where I later recorded that dance performance that was held by the Gwa'wina Dancers for a film crew from the Aboriginal Tourism Association. The participants of the totem pole restoration workshop had been invited as audience, along with a group of Japanese visitors. Marcus Alfred was dancing in a Thunderbird dress (there were more dancers, but I don’t recall all their names), Wa lead the singers (they were only four, but still powerful). I recorded an ORTF with my Oktava MK12 matched pair and added the surround ambience from the SPS200. Hiding behind technical details doesn’t help. I begin to really understand what Beau Dick meant, when he explained how you “get caught up in the music and the sound and something takes over.” And indeed it does. I wander from the dim confinement of the BigHouse, with its crowd and dancers and singers and the big fireplace, the sound of the music begins to blur, and before I know it, I am in the Spirit World. Here now I tackle probably the most difficult and delicate part of my work: Who am I to know how that otherworldly place will sound, that is so spiritual and so personal to a people that I have mainly got to know from books written by outsiders, except for a few days of encounters with descendants of this ancient, yet vital culture? As a matter of fact, I do not. All I can do is relate to what I said earlier, that I will try to create an image of my own impressions from my short visit. I cannot fathom how close I will come to what the Kwakwaka'wakw would agree is the “real thing”, instead I will elaborate on the technical realisation of that trip to the other side, that I make while I become engulfed by the hypnotising power of voice and beat.

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To create that eerie blurring of the music, which will play on through the whole rest of the movement, albeit obscured beyond recognition, I use multiple pitched directional delay effects and heavy surround reverb turned backwards, eventually fading out the original signal. I feed the processed signal into a resonance filter, where that deep drone emerges from, that provides the substrate that the foreground sound can feed on. On the other end of the spectrum I feel something has to happen as well, an airy hiss that circles around the listener, shapeless, out of reach, but yet material enough to make you realise that you are not alone in this place. A surround tremolo takes over the lo-cut signal and sends it flying around the head. At some point a distant voice, incomprehensible and seemingly coming from another dimension, emerges from the subliminal, perhaps it is Chief Bill Cranmer311 warning the guests of a yet untamed Hamatsa initiate. I would love to use recordings of Hamatsa whistles, I make many at the potlatch, and Wa has played numerous individual old whistles from the U'mista collection for audio-documentation back in Alert Bay, but these are not for outsiders’ ears. They may only be played by members of the Hamatsa society, who know exactly when they cause damage by inviting the wrong spirits at the wrong time, and when it is appropriate to blow them. So there are none of these in the production, only hints by means of effect processing. And no additional sounds have been added, just the processed song and speech from the potlatch (and a short passage from the Woss Lake breakfast for the nice clicking sounds of Shelley scrambling the eggs in a plastic bowl). From the mists of my limbic forest I hear a rejoicing fun dance cheer, the chief has shown his greatness and his people are glad. But they sink into the mists and I realise I am in the animal kingdom.

311

Bill Cranmer, hereditary chief and chief-elect of the Band Council of 'Namgis First Nation of 'Yalis (Alert Bay) 161

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Some of the animals I do know, I have heard them before, on the island, a raven, the crows, but there are more. A bear has come down from the mountains, and a raccoon peeks out of the thickets, a crane calls before he takes off. My blood chills as I hear a wolf howl somewhere behind me. But before I know it, mighty Thunderbird flies over my head and takes me even farther into the mist. I am thinking of using a couple of drum beats from the recording to imitate the thunder of his wings by means of some of the more twisted presets of the delay and convolution reverb plug-ins. The animals have stayed behind, the curtain is lifted to show the spirits lined up to pay me a visit (or do I visit them? After all it is their world, and I am the intruder). There is tame Bukwas, there are Nutslala the firedancer and Nutslana, screaming “Wi!Wi!Wi!”, “and he’s running around, he’s laughing, he’s throwing snot at [me]. He’s happy, he’s got a hunchback, he’s got tails all over his body, he’s got teeth where you couldn’t imagine, he’s embarrassed of it.” There is Xwixwi, his tongue is sticking out of his mouth and his eyes are bulgy, he’s holding shells, and he’s constantly stomping. And of course Dzunuqwa, coming out of the bushes with her “hu-hu” to scoop me into her basket. As I hear Dzunuqwi coming from the sea with his bubbling voice – his throat is filled with water, and he’s got seaweed all over him – I notice that the soundscape becomes clearer again.312 I realise I am on a boat, I hear the waves breaking on the pier. I must have been daydreaming, the BigHouse is gone, and the sun (though hidden behind grey clouds) is high up in the sky.

312

all spirit and animal cries, explanatory notes, name spelling and quotes taken from a recording session with Marcus Alfred, Alert Bay 10-02-09; see Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI U'mista 162

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xii) Potlatch – To dance a Mask Potlatch is the most important ceremonial festivity in Northwest Coast indigenous cultures with deep religious and ritual meaning. Roughly translated as “To Give”, the term has been derived and naturalised from Chinook pidgin trade jargon.313 The event can last several days; dances, songs, masks, and other treasures are presented to the audience, which is provided for with vast amounts of food and receives gifts. To host a potlatch requires a special occasion, such as the birth of a first son or the death of an important relative, marriage within the nobility, “the completion of a new house, the acquisition of a new crest, the transfer of property, or the succession of a new chief”314, because its central meaning is to hand down or to claim chief positions, titles and privileges, thereby “reaffirming family identities, rights and properties.”315 This has to be witnessed and approved by high-ranking guests and cemented by the distribution of valuable goods, strictly according to rank and position. With the net worth of the distributed goods rises the reputation of the host and his family lineage, for in Northwest Coast societies ancestry is of high importance, constituting the cornerstone of the collective’s identity. While the potlatch commemorated an event, it was also a time to mourn deaths since the previous potlatch, initiate novices into “secret societies”, repay outstanding debts, and bestow hereditary names on young people. For a people who had no written documentation, the potlatch was a way of publicly acknowledging and validating events before witnesses. Invited well ahead of time, people came from many villages, often travelling long distances by canoe.316

313

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Potlatch); Stewart traces the term back to the Nuuchah-nulth word “pa-chitle”, which has the same meaning. Stewart (2003), p.17 314 Stewart (2003), p.17 315 ibid. 316 ibid., p.17f 163

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Potlatches have always been very cost-intensive, taking years to prepare, so only wealthy families, represented by their chief who would act as the host, could hold them, thereby affirming his and their status. He displayed his wealth, which took the form of crests, names, stories, songs, dances, masks, heirlooms and other properties, as well as certain rights and privileges. (…) A lavish potlatch would be talked about for a long time, enhancing the status of the host and his family – and it is much the same today.

317

It was difficult to grasp for me, and I fathom for many raised in the individualist framework of Western property concept as well, including intellectual property, how lineage, ceremonial protocol and expression, and objects, which I would have identified rather as props, costumes, or artworks, are coupled in the representations I could observe in the Campbell River BigHouse. A mask is not simply part of a costume, it is a family heirloom, not only representing, but being a supernatural gift (treasure) acquired by a family’s ancestor. It is not simply worn during the dance and song associated with it. The mask is danced, and once worn by a person, this individual is not merely impersonating a treasure, supernatural power or ancestor, it becomes the entity that is depicted by the mask. This was demonstrated to me in a rather awkward context: In my essay on “Robert Duncan’s Transformation Mask”318 I claimed that a deer transformation mask I had seen carved by Beau Dick was danced during the Campbell River potlatch by Bobby Duncan. As it turned out, and this was confirmed by taking a closer look at the photographs I shot of the dance, it was Beau himself (his beard was peeking out of the mask). But both Beau Dick and Bobby Duncan, whom I met in 2012 in Alert Bay and Port Alberny, respectively, to hand them a copy of the book they were featured in, told me not to worry, for once one of them 317

ibid., p.18 Schoer in De Bruyne/Gielen, eds. (2011), pp.252-262; see Raven Travelling DVD-ROM: Carvers’ Workshop

318

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wore the mask, he would become the spirit represented by the mask, so the mix-up in my text was of no significance to them. Next to that, these mask/dance/song amalgamates are property and privilege of a family or clan, represented by a high ranking member, and cannot be sold or used by anyone else than the appointed person, unless in an appropriate ceremony during a potlatch, and the protocols to be followed for this are strict and complex. Under no circumstances, however, can such a privilege be interpreted on a level with Western copyright law, with its individual exploitation rights of reproduction, distribution, and exhibition.319 Fiercely challenged by the arrival of European traders, missionaries and settlers the culture of the Northwest Coast people has been almost wiped out, potlatch as central expression of this culture was prohibited in 1884. In secret, the Kwakwaka'wakw went on holding potlatches. In 1921 a raid on a potlatch secretly held by Chief Dan Cranmer on the remote Village Island ('Mimkwamlis; not far from Cormorant Island) resulted in the seizure of a considerable number of what in museum terminology would be subsumed under the category of ethnographic objects, or art in the eyes of collectors, whereas “[the Kwakwaka'wakw] did not even have a word for art.”320 Those arrested were charged for making speeches, dancing, distributing gifts and for being guests at the potlatch. They were tried and imprisoned for not agreeing to relinquish their cultural practices and regalia in the potlatch ceremony. (…) Ceremonial masks and regalia were seized and taken away for many years. (…) ‘What they did was stop our ability to pass on our culture.’321

319

See also World Three, section III.4: The Apple Tree. Sanborn (2009), p.83 321 ibid.; in quotation marks: William T. Cranmer, Chairman 'Namgis Nation Band Council 320

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Only a good half a century ago, in 1951, the governmental ban was lifted, and since then the Northwest Coast First Nations continue to bring back the original spirit of potlatching to life in a contemporary form. Andrea Sanborn, as the director of the U'mista Cultural Centre, wrote in an essay for the UNESCO journal Museum International about the “path of a Kwakwaka'wakw transformation mask” from the moment it was seized by the Canadian government in 1921 until its return to Alert Bay in 2005, stating that “we can only imagine the distress carried by the spirit of the transformation mask while it was separated from the spirit of its culture.”322 Since Andrea passed away before I could conduct a proper interview on these matters with her I have to take refuge in what she wrote in her essay, which, to my notion, perfectly sums up what many of the people I met and talked to feel in respect to what their cultural roots mean to them, especially Bruce Alfred, Vera Newman, Trevor Isaac, Beau Dick, Pewi Alfred, and of course Wa, all of whom I had extensive conversations with.323 In her text, Sanborn says, the “foundation of this process [the re-acquisition of culture] is our cultural language, kwak'wala. Without our language we cannot be the Kwakwaka'wakw.”324 I have already talked about the efforts at T-School, the U'mista, and elsewhere to try and revive, or keep alive, the language the term Kwakwaka'wakw (“Those who speak Kwak'wala”) is derived from. At the Campbell River potlatch, all important speeches were held in Kwak'wala. Some were poorly devised, as the speakers had difficulties mastering the language, many were pre-written, and general announcements were made in English to ensure that everybody understood them, but the importance and the identity-generating impact of the use of the native

322

both ibid., p. 81 recorded interviews with Bruce Alfred, Trevor Isaac, Vera Newman, and Beau Dick can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM. The long recording sessions in the Band Cabin at Woss Lake may be exhausting to listen to, but the evening debates tasking place there, headed by Wa, also expressively illustrate the current situation. However, since many aspects being addressed there were of private nature, only excerpts could be included in the collection. 324 Sanborn (2009), p.82 323

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tongue, which to most has long ceased to be their first language, if spoken at all, was apparent. Sanborn goes on stating that “we must maintain the cultural and historical information of our ancestors for the generations of children to come.”325 Even if part of that information has to be retrieved second hand from the records of white ethnographers (Bruce Alfred noted that if it had not been for Franz Boas, much of the Kwakwaka'wakw’s knowledge about their own culture would have been lost326), who now must fill the gaps created by the potlatch ban, the residential school system, and the knowledge that died with the many who perished in the plagues introduced by the white people. Being a culture that originally did not rely on written accounts,327 the potlatches held today are as much a reaffirmation of individual families’ ranking positions, as they are (or maybe even more so), by living out their traditions, a powerful reaffirmation of the re-claiming of Kwakwaka'wakw culture and identity and the pride in this.

xiii) Being a Tourist in Kwaki-Country: Methodological Considerations My first sojourn in Alert Bay resulted in a rich collection of recordings of the cultural and everyday life of its indigenous residents, diverse enough for me to create a composition that displays the sonic layer of my experiences. It also blessed me with a set of impressions that cannot easily be recollected, neither in musical, nor in other forms. I’ve always felt torn between being a tourist, an observer, and a guest, and maybe a friend. Many things I could relate to, as they were familiar to me from my own cultural and intellectual background, others were strange in the beginning, but I learned enough to at least partly understand them, yet quite a few remain that will always feel alien to me. It certainly is not my place to judge any of those. 325

ibid. Interview w/ Bruce Alfred; see Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI Carvers 327 cp. citation from Stewart, p.166 326

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As I will lay out in the following chapter on a more theoretical and general level, my approach cannot be equated with classical ethnographic research; if anything, I was a musician looking for fellow musicians to work with. As with all research involving a social dimension, it is not easy to define where participant observation ends and where uncritical involvement begins, where I am hiding behind my microphones, thereby avoiding serious engagement, and where these are the inevitable tools of the trade. If properly scrutinised, my data may well be fit for ethnographic or social anthropologic analysis, but that is not what I went for. With the composition and the additional material I hope to have created a first glimpse into Kwakwaka'wakw (or 'Namgis) contemporary life and culture, with no claim for completeness, my personal involvement in its making hopefully being obvious enough that the recipient understands that he or she is not presented with unfiltered material. I also hope I did some good storytelling. What I do claim, however, is that I did not obtain or publish any data or other intellectual property, neither in the Western, nor in the traditional sense as demanded by the 'Namgis community, without the explicit approval of the people involved.

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0:33’45’’ Touristy Interlude & Reprise: Down to Earth For a moment I am just a tourist with a microphone, as Porgy takes me to the sea lion rock. Whale watching season is already over, but one sea mammal is as good as another, I think, and sea lions are way cooler than FreeWilly and his cousins. I take pictures of the rugged coastline and the mountains behind it, and of the countless inlets and tiny islands that we pass by, and I enjoy the fresh breeze. Until we reach the rock. The air smells foul here (boy, are you lucky that my mikes only record sound!). I had been warned about their dental condition, and my expectations are surpassed. But these creatures are worth the suffering. At our arrival they become really agitated, three quarters of the approximately 80 tons of fat go into the water and circle around the boat, grunting, snorting, and puffing. I take more pictures, I even get a shot of one sea lion leaping in the air (and then crushing into the water). I decide to leave the sounds of my SLR camera in the mix (at other points I have made quite an effort to remove them) to remind the listener of the perspective from which this soundscape has been composed. We travel back to Alert Bay in the little motorboat, Porgy’s mate offers me some home-grown BC weed, while he plays country music from his notebook. I return to the band cabin at Woss Lake, where I will spend the last few minutes of a relaxing camping weekend with Wa and his people, Canadian Indian style. I let the day end with a fine share of grilled, smoked, sweetened and teriyaki sockeye, halibut, prawns and eulachon (no that was at the seafood dinner with the totem poll restoration workshop guys, but the dinner at Woss Lake is no less opulent, just instead of the halibut we have hamburgers, seaweed and potato salad) in the cosy atmosphere of the cabin,

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Wa singing children’s songs and the family talking; lots of laughs and lots to learn for me. After 40 minutes of Northwest Coast Soundscape I am alone again, standing at the front porch of the Alert Bay lodge, wind and waves, and a small wind chime. I remember how I imitated Dzunuqua when recording in the forest at night and almost scared off myself for a moment. I really had the hardware back in its case fast after that. U’melth, the Raven, croaks one last time for me, spreads his wings and flies away. Tomorrow I will be on my plane home. It finally starts to rain.

Winter 2011/2012 Alert Bay Revisited On my first journey I was the rookie, no field experience, had never met any wildmen from the woods, savage or tamed, only the thin veil of the microphone membrane between me and the wild blue yonder. As you may have noticed, it didn’t turn out to be all that terrifying. Instead, I made a lot of new friends, and the recordings and experiences I brought back have proven very helpful in matters of my research interests. When I returned to the Bay a good half year after my field trip, I presented the composition, along with some photographs, and an introduction into my intentions and what was planned with the production, at the U'mista to as many people as would come and listen. Wa said, he’d travelled to the places we’d been together while listening, Vera Newman was taken back to 170

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childhood memories, and they all agreed that it was a fair representation of their contemporary cultural and everyday life. This trip was a bit odd; I think it took me longer to get to the Bay and back than I actually stayed there; it was really just for keeping my promise not to publish without the people’s consent. Two weeks after I left, the composition was officially installed in the Sound Chamber at the NONAM. I did two more presentations during my third visit in the winter of 2011/12 and again received approval, along with a number of well-meaning critical remarks from more people. I felt it very reassuring that I was told that the main reason why they approved of my work and were confident I would put it to respectful use was that I came back. It left me with the feeling that I had done well in terms of deserving their trust. I spent three weeks in the Bay, with my family, over Christmas, and only occasionally set up any recording gear. This last visit for me was the most important, because now I wasn’t hiding behind the mikes anymore, friendship, mutual understanding and respect reaching a new level. Although I again brought some really sweet hardware, I was not hellbent on recording. I did take a number of cool audio shots, of course; for example, I finally got my eagles, and rain, lots of rain, as well as another night at Woss Lake, Lahal (the traditional Indian gambling game) at the Alert Bay BigHouse, and a couple of interviews, even did a little filming.328 My main objective, however, and more than ever, was talking with people; those that I knew from the previous visits, and those that I got to know in the course of the one at hand. I had some good laughs with Wa, and his wife Trish, I had long talks with Barb Cranmer and her sister Andrea (who makes great coffee), and her mom Vera Newman. During a long interview, Vera agreed to listen to “Two Weeks” again as an inspiration for a speech in Kwak'wala, so I also got to record language. And Beau Dick finally in328

Some examples can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, for example at POI BigHouse 171

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vited me to record a story he wished to tell, and which he dedicated to me. Next to substantially deepening my understanding of the people and the culture “Two Weeks” is dealing with, however, I notice that now a mutual interest is evolving that has nothing to do with research protocol.329 With Trevor Isaac, a young researcher at the U'mista that I hadn’t met on my previous journeys, I arranged a conference panel in Switzerland a few months later. The beer count in the evenings was considerable. We kept on rockin’ after the paying guests had left the hall, and we had a lot of fun doing so. What I’m trying to point out here is that sometimes it can be debilitating if you are bound to bring back results. I guess that’s nothing new, but it became very relevant to me. Once the pressure of delivering results was lifted I could open up much more, the encounters were more on a personal level, the intention of working with equals was replaced by feeling equal. By now the personal relations built up have gained at least as much importance as the successful implementation of my research plan. It certainly wasn’t my last visit in the Bay, no matter whether for research, another jam, or just to see old friends.

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See World Three: The Apple Tree

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Chapter Summary and Outlook II In the previous chapter sound was established as a key tool for communication, and the relation between sound and intangible heritage was pointed out. In the course of World Two I have presented a possible method of creating a piece of acoustic heritage for museum presentation, but also already pointed at difficulties that arise in the particular context of working with indigenous people. World Two, written mostly in a novelistic style, thereby answering to the affective/atmospheric claims made in World One, blends semi-fictional passages (the plot behind the “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” piece), background information, and refined field diary excerpts into a narrative structure devised to shed light on what I did in the field, and how I approached my task of collecting and composing cultural sounds from the Northwest Coast. It is storytelling, rather, its focus lying clearly on the importance of the personal perspective of the researcher, with scientific data interpolated where supportive for the continuity of the plot. It is also a convincing hands-on example of the power of sound in culture and cultural identity/survival. Next to an elaborate analysis of the composition, special attention is given to the Northwest Coast, Alert Bay, and the Kwakwaka'wakw/'Namgis; the historical and contemporary situation of the indigenous people, their cultural and everyday life, problems associated with culture clash and repression, exemplified by many encounters the researcher had and the evolving relationships that ensued with individuals that have turned into informants, but also friends. This latter aspect is further elaborated by reporting on returning to the Bay. With Between the Worlds follows now the systematisation of the WORT account in World Two, introducing the Session Musician’s Approach as a framework for coeval production and presentation. The theoretical implications stemming from this account will then be discussed in detail in World Three (anthropology in general, informed consent and indigeneity in partic173

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ular) and World Four (power relations and the museum), resulting in the grappling with the orientalist, schizophonic and otherwise sensitive premises that need to be taken into account for the processing of data for public presentation

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Prologue “I am a musician, and from a musician’s perspective it was that I approached the people of Alert Bay. When you meet with other musicians for a production, a recording, a live show, or any other format or product that includes organised sound, you usually don’t indulge in sociological or ethnographical studies about your fellow musicians. You need to know their skill level and their specialisation in terms of tools (instruments and other) and styles. That may include some cultural background, which here needs to be defined very broadly: a jazz musician will have other knowledge and training than a performer or a composer of pop music, a scholar of classical European or Indian music, or a foley artist. At any rate, you do not ask, what is your cultural heritage or identity, but you do ask, what are the tools and techniques we have at our disposal for the creation of a piece of music, what can we all contribute to make this an interesting and rewarding experience? And that was my principal point of departure when I met with what according to ethnographical terminology could be identified as my informants. “I quickly understood that when you work in an ethnographical context, as I did once I embarked on my mission to the Kwakwaka'wakw on commission by the NONAM, you have to, if not feeling subjected to them, at least know and understand the delicacies it brings along. As a musician I may approach my interlocutors on coeval terms, but it is I who carries out the master plan in the end, I am the bandleader, and the presenter. As a heedful bandleader I may grant my fellow musicians much freedom to play out their various strengths, like Miles Davis would in his fusion period. It were the people of Alert Bay who suggested me what to record, it was their inspiration that determined the success of the endeavour, but it was for me to decide when to push the record button, which recordings to include and how to arrange them in the resulting composition. And taking on a jam session musician’s approach does not prevent one from making the mistakes identified with allochronic warping. It is the recipient’s side where danger lurks: 175

If I devise a performance of, say, a group of musicians consisting of a freejazz saxophonist and a handful of Moroccan musicians, the coeval relationship within this group may be intact, but the audience will probably see a modern (white) musician who brings a bunch of folkloristic attractions in traditional garb to give his show an oriental touch.” “Very interesting,” said Raven and continued to pick at his salmon carcass.

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Between the Worlds:

How to make a Good Soundscape Composition and the Session Musician Approach. Research Question and Methodology

In this breakpoint I compare the insights gained in the production process of “Two Weeks” with related concepts in scholarly literature with focus on the special requirements of the Sounding Museum and condense these into the Session Musician’s Approach, which could be applied in further research of a similar kind.

a) What is a Good Cultural Soundscape Composition? At the centre of the Sounding Museum we find the contemporary cultural soundscape composition “Two Weeks in Alert Bay.” It is designed to supply an international audience330 with a means to gain an acoustic image of the contemporary cultural and everyday life of the Kwakwaka'wakw of Alert Bay, as an exemplification for Northwest Coast indigenous culture in general. In order to achieve this, specific criteria have to be met. A “good” cultural soundscape composition as defined for the Sounding Museum should convey essential information about a (foreign) culture via the utilisation of the supposed emotional/atmospheric quality of sound. Herein the analogy to music has its limits, as the informational aspect in (absolute) music is virtually non-existent. The analogy to (classical) anthropological text, not having to answer to the same systematic standards as the latter, is equally limited. It is rather a musical-aesthetic container carrying the information/message in an embedded form. As such it needs to be able

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mainly a European, or “Western” audience, starting with, but not limited to, the visitors of the Sound Chamber at the NONAM in Zürich, Switzerland 177

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to stand for itself; further (in-depth) elaborations in written or spoken form or visual illustrations act as add-ons. If this aim can be met, a piece can claim to be a good cultural soundscape composition. The criteria to meet it I mentioned above and that are to be discussed below, are the following three: -­‐ The musical and narrative structure needs to be appealing to the listener, and it should convey core elements of the culture it deals with. -­‐ Transparency within the composition and in its auxiliary materials about which sources have been used, which choices have been made during composition, and, most importantly, by whom, needs to be provided. -­‐ For the assembly and compilation of the audio material a collaborative approach has to be applied. In the previous chapters, Worlds One and Two, I have defined what a soundscape is and established the rules for soundscape composition. With these in mind I have elaborately dealt with the genesis and narrative of “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”. In this account a number of issues already surfaced that indicated that a contemporary cultural soundscape composition calls for attention to questions that may be irrelevant for a purely artistic or fictional work, but are paramount for a device that aims to act as communication agent between stakeholders from different cultures. These necessarily reach beyond musical structure, narrative and also the axiomatic relation to the source of the used audio material inherent in soundscape composition, which, as said, has been covered in World Two and may therefore be left behind. The questions that need to be addressed in addition are rooted in problems dealt with in ethnographic methodology and anthropological theory, questions of generalisation, representation, coevalness, and selfreflexivity. These, and their emergence and relevance in regard to lay audiences are the issues the next chapter, World Three, will try to shed a light on. 178

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“Two Weeks” is, next to its qualification as an artistic work, foremost an ethnographic document, or text, in the wider sense. As such it is at risk of being taken for a generally valid testimony about the cultural unit it covers. But, as has been stated by countless scholars in the field,331 an ethnographic text is always strongly influenced by the personality and background of its author. I have employed a number of strategies to meet this obstacle, especially in the light of the fact that the target audience of “Two Weeks” is everything but limited to scholars, who are well aware of this intricacy. As a museum visitor or someone who listens to the CD at home, you are not necessarily conversant with the fallibility of ethnographic texts or the orientalist stereotypes they might evoke, or matters of coevalness and power relations that arose during their production.332 The most important and, to my conviction, most potent measures to be taken are transparency and a collaborative attitude, the latter best subsumed under what I will describe in the following section as the Session Musician’s Approach. Transparency in the sense of a detailed account and reflection about the source materials and their exact uses, decisions made, personnel involved etc. is something that cannot be accomplished in a soundscape composition. These particulars are to be treated in the accompanying documentary materials (as has been done in World Two, with additional information on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM). With transparency within the composition I am primarily referring to the illusion-breaking effect created when the journey to another world, the fantastic and exotic, to which “Two Weeks” invites the listener, is disrupted by the intervention of the real world into the plot, by the reality of how and by whom it was created. In order for the piece to function in regard to its prospective audiences, it affords a sensible (musically, one could speak of feeling) hand from the composer/curator/ethnographer/auteur (producer in

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such as Clifford Geertz (see World Three), Tim Ingold (2000, 2008), and all the authors discussed in this section 332 The anthropological terminology and concepts mentioned here will be dealt with in World Three. 179

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music production terminology) to find the balance between uncritical illusionism (facilitating orientalism) and a detailed account of theoretical and moral considerations, which a lay audience must not necessarily be expected to be interested in. A cultural soundscape composition needs to be stimulating, it should ignite or tend to the fascination with the foreign, that strange and alien world, that brought the listener to tune in in the first place, but still convey the (to quite some extent political) message of coevalness. This can be brought to the fore best by planting clues that provide evidence of the role the producer played in its making, who he/she worked with, what the circumstances where during recording. The subjectivity of the composition must be made audible. In the case of “Two Weeks” these clues have been weaved into the compositional fabric in a most subtle way, a camera click here, a “uhum” from me there, Beau Dick apparently talking directly to me, and about the subject of sound, the unfiltered hum of the air condition system at the U'mista during language class. Most important, however, is the situatedness of the piece in a “normal” environment, where people laugh over their afternoon coffee, cars drive by, and children at school behave like children at school, which catapults the listener out of the imagination of something from a distant, mythological past, that those potlatching Indians seems to be a part of, back into the (there and) now, although on Western terms: I imagine it is much more difficult to promote coevalness in the context of a cultural unit that really does not dig into cars, television, and refrigerators, but I would argue that it helps listeners a lot when they are thrown a bit of familiarity to cling on, if they are to accept a readjustment of their assumptions. Of course once reading the notes in the CD’s first edition’s booklet, or an introduction by a museum guide, workshop conductor, or lecturer, this aspect can be forwarded much more than is possible in the compositional and narrative framework of the piece, but enough can be included within it to suffice on a modest, but nevertheless effective level.

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As for the third aspect, the collaborative attitude, which is the basis for the coeval relationship of the researcher with his interlocutors in any ethnographic, artistic or other enterprise that involves more than one person (which, as Howard Becker tells us, applies to virtually every production),333 this is best clarified in relation to the methodological framework of the Session Musician’s Approach.

b) The Session Musician’s Approach and its Precursors First of all, the Session Musician’s Approach is not a strictly defined methodology, it is more of a mind set, that is based on a collaborative attitude towards the people one works with. It is informed by the way musicians work and create together, particularly in improvised music sessions as often occur during live jazz concerts, where, based on a simple theme of a few bars agreed upon before the music starts, every player brings in his or her instrument, skill, style and creativity. All involved must listen to everyone else, react and add their ideas in a highly collaborative form. In anthropology and ethnography suggestions for theoretical concepts and methodological practices have been formulated that form the backbone, on the shoulders of which the Session Musician’s Approach rests. They may be taken as a framework of orientation for the production of cultural soundscape composition. These are

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see next page 181

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-­‐ Howard S. Becker’s cooperative network postulated for art production, -­‐ Michael Polanyi’s theory of tacit knowledge, -­‐ Sarah Pink’s theoretical and methodological considerations concerning a sensory ethnography, -­‐ Steven Feld’s practice of participatory research and dialogical editing, -­‐ my own experience as a practicing musician. I will now briefly sketch out these concepts and illustrate them with examples from the work process that resulted in “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”. To create an artwork, Becker tells us, obviously so in performing ensemble arts, but also in, for instance, poetry or painting, synergy effects must take place, a “collective action”, the product always being one of “people acting together”:334 All artistic work, like all human activity, involves joint activity of a number, often a large number, of people. Through their cooperation, the artwork we eventually see or hear comes to be and continues to be. The work always shows signs of that cooperation.335

In ethnographic research a researcher cannot generate data out of thin air; from participant observation to interviews, much of the activities undertaken to get insight into a cultural unit, practice, or other, is based on interaction with people. Without informants, the ethnographer would not be able to perform his/her task, the production of ethnographic text. Being at the crossroads between ethnographic text and musical composition, the collaborative requirements for “Two Weeks” are profound and complex. Its production involved a large number of people, who, under the assumption that 334 335

both Becker ([1982] 2008), p.xi ibid., p.1

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I acted as its main author and producer, may be summed up under what Becker reluctantly calls “support personnel”.336 The boundaries, however, between the “artist(s)” and “support personnel” (“resource pool”) are often blurred, and positions can change, depending on the stage of development, or unexpectedly differing potential and dynamics found in and between individual actors. At the NONAM I found great support in terms of expert knowledge and also in the contacts that had already been established with people who would become my research participants. You have got to know many of the individuals who worked with me in Alert Bay, and whose roles in the making of “Two Weeks” were manifold. As described in World Two, I had a rough idea what was to be done, not unlike the few bars (the “theme”) used as starting point for a lengthy improvisation as introduced above. Basically, I knew I was supposed to create a composition about the Northwest Coast for museum use, the specifics of which, and exactly what scientific findings could be generated from it and the process of its making, would follow. From thereon what took place was indeed mostly improvised jamming. Informed by the conversations we had, I got ideas what would be useful to record, or my interlocutors made suggestions. Often it would be, since I always used to have my hardware at hand, a situational decision to set up a microphone and hope it might pick up relevant sound events, as, for example, when I taped the evening at Woss Lake, that is now prominently featured as the reprise in the composition, with Wa announcing and then singing a children’s song. I could never have planned for this, neither did Wa, but to have caught that cosy, familiar atmosphere enabled me to give the piece that final touch that so perfectly delivers my intended message of all cultures belonging to one humanity.

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ibid., p.77; Becker immediately relativises this debasing expression, stating that he does not “accept the view of the relative importance of the ‘personnel’ involved”, however, speaking technically, he adds that people in supporting positions may even be viewed as a resource pool. (ibid.) 183

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The people involved in such a project must learn to communicate with each other,337 which also means they must agree on common conventions,338 and they will have to find their roles. The most prominent of these is the role of the bandleader, who takes the ultimate decisions.339 In the case of ethnographic research this means that the researcher will have to choose, from the materials gathered in the field, what will be useful to publish, how to assemble them, and, eventually, how to interpret them. In the process of communicating (in a broad sense, for communication may well take place without words) the researcher will often tap into the tacit knowledge of his informants. As Polanyi puts it, “we can know more than we can tell”, with much of this knowledge difficult to impossible to pass on verbally.340 The same applies to a jam session: The musicians do not verbalise their playing, and they do not intellectually reflect on every note or progression, or focus on the technical act of operating the instrument, they just play, tacitly knowing what they have to do, and how they should react to changes in the overall dramaturgy. One could analyse the particulars of the music being played (the different instruments/voices), the rhythmic and harmonic structures, themes and melodies, but that would not, particularly if one aimed to explain the music to someone who has not heard it, generate an impression on how it sounded. Instead, the best thing one can do, is to record the music and play it back.341

337

cp. ibid., p.5 ibid., p.28 339 ibid., p.xvii 340 Polanyi ([1966] 1983), pp.4-5; see also Polanyi ([1961] 1969), p.123, where the following anecdote opens an essay entitles “Knowing and Being”: “A few years ago s distinguished psychiatrist demonstrated to his students a patient who was having a mild fit of some kind. Later the class discussed the question whether this had been an epileptic or a hysteron-epileptic seizure. The matter was finally decided by the psychiatrist: ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘you have seen a true epileptic seizure. I cannot tell you how to recognize it; you will learn this by more extensive experience.’” 341 cp. ([1966] 1983), p.12 338

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The attitude towards life, the ontological foundations of a culture, must also be localised in the tacit dimension, that is, according to Polanyi, the root of all knowledge,342 and that can, on a simple level, be brought across through cultural soundscape composition by transporting the “feeling”, the atmospheric in-between of it. In the Session Musician’s Approach I try, by careful manipulation of the raw materials, to synchronise with the minds and thereby tap into the tacit knowledge of my fellow musicians. To transfer this aspect of Polanyi’s concept, me being together with my research participants, talking casually, or participating in activities, thereby learning, implicitly, more than can be seen on the surface,343 makes me the bandleader, who lets his musicians improvise. If it succeeds, this generates a result that is, to a certain extent, also intelligible (and thus valuable as a didactic tool) for third party audiences, synchronizing their minds to those of my friends from the Bay, affectively transmitting cosmology on a protoscientific level, mediated by me, subliminarily.344 By listening to Bruce Alfred or Beau Dick carving, they won’t learn how to make a steam-bent box, or to make a transformation mask, and by listening to Vera Newman teaching or to Wa singing, they won’t learn Kwakwa'la, or the intricacies of traditional Kwakwaka'wakw music, let alone the rich history or mythology behind it, but by listening to all these particulars weaved into a whole,345

342

Polanyi ([1967] 1969) p.195: “All knowledge falls into one of these two classes: it is either tacit or rooted in tacit knowledge.”; original italics; cp. also Polanyi ([1966] 1983), p.55f, and Ingold (2000), p.161: “(…) the realm of cognition is inseparable from the realm of affect; thus cultural models should be understood as ‘learned, internalised patterns of thought-feeling’” (Claudia Strauss in the introduction to her 1992 “Models and Motives”, in Ingold’s words) 343 cp. Polanyi ([1964] 1969), p.152, 344 cp. Polanyi ([1964] 1969), p.139 345 Polanyi ([1966] 1983), pp.6, 12f, see also Polanyi ([1964] 1969), p.140 and p.148: “The logical relation that links life in our body to our knowledge of things outside us can be generalized to further instances in which we rely on our awareness of things for attending to another thing. When we attend from a set of particulars to the whole which they form, we establish a logical relation between the particulars and the whole, similar to that which exists between our body and the things outside it. In view of this, we may be prepared to consider the act of comprehending a whole 185

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they will gain an access way to the feeling of being Kwakwaka'wakw, or, as Polanyi puts it: “We experience a man’s mind as the joint meaning of his actions by dwelling in his actions from the outside.”346 The “meticulous dismembering of a text”, as Polanyi admits, “which can kill its appreciation, can also supply a much deeper understanding of it.”347 But that does only confirm what I have claimed earlier: The composition must be able to stand for itself, and it may do so on a mostly affective, call it emotional, level, but to really get to the core of it, there will be a continuous back and forth between the composition and reflections on it and its background. In “Doing Sensory Ethnography” (2009) Sarah Pink stresses the “methodological focus on the role of subjectivity and experience in ethnography”,348 which “uses the senses as a route to knowledge.”349 She investigates “how representations might be developed to communicate something of the ethnographer’s own experiences, and those of the people participating in the research, to their audiences, while simultaneously making a contribution to scholarship.”350 Quoting Regina Bendix, she asserts that “to research ‘sensory perception and reception’ requires methods that ‘are capable of grasping “the most profound type of knowledge (which) is not spoken of at all and thus inaccessible to ethnographic observation or interview” (Bloch 1998:

as an interiorization of its parts, which makes us dwell in these parts. (…)”; original italics. I will not go into Polanyi’s concept of “indwelling”, nor Tim Ingold’s (2000) theories of “dwelling” in relation to Gibson’s (1979) ecological approach to perception, in which Ingold explains the body as part of the environment, with the senses less probing out from the body, but rather forming the connection that establishes the symbiosis of the two (see, for example p.261: “Looking, listening and touching, therefore, are not separate activities, they are just different facets of the same activity: that of the whole organism in its environment.”) For the objectives of this book Böhme’s take on (atmospheric) perception suffices. 346 Polanyi ([1964] 1969), p.152; original italics (in a different context, but to my understanding well transferable to trans-cultural communication) 347 Polanyi ([1966] 1983), p.19 348 Pink (2009), p.2 349 ibid., p3 350 ibid., p.3f 186

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46).’”351 Therefore Pink does not “privilege any one type of data or research method”, in fact, “it would be erroneous to see sensory ethnography as a method for data collection at all”;352 ethnography does not claim to produce an objective or truthful account of reality, but should aim to offer versions of ethnographers’ experiences of reality that are as loyal as possible to the context, negotiations and intersubjectivities through which the knowledge was produced,353

and “if one of the objectives of the ethnographer is to come to know as others do, then we need to account for the process through which we (…) come to know.”354 Relating to Karen O’Reilley (2005), Pink points out how ethnography as “iterative inductive research” must draw on “a family of methods, involving direct and sustained contact with human agents, within the context of their daily lives (and cultures), watching what happens, listening to what is said, asking questions (…)”355, thereby moving beyond classical concepts of participant observation “with particular attention to the multisensory and emplaced aspects of other people’s (and the researcher’s own) experience”.356 She also highlights the “need to bring local voices into academic representations.”357 The Sounding Museum and “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”, where sound is merely utilised as the mediator between sender and receiver, are not about sensory ethnography in Pink’s sense. It never was my objective to, for instance, in-depth study the sensory categories or perceptive peculiarities of Kwakwaka'wakw contemporary culture. Yet the proximity, next to the 351

ibid., p.8 ‘cf. Bendix (2000), p.41’ both ibid. 353 Pink (2007), p.22, cf. Pink (2009), p.8 354 Pink (2009), p.35; my italics 355 O’Reilly (2005), p.3, cf. Pink (2009), p.9 356 Pink (2009), p.63; my italics 357 ibid., p.14; on local voices, “First Voices”, please refer also to the respective section in World Three. 352

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strong relation to Polanyi in the Bloch quote above, to the Session Musician’s Approach is apparent. For one thing, Pink advocates the “appropriation of techniques from arts practice”, explicitly including soundscape composition as a “means of communicating academically framed representations of the sensory embodied experiences of one group of people and/or ethnographers themselves to (…) target audiences”,358 but especially the focus on a participatory, collaborative359 approach and an open methodological framework ties in directly with the strategies implied in the Session Musician’ Approach. You define your basic goals, you prepare well, but then you go and react to what you find,360 go along with what you are offered, take in the feeling, get into the groove, and see what you can make of what that brings.361 Following Pinks advice in “Joining Others”362 this is exactly what I did with my “informants”: I cooked for them, they cooked for me, I walked with them, they walked with me – friends and/or colleagues doing things together, without rambling about their ethnographic value or the otherness of the circumstances (but sometimes also that, because we were curious about each other’s views). I did not so much learn skills363 by joining “cultural” activities; I mostly observed those (carving, singing practice etc; exception: Pewi’s morning rerun on language class, where I joined the card 358

ibid., p.24; see also pp.41/42 and p.132ff. Her endorsement of soundscape composition can be found on pp.141-44. 359 see also ibid., pp.50, 58 360 cp. ibid., p.44 and especially p.49: “(...) methods used are often determined not by the researcher’s own prior decisions about practical approached, but by the research events and scenarios created by research participants” 361 See also O’Dell/Willim (2013), p315f; inspired by Latour’s (2010) „Compositional Manifesto“ and “Christopher Kelty’s writings about collaboration, coordination, and composition (Kelty et al. 2009)” they sate: “A sound research design may constitute a good point of departure for any study, but there is much more to a good ethnography than the initial plan. In contrast to the all too prevalent manner of approaching and discussing ethnographic methods as a disembodied rationalist endeavour, we have argued for a need to view ethnography as a compositional practice.” 362 cp. Pink (2009), p.72ff 363 see Ingold (2000), pp.5, 289-93 188

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game). I simply was around for everyday364 (Woss Lake, Coral’s house in Campbell River etc) and more culturally notable activities (the potlatch of course). One could say that we met for jams in which all participants (including me) were free to decide what to disclose/do, and what to leave out. As a well-known protagonist of auditory ethnography and explicit advocate of a collaborative research attitude, I shall now turn to Steven Feld and his method of dialogical editing as an example of the Session Musician’s Approach at work. His seminal monograph about his research with365 the Kaluli of the Bosavi region in Papua New Guinea, “Sound and Sentiment” (first published in 1982) has gained particular strength by the 30-page postscript added for the second edition (1990).366 In this he reports a follow-up visit to his Kaluli collaborators in the village of Sulibub after a five-year absence. A month after his arrival, two copies of the freshly printed first edition of “Sound and Sentiment” arrived. He extensively discussed the text with the Kaluli, who, through their comments, gave him an enhanced perspective not only on what he had written about them, but also about his own role. The postscript deals with this, and theorises elaborately about the impact of this amalgamation of perspectives, or rather, “the juxtaposition of Kaluli Voices and [his] own”, which he calls dialogical editing, herewith referring to “the impact of Kaluli voices on what I tell you about them in my voice.” 367 Feld, who quotes Charles Seeger’s (1977) notion “that speech is the communication of ‘world view as the intellection of reality’ while music is communication of ‘world view as the feeling of reality,’”368 made many

364

cp. Pink (2009), p.90 The distinction between doing research with instead of about (or of) people has been put forward by Tim Ingold (2008), p.82. 366 Feld (1990), pp.239-268 367 both ibid., p.241; I will briefly return to “Sound and Sentiment” in World Three, section II.3: Feldwork, eventually resulting in my request to integrate what I have called “First Voices” (section IV: Conquista Igual) in ethnographic documents. 368 Feld in Keil/Feld (1994); ‘Seeger’ 365

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hours of tape recordings during his initial field stay, and many more on consecutive visits, also produced and published a number of records with soundscape compositions about Bosavi and the Kaluli. For one of them, “Voices of the Rainforest” (1991), which was, unlike previous productions, aimed at the commercial market, he collaborated with Grateful Dead drummer Mickey Hart. Most remarkable, however is one form of collaboration he went into with his Kaluli informants: He brought two cassette recorders to Sulibub on which he synchronised a musical performance he had recorded with the ambient forest atmo. Then he “asked Kaluli assistants to adjust volume controls on the two machines until the composite sounded good to them.” It turned out that they tended to amplify the atmo tracks, because they deemed “the sound of the forest heights (…) copresent and equally significant,” which Feld himself might have not realised without their input. “This sort of bush-premixing studio put Kaluli in a directly dialogical editorial role (…) extending [Feld’s] earlier experiments with dialogical editing.” When he returned home to spend four months in the studio he “was able to incorporate these Kaluli ideas into the editing and mixing, pursuing and acknowledging the socially negotiated and constructed ethnoaesthetics of the production.” 369 Although for “Two Weeks” I could only use more indirect feedback (I once met with Marcus Alfred at my room and played him a first sketch of some editing I had done, and another to Andrea Sanborn at the U’mista), this approach to working together is precisely what I strove for and what I would demand for cultural soundscape composition in general. Feld does not fail to call for caution in respect to the further processing and reception such work where it comes to “the politics of representation, about dimensions of control, authority, ownership, ‘authenticity,’ and power relations,”370 issues that I also have to negotiate at the moment my work goes public, and which are not resolved by being nice and collaborative 369

all ibid., p.283 ibid., p.285; see for further discussion a.o. World Three:, section III.4: The Apple Tree, and World Four, section III.2: The Documenter and the Documentary

370

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while in the field only. He also asks whether his composition, omitting all kinds of “modern” sounds like from motors, tractors, the airstrip, washing machine etc., that are part of the everyday soundscape of Sulibub, could contribute to “a falsely idealized portrait of Bosavi’s current acoustic ecology, romantic at best, deceptive at worst,”371 an issue which I have deliberately avoided by integrating precisely such sounds into “Two Weeks”. However, depending on the intention behind a production, Feld’s approach, whose aim in this case was to document traditional Kaluli culture, is fine for this purpose, although he warns that “once a recording is in the marketplace, one has little control on how it is consumed,”372 despite the possibility to add all kinds of contextualising material, which the consumer may decide to have a look at, but as easily may ignore. In “Two Weeks”, as aiming to present a more comprehensive overview, this effect is considerably reduced.

c) Coeval Collaboration and the Bandleader Oxymoron It did not come as much of a surprise when I learned that Steven Feld is, next to his training in anthropology/ethnomusicology, a musician himself. His approach to ethnography accordingly felt very natural to me, and was therefore easily adapted to the specific needs and situation I found when starting my own fieldwork. The Session Musician’s Approach, as stated above, is not a fixed methodology: it is rather an attitude and a set of principles that should be respected when following it. It presupposes a collaborative, coeval approach towards one’s research participants, open-mindedness and flexibility when it comes to reacting to unexpected or unprepared situations, and, above all, the readiness to get into the groove and start jamming. These principles have proven an extremely valuable asset for situational decisions on meth371 372

ibid., p.286 ibid., p.288 191

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odology. In a different situation they may result in different methodological decisions, but the attitude will stay the same. However, the Session Musician’s Approach as a framework for ethnographic research, has its limits in its implementation. I press record and compose. The result is then (ideally) discussed with the others and gets their consent if they feel appropriately represented by it. Jamming and improvising alone will not do; the music session can only be part of the process, limiting the role of the fellow musicians. For as long as I was in the Bay I was indeed jamming, and, though having my rough sketch, that was based on the research on Northwest Coast indigenous culture prior to the trip, acting as a very democratic, low-profile bandleader, who encouraged, or gratefully embraced any ideas the other players brought in (often it was rather Wa, who should be credited as bandleader, while I was in silent amazement), basically letting them play their music without much interference. For the most part I let them take the lead and pressed record. Sometimes they would play something especially for me (like Bruce and Darren Alfred, when they worked their carving tools for the recording), sometimes the knowledge that there was a microphone would influence their playing (as when Beau Dick talked or would not talk about certain things), but most of the time things went on as they would have in my absence. So one might ask what kind of a bandleader I was, when the band in fact did not require my presence to do their thing; then again, the talking in-between the recorded sessions was as much part of the getting-into-the-groove as was the recording itself, and there I was of course very active. Then, the moment I left with all my audio footage and started the studio work, my function shifted from bandleader to producer, and the collaborative effect was gone, as there was no one left to collaborate with. And the dialogical editing, as important as this step may have been for me and my informants in terms of respect and paying back the trust invested in me, was limited to one presentation with a little discussion afterwards. As you will remember from World Two, I received positive reactions and the approval 192

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for publication, but real collaboration or dialogical editing would have meant to actually sit in the studio together, make the decisions concerning the different elements of the composition together, in a processual, on-going form. On the one hand this was simply not possible; the number of involved people was immense, my visit ended after a good two weeks with the last recordings and the production started only afterwards, back in Germany. Neither would I have been able to afford it, nor do I expect that any of the involved would have been able to stay with me for the five months to follow. But on the other hand I do not see that as too much of a weakness; the piece is, after all, clearly labelled as my piece, my conception of indigenous Alert Bay, and never claimed to be a representation of anything else. Furthermore, having described myself as the mediator between two worlds/cultures, I was the one who had to create a piece that could be read by the Kwakwaka'wakw as well as by the NONAM visitors. While in the Bay I had been given enough input to dare do this; dialogical editing thus is not limited to direct contact but can also have lasting effects that influence decisions that from the outside may look like solitary ones. And, like Feld, I came back. There is no fixed solution or range of what is allowed in (contemporary) cultural soundscape composition. You have to be sincere, selfreflexive, and you may never forget to whom you owe your material. Which of course also means that your collaborators should be credited by naming them, individually, by respecting their wishes (no hamatsa whistles etc.), and, if there are any, of course by paying royalties. And not only that: There may exist sounds that you have recorded, but that not everyone is allowed to listen to (for example the hamatsa whistles in the Fourth Movement of World Two), different copyright systems (like a family-owned song/dance/mask complex representing a supernatural treasure/power that may not be freely distributed on the basis of paying royalties to one person,

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because the authorship – copyright – lies with the ancestor who acquired it from a supernatural being).373

d) Schizophonic Effects of Dislocated Cultural Sound In the light of my piece being made primarily for museum presentation, one more obstacle should be addressed: Dislocating original audio material from its source of origin (temporal as well as spatial) is the phenomenon that Schafer termed schizophonia,374 which, as Feld point out, is particularly problematic in a process that he termed “from schizophonia to schizogenesis,” which will be of relevance in the following two Worlds, that deal with the orientalist habitualisation of Western museum visitors (and “us” Westerners in general, in Feld’s case it concerns consumers of “world music”). Once sounds like these [that can be listened to on “Voices of the Rainforest, or for that matter, “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”] are split from their sources, that splitting is dynamically connected to escalating cycles of distorting mutuality, which in turn is linked to polarizing interpretations of meaning and value.375

As a field recording artist/researcher I am aware (as are all musicians and sound people of any provenience) that once I remove a recording from its context to embed it into a new one, there is no way of knowing to what extent my audience will be able to grasp its intended, let alone its original

373

For an elaboration on copyright and cultural taboos, please refer to World Three, III.4: The Apple Tree. 374 see World One, p. 48 (footnote 121) 375 Feld in Keil/Feld (1994), p.289; see also World Four, section I.2: Aura and Constructed Meaning, for this effect in the museum context, and section IV: Coeval Museum Didactics, for a more detailed elaboration on power relations and exhibition design politics, which is especially relevant in respect to the schizogenic nature of ethnographic materials. 194

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function. Music is said to be the “language of emotion.”376. Only in rare cases of synchronicity, rather than causality, however, will the feelings evoked in the listener be congruent with those of the composer or performer.377 How much more deviation must then be expected in the case of an embedded narrative, when not only a vague emotion is the intended information encrypted in musical form, but a whole story, which, if not deeply immersed in the codes used (that, in turn, need to be decoded by the listener), can barely be followed? Imagine the programme music often heard in the background of a film; once the picture is missing (and you have not seen the film before), you will not know what the music is about, except for being able to decode a number of conventions that you may be familiar with due to experiences with similar films (repetitive semi-tones signify danger, brass crescendos announce great deeds…), although the composer may have had the full story in mind when writing the score. 376

See World One, p.71 (section IV.1: Acoustic Atmospheres); here is not the place to discuss whether music indeed equals emotion, symbolises emotion, or if it is tension and relief in musical structure that triggers it (cp. Hunter/Schellenberg in Jones et al. 2002, p.129), or if it is emotionally charged due to culturally engraved context and conventions. In all cultures, whether music, no matter if they even use that term, evokes emotional responses (see for example Feld’s analysis of Kaluli “music” in “Sound and Sentiment” or Beau Dick’s comment on music and sound in “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”). I have argued in World One that the soundscape has an affective impact on the recipient. As I discuss with school classes in the workshop section in World Four, much of the affective evaluation is context-dependent. Tim Ingold’s well-founded criticism on the Western classification of sound as affective and vision as rational sensory channel (Ingold 2000, p.251f), which I have in World One with Woolf (footnote 16) suspected to be a construction of “modern” times (World One, section xx), does not imply that sound or music are not operating on an emotional level, it merely points out that other channels of sensory perception can do so as well, as can sound be analysed on very rational terms (which is what Schafer does with his clearaudience workshops; see World Four). 377 which may even be undesirable: Either the artist deliberately leaves the interpretation of his work to his audience, or the recipient objects to too much guidance, as he/she prefers to develop his/her own ideas based on the affects caused by the digestion of the work. The situations becomes even more complicated once the work deals with something from the real world other than the artist’s persona; such third parties’ opinion will hardly be identifiable in the finished work without extensive explanation. 195

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Now, if you have never been to the Northwest Coast of North America, and you are equally unfamiliar with its indigenous cultures and their mythology, how then can I expect you to be able to follow the complex narrative of a composition that heavily draws on such knowledge and therefore inevitably requires this knowledge on the recipient’s side as well in order for him to grasp its narrative and meaning, the story told? And even if, in the form of a handout, an information plate, or the introduction by a museum guide, that story is known to you, will you be aware of the allochronism, orientalism, and general schizogenic nature of museum display and its reception? Feld is very clear about this: “Once a recording is in the marketplace, one has little control over how it is consumed.”378 The commodification of schizogenic materials cannot be rid of the risk of misconception, but with the suggestions made here, it can be lessened, or its effects reduced.379

e) Final Remarks The tacit knowledge I seek to transmit is not systematic, or exact.380 I strive to instill a basic affective understanding for the culture I present, at the same time hoping to attenuate the potential orientalist stance of the audience by a presentation format and style that breathes a coeval tenor. As I have indicated in World One, the soundscape, and that applies for its more formalised composed form as well, if not as strongly, is found on the lexically weak end of the continuum381 The information may be inherent in the sounds, but composition needs framing for those who cannot read it. Such deeper reflection must take place in written (or spoken) form. Therefore a 378

Feld in Keil/Feld (1994), p.288 In the Workshop section of World Four I describe one way of dealing with these issues. A full scale study on the reception of cultural soundscape composition with focus on its schizogenic nature would be desirable, but would go beyond the scope of this book. 380 cp. Polanyi ([1964] 1969), p.164 381 See section III.5: Acoustic Communication 379

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substantial portion of “Four Worlds” is devoted to a kind of autoethnography: me observing myself how I create a cultural soundscape composition, and how I try to bring its message across in workshops,382 grounded as much as possible in the feedback I could get from others, the people of Alert Bay, workshop participants, colleagues from my and adjacent fields. The idea of a cultural soundscape composition is based on the possibility to mediate complex and emotionally charged messages via sound. Other than music, which may confine itself to the subjective perspective of the composer, cultural soundscape composition should answer to the criteria named above. It should convey core cultural information, be transparent, and true to its content providers, collaborative, respectful, aware of cultural differences. By not limiting oneself to solitarily choices, but giving the lead as often as possible to the “fellow musicians”, a relatively high level of authenticity can be achieved, and it can be guaranteed, that the “observed” people feel represented by it. At the same time, the bandleader/producer can provide a view from the outside. Clearly, the strength of the Session Musician’s Approach lies in the open-minded, impartial attitude of communication it introduces, at least in the ideal model. In reality, whether the aim is actual music making or any other form of creative or scholarly output, particularly, though not limited to, ethnographic reports or anthropological theory, once working with people defined or perceived as the “ethnographic Other”, to idly disrespect this fact will set the stage for misunderstanding born out of ignorance. Therefore I have to be aware of what lies underneath the superficial: The relation between Self/Us and the Other, the Savage and the Civilised, and the history and perspectives of their dealings with each other. That is what the now following World Three is all about.

382

cp. Pink (2009), p.64 197

Raven and the First Men Raven was wandering down the beach, and again he was bored. His friends Eagle and Frog had gone visiting relatives in other villages, and there was not really anything for him to do. He had had quite a few good laughs in the past, stealing the light from the old Chief, or when he was drinking all the grease on the bear hunt he had undertaken with Mink. He thought back at that one time, when he had been thirsty, and he had heard of that giant woman who held all the water in a sealskin in her house and in her stinginess wouldn’t give away any of it. So Raven had waited until she had gone to sleep, had smeared her body with some animal droppings he had found outside, and had wakened her, telling her, listen, lady, while you were sleeping, you have crapped yourself. She had been so grateful for his warning, as she was expecting guests and did not want to embarrass herself in front of them, that she had allowed him to take a draught from the sealskin. Raven would not have been Raven, had he not taken full advantage of her unwariness. He took a really deep draught, but afterwards had pretended that he had barely had a sip and asked for more. After four of these deep draughts he had completely emptied the sealskin, and, just as the giant woman had realised what was going on, had fled her house and flown away. His beak overflowing, he had spilled amounts of water in his flight, thus creating the sweet water lakes and rivers of the land. But that had all been long ago. The great flood had long receded, the sun and the moon and the stars where in the sky, the rivers where flowing, his wife fog woman had left him some time ago, he missed his sister, and now he was sullen and bored, and the beach was empty. All of a sudden, he heard a muffled cry coming from a giant clamshell that lay half buried in the sand some distance away. He went to have a look and peeked into the shell. Inside he discovered a number of tiny creatures, huddled together in fear when they got aware of his shadow before the sun. They were strange figures, with no feathers or fur, and instead of wings they 199

had skinny arms with five-fingered hands. These little creatures were fun to look at, and once Raven had convinced them to climb out of their shell, they started exploring the world around them. They were so helpless and yet more resourceful than any other creature Raven had seen so far, that he got really fascinated and attracted to them, especially because the males and the females were so different in their bodily appearance as hardly any other animals he knew of. Apparently that brought with it a very complex relationship, with a lot of tension and emotion involved, that Raven got very intrigued by. From the first day on, when he had found them on the beach and freed them out of their clamshell, he would always be around and help them, on other days cause mischief (for example, he was the one who would accidentally bring death into the world), but he would always watch their steps with amazement, as they spread out over the land. Raven never was bored again.

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World Three:

The Ethnographer’s Ear. Voyagers, Chroniclers and Interpreters An approach to anthropology from the musician’s point of departure Because they were still in the ‘Stone Age’ when first brought in contact with Captain Cook, Alexander McKenzie, and other explorers and early traders, their manual skill, artistic gifts, and other endowments are undervalued. Neither, until quite recent years, has much thought been given to the reasons why these people were three thousand years behind the standard of European culture at the close of the eighteenth century. Alice Ravenhill in the introduction to “The Native Tribes of British Columbia”, Victoria 1938

0 Point of Departure When I was a kid, I was fascinated with Indians. I had plenty of books, picture books, textbooks, and novelisations; Leatherstocking, Winnetou, Sons of the Great Bear (…). In my frame of reference of that time, the Indians were more frequently idealised than demonised, the bad guys usually were white, threatening and eventually being defeated by the noble savage with his pristine proto-Christian ways. Indians were a tale from the longago and far-away. They rode on horses, wielded tomahawks and smoked the peace pipe. It was a surprise to learn that some of them had survived in reservations, alcoholics the lot of them. I don’t remember thinking about it, but if asked I surely would have presumed them to live in teepees still. Only a short while ago, after being exposed to the pitfalls of representation, the realities of contemporary indigeneity, and the historical and methodological delicacies of anthropology, I had a discussion about my work with a German-Korean friend of mine, who, despite being a well-educated and considerate person, based his assumptions on the very same prejudices, stereotypes and simplifications that I had begun to accept to be long over201

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come. How he admired the Indian for his deep connection to Mother Earth, that makes him so much better than the white man, his nativeness and his simple but happy life, that we cannot return to, and that we have, witlessly, taken away from the Red Man. I cannot demand from the target group of “Two Weeks”, primarily museum visitors, to have progressed further in their reflexive process than my friend (although some of them presumably have), which I need to take into account when developing a concept to broaden their view.

0.1a) Objective and Chapter Structure World Three constitutes the reflexive moment following the act of creating a soundscape composition, as described in World Two, and implementing it in the museum, as will follow in World Four. The objective of the Sounding Museum is to create and investigate the value of “good” cultural soundscapes for museum purposes. As should have become obvious in the course of the previous chapter, “good” cannot only refer to audio quality; creating a cultural soundscape composition dealing with an indigenous people requires more than technical skill and having a knack for musical coherence. It must also mean that the product and its creation process should not fall behind ethical protocols that have been developed in ethnography and anthropology, or that are demanded by the indigenous communities. These are inextricably tied with the history of Western preoccupation with the Other, which, looked at from a theoretical position, condenses in the discipline of anthropology. It should also contribute to overcome the mediation shortcomings that museums have to struggle with. What I am interested in, and where I think the soundscape approach can indeed contribute, in other words, what a “good“ soundscape should stimulate, is cultural understanding, mutual respect, and rapprochement.

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“Two Weeks in Alert Bay” is not an anthropological work. However, since it touches upon many aspects that have been discussed in the discipline of anthropology for a long time and is designated to be on display in an anthropological museum, a brief peek into the history of anthropology, its current situation, and the links to “Two Weeks” seems in order. The primary target group of the Sounding Museum is the museum visitor, or more general, a lay audience. I argue that such an audience’s conception of other cultures is strongly informed by evolutionist, orientalist and allochronic misunderstandings. These must be countered by finding appropriate forms of representation. One most prominent aspect in that respect is acknowledging the impact of authorship on the authored work and thus, in consequence, on the audience. My job must be to communicate bi-directionally with my collaborators in the field on one side and with my audience on the other; that communication must live up to the realities of inter-cultural exchange and come to terms with the shortcomings of the communication media used, namely myself and the products that result from my enterprises. I will begin this chapter with a discussion on the image of the Other, which, by dedicating major shares to anthropology-related issues, will be emphasised throughout the chapter: I will look into early encounters of “modern” Europeans with the Other, outline a number of historical and younger developments in anthropology which I believe to be still relevant, and address some particular problems that affect my own work on cultural soundscape. Finally, First Voices will be introduced as potent collaborators. I will bring these three assets, the session musician’s practice, anthropological theory, and the mediating force of the First Voices, together to propose a strategy of communication that can meet the demands of a modern dialogical encounter with the Other in the framework of composing a cultural soundscape. This strategy has worked well in the framework of creating and disseminating “Two Weeks” as an auxiliary for cultural rapprochement.

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0.1b) Synopsis Anthropology Because the questions that make up the red thread for this chapter enjoy a symbiotic relationship with anthropology, a brief synopsis introducing some key terms, concepts, and protagonists is in order. I will come back to them in more detail in the following sections. Anthropology has branched out exponentially in recent decades, but in order to understand its persisting dilemma, we need to get down to its roots: Anthropology today still struggles with the legacy it is burdened with due to its emergence as a side effect of European imperialism. When the British and French colonists conquered vast territories in Africa, Asia and Australia/Oceania (and North America), they encountered many peoples and cultures whom to dominate needed, next to firepower, also moral justification. It was an opportune move to adapt Tylor’s383 concept of evolutionism, according to which the so-called “primitive” is to us (the “West”, or the industrialised hegemonic powers) like a window into our own past. By observing such native peoples, “stone age cultures”, in their secluded “cultural gardens” the objective researcher hoped to gain insight into the evolution and structures of “our” own culture. It was believed that such observation would grant access to previous steps in cultural evolution that ultimately led to modern age European society, just like the pre-Quaternary humanoids would eventually evolve into homo sapiens, or, to speak with Haeckl, to find phylogeny in ontogeny, resulting in the classification of primitives as being reminiscent to the childhood of mankind. Accordingly, and further affirmed by theories of genetic/intellectual superiority of the “white race” by theoreticians like Gobineau, the encountered peoples where to be treated as being like children, to be guided on the right path at best, and to be extinguished if incorrigibly ill-mannered at worst, an any rate, by no means to be acknowledged as equals. Haeckl, Gobineau, and Tylor have long been

383

All protagonists of anthropology mentioned and odd terminology used here will be introduced or illuminated in full in the main body of this chapter. 204

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rendered obsolete in theory, but their ideas, if only unconsciously, seem to persist. Meanwhile, anthropology has established itself as an academic discipline in its own right, branching into different schools with sometimes outright antipodal approaches. Boas with his historic particularism would refrain from general assumptions, arguing that only by collecting as much data as possible on a particular unit, something could be learned about that unit, by spending extensive periods of time in the field. Lévi-Strauss in contrast believed a structuralist approach would allow him to deduct deep structures and general laws governing culture at large by looking at and crossreferencing data from all around the world, leading him to conclude that all cultures and their expressions where based on a few basic rules that could be found if only one was looking for the right clues. In the wake of the everramifying development of anthropology, few remain who still believe that the immense complexities of culture can be subsumed under the formulae developed by structuralist theorists. Starting off from a semiotic point of view, Geertz argued that anthropology and its data-supplying mechanism, ethnographic fieldwork, are connecting observation and interpretation of social discourse within a given cultural unit, generalizable only within the framework of the studied cultural system, with the background and personality of the ethnographer or anthropologist himself being an integral part of the interpretation process. Hence, Geertz’ concept of thick description demands a high level of selfawareness as compared to preceding approaches. What remains are two problematic tendencies in dealing with the Other: Western orientalism and schizochronic effects of text (in its broadest definition), which are also the phenomena that most affect my own approach in the light of my envisioned target groups. The “Oriental”, argues Said, is a construction of the West, archetypical and rooted in romantic transfiguration and the need for demarcation, rather an antithetical reflection or projection used for self-apprehension by Western authors than being informed by 205

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the realities of the peoples and cultures it deals with. In line with this distorting rendition it clearly encompasses a political dimension, which, not unlike the old evolutionist paradigm, places the Orient and its inhabitants into a distant time long past, as compared to the actuality of Western civilisation. This distancing, in which geographical distance translates into temporal distance, is what Fabian identified as the allochronism of anthropology, denying coevalness, contemporaneity, to the observed cultures. The theoretical condemnation of evolutionism notwithstanding, anthropological writing still struggles with the proper use of tense. Not necessarily in the process of fieldwork, where the researcher in order to acquire data necessarily needs to enter into a co-temporal, dialogic relationship with his informants, but the finalised presentation of the results and conclusions often falls back on the old habit of making the people observed into something “not of our time.” It remains a complex and difficult endeavour to create a body of knowledge in this field of tension. The academic who wishes to report his findings must distance himself from his subject of study, and from himself, in order to achieve at least a modest level of objectivity, but in that very same moment he/she will loose his immediate grip on that same subject. In the arts, from where many tools used for the creation of “Two Weeks” have been borrowed, this seems less imminent, but, as I will show, it is no less problematic; Picasso and Nolde may have acknowledged “primitive” art as art in its own right for the first time, but it could become such only within a Western art canon. Rousseau “le Douanier”’s lucid dream worlds are not preying on foreign artistic or cultural expression, however, in their romanticising rendering of strange distant worlds lies a deeply embedded orientalist stance.

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0.1c) Questions “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” needs to pay reference to this historically grown and prevailing baggage. The issues explicitly and implicitly addressed in World Two will now be systematised in reference to the answers that will be given in World Three. Several of the questions posed here are derived from the specific praxis of creating a cultural soundscape. Others, which arise from the debates in anthropology, would not even have come up from the musician’s point of view, but are imperative for a „good“ soundscape. Due to the complex nature of the issues at hand, overlapping in their subjects, these questions cannot completely force the structure of this chapter; I will return to them in their initial order in its concluding section: •

Can I present/represent a culture I am not a member of? Can I indeed provide an overview of the cultural area of the Pacific Northwest Coast of North America? -> generalisation, representation

•

Can I take my audience out of their habitual (orientalist) perception without discrediting man’s instinctive need to compare with, demarcate from, explore the (exotic) Other? How much orientalism is still present in my own thinking, and how much of this reflects in my work? -> the Other, orientalism

•

Considering the assertion of the researcher and his productions’ (in-)capability of objectivity and the challenges of coevalness and representation, and generalisation from limited data, how much interpretation and how much artistic freedom can I allow myself before I cross lines academically and/or ethically inopportune? Can I really claim to have conferred with my informants on coeval terms? -> coevalness, self-reflection & interpretation, art vs. science, research ethics 207

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•

How do I deal with o language use o the tension between First Voices and the artist’s perspective o the potential theft of intellectual property? -> language use, First Voices, intellectual property

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Is there a way out of the schizogenic (schizochronic/schizophonic) dilemma of reporting from other places; in other words, is there a way to conciliate all the local time bubbles in a glocal (rather than a global) timeframe? Can the soundscape approach negotiate between the jam session musician, the anthropologist, and the First Voice perspective? -> schizophonia, glocal time, auditory/atmospheric anthropology

Let me now take you on a little tour through historic and contemporary accounts and debates that I will relate to the practical use in the various implemented and envisioned applications of “Two Weeks”. Due to the thematic/geographic focus of “Two Weeks” emphasis will be given to examples from the “New World”. It will become obvious that not all obstacles can be overcome. As a result, in the end of this book I will propose the introduction of an auditory anthropology to complement the existing branches of anthropology in the service of a holistic approach towards culture and communication with the Other.

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0.2 The Savage and the Civilised -> the Other

In complex societies, especially with regard to communal and geographic structures (e.g. cities and territorial administration), outsiders, if appearing less advanced, Claude Lévi-Strauss384 argues in Race and History, are easily degraded as savages (sauvage, “of the woods”);385 “there is a refusal even to admit the fact of cultural diversity; instead, anything which does not conform to the standards of the society in which the individual lives, is denied the name of culture and relegated to the realm of nature.”386 Lévi-Strauss doesn’t rest at that, he remarks that this technique, to regard everyone outside your own unit as inferior (or even non-existent, as in some cases) is, if anything, a feature of primitive, or savage, cultures,387 where the name a

384 Claude Lévi-Strauss (1908 –2009) was a French anthropologist and ethnologist. He argued that the "savage" mind had the same structures as the "civilized" mind and that human characteristics are the same everywhere, positioning him as one of the central protagonists in the structuralist school of thought. Structuralism has been defined as "the search for the underlying patterns of thought in all forms of human activity." (edited from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lévi-Strauss); more on LéviStrauss later 385 Lévi-Strauss (1952) p.16ff; when Marco Polo arrived in China, experiencing the high technological and intellectual level of his hosts, it did not cross his mind to think of them as savages, despite their different physiognomy and despite (which he possibly was not aware of) the fact that they were Mongolian usurpers, who would have been regarded as barbarians themselves by the Chinese prior to their conquest. 386 ibid., p.10; this is also a basic theoretical concept of Lévi-Strauss: Classification systems are built from opposites, one of the most profound being the opposition between culture and nature. Once human society has been classified as culture, everything, including other people(s), that is found to be part of nature, is outside the circle, thereby becoming subject to domination and/or hostility. 387 “This attitude of mind, which excludes "savages" (or any people one may choose to regard as savages) from human kind, is precisely the attitude most strikingly characteristic of those same savages.” ibid., p.10f. Nicole Kramer identifies a need of man to compare, in a competitive way, in order to position himself. There is always perceived hardship and inferiority towards something or someone, it may ease the mind to find someone who in comparison indicates one’s own elevated position. The Other is an convenient victim, as it can be collectively agreed by the own tribe, nation, race, without giving the opponent

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cultural unit uses for its members often simply means “man” (or at least “real man”), whereas those outside the unit are given less favourable names, such as “the wicked”, “ground monkeys”, or even “lice eggs”; in such societies “humankind ends at the boundaries of the village”.388 Definition of self thus is effected by negation of, or rather distinction from the Other.389 It is

the opportunity to defend himself, that he is lower in the hierarchy of the little men trying to survive in our big world. Nicole Kramer, professor for social psychology at Duisburg-Essen University, radio interview, WDR5 Lebensart: „Das Leid mit dem Vergleich“, 05-03-2011 388 Lévi-Strauss (1952), p.11; Lévi-Strauss’ reasoning needs to be regarded with care, as in more recent analyses of the term “real man” as related to animistic ontologies the distinction is not that of man and nature, but of man (human) and other men (animals, spirits, sometimes even objects) that basically all possess the same qualities; see Viveiros de Castro (1998), p.475. However, the conclusion that “The barbarian is first and foremost the man who believes in barbarism” (Lévi-Strauss 1952, p.11) is a notion that to my understanding can easily tolerate such interpretative inconsistency. 389 Although this is not the place to investigate this question any further, I would argue that the self/other problem, as already shows in Lévi-Strauss’ elaborations, lies deeper than being just a lieux d’empire, the aspect that I will focus my attention on in the following. It is rather much older and its origins should probably be probed for in the domain of natural evolution and instinct, a fight/flight reflex developed for the sake of the survival of the species, and, more particularly, of the own group/ horde. Humans have always (as far as we can tell) been organised in groups, often with an internal hierarchy, always with a clear distinction between members of the group and non-members. Encounters between such social units were and still are often accompanied by tension that may result in hostility, the cause of which in many cases can be traced back to a, however deeply buried, struggle for dominance over resources, material or immaterial. Stanley Kubrick, not too unwittingly, I presume, gives us an impressive illustration of this phenomenon his space opera “2001 – A Space Odyssey”: A number of wide-angle e-shots locates the scene in the African savannah. The camera zooms in to a small group of primates living in the vicinity of a small pond, the water of which they share with some tapirs. Upon the arrival of another group of humanoids, conflict breaks out immediately, the original group is driven away. After the group discovers how to handle sticks and bones as weapons, they return, a fight starts, ending with one of the newcomers being clubbed to death and the rest retreating; the territory has been successfully retaken, the (scarce) resource water secured for the group. Stanley Kubrick/Arthur C. Clarke (1968): 2001 – A Space Odyssey; part one: The Dawn of Man 210

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obvious from his remarks, that Lévi-Strauss does not accept any qualitative judgement on people of different physiognomy, race or any other feature. This explicitly includes the capability for cultural development. Lévi-Strauss criticises the Euro-centrist attitude of anthropology of his own and earlier times, that he finds also in the notion of “peoples with no history” as well as the evolutionist habit, “after discovering the richness and individuality of human cultures, to treat all as the counterparts of a more or less remote period in Western civilization” because “all human societies have behind them a past of approximately equal length.” This ellipsis simply means that their history is and will always be unknown to us, not that they actually have no history. For tens and even hundreds of millenaries, men there loved, hated, suffered, invented and fought as others did. In actual fact, there are no peoples still in their childhood; all are adult, even those who have not kept a diary of their childhood and adolescence.390

If we cannot detect progress in an alien society this may easily be owed to a too narrow frame of reference; from the European angle every culture that has not moved in the same direction must appear static, despite all their accomplishments undetectable from this limited perspective. Lévi-Strauss illustrates this problem using the train-model applied for the explanation of general relativity, where it is most easy to gather data from objects moving in a similar direction as the observer and at a comparable pace, whereas all other systems are basically non-observable and therefore non-interpretable.391 Countering uniformitarian models, Lévi-Strauss points out that

390

Lévi-Strauss (1952) p.27 ibid., p.38ff; as we will see later, Lévi-Strauss does not always stick to his own insights; the level of interpretation in his own anthropological work by far overshoots the level of knowledge he could ever have about the cultures he uses as his database. 391

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(…) every culture is a special case, as unique as an individual human being, and every event has an infinite multiplicity of causes. No aphorism could be more untrue than the famous one that history repeats itself. History never repeats; it is impossible for history to repeat itself, since the cumulative effect of the past is never at two moments or in two places the same.392

Lévi-Strauss’ adversary393 Franz Boas here comes to his aid: The question of development in a definite direction is closely connected with our concept of progress. The very concept of progress presupposes a standard toward which culture advances, and a decision cannot be avoided as to what this standard is to be. It seems almost unavoidable that this standard will be based on our own experience, on our own civilisation. It is clear that this in an arbitrary standard and it is perhaps the greatest value of anthropology that it makes us acquainted with a great variety of such standards. Before the question can be decided as to what progress is, we must know whether general human values exist by which we may measure progress.394

Not many people would want to return to the “natural state”, with total insecurity in terms of food, shelter, health and many other commodities, and no one would want to miss Rod Stewart’s cover version of “Street Fighting Man” blaring from the radio. But does that necessarily have to result in the complete dismissal of diversity in cultural features and identity? You can use a power saw to prepare a log for a canoe, mask or totem pole395, you can come to the next potlatch by means of car, ferry, and plane instead of foot and canoe, you can store your food in your refrigerator, and still feel and think Indian, as much as I could feel German despite the fact I’m not living on a tree anymore like my ancestors did, while the Roman empire was set392

Ruth Bunzel in Boas (1944 [1938]), p.330 see section “Currents” 394 Boas (1944 [1938]), p.676 395 The term “totem pole” is not entirely right, although used by First Nations people themselves, as is already anticipated in Lévi-Strauss (1965 [1962]). For our purposes the clarification shall suffice that the object in question is correctly identified as crest pole. 393

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ting up flush toilets in every household right on the other bank of Rhine river. Improving control over nature has been perceived as progress in Western cultures for a long time and is indisputably in favour of group survival and even dominance.396 That this can only take place on different levels according to the conditions found is as obvious. Lévi-Strauss thinks the peoples of the Arctic to be among the most sophisticated despite their comparably crude material culture, because they managed to survive in one of the most hostile environments this planet can offer.397 They were, in the middle of this struggle, still able to establish a complex societal structure with everything that belongs to a culture, including visual art, music, religion, marital laws, and so on. In other areas, where mastery over nature was more easily achieved and maintained, people had more leisure to think up pyramids and the like. From a systems-theoretical approach one might argue that anthropology can take advantage of small quasi-closed systems, in this case groups with no or very little contact to others, because due to the comparably limited number of possible conjunctions, structures may be more easily observed than in an open system with countless uncontrollable parameters.398 Most cultural development is stimulated by exchange, and with that lacking, like, for instance, in the 12,000 year seclusion of Tasmania from the rest of the world and a very small population of an estimated 3000 to 5000 individuals at the time of European conquest, one might feel tempted to believe that such a system is potentially progress-inhibited.399 Nevertheless it would be 396

Boas (1944 [1938]), p.676; however, this is again from the particular viewpoint of such cultures who are interested in life-prolonging measures such as secure food supply, protection from predators, disease, and weather conditions; other mind sets may be scarce, but are not unimaginable. 397 Lévi-Strauss (1952), p.26 398 cp. Luhmann (2009), pp.45, 173 399 The figures used here have been taken from various internet sources, which vary in detail. This, however, is not relevant to the point made: that complexity increases with the number of nodes and therefore potential of variation and exchange. 213

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preposterous to issue judgement in the lines of progress or savagery, or any other form of grading on a scale of cultural success. According to Boas400 and Lévi-Strauss401 ethical standards can also be drawn on as feature of culture. And they can be found in the remotest, most “backward” areas as much as in the centres of ancient and modern civilisations (standards may even be higher where nobody would consider building an atomic bomb to make a statement).402 Libertarian cultures are no weaker than rigid ones, only the structures are more open and thus more difficult to be categorised in a systematic pattern or framework.403 Since it cannot be assumed that all museum visitors have prepared for their visit with extensive studies of the debates on coevalness and representation, quite the opposite, most of them must be expected to start off from the same point of departure from where I began and that I found again talking to my German-Korean friend, I have to trace back the origins of that confused image. Perceiving the Other is guided by a history of distinction some main lines of which I will exemplify in the following from a Eurocentric perspective by presenting a number of, by no means inclusive or theoretically saturated, samples from history and anthropological theory, starting with some reports from encounters between Europeans and non-Europeans at various stages of what Sloterdijk calls the “Age of Terrestrial Globalisation”.404

400

Boas (1944 [1938]), p.677 Lévi-Strauss (1952), p.27 a.o. 402 Adorno (1966), cf. Fabian (2002), p.159; see also Lévi-Strauss (1952), p.48 403 Boas (1944 [1938]), p.671, cp. also Lévi-Strauss (1952), p.37 404 Sloterdijk (2005), p.22 401

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A matchbox, found in a Swedishowned holiday cottage in Tuscany, spring 2011.

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I Conquista Histórica: Encounters The first written record of an encounter of European and American cultures405 is found in the travelogue of Christopher Columbus, who writes about the inhabitants of Guanahini (mostly identified with San Salvador of the Bahamas), where he first made landfall after his crossing of the Atlantic Ocean.406 October 12, 1492 At two o’clock in the morning the land came into sight, of which we were around eight nautical miles away. (...) We waited until light of day, which was a Friday, on which we arrived at an island that was called „Guanahini“ in the Indian language. There we sighted at once naked aborigines. I went, accompanied by Martin Alonso Pinzón and his brother Vicente Yánez, captain of the Nina, aboard a boat equipped with arms, ashore. There I unfolded the Royal flag, while the two captains waved two flags with a green cross (...). Our view was that of a green landscape, planted with green trees and rich with water and all kinds of fruits. I called to the two captains and also the others that had come ashore (...) and told them to witness by their bodily presence as eye witnesses, that I am, in the name of the King and the Queen, my lords, taking possession of the island as a whole, and to create the legal documents, as it ensues from the records, that have been laid down in writing there.

Columbus takes possession of an island, which he does not consider discussing with its inhabitants, who, as existing far outside the circles of the sphere of what to him is the civilised world, are to be “freed and converted to our Holy Faith” before they can even move into the periphery of that sphere, luckily for them “rather by love than the sword”. He goes on, de405

I chose to ignore the ill-fated Scandinavian enterprises of 500 years earlier, as they had no measurable lasting cultural impact on either side if the Great Water and the records of it must be called vague at best. 406 Taken from http://www.fiks.de/columbus/bordbuch/bordbuch.htm (based on a translation by Dr Anton Zahorsky (1941), Rascher Verlag, Zürich) and the digital copy of Clements R. Markham (1893): The Journal of Christopher Columbus (during his first voyage 1492-93) and Documents Relating to the Voyages of John Cabot and Gaspar Corte Real, Hakluyt Society, London. 216

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scribing naked people “very poor in everything”, but “well made, with handsome bodies, and very good countenances”, comparing their hair with “a horse’s tail”. Their backwardness is further stressed by describing how they take swords “by the blade and cut themselves through ignorance”. However, Columbus attests they “could be good servants” and “easily be made Christians, as it appeared to me that they had no religion. I, our Lord being pleased, will take hence, at the time of my departure, six natives for your highness, so that they may learn to speak (…).” The log continues with descriptions of land claims, expressing strong hopes for the finding of precious metals, spices and other things of profane interest. The Conquistadores and missionaries407 that followed Columbus would leave countless additional documents describing the cultures of the Americas; the peoples encountered were either to be exterminated due to their savagery or generously invited to join the circle.408 While Columbus’ report was written in the salvationist spirit of the late medieval, some centuries later Charles Darwin, upon returning from his five-year journey on the “Beagle”, reports of his first encounters with the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego in the 1830’s already from a clearly evolutionist point of view. He would describe also the other features of the natural habitats he visited on his travels, resulting in his now well-established theories on natural evolution. His notion of the Fuegans is that of a researcher investigating natural phenomena. A to-date unknown mineral would probably have caught his interest in the same manner as the creatures of the land, distinguishing these into mammals, primates, and humans most407

Missionaries who used to accompany the overseas expeditions provide us with many of the earliest accounts of cultures that, when ethnographers entered the scene, as Boas regretfully notes, had been under influence of the new hegemonic powers for so long, that it was already difficult to investigate them in their “pure form” (whatever that may be); however, at times it may take substantial effort and expertise to translate writings of inflamed Christians into ethnographic data. 408 Friedrich Pöhl (2013) identifies that marking the Others as cannibals as a common strategy to elevate one’s own culture over another (competing) culture. (unpublished paper, presented at the American Indian Workshop 2013, Helsinki) 217

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ly for taxonomic purposes. What is striking, is the explicit distaste found in his comments on the Fuegans. He seems to have developed an outright aversion towards them, perhaps under the impact of realising that he was in fact faced with humans, but so primitive to him in all respects, that he could not accept them to be a sub-division of his own species. Consequently, there is clear evidence in his writings of a strong racial distinction between Europeans (white peoples) and those of other skin colour or otherwise distinguishable physical features. His first sighting of Fuegans let him point out: “I could not have believed how wide was the difference between savage and civilised man: it is greater than between a wild and domesticated animal, inasmuch as in man there is a greater power of improvement.”409 To Darwin “The language of these people (…) scarcely deserves to be called articulate. Captain Cook has compared it to a man clearing his throat, but certainly no European ever cleared his throat with so many hoarse, guttural, and clicking sounds.”410 He compares the inhabitants of Tierra del Fuego with “ourangoutang [sic.]”411, names them “hideous” and “filthy” and concludes that one can hardly make oneself believe that they are fellow-creatures, and inhabitants of the same world. It is a common subject of conjecture what pleasure in life some of the lower animals can enjoy: how much more reasonably the same question may be asked with respect to these barbarians!412

In the same pages there is also much talk of a small group of Fuegans that had been abducted from their homes and taken to England on a previous expedition. The attempts of “civilising” them are described in a tone that reminds the reader of experiments with rats who have to find their way through a labyrinth or are required to push certain buttons in order to obtain food. It is never questioned whether these people were willing to be changed in that way, let alone, be taken from their homes. Consecutively, 409

Darwin (1860), p.215 ibid., p.216 411 ibid., p.219 412 ibid., p.224 410

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the abductees would be left on Tierra del Fuego in the course of that second journey, as the second part of a field experiment; there was an interest in finding out whether they could, with support of a missionary, spread “civilisation” among the Fuegans after their own initiation in the Old World. Before that, they had been on display in England for the spectacle and entertainment of the educated public, who were eager to see these animalpeople from a strange place, a practice that would gain some popularity in the European motherlands of the colonial Empires in the 19th century, as can be exemplified with Sarah Baartman, the famous “Hottentot Venus”,413 and the human zoos where “exotic individuals where exhibited in cages (…) next to animals”,414 which used to become an integral part of the world fairs staged in these countries. During the colonial era, aboriginal people from conquered territories would be brought back to the homeland as exotic objects, more or less according to the Panopticum415 (“Wunderkammer”) concept, where curiosities like the "lamb with two heads, and the pig with two tails"416 or the woman without legs would be on display in the manner of funfair attractions. As late as 1958, a Congolese Village was displayed in a “human zoo”417-like fashion at the World's Fair in Brussels, Congo still being a Belgian Colony at the time.418 Blanchard et al., dealing with the French heritage of colonialism, offer a sharp analysis of the motivation and impact of the design, that in itself can be understood as the industrialised routine developed from the earlier activi413

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Baartman Blanchard, Bancel & Lemaire (2001); online resource w/o page numbers 415 not to be mixed up with the Panopticon prison design of Jeremy Bentham; see Panoptikum Hamburg, Castans Panoptikum (Berlin), both of which were or still are collections of curiosities. The term in the latter cases refer to the fact that one can see all, just in the latter it aims at an entertainment enterprise, and in the former at the fact that all prisoners can be easily overseen. 416 Woolnough (1905), cf. Griffiths (2004); online resource w/o page numbers 417 Blanchard, Bancel & Lemaire (2001) 418 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_zoo 414

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ties of Columbus and his successors. From a French Republican perspective they argue that for “countries that insist on human equality (…) these human zoos, ethnological fairs, or "native villages" remain difficult subjects to deal with”, where “visitors threw food or trinkets to the exhibited groups and made remarks about their physiognomies, comparing them to primates.”419 Human zoos tell us nothing about the exotic or colonised populations, of course. However, they do provide an extraordinary tool for analysing Western mentalities from the late nineteenth century to the Thirties. The vocation of these zoos, fairs, and parks was indeed to exhibit the rare, the curious, the strange, and all forms of the unusual and different. It wasn't to provide a chance to encounter individuals or cultures. The transgression of the values and norms that Europe considered to constitute civilisation was a driving force behind the West's "animalisation" of exotic peoples. Denied an entirely human nature, they were thus colonisable and needed to be domesticated and tamed to turn them - if possible - into civilised men. This mise en scène helped to legitimise the West's colonial action. Colonisation itself remains the essential turning point, therefore, as it introduced the need to dominate, to tame, and thus to represent the Other.420

Even today, and that is an issue we will have to face again when discussing representation and museum exhibition design,421 we have to seriously scrutinise our notion of the Other if we wish to avoid the malpractices of the past, as Blanchard et al. point out: But is our gaze so very different from that of our grandparents? Probably not, as human zoos still exist. On the eve of the twenty-first century, an African village built in the middle of a Safari Park in Nantes offered visitors the same images as yesterday. Moreover, it significantly boosted the park's number of visitors. Very few people 419

a behaviour that today can especially be observed with fans in soccer matches, when the opposing team features players of colour (e.g. the insulting advances towards African-Italian soccer player Mario Balotelli in recent times) 420 Blanchard, Bancel & Lemaire (2001) 421 See World Four 220

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pointed out its shocking nature. We accept this, and in the same movement our children cross paths with monkeys, giraffes and "Blacks". We still avidly consume exoticism. It is the social demand that in part creates the offer. So people continue to provide us with monsters and savages. We need them to reassure us - not to define what we are, but what we don't want to be.422

If we nowadays read texts like the accounts by Columbus and Darwin reproduced above, most of us would probably feel uneasy if they were left uncommented, the same applies to the human zoo stories. Humanitarian ethics may command us to treat Others with kindness (not unlike Columbus, who wanted “to make friends” with the natives), as long as they behave properly (slave holders in the Americas would justify slavery by declaring their slaves being like children who needed a caring, but strong, hand to guide them). The Sounding Museum will not be able to completely turn that around, but the attempt should be made to at least move away from the simple black-and-white of Them and Us. Uncommented third-hand presentation is a delicate tool; even though we may be aware, especially in such harsh cases as the accounts cited, that we are dealing with distorted and dislocated information, our century-old tradition will influence our capability to sort between factual data and coloured elements, unconsciously reconfirming stereotypes that are the result of this heritage, and the line between authentic display and human zoo in museums often is not as clearly defined as one may wish. Furthermore, traditional power relations will remain intact as long as the Us retains the authority of telling the story of the Other, and remains opaque about the identity of the storyteller. There is a significant difference between a human zoo with individuals presented as exotic objects and, let’s say, the Hessenpark in Neu-Anspach, Germany423, where, by dressing up and like their ancestors of pre-Enlightenment pastoral Hesse and performing traditional crafts in a rebuilt historical village, locals reenact their own history qua heritage. 422 423

Blanchard, Bancel & Lemaire (2001); see also Said on orientalism (p.213f) see World One, introduction to section V: Intangible Cultural Heritage 221

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I.1 Pictures of an Exhibition: Primitive Art -> art vs. science

With the Sounding Museum operating in a mixed zone between science and art it appears worthwhile to also take a look at the relationship between art and the Other with regard to the historically grown power relations that have been described above. Encounters between different artists and art styles, crossing cultural boundaries, often inspire ground-breaking new trends. This, however, is not always without disadvantages due to an unequal distribution of the benefits. To develop innovative ideas by integrating elements found in foreign artistic expression may be interpreted as improper appropriation of cultural accomplishments. A soundscape composition covering a foreign culture is certainly subject to that risk: When recording all these fascinating exotic sounds you may feel tempted to use the atmosphere they create for your own purposes, not unlike the use of sitar sounds in early psychedelic music, without paying reference to the cultural background you took these elements from.424 While “Two Weeks”, due to its didactic objective, is clearly referencing to the culture it deals with, and the dialogical directive under which the production process took place improves the chances of the product to answer to claims of coevalness, its apprehension by the audience, in the historical context of the relationship between the West and the Rest, may not. An example from the visual arts may illustrate this: The progressive painters of the early 20th century did not outspokenly disgrace an individual people or culture. But usually they also didn’t take them very seriously, i.e.

424

Which does not mean that I intend to criticise the motives of protagonists such as Brian Jones or George Harrison (who even converted to Hinduism), but for the average listener (yet another unverified generalisation) the colouring induced by the inclusion of the instrument creates a particular (oriental!) atmosphere which by no means needs to be tied to intense involvement with traditional Indian culture. The comparison is rather risky in itself, since I, as a musician, would not object to this abuse, whereas in the ethnologist in me the alarm bells are screaming. 222

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consider them as equals. They rather satisfied their personal needs, largely in disregard of the actual sources they drew on. When in late 19th century France the reign of the salon425 was ending, the individual artists needed fresh ideas to position themselves in the evolving dealer and criticdominated market.426 In the visual arts colonialism brought new impulses by means of the artefacts taken from the peoples of the new territories. Emil Nolde came in contact with aboriginal art early in the 20th century in museums – he also went on an expedition to the tropics – and was emotionally taken away by the freedom he found in its essence.427 The examination of the subject strongly influenced his depiction of the human form, by such impulses opening a whole new world of visual language to expressionist painters. However, the cultural details of the original works were of minor interest to him. Nolde’s fascination with the “absolute nativeness (Ursprünglichkeit), the intense, often grotesque expression of strength and life in most simple form”428 of the art of the so called primitive peoples, as expressed most obviously in his mask paintings, or the inspiration primitivists drew from Native art they stumbled upon in collections of exotica, would not be accompanied by an interest in the complex cultural backgrounds. An artistic style that had taken “eight to ten thousand years to evolve”429 was incorporated without asking430 and without further attention to its deeper implications. Dissociated elements would be ripped from their cultural context, questions of appropriateness disregarded. If we look at the complex system of privileges (copyright) that lie underneath a mask dance in a potlatch, we might understand that one cannot simply go and use whatever seems fit to fill one’s shelf with fancy new stuff, ready for use when425

the annual or bi-annual fine art exhibition of the Académy des Beaus Arts in Paris, especially popular from the mid 18th to the late 19th century 426 Gielen (2009), p.26f 427 An elaborate account of the influence of exotic (“primitive”) artisanship and Nolde’s voyage to the South Seas in his art can be found in Fluck in Brugger/Reuther (1994), pp.51-63. 428 Nolde, cf. Brugger in Brugger/Reuther (1994), p.20, transl. by the author 429 Interview with Bruce Alfred, Oct 2009 430 more on respectful handling of cultural property and copyrights in section III.4 223

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ever deemed fit. I have refrained from including the hamatsa whistles from Campbell River because I knew it would be a violation, despite their appeal as being an important cultural asset to be presented and the fact that they sounded really cool. This ambiguity can be found especially with Pablo Picasso, who, starting with Les Demoiselles d'Avignon (1907), drew inspiration from the reductionist formal language of certain aboriginal artistic styles. 431 Gauguin, who preceded both Picasso and Nolde, would flee into a dream world of savage innocence and die on morphine after impregnating a 14year old native girl who had served him as model and concubine. Walther accuses him of being a coloniser who had not come to “politically subjugate the aboriginal people, but to take from their ‘primitive’ culture what he considered beneficial for the Old World.”432 Notwithstanding the achievements in the evolution of the fine arts that were made possible by the incorporation of the overseas oeuvres of anonymous “ethnic” craftsmen and artists (where would we be today without Cubism, which via Les Demoiselles, was brought to us by African artists, and yes, the primitivists were the first to accept “primitive” art as an art form in its own right), and refraining from insinuating deliberate defiance of the full context of the original works that were drawn upon, there still remains a foul taste when looking back at those days, or, as Susan Hiller puts it, [i]n borrowing or appropriating visual ideas which they found in the class of foreign objects that came to be labelled as ‘primitive art’, and by articulating their own fantasies about the peoples who created them, artists have been party to the erasure of the self-representa-

431

Honour & Fleming (2005), pp.769-74; Warncke challenges this notion, claiming Picasso had developed his formal language prior to his visit at the Trocadéro in 1907, where he was shocked finding his own ideas in the cultural objects from Africa; Warncke/Walther (1997), p.147. I will not argue with him, however, coincidence or synchronicity, clearly the access to artistic expressions from other cultures was a valuable asset for the artists searching for new ideas in that time. 432 Walther (1988), p.39 224

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tions of colonized peoples in favour of a western representation of their realities. While anthropology tries to turn the peoples who are its subject-matter into objects, and these objects into ‘theory’, art tries to turn the objects made by those peoples into subject-matter, and, eventually, into ‘style’. Both practices maintain intact, the basic European picture of the world as a hierarchy with ‘ourselves’ at the top.433

Henri Rousseau, le Douanier, also drew inspiration from the exotic, but in a different manner. He painted what he imagined it might be like, “his imagination teemed with exotic images of mysterious and menacing tropical jungles – true landscapes of the unconscious.”434 Venerated by Picasso himself, Rousseau’s examination of the unknown would migrate his inside into a distant outside he had never seen. He can claim never to have directly exploited anyone’s intellectual and artisan property, his visions of far-away places needed no ethnographic booty. He also did not depict “natives” in an archetypical way processed through Western eyes (as Bodmer did, and, as our prime example, Karl May), instead he put his inner world on canvas, without any reference to the power relations in the real world. Nevertheless, the visualisations of his visions certainly bear the mark of orientalism, as Rousseau exploits the Western image of the Orient (or, in his case, the tropics) for his art.435 Being, every so often, prone to escapism myself, I would not condemn the creation of fantastic worlds for recreation or relief of inner pressure, and even if wholly imaginary, they must draw on some sources of inspiration. It remains challenging to try and evoke emotions which are rooted in the realm of the romantic without using – often patronising or degrading – archetypes to illustrate them, as can be demonstrated convincingly with many of the box office successes of modern Hollywood productions, e.g. 433

Hiller (1991), p.2f; on the erasure of self-representation see also Lévi-Strauss later in this chapter 434 Honour & Fleming (2005), p.769 435 cp. Said in Adams & Searle; eds. (2005), pp.1370-83 (“the main thing for the European visitor was a European Representation of the Orient and its contemporary fate”, p.1370) 225

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Avatar, the Star Wars and Pirates of the Caribbean franchises, and many others, where stereotypical accents, visual appearances and behavioural patterns are used to create an image of some, at times even extra-terrestrial, Other, that resembles the Western image of the Oriental to superincumbent detail. That there were also alternative cases of artists’ incorporation of “primitive” art into their work can be exemplified in the life and work of Emily Carr. Carr, a contemporary of Nolde, Picasso, and also of Franz Boas, was born in Victoria, BC, in 1871. She took a decisively different approach than her painter colleagues introduced above. From very early on she had allowed herself to be influenced by the landscape, but also and especially by the culture of the indigenous peoples of the Northwest Coast.436 Beginning in 1898, several trips to Uclulet, an Indian Reserve on the west side of Vancouver Island, Alert Bay, and other places in British Columbia, as well as Alaska, most notably a six-week trip to mostly deserted Indian villages in 1912,437 that resulted in a series of totem pole sketches, lead to a deep affinity to the visual art forms of the area’s First Nations. Her 1907 piece Totem Walk at Sitka gives an impression of her thoughtful incorporation of indigenous elements into her own body of work: She does not try to copy the formalism of the Tlingit artists who carved the poles, but incorporates their essence into her post-impressionist painting style, with ease catching and exposing the spirit of the culture that so deeply impressed her, but without hiding her own personal impact.438 Whereas the earlier sketches, notwithstanding her individual stylistic interpretation, were mostly aiming at an authentic rendering of what she

436

http://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.com/index.cfm?PgNm=TCE&Params=A1A RTA0001428 437 http://epe.lac-bac.gc.ca/100/205/301/ic/cdc/EmilyCarrHomeWork/chrono.htm 438 A reproduction of the painting can be found by visiting http//www.emilycarr.org/totems/exhibit 226

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feared to be a waning culture,439 she later would play with formline and other native elements to express her own contemplations on the themes covered in her work. While Carr would also turn to “zig-zagging shafts of light, a reductivist palette, and strong geometric patterning reveal[ing] her interest in cubist derived form“, she would never loose her deep involvement with the sources she drew on, „Her interest in the lives and rituals of indigenous Canadians is reflected in the totemic [sic.] animals and mythic females of her paintings.“440 Carr showed, around the same time the primitivists were active, that it is well possible to deal with indigenous formal aspects and respect their background at the same time. She may have profited from the advantage of being a local, with direct and continuous contact to her sources of inspiration (Nolde made one journey, Gauguin’s residency on Tahiti was escapism, Picasso never even got there). There cannot be a final solution as to how much an artist may take from the Other, and how much involvement must be asked from him before he may do so; the line not to be crossed is not easily defined. Gabrielle Proy’s 2009 piece “Kimochi” is a soundscape composition made from field recordings from Japan representing her very personal impressions of that country and its culture. When asked whether she was worried that she might misrepresent the Japanese people with it she insisted that it was her artistic freedom to work with the sounds recorded in the way she wished to.441 For her part, and from the point of view as an artist, who does 439

in which she comes pretty close to Boas’ fears and motivation for encouraging extensive fieldwork 440 both http://www.arthistoryarchive.com/arthistory/canadian/Emily-Carr.html 441 Proy’s approach has considerably changed over the years: While in 2010 (WFAE-conference in Koli, FIN, June 15-19) she presented the piece without further elaboration on the subject, in 2013 (FKL-symposium in Oberhausen, GER, June 21-23) she was very clear on the fact that it was to be regarded as a composition made from her personal perspective and by no means a representation of Japanese culture, she being, despite her long-lasting relationship to the country and personal friendships, as well as having learned Japanese in the meantime, still a foreigner to 227

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not wish to be restricted in her creative process, she may even get away with it. If every new artistic work is examined for every last trace of potential controversy (in fact, often art explicitly feeds on controversy), the restrictions arising from such practice may be too strong as to allow for any new developments, and the self-expressional quality of individualised artistic practice can be as much a right to be claimed as the dignity of those who deliver the source material. Since no artwork can come into being out of thin air and instead must always stand on the shoulders of pre-existing inspirational sources, without using those, reassembling and adding new elements or meaning, art could not evolve. And since her piece does not make any explicit claims in terms of being representative for Japanese culture and will mostly be regarded as the work of the artist Gabrielle Proy, instead of being used in an ethnographic exhibition on Japan, it probably is not all that dangerous. However, caution is in order, in the case of “Two Weeks” much more so than in “Kimochi”. I have used material from a culture that has been suppressed for a long time and whose members’ demands weigh heavily. For the above-mentioned reasons I would not put a halt to all artistic innovation, but I would ask from artists that they pay reference to the lessons to be learned from the past. I am looking forward to the new Picassos and Noldes enriching the world’s cultural diversity with new ideas, no matter where their ideas come from. But I want them to scrutinise their sources, to be aware of the potential harm they might do in the eyes or the ears of others, especially the Other. It may mean that you need to invest a bit more time, but once you are aware of the coeval demands, you may be able to avert to offend people you owe your gratitude for supplying you with inspiration.

its culture. She now points out that she superimposes meaning, which to no little part is informed by her cultural and personal background, trying to express “my inner idea of a soundscape.” (Proy, in her talk from 06-22-2013) 228

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II Conquista Antropológica: The Classical Age of Anthropology and its Repercussions As I have already shown, with the travellers of the phase of European expansion that began in the late 14th and early 15th century, the Other became a tangible reality.442 Reports from these early expeditions are in many cases the only eyewitness accounts that we have on cultures that soon afterwards were thoroughly transformed or destroyed.443 Although of course they may have to be read with care, their authors being children of their time (as we all are), they nevertheless resulted in the accumulation of vast ethnographical data. From these reports and philosophical considerations about the origin and structure of mankind, society and culture, eventually the discipline of anthropology emerged as a field of scientific endeavour in its own right. In the following I will briefly introduce a few historical protagonists of anthropology and their ideas, which will lead me to the more recent critiques concerning coevalness and orientalism.

442

According to German anthropologist Wilhelm Mühlmann (1904-88), already in 5th century BCE Greece a sophisticated debate on Otherness was going on; foreign peoples were barbarised, idealised, compared with the own culture. Due to the extensive contacts with such peoples during the periods of Hellenic colonisation and Hellenistic imperialism, a lively cultural exchange could take place, which would be continued during Roman times. From the European perspective this came almost to a full stop during the Middle Ages, when only few contacts to the periphery were held up. In the perception of Europeans, foreign peoples moved from the periphery, where they could still be encountered in person, to the outside, where they turned into mythological beings, such as the “so-called Monstra, that were placed to the borders of the known ecumene: the one-legged creatures, the foot-shaders, the horse-footed, dog-headed, big-lipped, big-eared, headless, mouthless, long- and short-lived, the amazons”; Mühlmann (1968), p.17; I would even say they were placed beyond these borders, in mythic realms such as that of of Prester John (see Eco’s 2000 novel “Baudolino” for a literary rendering). 443 A fact notoriously lamented by anthropologists such as Boas and Lévi-Strauss, who would have preferred to investigate “pure“, unspoiled units to gather insights about culture in general from such a pristine microcosm; see Moore (2009), p. 61 229

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II.1 Currents: The Founding Fathers of Anthropology and their Diadochi During the second half of the 19th century, anthropology “changed from a loose collection of shared interests into a formally defined science of humankind.”444 Theories developed in this field would gradually transform a rather affective perception of culture and Otherness into a systematic approach. After briefly touching upon Tylor, I will look at ideas of two important individuals who helped shape the field, Franz Boas and Claude Lévi-Strauss, also representing two main diverging developments, namely the American and the European schools,445 or the almost opposing methodological frameworks of historic particularism and structuralism. The overview will be concluded with Geertz, Fabian, Said, and Feld, who, from the 1970’s onward, began to critically reflect on the status quo within the discipline of anthropology. I will then elaborate on a number of particular aspects that are relevant to my own work, such as the ambivalence between theoretical claims and reality, especially apparent in the language used in anthropological texts, problems of generalisation, and copyright and ethical protocols demanded by indigenous communities. Edward Tylor (1832-1917), who became the first professor for anthropology in Oxford in 1896, defined culture, which would become the subject of study for anthropology, as “that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, morals, law, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society.”446 In order to understand this “complex whole”, Tylor looked into archaeological and ethnographical evidence, expecting to find clues based on two principles: “uniformitarianism and the concept of survivals.”447 He believed that, where not induced by diffusion from one group to another, cultural synchronicity was based on

444

Moore (2009), p.2 ibid., pp.33f, 61-64, 117-119, 175-177, 227-30 446 cf. ibid., p.5 447 ibid., p.9 445

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“universally similar human minds (…) governed by the same basic laws of cognition.”448 On the one hand, this ruled out race as the indicator for cultural differences. On the other hand, Tylor’s notion of culture, following the basic layout of his predecessor Lewis Henry Morgan,449 was governed by tempo-hierarchical thinking based on a notion of progress that clearly took European culture as the state-of-the-art standard, putting Italian culture on top, followed by Chinese, Aztec, Tahitian, and Australian culture, moving from civilised to savage.450 By analysing such savage cultures, which were destined to, but had not yet moved on, higher stages of cultural evolution, Tylor believed to have found a window into the childhood of Western civilisation, the highest stage reached to date. This, as we have heard from Lévi-Strauss, is not applicable to existing societies, as no cultural unit with a fully developed moral code and cosmology can be compared to a child. With, as Lévi-Strauss points out, no group lacking these attributes,451 it must remain a model, philosophically interesting, as is Goethe’s Urpflanze,452 but highly speculative and applicable perhaps in the comparison between pre- and post-Neolithic societies, data on the former being too blurred as to allow for precise statements and, being the domain of prehistory and palaeontology, not all that relevant for cultural anthropology. Franz Boas (1858-1942), who is sometimes named „the father of modern anthropology“453, was a German-American anthropologist and ethnographer, whose work on “General Anthropology”454 and the Kwakwaka'wakw („Kwakuitl“) had strong influence on the anthropological discourse. He identified the subject of anthropology to be the “history of

448

ibid. ibid., p.25 450 ibid., p.14f 451 see section 0.2: The Savage and the Civilised 452 von Engelhard/Kuhn in Böhme (1989a), p.35ff 453 Pinker (2003), p. 22 454 Boas, ed. (1944 [1938]); anthology on anthropology of Boasian coinage, with articles by Boas and his colleagues and disciples 449

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mankind”455 or human society (as a whole), differing from common historic research by also or especially dealing with non-written history, including histories of peoples (past and present) who did not and/or still do not keep written records. Living generations of illiterate societies must be studied in order to determine their historical background, triangulated with archaeological findings. Linguistics, biology, and other disciplines may be drawn in.456 Boas laid out the fields within which anthropological research moves about: Man and nature, man and man, subjective aspects, interrelations between the various aspects of cultural life, and introduced the idea of a descriptive anthropology. He postulated a link between anthropology, history, sociology, and psychology.457 Early anthropologists like Herbert Spencer and A.E. Schäffle introduced an organicism that, made most popular, especially in Germany by Ernst Haeckel in the second half of the 19th century,458 postulated the “analogy between ethnic phenomena and organic recapitulation of phylogeny in ontogeny”, the “development of a child (as) a repetition of the development of the race (…), to explain child psychology on the basis of constructed history of human culture and vice versa”.459 Boas demoted such comparative and evolutionist ideas as “entirely misleading”460, and he would also not accept 455

Boas (1944 [1938]), p.1 ibid., p2f 457 ibid., p4ff; it can be stated that anthropology and sociology sometimes behave as alienated siblings, as they have a lot in common in terms of their research objectives, but may differ in methodology and subjects of fieldwork. Emile Durkheim, for example, can frequently be found listed among the founding fathers of both disciplines. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/: Durkheim, Anthropology, Sociology) 458 Ernst Haeckel (1834-1919), German zoologist and philosopher, argued in his “General Morphology” (German original first published in 1866) that by looking at a single organism’s life cycle conclusions could be drawn about the evolution of the whole species. His ideas became very popular especially in Germany (and still persist), and, transferred to human evolution (“Anthropogenie”, 1874), were also groundwork for the racist theories of the Nazis. 459 See also Mühlmann (1968), p.74f 460 Boas (1944 [1938]), p.666; Alfred A. Tomatis returns to this concept of analogy in his reflections on the evolution of the ear, deriving conclusions from phylogeny 456

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the racial slope that was implied in Gobineau’s proposal of the “Inequality of Human Races”461. Instead he insisted that every cultural unit had to be interpreted based only on its own historical background, data about which was scarce but had to be collected meticulously;462 his extensive works on the Kwakuitl463 may give an idea of his conviction in this matter. Additionally, he was very careful with interpretation and especially with deriving general laws from observation conducted with one particular unit. His suspicion would grow in the course of his career that it was preposterous and basically impossible to deduct general rules from such observations. On the other hand, in order to learn anything at all about the foundations of culture, to look into the structures of secluded cultural enclaves with little exchange or contact to other groups was in his view the only way to achieve anything at all. This historic particularism, which would dominate the American school, as the founder of which Boas may well be seen, for decades, was certainly not acceptable to Claude Lévi-Strauss. Despite what we have heard from him on the incomparability of cultures,464 he developed a structuralist approach, partly derived from structural semiotics, that would allow him to detect basic structures underlying all cultures based on datasets from different on the ontogeny of the individual in respect to its development depending on the soundscape it is surrounded by (Tomatis [1981] 2000, pp. 101-129). As convincing as he may lay out the positive medical results of his theories, they are contestable, thus confirming Boas’ reluctance to accord with them. 461 French original first published in 1854; Joseph Arthur Comte de Gobineau (1816 – 1882) became famous for developing the theory of the Aryan master race in his book An Essay on the Inequality of the Human Races (1853–1855). (edited from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_de_ Gobineau); see also Mühlmann (1968), pp. 53-56 462 Moore (2009), p.40ff 463 The Social Organization and the Secret Societies of the Kwakuitl Indians (1897), Kwakuitl Texts (1902-1905; with George Hunt), The Kwakuitl of Vancouver Island (1909), The Religion of the Kwakuitl Indians (1930; 2 vols.), Geographical Names of the Kwakiutl Indians (1934), Kwakuitl Tales (1935), Kwakuitl Ethnography (1966) a.o. 464 see section 0.2: The Savage and the Civilised 233

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cultural units, which Boas would hardly have accepted as being saturated. Lévi-Strauss found patterns in systems of classification, kinship structures, and the logic of myths, resulting in the formulation of general laws and theory where Boas would have simply listed ethnographical findings, insisting they were far from complete enough to interpret, let alone draw any conclusions.465 Opposites such as self and other, raw and cooked, nature and culture, to Lévi-Strauss these semiotic relations offered a system of classification in which difference allowed definition,466 implying an underlying set of, maybe just very few, basic rules determining the superstructure of culture. The rigidity with which Lévi-Strauss stuck to his theory has been criticised as drawing from weak data and making use of tools of interpretation not nearly appropriate or advanced enough to be sufficient for validation, being “reductionistic and unnuanced”.467 The different schools that developed from the ideas of Boas on the one hand, and Lévi-Strauss468 on the other, have not yet come to a truce, however, their extremist positions have given way to an ever-ramifying cloud of different branches of study that are less and less interested in big truths and instead focus on smaller aspects. Looking at the different protagonists one also comes to realise that their positions were not as different as they may seem on first glance; the problems they tried to overcome are even more closely related.469 Clifford Geertz470 felt uneasy with both Boas’ particularist approach, which he considered too thin to generate useful conclusions, as well as with LéviStrauss’ structuralism, which he thought was too bold a move in respect to 465

Moore (2009), pp.40ff, 236ff cp. World One, section IV: Aisthetic Atmospheres, on demarcation. 467 Moore (2009), p.244 468 strongly drawing from Durkheim, Saussure, Mauss and other French thinkers 469 see Moore (2009) pp.33, 231 a.o. 470 “For three decades Clifford Geertz [1928-2006] has been the single most influential anthropologist in the United States”; Shweder cf. Moore (2009), p.259 466

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the data accessible. His thick description aimed to cover a middle ground, which, also based on a semiotic model, acknowledged that all ethnographic fieldwork and all anthropologic theorising grounded in the former must take place in the form of interpretation. Geertz agreed with Boas that conclusions drawn and generalisations made should not lightly be ascribed validity beyond the investigated system, however, he suggested to abdicate the “thin description” of uncommented observations in favour of the thickly described, i.e. interpreted, phenomenon. His accomplishment with regard to the assessment of anthropological methodology is this explicit inclusion of the (interpreting) researcher in the products that result from his work. Since the main tool of the anthropologist is language and text, Geertz argued that cultural processes or sign systems should be read as texts, much as they are (in most cases) reproduced in textual form. On every level of (re-)interpretation misinterpretation can take place (is an observed contraction of the eyelid a twitch, a wink, the parody of a wink, the rehearsal of such a parody and so forth)471, if you miss or misunderstand signs and their interrelations.472

II.2 Time and the Orient: Modern Critique of Classical Anthropology -> coevalness, orientalism Anthropology emerged and established itself as an allochronic discourse; it is a science of other men in another Time. It is a discourse whose referent has been removed from the present of the speaking/writing subject. This “petrified relation” is a scandal. Anthropology’s Other is, ultimately, other people who are our contemporaries. Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other

One criticism against Geertz was brought forth by Johannes Fabian (*1937), who in his book Time and the Other – How Anthropology makes its Object (1983) complained about the lack of the processual, or temporal, dimension 471 472

Geertz (1973), p.6ff ibid., pp.3-30; see also Moore (2009), p263ff 235

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in Geertz’ approach, which Fabian blamed on its semiotic basis, depriving culture of its dynamic nature. Fabian extends his critique, calling the “denial of coevalness the ‘allochronism’ of anthropology.”473 Coevalness, a neologism introduced by Fabian, characterises a state of coexistence in the same mental timeframe and at eye level with your contemporaries; basically perceiving the Other as your equal. He “regards the relegation of the ethnographic object to another time as the constitutive element of the anthropologic project at large”474, resulting in the denial of coevalness. According to Matti Bunzl, Fabian’s critique towards “classical” anthropology uncovers a contradiction inherent to the anthropological discipline: on the one hand, anthropological knowledge is produced in the course of fieldwork through the intersubjective communication between anthropologists and interlocutors; on the other hand, traditional forms of ethnographic representation require the constitutive suppression of the dialogical realities generating anthropological insights in the first place. In the objectifying discourses of a scientific anthropology, “Others” thus never appear as immediate partners in a cultural exchange but as spatially and, more importantly, temporally distanced groups.475

Fieldwork, as I can affirm from my own practice, is a process, which does not only require the time of the ethnographer, who, visiting places and people, needs to spend a certain period in the “field” in order to acquire data. Next to being situated in the spatial domain, as the researcher usually travels from his own habitat to another, traditionally (but nowadays far from limited to) a remote area, where he hopes to find a cultural unit worth investigating in order to test an anthropological hypothesis or simply for the sake of finding fascinating (to him) unknown cultural phenomena he can then describe. In order to do this, he must observe and, most importantly, com473 Bunzl in Fabian (2002), p.xi; revised edition of his 1983 publication with a foreword by Matti Bunzl 474 ibid., p.xii 475 ibid., p.x

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municate. Thus entering a dialogical reality, for the time fieldwork takes place, the researcher must exist within the same timeframe as do his interlocutors. Boas is an early example of intense and enduring relationships with individuals and groups belonging to the subject of his studies; his longterm collaboration and even co-authorships of some of his ethnographic publications on the Kwakuitl with George Hunt (1854-1933), his Tlingit consultant, would result in an elaborate body of assembled data, that, as we have heard, are nowadays revered as a major resource for cultural revival by the Kwakwaka'wakw themselves. It is common practice among researchers in the field to write extensive field diaries while on location; after a long day of observation and dialogue, when all your informants have long found their well-earned nightly repose, you will be the only one awake, sitting and writing for hours about your observations, experiences, conversations, impressions, thoughts. Not doing this would pose the risk of forgetting or blurring important facts. Often such field diaries are, depending on the style of their author, written in a very acute and naturalistic way: You report of the adventures of the day as if you really had been there (which, of course, you have indeed), the people participating in the activities you report appear to be very much alive and the interactions you engage in with them are present in your writings; the field diary is, in its best form, a snapshot (or the reproduction of events taking place over a longer period) of real life you and your study subjects experienced together. And then comes the moment when you attempt to objectify your spontaneously recorded impressions, composing a scientific treatise by removing affective elements and organising the material along a logical, systematic structure. From individual observation you now want to deduct general trends, either to test a hypothesis, or to generate new models informed by the analysis of the data. This, and the actual writing, is the moment that Fabian so critically points his finger at: For as long as you were in the field, the dialogical nature of your work felt natural and was not questioned (only few – and presumable not overly successful – researchers are likely to re237

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main today who face to face treat their informants as inferior), but now that you look at your findings from a distance, you also distance yourself from the people who supplied you with these findings. That alone needs not necessarily call for trouble, you might retort, that’s what science does. The physicist runs a series of experiments, and from the results he deducts a trend that, given the data range within acceptable margins, may allow verification of the theoretical model the experiment was designed to investigate. An economist looks at monetary or material flows and makes assumptions on the state of an economy, and a quantitative sociological study does not need to have questioned all members of the group investigated, but can do with a “representative sample”. However, taking into account the history of the relationship between Self and Other in the Western world and with attention to its impact on anthropology, Fabian, who calls this distancing the “allochronism of anthropology” identifies collateral effects that indeed are to be taken into careful consideration. Distancing yourself from your study subjects, i.e. affirming “difference as distance”476, if they are living individuals, especially if they are members of a group that traditionally would have been identified as a “primitive” society, Fabian argues, easily runs the risk of translating distance that is geographic into a temporal (and also intellectual) distance477 which, in turn, is equalled with a qualitative distance – with Us, the Western researchers/public, at the top, looking down at the Other, in the traditional, evolutionist mind set,478 long ago established, soon rejected, but never fully overcome. The tool most powerfully applied to conserve the existing power relations is the “ethnographic present”479, which transforms all the particular field experiences of the researcher into an impersonal (the author is not present in his own documentation)480 text written in present tense, thereby 476

Fabian (2002), p.16 ibid. 478 ibid., p.15 479 ibid., p.80 480 ibid.; I have instead, in World Two, chosen to write about individuals with names, rather than about tribal groups, included field diary excerpts (in past tense 477

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generalising upon events and persons that in so doing become non-persons in a universal description of a timeless situation, the people without history, static and unable to evolve as established in the canon of Western knowledge about the Other and culture in general: This constitutive phenomenon (the schizogenic use of time) as the “denial of coevalness” – [is] a term that becomes the gloss for a situation where the Other’s hierarchically distancing localization suppresses the simultaneity and contemporaneity of the ethnographic encounter. The temporal structures so constituted thus place anthropologists and their readers in a privileged time frame, while banishing the Other to a stage of lesser development. This situation is ultimately exemplified by the development of such essentially temporal categories as “primitive” to establish and demarcate anthropology’s traditional object.481

Fabian declassifies the “(p)rimitive (to) being essentially a temporal concept, (…) a category, not an object, of Western thought.”482 He then says, that “coevalness aims at recognizing cotemporality as the condition for truly dialectical confrontation between persons as well as societies,”483 and “[w]hat else is coevalness but recognizing that all human societies and all major aspects of a human society are “of the same age?’”484 In the foreword to Time and the Other Fabian refers to a publication that came out around the same time, Edward Said’s Orientalism (1978). This book pursues a political agenda rather than discussing anthropological theory detached from societal realities. Said (1935-2003), a Palestinian-USAmerican literary theoretician, accuses the Western worldview of an exotiand from a first person perspective), and I take a lot of effort to go back and keep the dialogue alive; see also Feld returning to Bosavi (Feld 1990, Postscript, p.xxff) 481 Bunzl in Fabian (2002), p.xf; which takes us back to Lévi-Srauss’ „lice eggs“; section 0.2: The Savage and the Civilised 482 Fabian (2002), p.18 483 ibid., p.154 484 ibid., p.159; cp. Levi-Strauss’ (1952) Race and History (see section 0.2: The Savage and the Civilised) 239

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cism that he argues to be constitutionally racist. Due to his background he directs his attention to what is (in Western discourse) commonly known as the Orient, a term which he unmasks as being a construction, and a projection, of the Western mind, romanticising and historicising an imaginative entity that in the form described does not exist, nor has it ever. On a visit to Beirut during the terrible civil war of 1975-1976 a French journalist wrote regretfully of the gutted downtown area that “it had once seemed to belong to … the Orient of Chateaubriand and Nerval.”485 He was right about the place, of course, especially so far as a European was concerned. The Orient was almost a European invention, and had been since antiquity a place of romance, exotic beings, haunting memories and landscapes, remarkable experiences. Now it was disappearing; in a sense it had happened, its time was over. Perhaps it seemed irrelevant that Orientals themselves had something at stake in the process, that even in the time of Chateaubriand and Nerval Orientals had lived there, and now it was they who were suffering; the main thing for the European visitor was a European representation of the Orient and its contemporary fate, both of which had a privileged communal significance for the journalist and his French readers.486

This transfiguration, being the mindscape on which adventures into the wild, exotic, and mysterious may unfold, which tempts to recall the Monstra from outside the circles of salvation mentioned by Mühlmann,487 also functions as a projection that allows Us, by declaring difference, to define our own identity. At the same time it serves a very concrete, political purpose: The Other, the Oriental, again arising from the history of European conquest and domination, is perceived as culturally inferior. Said strongly advocates the renunciation of such a conception of the other, which is, from a general anthropo-theoretical point of view, fortified by Fabian: 485

[Said] Thierry Desjardins, Le Martyre de Liban (Paris: Plon, 1976), p. 14. [François-Auguste-Rene de Chateaubriand (1768-1848, French author; Gérard du Nerval (1808-1855), French poet.] 486 Said (1978), cf. Adams/Searle (2005), p.1370 487 See footnote 397 240

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[W]hen it comes to producing anthropologic discourse in the forms of description, analysis, and theoretical conclusions, the same ethnographers will often forget or disavow their experiences of coevalness with the people they studied. Worse, they will talk their experiences away with ritualistic invocations of “participant observation” and the “ethnographic present”. In the end they will organize their writings in terms of categories of Physical or Typological time, if only for fear that their reports might otherwise be disqualified as poetry, fiction, or political propaganda. [emphasis by me] 488

Lévi-Strauss’ Triste Tropiques (1955) and Turnbull’s Forest People (1961), which Fabian comments on in the quote above, feature an informal, personal writing style and are therefore at risk of failing to be perceived as academic works. Justified as that might be when it comes to kinship tables or other taxonomic concerns, their reflexive quality outshines many theoretical works in the field especially in regard of the persona of the researcher and the temporal devices used. And it is perhaps an out-dated notion that anthropology needs to remove personal opinion from its products. As Bunzl says, referring to Fabian, there cannot be a “neutral and value-free anthropology. As a discipline rooted in concrete social and cultural power structures, anthropology could no more shut out political influences than any other fields of inquiry.”489 (…) Anthropological knowledge [became] the dialogical product of concretely situated communicative understanding. As a dialectical undertaking, it was thus part of an intersubjective totality that not only suspended the distinction between researching Self and a researched Other but sought its permanent transcendence.490

This takes us back to Truax and Böhme’s basic understanding of self and other, society, and inside and outside, and therefore also to the relation between anthropology and its subject(s) of study as a system of communica488

Fabian (2002), p.33 Bunzl in Fabian (2002), p.xx 490 ibid., p.xxi 489

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tion. In consequence, “since Time and the Other, the temporal depiction of the Other is no longer an unproblematic aspect of ethnographical texts but rather a constitutive criterion of a critical and reflexive anthropology that has come to define the mainstream of the discipline.”491 If coevalness, sharing of present time, is a condition of communication, and anthropological knowledge has its sources in ethnography, clearly a kind of communication, then the anthropologist qua ethnographer is not free to “grant” or “deny” coevalness to his interlocutors. Either he submits to the condition of coevalness and produces ethnographic knowledge, or he deludes himself into temporal distance and misses the object of his search.492

As much as I may agree with the scientific paradigm of the objectification of findings to be utilised for the formation of theories, I nevertheless also have to agree with Fabian’s criticism. To create a non-time without active players is a virtual hoax that cannot be easily traced back to its origins in the real world and must be treated with caution in settings where the power relations are uneven. To again draw on Lévi-Strauss and the postulate of non-observability he borrowed from Einstein’s theory of special relativity, at the same time applying Bakhtin’s chronotopical approach,493 which (although in Bakhtin’s case applied to language and literary studies) also draws upon Einstein’s train parable and can likewise be imported to translation limitations between cultures: We all live in our small bubbles of local time/space. The farther away another bubble seems to be (with no qualitative difference between time and space), the greater will be the alienation, especially if it is moving in a different direction, thereby becoming almost unobservable. From a global point of view, precise detailed observation is difficult due to lack of magnification. From a local point of view, other local realities are blurred as well. What is needed here are glocal interpreters who live in both (if not more) worlds; reliable sources on other cultures 491

ibid., pxxvi Fabian (2002), p.32 493 cp. Bakhtin (1981), p.84f 492

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may be found among representatives of these cultures themselves, those I choose to call “First Voices”. If they are trained in their own “traditional” ways as well as in established Western academic practice, they may find a way to communicate their cultural specifics to the crowd, academics and lay people alike.494 This will not be perfect, but it will be an improvement over the status quo as Fabian describes it.

II.3 Feldwork: A Musician of my Taste I have already introduced Stephen Feld in the methodology breakpoint preceding World Three, but it seems appropriate to return to him in the light of the coevalness discussion of the last pages. Around the time Orientalism and Time and the Other were written, Feld, anthropologist, ethnomusicologist, and musician, accomplished what Fabian and Said demanded by, or so it seems to me, demonstrating a strategy that comes very close to what I call the Session Musician’s Approach in the framework of a classical ethnography in Sound and Sentiment. Reading the book one gets the strong impression that Feld’s approach towards his informants was guided by personal involvement and an interest in exchange and collaboration. He writes about his field experiences, he writes about individual people he dealt with, and from that he directly derives information about their culture in general, without being presumptuous. And he returns to discuss his book and then reports his informants’ reactions again (revised edition from 1990), a most revealing practice. As Feld points out, “Sound and Sentiment is not intended as an unmediated copy of the ‘native point of view,’”495 instead it tries to verbalise cultural aspects of the people from Bosavi in an integrated form. This goes as far as to Feld being criticised by one of his 494

see also Bunzl in Fabian (2002), p.xxvii, and particularly the “First Voices” part of this chapter, section IV: Conquista Igual 495 Feld (1990), p.253 243

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Kaluli informants, or friends, for not putting enough of himself into the book when he returned to Bosavi, the reproduction of this conversation becoming a central moment in the epilogue to the second edition of Sound and Sentiment.496 To him, this confirms the ethnographer’s “need for a personal point of view”,497 an issue that, as can also be taken from the earlier remarks, will never cease to be subject of debate. Feld’s assessment of contemporary anthropology postulates a relative eclipse of structuralist, cognitive, and ethno-semantic approaches in the field. In their place, performance, discourse-centered, and critical theory orientations to mythology, narrative, poetics, and language genres have moved firmly to the center of research in folklore and linguistic anthropology. Additionally, there are realignments of symbolic and interpretive approaches, some toward a stronger integration of philosophical, literary, and critical perspectives, some toward a stronger integration of historical, praxis, and societal agency perspectives.498

These presumptions correspond with my own practice and experiences. Being less bent toward theory than affects, especially the practical aspect of Feld’s approach is of importance to my work, for the illustration of which we may recapitulate the concluding paragraphs of the previous chapter: When I returned to Alert Bay for the third time in Winter 2011/12 I was under very little pressure as compared to my first two visits, one of which had to generate results in the form of recordings to be used for my composition, the second, which was only three days long, with the sole purpose of receiving approval for my work so it could be presented to the public at the NONAM. This third time I had three weeks and they were dedicated to talking, meeting people, having a good time, without any pre-defined aims. This was, by far, the most rewarding visit. I met some of the people that I had worked with before, and made many new acquaintances. Through two presentations staged at the U’mista Cultural Centre I came to have countless 496

ibid., p254 ibid., p.255 498 ibid., p.261 497

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fruitful discussions on how my work was perceived, what should be approached differently next time, and what forms of collaboration would be desirable, and so on. So even though I did not pursue ethnographical fieldwork in the first place, in my function as a European coming for information (recordings mostly), I of course was confronted with the issues that the ethnographer has to deal with. The field diary is an irreplaceable resource for later theorising, but its real value lies in its situational nature. It is imperative in my work that analysis is not detached from this. And, confirmed by the explicit statement that my returning for dialogue (thus creating transparency about what would happen with the data after my departure) was the major trust generating action from my side, I still think that this form of collaboration, particularly if successfully passed on to the end-user, is more important in the formation of coeval dialogue than the most meticulously made field diary.

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III Conquista Particular: Anthropological Subjects Related to “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” “We shall see presently that notwithstanding the indubitable inferiority of their status, even their economic labour involves undreamed-of complexities that lift them immeasurably above, say, the anthropoid level.” Robert Lowie in Boas: General Anthropology (1944), p.283

Having laid out the great lines of the anthropological discourse as far as they affect my work and its target groups to an extent sufficient to form the ground on which “Two Weeks” can be investigated, I will now turn my attention to a number of particular aspects that illustrate the various pitfalls one might step into if following the Session Musician’s Approach without the reflexive agency that stems from this discourse. First various forms of generalisation and stereotyping that may result from frivolous interpretation of data will be addressed. Then a brief look at popular literature, deployed here as representative of the main information sources of a lay audience, seems in order. This will lead me to a discussion about language use, which, as I will show, is everything but settled. As a field researcher who intends to publish his findings, I also cannot omit the issues of copyright and ethical protocol, which will conclude this section. In all cases I will complement the more general considerations and found examples with concrete experiences that directly derive from the production of “Two Weeks”.

III.1 The Common Anthropoid: Generalisation Issues -> generalisation

In this section I make quite a sweep, mixing the question of the representative potential of research data with problems of classification and stereotyping. These are unavoidable obstacles in scientific analysis, challenging and afflicted with the risk of error, but expedient in the formation of theory; mistakes minimised by means of scrupulous scrutiny. In ethnography, how246

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ever, they can directly affect real people and the image that a recipient obtains about them, and can be informed by orientalist perception. They all had to be dealt with in the making of “Two Weeks”, and in making it fit for presentation to museum visitors, where they are aspects of the same set of problems: that the interpretations, classifications and stereotypes I prepare for my audience cannot be deciphered by it for what they are and are therefore not lightly to be made. In ethnography datasets used for analysis usually are situational, and due to financial, time, or other limitations, never really reach the ideal – in acoustics the model of the point sound source is applied for theoretical models, in the practice of loudspeaker construction the real world always takes its toll on that ideal. Within anthropological circles it is a well-known phenomenon, and scholars are accordingly cautious. But you cannot expect the same of every museum visitor, so I have to bother about it. You can try and devise general assumptions on cultures from fieldwork data or archaeological finds, but beyond very vague statements on material culture, nutrition and in some cases basic religious or metaphysical concepts, the conclusions often become blurry. “The fatalism of the Turk, the logical mind of the French, the sentimentality of the German”499 are attributions that certainly not every member of the respective nations would accept as proper description of his or her personality, not even of his people in general, especially if the notion, as frequently the case when introduced by outside observers, has an unfavourable connotation. Moreover, observations made upon a brief encounter, and I would call anything short of several years brief, but in particular field visits, that seldom exceed a few months, are prone to be full of misunderstandings.500 Data drawn from observation

499

Boas (1944 [1938]), p.667; some of these stereotypes may have been replaced by others since this article was written in the early 20th century. It should be noted that Boas used these examples in objection to the practice they illustrate. 500 Of course, with proper preparation and experience, which can be expected of most ethnographic studies, everything is more reliable than my account of “Two 247

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will always be limited and coloured by the background of the observer,501 and informants as well are always individuals, so their testimony cannot easily be generalised. 502 In Eva Bechtler-Vosecková and Peter Gerber’s “Nordamerikanische Indianer”, Boas and Swanson provide different interpretations on the meaning of certain weaving patterns of Chilkat blankets because they had received their data from different informants. Both of them believed they had found generalizable information.503 Mischung reports of an observation he had made while on field research with the Karen of Myanmar in 1982/83: In preparation of the fire-clearing of an acreage a number of trees were left standing, which Mischung interpreted as a measure for environmental sustainability. Later he came to know, and only by chance, that the trees were left alone only due to lack of proper tools, as the uprooting had been done by the women who only disposed of household-use knives, whereas, had the men been present that day, they would have cut down all these leftover trees.504 In my own fieldwork I had the opportunity to talk to various members of the Native community of Alert Bay. Two of my chief informants would at times tell me different things on the same issue and I would have no way of knowing which one told the true story. Moreover, both versions may be true or untrue to another; hence individual interpretation cannot be generalised (and, as the previous example illustrates, one can seriously misinterpret things).505 To me this only confirms that history, heritage, and identity are constructed, staged and revised all the time.506 There may be a difference Weeks in Alert Bay”. But that advantage only to often is given away by drawing too many conclusions that are out of reach if evaluated “objectively”. 501 Boas (1944 [1938]), p.681 502 see Moore (2009), pp.155-58: Crow, Eaglehawk, and the Cult of the Ancestors 503 Bechtler-Vosecková/Gerber (1980), p.52 (no temporal information provided) 504 Mischung (1988), p.94 505 From my field trip to Alert Bay in autumn 2009 506 Moore (2009), pp.228, 229, 356-62 a.o.; see also my remarks on Lowenthal (1998) in World One, section V.4: Intangible Heritage today 248

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between collective memories and individual identity formation, but even the collective ones will be perceived and told differently by different individuals, or even by the same person depending on the occasion. If professionals like Boas, Mischung, or I in all modesty, cannot be sure of anything and are easily deceived by their own orientalist expectations (Mischung presuming deliberate ecological sustainability on no ground), how then can I expect the museum visitor to know any better? A rather cloddish and therefore equivocal generalisation has been introduced for ease in the frame of museum exhibition design: In order to develop a structure for the vast and altogether unsorted collections of artefacts from North American indigenous cultures, the concept of cultural areas was invented.507 The whole continent was divided into ten geographic units that supposedly corresponded with substantial cultural uniformity within these areas. Based on a more or less common material basis and the aforementioned geographical adjacency, countless different peoples with likewise countless different languages, beliefs, traditions, art forms, etc. were stuffed into one large unit. Most of them, if asked, are likely to strongly disagree with this uniformisation, as would we, if put together with all the rest of Europe: There may be a common ground on a very general basis, true enough, like, we Europeans tend to believe that we are all somehow affected by a Romano-Greek/Christian-Jewish mind set, but in countless other respects we would not accept to be thrown into one pot with people from the province right next to our own, let alone, say, the Icelander and the Italian. The same must be accepted for indigenous peoples of North America. The cultural areas are an understandable implemental device for museum exhibition designers’ convenience; in fact, it is often enough a challenge to make the museum visitor realise that there do actually exist more indigenous cultures in North America than those described by Karl May, let alone that they may even be different from those, and still alive. But they have to

507

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be treated with care, as the museum visitor may take such simplifying depictions for the real thing.

III.2 “Indianer!”: Popular Books -> generalisation, representation, language use

Speaking of Karl May, I will stay with the museum visitor, asking myself, what knowledge and what baggage does he actually bring with him when entering the Sound Chamber, and where does it come from? This baggage is, at least in the German speaking countries, strongly informed by the popular book series I mentioned in the introduction to this chapter; most prominently Karl May’s “Winnetou”, or Liselotte WelskopfHenrich’s “Sons of the Great Bear”, among others. Most of these books’ stories are set in a romantic past, contemporary indigenous authors are widely unknown, and usually not read by children, the main visitor group at the NONAM. Popular scientific literature is, next to fiction, movies and possibly documentaries, the medium easiest available and accessible to museum visitors, and it comes, other than fictive accounts, closest to the mediating function also ascribed to museums. Alice Ravenhill’s comment on the backwardness of Northwest Coast indigenous peoples, that I have used as the opening quote of this chapter, is an early sample from this genre. The way Ravenhill writes about indigenous peoples also echoes what had already been noted with Boas et al.: Reading her book “Native Tribes of British Columbia” (1938) one gets the feeling that she deals with something of a past long gone, and that her protagonists do not exist anymore, only some derelict remainders of a once flourishing, albeit primitive, culture with no memory of their own past and tradition.508 But even back then, Ravenhill and her 508

Ravenhill (1938), p.11; (on native art) “The capacities expressed in these arts are to all appearance dormant, if not lost by the survivors of a once numerous people (...)” 250

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contemporaries’ writings were far from limited to derogatory remarks; quite the opposite, many passages in Ravenhill’s book take a pronounced stance in favour of and with respect for the peoples she writes about. However, and that phenomenon persists, if in a distinctly smoothened tone, the point of view remains that of a learned person benevolently dealing with people who appear not to have a voice of their own, which, up until today, often results in a paternalistic appeal of such publications. Some years after Ravenhill, Philip Drucker’s “Indians of the Northwest Coast” (1955) acknowledges the contemporary nature of indigenous life, in passages such as this: “Many of the Indians of the coast are nowadays commercial fishermen and loggers. Most of them are more at home with gasoline and Diesel than with the canoes of their forefathers.”509 He also disagrees with the notion of backwardness based on Western definitions, identifying the culture(s) he describes as civilisation.510 Publications reviewed dating from the last 20 years are often very careful with diction, and works that incorporate First Voice perspectives,511 including co-authorship and monographs by indigenous authors are clearly on the rise. Particularly in North America a tentative departure from the established power relations can be observed.512 To what extent it would be hairsplitting to point out every single minor lapse, such as using the term “Indian” in a book’s title,513 or claiming to be representative for “the Indian” as

509

Drucker (1955), p.v ibid., p.2f 511 See for example Hendricks; ed. (2005): Indianer der Nordwestküste. In this book, which accompanied a special exhibition at the Westfälisches Museum für Naturkunde in Lippe (GER), large sections deal with change, contemporary life, and the last 30 of its 180 pages are filled with first hand texts by First Nations members who talk about their experiences in the residential school system and its impact on their lives. 512 for example: Bancroft-Hunt/Forman (1980), Alunik (2003), but also fiction by Native authors (Leslie Mormon Silko, Laguna: Ceremony 1977; Anne Cameron, Nuu-Cha-Nulth: Daughters of Copper Woman, 1981; Naomi M. Stokes, Quinault: The Tree People, 1995) 513 Hendricks (2005): Indianer der Nordwestküste 510

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an all-white group of contributors514 is difficult to decide. I believe, however, that we should be very alert to this matter, for the Oriental’s opinion, who we write about, but often do not directly involve, must be our point of reference, and that needs to arrive at the end-consumer, which is disproportionately more challenging in the light of the standard literature accessible: If I want to get my daughter a book on North American indigenous culture, I will not find many with a foreword by the contemporary Haida master carver Bill Reid,515 rather a choice of publications entitled “Indianer!”516 with lots of sympathetic illustrations of historic stereotypes. It has to be noted that there exists a considerable gap between the level of reflection found in contemporary academic literature on the subject and popular science books aimed at the general public, which needs to be kept in mind when thinking about the presentation of “Two Weeks” with the claim to facilitate coeval perception of the Other.

III.3 Wikitalk: Naming the Other Choice of words can have generalising and stereotyping effects, especially when a term has had the time to sink in. Indian is, as Ravenhill reminds us as early as in 1938,517 a denotation that has erroneously found its way into our lexis due to a Genovese adventurer who had left Palos with the blessings of the Old World on a westward course in order to find an economically feasible sea passage to India some five centuries ago. But it is not merely erroneous ascription, the word has piled up meaning over time that needs to be challenged. What is usually associated with “Indian” in my world is what May and Welskopf-Henrich projected into the aboriginal peoples of North 514 The Blurb of Peter Gerber’s 500 Jahre danach (“500 years after”) makes this claim. Gerber (1993), back sleeve 515 Stewart ([1984] 1995), p.8f 516 Mennen/Krautmann (2000): Indianer. “Indianer!”, “Jim” in the movie “Der Schuh des Manitou” (Germany 2001) 517 Ravenhill (1938), p.11

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America, which, in the best Saidian sense, has not much in common with the reality of contemporary indigenous life there. Therefore, at the risk of irritating your audience, alternatives should be considered. The use of the term Indian in official language has long “fallen out of favour”518, or, in other words, must be accepted to be perceived as being as politically incorrect as the n-word in respect to North America’s AfroAmerican population, despite the frequent use of the terms within the respective groups themselves. The box below contains a summary of the discussion page, section “Racial Slur”, attached to the wikipedia entry “Eskimo”519, a term denoting, in traditional language, the arctic cultures as distinct from the Indian cultures of North America. Eskimo, or Esquimaux, which is the French disfigurement of a defaming name the Southern neighbours, the Dené or Athapascan peoples of the Subarctic woodlands, adhered to the Inuit of Arctic Canada (according to some sources it means “Eaters of Raw Meat”)520, might also lead to irritation at least, if someone outside their own circles would address them in a likewise manner, whereas in other regions of the Arctic, for example in Alaska, it may be used to denominate all indigenous peoples of the area, even by themselves. Remarkably enough, it is again an all-white club who engages in this debate, “people reacting on other’s behalves”521.

518

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eskimo (referring to Eskimo here; see discussion below) 519 All following quotes taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talk: Eskimo 520 etymologically more correct appears to be „Weavers of Snow Shoes“, ayaskimju from the language of the Montagnais Indians (Innu First Nation of Quebec and Labrador; http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Innu); Kaiser (2006), p.6f 521 participant naturalnumber later in the same debate 253

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One Mukapedia starts the discussion by complaining about a, in his view, inadequate paragraph in the main article that states that the term “Eskimo” had “fallen out of favor”. He replies to this by declaring “acid wash is ‘out of favor’, ‘eskimo’ is racist”, even “unspeakably racist” in Canadian English. However, he also claims that in U.S. English the word was “completely benign”. Both referred-to dialects are languages not indigenous to the arctic part of North America; the question to be asked should be: How do the people referred to as “Eskimo” feel about this? A participant who calls himself something lame from CBW reacts to Mukapedia by listing a number of Inuit-run enterprises that have the word Eskimo in their names, concluding that “if the word was ‘unspeakably racist’ then the Inuit owned companies would have [surely] changed their names.” He is countered again by Mukapedia, who wants to know how many of these companies were founded in the nearer past, “let’s say, 20 years”, and gives the example of the Washington Redskins football team to point out that there may be persisting names that however do not lead to the conclusion that “calling a Native American a ‘redskin’ to his face would [not] be a grave insult”. Something lame reacts with another series of remarks that tackle another side of the problem. If agreed that “Eskimo” was racist and should not be used in reference to the Native peoples of the circumpolar region, this does not mean it could be easily replaced by another term: “The problem is that in Alaska, the term Eskimo is commonly used, because it includes both Yupik and Inupiat, while Inuit is not accepted as a collective term or even specifically used for Inupiat. No universal replacement term for Eskimo, inclusive of all Inuit and Yupik people, is accepted across the geographical area inhabited by the Inuit and Yupik peoples. (…) What we came up with was Alaska Natives that (sic.) should be called Indigenous peoples of Alaska (…). Wikipedia: WikiProject Indigenous peoples of North America has decided to use the word Indigenous as the word Native mean (sic.) something else to the rest of the world. … That is it means Natural (sic.) born citizen and not Indigenous peoples. This is a long standing problem and until the Indigenous peoples of the North realize that the wording is out of date and they need to sit-down (sic.) and find a term, there is noreal (sic.) for all Indigenous peoples of the North we can use…”

I have heard the people I met in Alert Bay calling themselves First Nation, Kwakwaka'wakw, 'Namgis, Indian, and other names. William Wasden once referred to relatives from Victoria as “Urban Indians” to point out that they live in a city instead of one of the smaller communities; he also once said, when we were taking a picture together, “you’re Indian now, you should be in the picture”. When wishing to make the general distinction between those Canadians whose ancestors were around before the arrival of the European immigrants and the latter in a popular or scientific publication, “Indian” probably is not the best choice; indigenous, as suggested by Something 254

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lame, has a much better ring. The name a Nation has given itself when referring to a certain group, or, most applicable, individual informants’ names as Bruce Alfred, or William Wasden jr., adding, if required for completeness of documentation, tribal or national affiliations, works very well for me. However, in a book aimed at more general description with often a very young target group, compromises may have to be found.

III.4 The Apple Tree: Protocol and Copyright, Schizophonia and Presentation Formats -> research ethics, intellectual property

Before the question on how to depict an exotic culture without orientalising it stands the issue of how to acquire the information, and how to handle it. Franci L. Taylor (Choctaw Nation) of Washington State University told me about what she calls the “Apple Tree Paradigm”. When ethnologists come to work with Native communities, there exists a tendency to pick the best apple, leave with it and give nothing back “not even the core”.522 Taylor demands a set of binding protocols to be followed in order to stay true to the peoples’ rights, be it copyrights, personal rights, or simple respect for your informants, without whom your work would not be possible. Not surprisingly, as I could also experience during my visits to Alert Bay, she is not alone in this. In his contribution to Toshiyuki Kono’s reader on Intangible Cultural Heritage and Cultural Property (2009), Wim van Zanten focuses on the relationship between the researcher and his informants in anthropological fieldwork, giving Fabian’s elaborations above a very practical dimension. The importance of establishing trust and acquiring informed consent from interlocutors concerning prospective future uses of the data collected to him is beyond question. In the course of his essay it becomes apparent that, at

522

Fanci L. Taylor in her paper at the American Indian Workshop 2011, Graz 255

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the same time, it is also one of the most difficult and delicate aspects of ethnographic research. In the field you interact with individuals who, for research purposes, must act as representatives of a larger unit. Once you start using the data, tangible or intangible, in a way that is accessible to third party recipients, it is nowadays commonly accepted that you need to have the consent of the people affected. How you acquire that consent, in written form, as part of a recorded interview, or on a completely informal basis, differs depending on the situation. Furthermore, it is not easy to ensure that “the content of that consent has been clearly defined”523, or whether the individuals that you received it from do indeed hold the authority to give it, for “communities seldom speak with one voice” and “some apparent leader may represent only part of the population”524, an experience that I also made on various occasions. In addition to this, leaving aside the commercial potential of a prospective product, to negotiate about benefits and rewards for the collaboration is yet another matter to be taken into account.525 It should be obvious that “researchers should never publish data that may damage their informants”526, but that will eventually result in obscured, i.e. unobjective accounts, if, for instance, to generate the full picture, negative aspects would be part of a documentation, but undesirable for the informant. One also must not mistake a Western-style copyright agreement for universally applicable intellectual property law, as in another culture the concept of such property may significantly differ from “Western ideas about protecting individual rights and their financial interests, rather than the rights of communities”527; for “[c]opyright law ‘does not take into account

523

van Zanten in Kono, ed. (2009), p. 284 both ibid., p.295 525 ibid., p. 284 526 ibid., p.285 527 ibid. 524

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community ownership of indigenous material, spirit authorship, or other traditional [emphasis by me] concepts a researcher may encounter.’”528 Lacking binding legal regulations for ethical protocol, the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM) can only give recommendations, such as to 1. 2. 3.

uphold ‘honesty in the representation of oneself and one’s work’;529 build relationships ‘based on informed consent, rights of privacy and confidentiality, and mutual respect’; maintain ‘awareness of the connection between proprietary concerns and economic interests.’530

The first recommendation quoted above takes us back to a problem addressed in the beginning of this chapter: the schizogenic nature of data removed from its source. Van Zanten notes the schizophrenic position of the ethnomusicologist when “sharing experiences with his informants at certain moments, and becoming an outside observer at other moments”, because he has to “withdraw for reflection in order to publish research findings.”531 Another aspect of this schizogeneity, and, concerning the potential for misinterpretation by far the more dangerous one, comes with the seclusion of the different local chronotopes, in the middle of which the researcher finds himself; as van Zanten points out, “the place and the time of performance are meaningful.” With the average recipient, who usually is not equipped with knowledge and experiences comparable to that of the researcher, let alone his informant, this brings up a number of questions when presenting material out of context (taking them from one local chronotope, or time bubble, to another): “For instance, could my recordings be played outside of the appropriate season? Would a secular audience be allowed to hear them?

528

ibid., p. 286, van Zanten quotes the Manual for Documentation, Fieldwork, and Preservation for Ethnomusicologists of the Society for Ethnomusicoloy (SEM), supra note 4, at 15; see section on potlatch in World Two. 529 This ties in to what Pascal Gielen suggests by the dramatization of the presentation; see Gielen (2009), p.102. I will come back to this in World Four. 530 Van Zanten in Kono, ed. (2009), p.287; from SEM manual at 86 531 both ibid., p.288 257

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In the extreme, could the recordings be used for commercial gain?”532 And “the recordings might be heard and seen by people with little understanding of the religious setting of the music. Can I pass these recordings on to them?”533 The removal of intellectual property from its original context, be that masks, musical expression, or other, has always been stained with loss of original meaning, as has been pointed out for the primitivist movement. The semiotic nature of perception and cultural systems that generates this meaning needs to be known in order to fully understand what lies underneath. Since phenomena must signify meaning, if meaning gets lost, new meaning will be added, re-interpretation becomes inevitable.534 I can either resort to orientalism to nurture my lust for the exotic, or I can try to detect basic structures underneath the alien that will allow me to relate. In either case, the original meaning will remain a mystery to me. So from the jam sessions with colleagues, who trust me in that I will not mess with what they freely shared with me, I now have to return home and create a piece from a live show that can never be the same once it leaves its habitat. Nevertheless it has to be a depiction of that original moment, making up for all that got lost in transit and somehow compensating the consumers’ limited acquaintance with the subject; potentially achievable in a book of almost 400 pages with accompanying audio and multimedia applications, but really a drag when you cut off any of these limbs, especially if we recapitulate a number of obstacles that have been introduced in this chapter: “The ‘us’ studying and writing about ‘them’ was, of course, a part of a colonialist project that anthropology has come out of”, as Diana Taylor reminds us, and, despite all progress made in this area, “communication, for

532

both ibid., p.295 ibid., p.297 534 cp. World Four, section I.2: Aura and Constructed Meaning 533

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the most part continue[s] to be unidirectional”535; we will find examples of this in the museum case study in World Four. Stephen Feld’s return to Bosavi shows that personal commitment can make a difference, but mediation remains difficult; to the recipient, “’they’ occupied a different world – in space and time, whether we are interrelated or coeval”,536 as Fabian also points out further up, also because “little thought was given to the many ways in which contact with the ‘non-Western’ had, for centuries, shaped the very notion of ‘Western’ identity”,537 a programme of demarcation from a Western point of view, degrading the Other to the status of the opposite that we can compare (compete) with. As indicated, this shows clearly in the art context: “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” has actually been part of a sound art exhibition in 2012 in Wiesbaden, Germany, together with the (non-anthropological) works of fourteen other sound artists.538 In such a context, usually no one cares about the dozens of informants and the hundreds of performers from the Northwest Coast, or their backgrounds or the social, political or other implications which, with some effort, can be brought across in the museum the piece was made for. According to the contemporary art scene conventions, the artist’s singular genius will be challenged, maybe his sources of inspiration will be mentioned, but the real stars of the show, the 'Namgis in this particular case, will most likely be widely ignored; “the non-Western is the raw material to be reworked and made ‘original’ in the West.”539

535

both Taylor (2003), p.8 ibid. 537 ibid. 538 see also Next World, section ii) Expanding 539 Taylor (2003), p.9 536

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IV Conquista Igual: First Voices -> First Voices, art vs. science

In order to draw closer to the dialogical relationship between mediated “object” and recipient, a fruitful approach could be to put forward the First Voices I spoke of earlier, as they may be able to translate and, if featured prominently, also function as an agent to stress the immediacy and cotemporality of the people presented. First Voices play a vital role in the creation of “Two Weeks”, and also in its presentation; with the resources at my disposal I have tried my best to achieve a balance between transparency about my own role and First Voice interventions in the various presentation formats. Before I finally discuss the success or failure of this experimental set-up, I wish to actually give the floor to a number of First Voices. Their examples, albeit neither all based at the Northwest Coast, nor working with soundscape composition, underline the importance of their input, or, in the best case, collaboration, for mutual benefit and successful mediation, for they can certainly tell us more about their culture (if they “live in both worlds”; i.e. are self-reflexive), their ways of thinking, and their preferred subjects of discussion, if we let them speak for themselves and with us. Maurice Kenny’s (Mohawk) poem “Moccasin”, that opens the concluding section of this chapter does not need elaboration other than that it contains everything I would look for when I wanted to get an affective, yet informative intro into his (cultural) background; rhythm, cultural and artistic originality, points of contact that I can relate to.540 My acquaintances from Alert Bay, William Wasden jr. Bruce Alfred, Beau Dick, Pewi Alfred, Sandi Willie, Vera Newman, Marcus Alfred, and all the others, you already got to 540 Mr Kenny has kindly given me permission to use his poem, under the condition that I don’t read it aloud myself. Once you hear his own recitation, you will understand why. Never could I, although I consider myself quite musical and adaptable, bring across the same power, depth and meaning as he did. The original reading, given at the AIW 2011 in Graz, can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM under “Direct Access”.

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know in World Two. Being caught between academia and art myself, with Val Napoleon (Cree/Tsimshian), Simon Ortiz (Acoma Pueblo), and Nicholas Galanin (Tlingit) I now will introduce three “representative” individuals that cover the academic as well as the artistic side of the Western medal, but in the meantime never loose sight of their indigenous heritage in the process. The long excerpt from Ortiz’ speech I have left widely uncommented, because I believe it speaks for itself, which is also what it should do, if I take the First Voices approach seriously. Again, such decisions are always a bit double-edged, because in the end I determined what to use and what not. Nevertheless, this section aims to give you an idea what the surplus of the First voice perspective can be, not only for “Two Weeks”, but for anthropology in general.

IV.1 Napoleonic Law Val Napoleon is a scholar in Canadian and indigenous law. At a conference keynote she introduced an approach to understanding indigenous legal systems by looking into folk myths. Napoleon, who is of Cree and Gitksan decent, told a complex story from Gitksan traditional lore, that featured everything a good story should contain: heroes and villains, love and crime, adventure, tragedy, and a happy ending. But underneath there were also several layers of information on the Gitksan (or Northwest Coast) societal structure and legal system to be discovered. Napoleon could derive from what she found there an analysis that ultimately could be used for the establishment (or rediscovery) of “an indigenous legal pedagogy,”541 which in turn could serve as “a tool for selfdetermination and citizenship, particularly for interactions between indigenous peoples and between indigenous peoples and non-indigenous peoples.” 541

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Oral traditions, Napoleon argues, are a “way of creating spaces for critical considerations of the different kinds of struggles that people have. Historically they enabled the people to theorise, philosophise about their world, to practically solve problems.” Referring to this, she describes stories as “a cognitive unit, a way of organising information for recall, our brains work better with stories than with lists of things.” Oral traditions will “reflect how a society is organised, therefore they have political, legal, social, and economic functions.” The stories, next to their structure and content, contain “legal precedents, processes, principles and procedures; law; collaborative social endeavour, working out everyday problems.” By that, the stories “connect to the idea of self determination, power dynamics, gender politics.” You can find “inter-societal relationships, individual and collective responsibilities.” But Napoleon does not leave the stories uncontested. She asks her audience: “What made you feel uncomfortable? What are the aspects that you don’t have a frame of reference to? Do not look at the stories as parables or sets of rules, but what do they make you think about external and internal faces of indigenous law.” As an outsider, you cannot simply hear a story and then say, ok, so this is how they thought (which takes us back to the concept of temporal distance). You have to accept that you probably will never fully understand the deeper meanings of what you have heard. But you are also encouraged to ask questions. In the story Napoleon told, the gender roles were detestable to “enlightened” Western ears, with women being not much more than booty and objects you could use to punish your opponent with, by, for example, raping your enemy’s mother and wife to dishonour him. This would then take us deeply into a discourse about universal human rights and values, and there is nothing wrong with such questioning. However, the questions should be discussed with the people they are derived from, and not over their heads. Simon Ortiz, also present at the time, warned Napoleon that it was critical to publicly interpret stories from closed communities, explicitly because they are differently perceived elsewhere, which explains why elders some262

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times are reluctant to give permission to use them. They cannot be interpreted by or for outsiders without the risk of obscuring them. The story was particular to a particular community, had value within the closed community, the limitation was determined by the value system of that community; even translating into English is not helpful, i.e. obscuring meaning; in each case there exists a great risk of violating a cultural enclosure. Napoleon countered that she had told only international stories, but admitted that it was important to contextualise them and that she was well aware of the tension between keeping it all disclosed and the opportunity for mutual learning.

IV.2 Simon’s Story Simon Ortiz, author of poetry and fiction and “one of the key figures in the second wave of (…) the Native American Renaissance”542 has worked at numerous universities in Canada and the US. He currently teaches at Arizona State University.543 He masterfully knows how to apply the art of storytelling to illustrate his standpoint. In a keynote he gave at the same event as Napoleon, he didn’t just draw from traditional lore; as a poet and novelist, he would use his own works instead. He started with a poem on the connection of land and life, to then point out that culture is everyday or ordinary or usual or normal knowledge. That’s the way it’s been since the beginning of cultural time. Many years back into the past this was the way of knowledge that was. Culture is definite and specific knowledge for indigenous peoples. Just like it is for all other peoples in all their own cultural systems.544

Referring to the content of his poem he said that 542

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon_J._Ortiz Information taken from introduction by Heidrun Moertl to his AIW2011 keynote 544 All quotes taken from Ortiz’ keynote at the AIW2011, Graz; transcribed according to the rules of medium accuracy 543

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an indigenous cultural philosophy and directive is clearly apparent: Reach down and touch the land and pick it up and hold it to you, you are carrying and holding your life. Actually in a larger sense, this is a directive, a philosophy, and an act that is not limited to any one person or people or culture, certainly not to only peoples of indigenous cultural heritage, identity and community. I have always regarded indigenous literature as knowledge.

Ortiz also says, it is different, but just that (no better or worse) than Western knowledge or literature. Indigenous literature is cultural knowledge, but also knowledge in general. Western hegemony of discourse has already been mentioned; LéviStrauss’ juxtaposition of academic and “savage” thinking545 could be applied. Ortiz gives his answer to this in his own way as a writer and storyteller. Out of his long talk I wish to reproduce an excerpt of a story Ortiz told of his lawyer son visiting for summer ceremony, which I will leave uncommented. Ortiz says it could be a traditional story as well, but just as a good storyteller knows how to adjust the story to current needs and fashions, Ortiz also knows how to bring across ancient truths in modern garb: “(…) Dad, can you explain to me the meaning of the singing and dancing the k’atsina did right before they left?” At this point he looked at me directly and added emphatically: “And please, don’t use any of that anthropological BS vocabulary and technical knowledge I can read in the library or hear at an anthro-lecture anytime.” Well, he had me there, and I admit I squirmed a bit. But I understood what he wanted to know by the way he contextualized his question. Or perhaps I should say, he made sure I wasn’t going to resort to the usual technical and objective rendering that too many of us fall back upon when we explain and depict, quote, Indian culture, unquote.

Ortiz then has it with their (the Indian’s) reliance on their Western educational patterns:

545

See concluding section of this chapter: Only a Sith deals in Absolutes

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I shall observe and comment here a brief bit: Many of us have become too reliant upon our educational experience and learning in the Western educational system, i.e., that is, the academy that insists we learn to think, speak, even feel, and write, i.e., that is, express ourselves well, or expertly, in western academic terms. This has often made us so fluent in the English language, we too easily let the technical vocabulary, nomenclature, and jargon roll off our tongues, which too often dismisses and disregards our indigenous sensibility and normal, ordinary and usual language, that is necessary to use in order to convey the meaning of the annual four-day visit by the shi’i’uana k’atsina [transcribed from audio] or other important indigenous ceremonies. So I said to my son: “Thanks for asking me that question, son, and I’m glad you told me not to use the bullshit terminology that’s too often used.” I looked at him with a grin then, and said to him in the English language, since he doesn’t converse in the Acoma language: “As you know, the k’atsina come to us at A’aco at this time every year. It is because of their importance to us that they come. They come for our sake, and for the sake of all our family members, and for the sake of the land. They come to us so we can learn and know, as best we can, our relationship that the spirit powers, that the sh’i’uana are, so we can see them right before us and among us, with their dancing prayers and songs for four days. So we can personally respond and personally relate to them and personally interact with them with our prayers, cornmeal offerings, thoughts and feelings. So that we and our children can receive the gifts they have brought to us. This is especially important for our children, so they will always know the sh’i'uana k’atsina as the spirit powers who bring the rain to the land and people and all plants and animals of the earth. So that we all can be nourished and taken care of by the generous power of the k’atsina and the help that we as hanno’ or people must also provide because of our belief. And ultimately, we must learn from the sh’i’uana k’atsina it is important for this ceremony, experience and teaching to go on. Life, (…) my son beloved, will go on with their help and our belief in our traditions, philosophy and way of life. In that way, the land, the people, our community and our knowledge that we know as culture, will always go on and on and on with the help of the sh’i’uana k’atsina along with the help we as people provide. This is the meaning of the k’atsina coming to us at Acoma (…) face to face for four days at midsummer.”

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Simon Ortiz and his colleague Gabrielle Schwab have found a way to manifest the dialogical nature of the anthropological project. In the course of a literary work that they are collaborating on (Children of Fire, Children of Water; in press), they give readings in which, in turns, each of them reads passages of a text they wrote based on youth memories: Ortiz talks about the Uranium mining close to his home in the Acoma Pueblo reservation, Schwab recounts a short story on her experiences with the Chernobyl incident as it was received in her small hometown in Germany. As the event goes on, their stories more and more blend into one narrative, also containing theoretical elaborations, always as observed from their respective cultural backgrounds, but never does one dominate over the other. They are indeed working on coeval terms.

IV.3 A Boy who Cuts Paper into the Shape of his Face Completing the turn from academia to the arts that already showed with Ortiz, both of which also manifest and are integrated within my own work, I last want to introduce the young contemporary visual artist Nicholas Galanin.546 His oeuvre consists of a broad variety of works, most remarkable of which to my impression are his paper sculptures, book pages that he uses for the depiction of faces and other forms by cutting thousands of sheets of paper that, glued together, form a three-dimensional representation of his face, Raven, or other objects. The books used always relate to the meaning of the finished piece. For example, he would use pages of the bible and cut them into the shape of a traditional (pagan!) Northwest Coast mask to express the tension of the cultural clash his people have had to face. He comes from a “long line of Northwest Coast artists – starting with his great-

546

http://galan.in

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grandfather”547, and accordingly is part of the contemporary art world while paying great respect to his indigenous (artistic) heritage. Hence, he combines innovative techniques with traditional motives, often resulting in critical reflections on the historic and contemporary relation between First Nations and the societal situation they are embedded in.548 In his Artist Statement 2011 he says I work with concepts, the medium follows. In the business of this "Indian Art World" I have become impatient with the institutional prescription and its monolithic attempt to define culture as it unfolds. Native American Art will not be commonly defined as our work moves freely through time. The viewer, collector, or curators' definition often conveys more about themselves than that of the "Native Artist". In the past I have struggled with this title, though I now embrace my position as a contemporary indigenous artist with belief that some forms of resistance often carry equal amounts of persistence. My current collection of work presents visual experiences in hope of inspiring creative dialogue with the viewer. I work with an intention to contribute towards contemporary cultural development. Through education and creative risk taking I hope to progress cultural awareness.549

Galanin has had several group and solo exhibitions over the past few years, and has been commissioned to create paper sculptures for the visual appearance of the Dutch Boekenweek in 2011. To get his purse filled, he also works with precious metals, creating pieces in the traditional Northwest Coast style that he sells on the tourist market.

547

https://docs.google.com/leaf?id=0AaSLecEfbJC1ZHRkcXprOV82OWN3Nmg4 Ng&sort=name&layout=list&pid=0B6SLecEfbJC1Nzg5NjY0ZjctNGJlMy00MGVh LTkzNWEtZDMzNTUzZDY1OWE2&cindex=2 548 see for example “Inert”, “Imaginary Indian Series”, “Indian Petroglyph Series”, “Raven and the First Immigrant”, “The Curtis Legacy” (http://www.flickr.com/photos/galanin) 549 https://docs.google.com/leaf?id=0AaSLecEfbJC1ZHRkcXprOV83MmR3MmRw cmNk&sort=name&layout=list&pid=0B6SLecEfbJC1Nzg5NjY0ZjctNGJlMy00MG VhLTkzNWEtZDMzNTUzZDY1OWE2 267

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His example can be cross-referenced with the more traditionally oriented carvers of Alert Bay550, whose approach nevertheless brings them in conflict with conservative values, as they are present in contemporary art galleries, their pieces taken out of their cultural context. It is not an easily resolved matter, as I could experience when discussing with a group of 'Namgis that had come to one of my presentations about future enterprises we could pursue together. One of the well-known artists was very enthusiastic about my idea of developing an exhibition revolving around a mask that would be borrowed from its owner after having been danced on a potlatch.551 But he also warned me of the delicacy of the matter, as such a mask would usually be stored out of sight except when it was danced, and I might fail to come to an arrangement due to its cultural weight. After the discussion one of the elders approached me, saying, “I didn’t want to speak up in front of the people, but he who advised you to be sensitive to these cultural delicacies is the same person who exploits our traditions by selling masks to galleries, which he may not even have the right to carve, as they are not heirlooms of his family.” As Galanin puts it, “Elders have difficulty seeing themselves in pieces such as the generic faces created from [reams of] paper, (…) though the concept speaks to issues our culture deals with today (…)”552. He also says “Tradition is a gift (…) Coming from a culture with a strong visual language, I risk cutting myself free from this when I work away from these forms(.)”553 In his photo series “The Curtis Legacy”, Galanin exposes nude photographs of indigenous women wearing oversized (indicating their destiny as pieces for the art market, rather than function life in a traditional context) Northwest Coast masks, which he had commissioned to be carved by Indonesian artisans, who are proclaimed to destroy the indigenous art 550

see Schoer in De Bruyne/Gielen, eds. (2011), pp.252-262 See Next World, section iii) Expanding 552 Aldrich (2006), quoted from https://docs.google.com/leaf?id=0AaSLecEfbJC1Z HRkcXprOV82OWN3Nmg4Ng&sort=name&layout=list&pid=0B6SLecEfbJC1N zg5NjY0ZjctNGJlMy00MGVhLTkzNWEtZDMzNTUzZDY1OWE2&cindex=2 553 ibid. 551

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market by selling cheap copies indistinguishable for the lay audience (which, according to my sources in Alert Bay, applies to basically all potential customers in the regular art market). Edward Curtis had also put a lot of effort in the staging of his photographs of indigenous people, often requesting them to dress in what he perceived to be traditional garb, whereas when he had found them, they had long incorporated Western clothing into their style. He also was very determined in the arrangement within the picture. Galanin received a lot of appraisal for conceptual depth, but also heavy criticism from many of his kinsmen, which confirms that a “culture” never is as homogenous from the inside as it might appear from the outside; hence the quest for original or authentic meaning often rests on erroneous assumptions. As you may have noticed, Ortiz and Napoleon not only came to my attention by learning of their work through secondary means, I have actually talked to all three individuals introduced above. I think in order to achieve the degree of coevalness demanded by Fabian, it is mandatory to not only to theoretically acknowledge their significance, but to really, in person, talk to people like Napoleon, Ortiz, Galanin, Bruce Alfred, the Elders Galanin speaks about, in general to a theoretically saturated sample (if ever possible) of the cultural unit to be described. The only alternative, and only as the result of the usual resource limitations, to this is the path I chose; to talk to people without a claim for saturation and to treat the findings as the result of dealings with individuals, that I don’t perceive as research subjects, but as people I meet in the course, and consult due to their relation to my field of research. And to be perfectly clear on that relation in all public situations. The obvious restrictions of this approach notwithstanding, to me the examples of Napoleon and the others show how important the coeval discourse is, if we are to not only analyse the Other, placed within our frame of reference in the anthropologist’s cupboard. It will help us to really understand each other as equals in a global world of mutual respect, which is much more modest (and valid) than the structural269

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ist’s claim, who doubtlessly would have found his raws and cookeds in Napoleon’s story, but probably would have missed its practical uses as indicator for a legal code or other applications. Ortiz says “Collaboration means participation in the acquisition of knowledge, to understand each other, a dialogue.”554 Once a functioning line of communication with them has been established, the real work can begin. The problem that remains is, as much as we may prefer this, the First Voices cannot always be present in person, and not all museum visitors will wish to invest the time it would require to acknowledge their position. In such a case we have to find ways to let them passively participate in the dialogue as much as possible.

554

from Ortiz’ keynote at the AIW2011 in Graz

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V Conquista Personal (Reconquista) Listen, listen, listen, listen Listen, listen, listen, listen Moccasin, moccasin, moccasin, moccasin Moccasin, moccasin Circle, circle, Drums, drums, Drums, drums, Pound, pound, Rattles, rattles, Rattles, rattles, Sing, sing, Sing, sing Wind howls like a wolf on the hill, Thunders thunder Shake, shake, Shake, shake Wind sings in the cold air, Wind sings in the cold air Wind sings in the cold air, Wind sings in the cold air Moccasin Moccasin Moccasin Moccasin Move move, Move move, Wind howls, Wind sings Leaves fall in the frost Apples ripen in the frost Wolves seek lairs in the frost Snow falls, Hills rise, Sun sets, Sun sets, Sets Moccasin, moccasin, Circle circle, Dance dance We come to greet and thank The winds, the birds, the snow, the drum, the drummer, the dance, the dancer Move move, Move move, Move move, Move move Sun moves Moccasin Maurice Kenny555 555

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V.1 My Story: Essentially Communication These societies are as “primitive” as our own. The past of humanity is the same everywhere. From the time humans occupied the earth, societies developed. They have evolved, have taken new forms, or they have disappeared and have, in the latter case, made room for other, new ones. Not a single one, that we could study directly in the course of the past centuries or that we are still studying, offers the miraculously preserved picture of those societies that our distant ancestors lived in. Claude Lévi-Strauss556

It should have become obvious by now that I don’t side with Columbus or Darwin. In the global village we have to live as equals, but not in uniformity. It is also obvious that I do not wish to expose savages in a human zoo, live or recorded, or to show or use expressions of foreign cultures without commentary or interest in the people behind the objects and the ideas we might see in them. We are far beyond any biologistic or otherwise justified presumptuous attitudes, so there is no need to equal difference with inferiority, or similarities with proof of the superiority of our system. I also dismiss the image of the pure, unspoiled noble Indian as some sort of ambassador of the happy innocent childhood of mankind. Looking back at the issues discussed in this chapter I will now situate “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” by returning to the objectives launched in its introduction. The task of “Two Weeks”, my task, is to mediate, to communicate, between two local bubbles, two chronotopes, that of the Kwakwaka'wakw, the emitter, and that of the museum visitor, the recipient, neither of which is internally a homogenous unity. To enable me to do that, I utilised anthropology, First Voices, and my Session Musician’s Approach. Knowing the history of anthropology helped me understand the recipient’s state of mind and the emitter’s reluctance to share knowledge. Knowing its recent debates equipped me with the reflexive toolkit to monitor my methods, to master 556

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obstacles I would have been ignorant of, had I limited myself exclusively to the musician’s mode of thought. Let us look at the questions asked in advance and find out if I now can provide answers to the practical problems identified: •

Can I present/represent a culture I am not a member of? Can I indeed provide an overview of the cultural area of the Pacific Northwest Coast of North America? -> generalisation, representation

As I have already laid out in World Two, I have decided otherwise. It turns out that this was a mindful decision, as the insights derived from ethnographic fieldwork and anthropological theory show, that for several reasons such an attempt would have been destined to fail. Neither did I have the resources, nor is the product in its limited extent fit to serve this purpose. Generalisation from small situational samples is risky at best and should therefore not be attempted, especially when the product is aimed at a lay audience. Apart from that, the cultural area of the Northwest Coast, though widely accepted, even among indigenous people from the area, remains too vast and diverse a field as to squeeze it into 40, 20, or six minutes of audio. For a lay audience it would be extremely challenging to distinguish between exemplary depiction and the concreteness of individual situations and people. In consequence, it seems wise to stick to the original idea of presenting “Two Weeks” as the snapshot that it is, trying to maintain transparency about its maker(s) and the process of its making.

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•

Can I take my audience out of their habitual (orientalist) perception without discrediting man’s instinctive need to compare with, demarcate from, explore the (exotic) Other? How much orientalism is still present in my own thinking, and how much of this reflects in my work? -> the Other, orientalism

To acknowledge one’s own entanglement with the Orientalist tradition of the West is the prerequisite for transcending it. I do not believe that I will ever be able to fully overcome it, but knowing it is there I can deal with it, remove it from my work, where possible, and consciously incorporate it, where sensible. The greater challenge arises where the audience is concerned. From my own experiences in surveying, interviewing and observing NONAM visitors and workshop participants as well as many instances in other contexts, academic lectures, conversations with acquaintances etc., I could get empirical confirmation of Said’s hypothesis, to varying extent, but seldom undetectable. This mindset, grown over generations, and presumably rooted in instinct conditioned by evolution, cannot be negated or eliminated, and perhaps this would also not be useful. What is important with regard to the objective of “Two Weeks” is the relativisation of Said’s Orientalism with its negative connotation: That the Other is inferior. I have explained in World Two, and systematised in Between the Worlds, what techniques I have applied to situate the Kwakwaka'wakw of Alert Bay in the there and now, by combining everyday sounds with “cultural” sounds. I could have opted for the provocative solution of accompanying people on their daily routines without putting a special focus on cultural peculiarities; a potlatch certainly is not what I would call “daily routine”. That, however, would have resulted in an indifferent piece that would have irritated the listener, being presented in an ethnographical museum, and likely missed its purpose entirely. I have to give the listener something. Something familiar to hold on to. So I have to meet the listening conventions he is used to, from cinema, television and pure audio media, and I have to meet the expecta274

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tions he brings with him, from museum visits, books, and his upbringing. I can only try to carefully break with these conventions, transgress borders, juxtapose exotic (“Oriental”) elements with the everyday, hoping to stimulate a process that leads my audience past evolutionism, past Eurocentrism, towards that coeval perception that Fabian calls for. In doing that, I nevertheless cannot deny the listener her fascination with the unknown, which triggered her interest in the first place, and, more importantly, to continuously compare herself with what she hears, the Other, to identify herself through detecting difference, but hopefully also similarities. This is a long and challenging road; “Two Weeks” can only be one small step on it. •

Considering the issue of the researcher and his productions’ (in-) capability of objectivity and the challenges of coevalness and representation, and generalisation from limited data, How much interpretation and how much artistic freedom can I allow myself before I cross lines academically and/or ethically inopportune? Can I really claim to have conferred with my informants on coeval terms? -> coevalness, self-reflection & interpretation, art vs. science, research ethics

This I cannot finally resolve. I can only do my best, and rely on the feedback I receive from my informants. As said before, the best solution in the context of “Two Weeks” is to strive for transparency in all aspects. To what extent this transparency can be achieved depends on context. I have of course tried to generalise as little as possible, but there is no failsafe that a listener may mistake my snapshot as being representative, despite all measures taken to avert that impression. Nowadays it is neither appropriate nor accepted among the “Natives” to continue ethnographic research the way it has been handled in times of open Western hegemony. The ties between colonising forces and the researchers coming from the same culture have resulted in a major feeling of distrust towards classical anthropological attitude and methodology. We cannot go 275

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into the wild anymore and collect data from savages; as Lévi-Strauss said, we may come as economists, psychologists, or sociologists, but no more as anthropologists,557 which at least, if we don’t want to give up the anthropologic project at large, calls for a more modest approach towards the Other, prompting a respectful exchange at eye (ear) level. We can learn as much from the Other as they may, if interested, learn from us. It is in the hands of the producer how much he consciously interferes with his material, and there will always be manipulations he may not even be aware of. I have to probe my consciousness and I have to question my ethical standards, which, if possible, should be aligned with those found in the society that is made subject of the work. Ultimately, only the producer himself can decide and know what he is doing, and he may still err, no matter how hard he tries. But try he must. •

How do I deal with o language use o the tension between First Voices and the artist’s perspective o the potential theft of intellectual property? -> language use, First Voices, intellectual property

In “Two Weeks” itself, the issue of politically correct choice of words fortunately is not present. In the accompanying texts I take the time to explain at length what I do; the work being first of all a personal one makes it easier to introduce individuals first and add information on the setting afterwards. The tension between First Voice and artist has been largely removed by the aforementioned transparency, and further balanced by including as much First Voice elements as the compositional concept allowed for. To stay true to the ethical standards from above, which are, for the indigenous community I have worked with, strongly linked to the issue of intellectual property, my solution was to stick to my original instinct and ap557

Lévi-Strauss (1961), p.8ff

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proach the whole project as a musician, not as an anthropologist. I do not “grant” my “informants” coevalness, instead I work with them as colleagues, who will “remain in the loop of all the projects that involved them, from production, to distribution, to analysis.”558 This is a “long-term commitment”559, that can be very tiresome and difficult to sustain, as it multiplies the amount of money and time that needs to be invested as compared to a clean smash-and-burn raid. You have to return, you have to invite people back to your home stage, you have to discuss your products. I have done my best by returning to Alert Bay several times and by inviting one of my main collaborators of one of these consecutive visits over to Zürich to see and hear for himself what I had been doing there. And I have been one hundred per cent transparent to my collaborators in all aspects. No data was used without the explicit consent of the people involved; all recordings were made under the premise that they would potentially be utilised for public presentation (of those, like the hamatsa whistles, that I was not permitted to use, I was aware, and accordingly left them out), all additional data, interviews, observations, and other, were delivered willingly, and by returning to Alert Bay and discussing my actions with my informants I could honour the trust that I had received in advance. Since there is no binding legal body, the assessment must “ultimately rest on my personal judgement and ethics”560, and the approval of the community can be withdrawn at any time, if I (unknowingly) offend someone, or there simply occurs a shift in paradigms within the community. It would be rather insensitive to create contracts according to Western standards, even if that could supply me with legal protection. And I do not have to remind the reader that, if all the contracts ever signed by the Red Man and the Man were enforced, the Man could barely leave downtown Manhattan without trespassing into the original owners’ territory.

558

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Still, I cannot be fully content with the result with regard to these aspects. There are many shortcomings that under different circumstances perhaps would have been handled differently. I would have preferred more of the story to be told not by me, but by the First Voices I collaborated with. The path I chose is an acceptable compromise, but certainly not the only path, and for different objectives other solutions need to be found. •

Is there a way out of the schizogenic (schizophonic/schizochronic) dilemma of reporting from other places; in other words, is there a way to conciliate all the local time bubbles in a glocal (rather than a global) timeframe? Can the soundscape approach negotiate between the jam session musician, the anthropologist, and the First Voice perspective? -> schizophonia, glocal time, auditory/atmospheric anthropology

The short answer: No. The long one is a bit more complex, and it was the subject of World Three to shed a light on the manifold challenges that have to be met to find that answer; the remainder of this chapter dedicated to a number of conclusions and suggestions in its resolve.

V.2 Only A Sith Deals in Absolutes On the one hand the immediacy and intimacy of sound may lessen the distance between observer and observed as compared to visual display, with a little luck tapping into his tacit knowledge, synchronising it on that affective level with that of my fellow “musicians”. On the other it is no less prone to misinterpretation than the latter. Sound events removed from their source of origin, geographically, temporally, culturally, will never be cleared of their schizophonic nature. For a recipient deprived of context and understanding for what happens in that other cultural bubble, any aspect of it is a closed 278

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book. So contextualisation and translation needs to take place. In order to make this possible, first of all, the absolutes of the West and the rest, the myth of the window into the past and of the cultural garden, and the superiority of Western civilisation as a given, which for a long time reflected in anthropology’s self-image, have to be deconstructed. As Lévi-Strauss noted, since we can no longer come as anthropologists, modesty is of the essence. Geertz’ suggestion to regard cultural performances (performance here used in the widest sense of the word) as texts that can be read is a vital step, his thick description certainly frees us from fatalism, but it cannot end there. In Triste Tropiques561, which comes in the disguise of a novelistic travelogue, Lévi-Strauss reveals a fascination for illiterate cultures, or, more generally speaking, alternatives to Western civilisation. In La Pensée Sauvage (“The Savage Mind”562) he establishes the claim that there is no qualitative difference between scientific thinking and what may be identified as mythical or savage thinking, or to directly relate to the three strategies brought together in this book, scientific methodology, artistic practice, and traditional cosmologies; the Western academic tradition is but one approach that can be chosen. There exists no cognitive supremacy of either, all thought structures are variations of a similar mode; “(t)radition and modernity are not “opposed” (…), nor are they in ‘conflict.’”563 The “primitive” is no less guided by reason than “civilised” man, he merely works on more concrete material, and with a stronger focus on what Lévi-Strauss describes as bricolage.564 The structural perspective allows a translation of

561 Lévi-Strauss (1955); though to be read critically, it proved a great inspiration for my own approach on writing 562 Lévi-Strauss (1966), especially chapter 1: The Science of the Concrete; French Original La Pensée Sauvage first published 1962 563 Fabian (2002), p.155 564 Lévi-Strauss (1966), p.29ff

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both forms. In both types of culture, classification takes place;565 the schemata are portable on an intercultural level.566 That proves to Lévi-Strauss that the structure of human thought is universal and uniform; all thought takes place within a system of confrontation of or comparison between extremes, a way of binary opposition. Such opposites would be: hot-cold, above-below, raw-cooked, etc. Only the manifestations are different according to the specific ontologies. The basic opposition remains that between nature and culture. Getting back down to earth and accounting for contradicting positions within historic and contemporary anthropology, I would not go as far as Lévi-Strauss, as thinking in opposites is thinking in absolutes. Between the raw and the cooked, nature and culture, or hot and cold, for that matter, there is also the well-tempered margin within which food becomes digestible, life becomes exciting, people can start to develop a personality of their own, with all the hues of grey and colour that are needed in order to present a middle ground between totalities of chaos and order. A communication system needs to account for these, binary thinking gets better with word length. Only a Sith deals in absolutes.567

565 ibid., p23, 27ff, 35f; affective/aesthetic classification p.24f; see also Böhme on affective classification (Böhme 2001, p.42), and World One, section IV: Aisthetic Atmospheres; in all cultures, the first step towards an evaluation of an experience takes place on an affective level. Only in a second step there will be a grading and classification within a pre-established intellectual structure, whose build-up may be based on mythical beliefs, scientific findings, or a combination of the two. The reasoning in this process will not differ significantly in both cases. 566 See for example Feld (1990), p.74f; table on the classification system for bird sounds of the Kaluli people of the Bosavi region in Papua New-Guinea 567 Obi Wan Kenobi, to Anakin Skywalker on the volcanic exoplanet Mustafar (19BBY)

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V.3 Participant Observation Ain’t no Rock’n’Roll I am not interested in anthropological theory that I can validate or saturate by exploring the peculiarities of the Kwakwaka'wakw, for example, write a critique on Mauss’ the Gift (French original first published 1923/24) on basis of what I could learn about potlatching tradition in the context of the power of giving. Potlatch even today may support the constitution of power relations in Kwakwaka’wakw society, but more than anything else, it has become an expression of identity, especially in the light of the generationlong ban, a celebration of still being there, and it is not my place nor my ambition to go any deeper than that. I am interested in letting them tell their own story, and doing my best not to obscure it too much by my filtering and interpretation. As indicated earlier, so far I could not live up to my own standards. In fact it is my, the bandleader’s, interpretation that is present heaviest in the rendering of my recordings offered in the museum. But, again, by keeping this fact transparent I hope to pay respect to my collaborators. The travelogues of Columbus and Darwin, the inspirational impact of overseas objects on visual artists, the human zoos at world fairs all represent different stages and modi of encountering the Other, on different levels of dislocation of the recipient in relation to the source, and so does “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”. Like in a game of Chinese whispers, every intermediary station bears the risk of distorting information, by imprecise rendering as well as weakly backed up or ideologically coloured interpretation. By writing this all down, I add yet another layer of removal, making the experience even more indirect and unreliable. Therefore the following chapter World Four will have to take on the challenge to minimise these effects in the museum, where “Two Weeks” is on display. I have argued strongly for thorough documentation and contextualisation for the sake of transparency towards the audience. But there is another aspect, which takes us back to Gernot Böhme. Looking at the full body of 281

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work this dissertation is made up of, a book, an audio CD, an interactive DVD-ROM, including maps, raw audio, photography, video, and more text, one could indeed speak of a well-documented project. However, I still believe that the first affective impression is the one that counts. So if you go into the Sound Chamber, in Zürich (anthro context) or in Wiesbaden (art context), and you can feel the mesmerising effect intended by the composer (orientalist as it may be at first glance), and you open up for what you hear and what layers you may find underneath, I have come closer to my goal than I could with a whole series of academic lectures or books. Perhaps scientific standards could suffer some vitalising fresh blood transfused from the Savage Mind; other forms of information dissemination, as it is happening already in many fields,568 will eventually be integrated in the academic canon. As so often, there is no final truth, no ultimate right or wrong, raw or cooked, all forms of communication, the explicit and the implicit, the analytic and the affective, will find their place in the system in the end: You can only grasp a system from the outside (and analyse the interplay of all its parts), but you can only grasp its meaning from the inside. Thanks to the Empire we all live in the same global bubble of Greenwich Mean Time, so why not get Franz Boas, Claude Lévi-Strauss, Clifford Geertz, Wim Van Zanten, Val Napoleon, Simon Ortiz, William Wasden jr. (and many other local, global, and glocal interlocutors) locked up in a room for a few days to talk things over, I am sure the results would be quite refreshing. At any rate, the last word should not lie with the outsiders. I think my Kwakwaka'wakw collaborators would agree. To listen and talk to Ortiz et al. is much more revealing in terms of cultural understanding than reading books or going to a museum. However, since that is not always possible, doing both appears to be the best way to get into the matter. The soundscape may touch even deeper layers, for it goes beyond the strict organisation of language. Added to the former, it may be the key to finally finding a mutual understanding between cultures. 568

See, for example, the proceedings publication with the Global Composition International Conference that took place in Dieburg (GER) in July 2012, p.8 a.o. 282

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V.4 Finally… Anthropology, being grounded in field data, never was a laboratory science. Those who have tried to make it such, have merely jeopardised its credibility and are accordingly dismissed. Contemporary anthropology combines classical field research and theory formation, and First Voice contributions with a coeval attitude. Incorporating the jam session musician’s approach can act as agent to unburden anthropology from its historic baggage, and also as a corrective within the reflexive process. If it is the objective of anthropology to understand culture, it must communicate, listen. Jamming is communication, within which listening to each other is at least as important as the sound making; only in the event of exchange it moves one step beyond observation and transforms into a dialogical, coeval process. The atmospheric, the affective, helps to transcend the factual; the soundscape approach as an “in-between” allows for the coexistence of different ontologies. Therefore, as announced in this chapter’s introduction, I will suggest an auditory anthropology (or even an atmospheric anthropology) in the book’s concluding chapter Next World to complement the existing branches of anthropology in the service of a holistic approach towards culture and the communication with the Other. We are all bricoleurs who use what we can find to piece together new forms of knowledge and expression taken from the world as it is. The socio-psychological study, more than any other aspect of anthropological investigation, requires that freedom from cultural prejudice which in itself can be attained only by the intensive study of foreign cultures of fundamentally distinct types that make clear to us which among our own concepts are determined by our modern culture and which may be generally valid, because based on human nature. Franz Boas569

569

Boas (1944 [1938]), p.685; 283

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Chapter Summary and Outlook III World Two was the largely innocent rendering of a field trip, recounting the creation of a composition on basis of the principles and value of the soundscape approach for cultural/ethnographic research. It became obvious that ethnography and anthropology carry some heavy baggage, rooted to significant extent in their entanglement with imperialism and colonialism. World Three discussed this baggage in regard to the Sounding Museum’s target group, the lay audience. In the history of encounters with the Other and of anthropology itself, problems were identified concerning the reception of “representations” of the Other, namely orientalism, which expresses itself as prejudiced projection of one’s own Eurocentric perspective into “primitive” cultures, and their schizochronic reception in a glocal framework. Transparency about the mediator’s actions and background, and therefore her/his impact on “representation” can, as claimed in Between the Worlds, be the key to coeval reception on the recipient’s side, a state that during fieldwork often comes naturally, my Session Musician’s Approach making collaboration with interlocutors a big jam session, but is easily lost in the process of “objectifying” findings, again stressing the importance of (whose) perspective (it is that is presented). Another aspect is ethical protocol, especially in regard to intellectual property, which is of particular relevance where it comes to indigenous societies with sometimes deviating copyright systems and almost always unfavourable experiences with “Western” visitors. Art is no less accountable than science when borrowing from the Other. In sound art, the phenomenon of schizophonia comes back: How do I bring across edited field recordings made elsewhere without (too much) distorting the original context and the message intended to arrive at the listener’s ear (and whose message is this)? I have suggested that, next to transparency, bringing in as many First Voices as possible in a given framework can strongly improve the outcome. 284

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World Four, as second part of the fieldwork, the implementation of “Two Weeks” in a museum, will discuss whether this approach can work by looking at the workshop “Das Tönende Museum” as conducted at the NONAM.

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Raven and Fog Woman570 Raven and his two slaves went out in their canoe to go fishing some day. They set out in fine weather but as they were floating along on the river all of a sudden they were surrounded by thick fog. They were pretty well lost with no idea which way to go when all of a sudden they realised a woman sitting in the canoe. It was fog woman and when they told her the problem she said to raven: Give me your hat - which he did. Fog woman took the hat, held it upside down and within this hat she captured all the fog until there was nothing left but sunshine and blue sky. Of course raven was thrilled and at once he decided to marry her. Then, one day, raven and one of his two slaves went out fishing while the other slave stayed at home with fog woman. The two of them were hungry and fog women gave the slave a basket and told him to get water from the well. When he came back with the water she held one finger in it and all of a sudden a huge salmon lay in front of them. The slave got all excited but fog woman told him not to let raven know anything about it. They feasted on the fish and were happy. But when the other two returned the slave went out to welcome them and raven realised right away that something had happened. When he found out what it was he asked his wife to make magic again. After a while of begging she agreed and told raven to take his hat and go and get water from the well, which he did. Fog woman dipped her hand in the water, and right away there lay five wonderful salmon. Raven became very excited and soon he wanted more. Fog woman finally went to the well and washed her long hair in the water, which brought them more salmon than they could ever eat. They built a huge smokehouse and enjoyed a happy life. But as it often goes when life gets too easy and carefree - people get bored and start quarrelling. Raven started treating his wife badly. He argued with her and when he started beating her she warned him not to continue on in

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this manner. But he wouldn't listen and one day, fog woman had had enough and bid him farewell. She walked toward the ocean and when raven noticed that obviously this was getting serious he went after her. However, as he tried to grab her, his arms slipped right through her as if she was pure fog, and she disappeared in the ocean. Raven was frustrated but then he thought, well, she's gone alright, but at least we have all the salmon and we don't have to fear for our future. He and his slaves went to the smokehouse but when they got there they realised that all the salmon, even the smoked ones had disappeared and there they stood with nothing left but the memory of a beautiful life.

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World Four:

Acoustic Experiences at the Lake. The Museum Side of the Medal NONAM, Sound Chamber, Workshop Format, Impact Evaluation

In this chapter I will mainly focus on the implementation of the soundscape approach in the museum. I will use the case of “Two Weeks in Alert Bay” at the Sound Chamber of the NONAM, and the workshop format into which these have been embedded, thereby trying to give a preliminary answer to the question: Does it work? For that I will first briefly look into the origin, history, and commonly agreed-on purpose of museums in general. In doing so, I will recapitulate a number of postulates from previous chapters, Böhme’s atmospheric approach and the entanglement of anthropology and imperialism in particular, with regard to their impact in the museum. The schizogenic nature of ethnographic data processing in a glocal framework has been addressed in previous chapters and is of course especially eminent in exhibition design, in particular, in our case, the schizophonic aspects of soundscape presentation, as well as the museum’s tendency for unidirectional communication, which I would ask you to bear in mind while reading this chapter. The main problems it addresses, dealing with the implementation of a cultural soundscape composition in an edutainment context, are well summarised in the words of Marcus Cheng Chye Tan: Traditional and ethnic sounds, in schizophonic conditions, have been repackaged for a culture industry which reinforces a schismogenetic relationship with the modem, creating a complementary relationship between oppositions of tradition and modernity, pop and ethnic, exotic and familiar. What results is a schizophrenic hybrid that interrogates the simulacra that is cultural production.571

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Then I will offer a brief overview of hypothetical and actual approaches for the use of sound in the museum, especially comparing the potential intimacy of audioguides with the group experience of loudspeaker presentation. The case study, however, will make up the largest section of World Four, followed by a brief conclusion discussing issues of removal of objects from their natural habitat and staged reality. This removal of objects must necessarily tie in with the (temporal) removal of foreign cultures and orientalistic projection as discussed in World Three, but also, by integrating Benjamin’s idea of the auratic agency of the object, with the in-between of the atmospheric experience I borrowed from Böhme in World One. Special focus, even more so than in the previous chapter, will be given to the museum visitor as the ultimate target subject of the Sounding Museum’s activities. By means of the data collected during research at the NONAM these conclusions could be backed up with partial theoretical saturation, also in order to identify a tendency towards the answer of the initially laid out question “how to make a good cultural soundscape composition for the museum.” In the end, however, it will become evident that the direct repercussions of the insights gained there are limited where it comes to the question of visitor impact.

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I Museum: Origin, History, Purpose A museum is a non-profit, permanent institution in the service of society and its development, open to the public, which acquires, conserves, researches, communicates and exhibits the tangible and intangible heritage of humanity and its environment for the purposes of education, study and enjoyment.572

This is the definition of the institution and concept of the museum as offered by the ICOM, the International Council Of Museums. Founded in 1946 in collaboration with UNESCO, the ICOM constitutes an international network, defining itself as a “leading force in ethical matters”573 when it comes to museum applications. I will look into the ICOM’s definition in order to find out whether, as Henrietta Lidchi asks, it is “essential or historical”, if “this interpretation varies over time”,574 and, finally, how much of it, in the light of this case study, I can adopt, or to what extent I would alter or extend, the original statement for my purposes. And of course I will trace notions of the use and the usefulness of sound. But first we should, as announced, take a brief look into the origin, history, and asserted historic and contemporary purposes of the museum.

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http://icom.museum/who-we-are/the-vision/museum-definition.html; according to the ICOM Statutes, adopted during the 21st General Conference in Vienna, Austria 2007 573 http://icom.museum/who-we-are/the-organisation/icom-in-brief.html 574 Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p155. The definition Hall refers to differs slightly from the one offered by the Icom (International Council of Museums) used above: „Museums exist in order to acquire, safeguard, conserve, and display objects, artefacts and works of art of various kinds“ (Vergo 1993, p.41; cf. Lidchi in Hall, ed. 1997, p.155). However, the questions she poses may be asked in both cases. Furthermore it seems adequate to discuss the most widely accepted phrasing as claimed by Icom: „The definition of a museum has evolved, in line with developments in society. Since its creation in 1946, ICOM updates this definition in accordance with the realities of the global museum community.“ and „This definition is a reference in the international community.“ (both from http://icom.museum/who-we-are/thevision/museum-definition.html) 291

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I.1 History of the Museum There is no need to trace the etymology of the term ‘museum’ back to classical Greece,575 nor to look at institutions or places that might vaguely fit into parts of the above definition in early history. It should suffice to cover the period and cultural background within which the “Western” museum as we know it today came into existence. Sometime in late Renaissance, the first collections emerged that went beyond the treasure vaults of monarchs and churches, in the form of Wunderkammern (cabinets of curiosities).576 These were, in the beginning, not much more than just that: more or less random collections of exotic objects, “exposing the wonders of nature to a selected public”577, somewhat more focussing on scholarly collection on the continent, and somewhat more loosely organised curiosity displays in Britain.578 In any case, with that the first step in musealisation had been taken, to collect and preserve objects of historic or documentary value. Due to the nature of these objects, and to the technological limitations of the time, an obvious visual bias could be attested. Observation, from the seventeenth century onward, is perceptible knowledge with a series of systematically negative conditions. Hearsay is excluded [...] but so too are taste and smell, because their lack of certainty and their variability render impossible any analysis into distinct elements that could be universally acceptable. The sense of 575

cp. Stocking (1985), p.3f cp. ibid., p.6; an “anthropological dimension” would not surface before the early 19th century, with the first “specifically ‘ethnographic’ collection” established no earlier than the 1840’s. 577 Fickers (2012); this and the following quotes from Andreas Fickers are taken from his keynote talk “In Search of the Sonic Aura: Challenging the WYSIWYG Approach in Historical Exhibition Making”, symposium Staging Sound in The Museum, Hilversum 02-03-2012; paper publication pending. See http://www.maas trichtuniversity.nl/web/Faculties/FASoS/Theme/StagingSoundInTheMuseum.htm; http://academia.edu/1795487/In_search_of_the_sonic_aura. Challenging_the_ WYSIWYG_Approach_in_Historical_Exhibition_Making 578 Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.155 576

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touch is very narrowly limited to the designation of a few fairly evident distinctions [...]; which leaves sight with an almost exclusive privilege, being the sense by which we perceive extent and establish proof, and, in consequence, the means to an analysis partes extra partes acceptable to everyone579

We can expect that Michel Foucault, to whom we owe this observation, would attest this dominance of the visual in museum display a clear functionality in the light of his extensive considerations of the logic of power relations. By silencing the object world, and putting it all under visual scrutiny, a relationship of disparity can be established which perfectly serves the strategy of authority and control through one-way, sterile580 observation581 as postulated by Foucault in, for instance, his case studies on penitentiary and mental institution design in the nation state. I have dealt with the visual turn that occurred around the era of Enlightenment in World One, and Schafer gives us his view on progressive societies as opposed to purely aural societies in his “I have never seen a Sound.”582 However, looking back at the coincidence (synchronism, rather) of anthropology and imperialism,583 it should come as no surprise that the visual dominion has not halted before the museum, which, as I will show on the following pages, has part of its roots in being the prolonged arm of the expansionist tendencies of European sea-faring nation states, whose aim must be to keep control over their subjects internally and externally alike. After all, “we are always at the edge of visual space, looking out with the 579

Foucault ([1966] 2002), p.132f sterile in the sense that the observer is always hidden behind a semi-opaque glass wall not to be penetrated from the side of the observed 581 in opposition to the concept of participatory surveillance as introduced by Albrechtslund (http://www.uic.edu/htbin/cgiwrap/bin/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/ 2142/1949; in this case directed at he Social Media phenomenon), which I believe to be a scam. If you take a closer look at the Patriot Act that was introduced by the Bush jr. Administration feeding on fear after 9/11, you will quickly realise that participatory surveillance (as in neighbourhood watches etc.) in the end all serve to entrench the persistent power relations. 582 Schafer (2009), pp.32-34 583 which World Three discusses at length 580

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eye. But we are always at the centre of auditory space, listening in with the ear,”584 and the system cannot allow the passive, emphatic tendency of the latter contaminate its instruments of control’s grip over its subjects. From the collection and display of curious objects in a cabinet of curiosities, combining social capital and scientific hobby,585 the conceptual focus of the museum would eventually transform into a more systematic setup, moving from classifying the objects by means of such crude distinctions as “Natural and Artificial ‘materialls’” to, for instance, in the case of botanical collections, the “hierarchical Linnean system of classification”, and also away from their mere peculiarity towards an interest in “’objective description’”. This would then also include the “proper cataloguing of materials”,586 taking on an attitude of selective collecting (with the selective process now aimed at the exhaustive coverage of a field of interest rather than the fanciness of an individual specimen) and systematic ordering, as the cultural historian Krzystof Pomian points out: These were collections with encyclopaedic ambition, intended as a miniature version of the universe, containing specimens of every category of things and helping to render visible [italics by me] the totality of the universe, which otherwise would remain hidden from human eyes.587

The museum as we understand it today came into existence; a research institute and also a site of knowledge production. However, as can be read from the quote above as well as from Tony Bennet’s comment on the historic development of the museum, the visual bias would prevail:

584

Schafer (2009), p.33 Fickers (2012) 586 all Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.156ff 587 Pomian (1990), p.69, cf. Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.158 585

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Throughout the last quarter of the 19th century, a new and distinctive emphasis being placed on the need to arrange and label museum displays in ways calculated to enhance their public legibility by making their meaning instantly readable for the new mass public which the museum increasingly saw as its most important target audience [...] It involves a fundamental reconception of the status and role of the museum object which now forms part of a rationalized exhibition space in which both objects and the relations between them have been thoroughgoingly bureaucratized in order that they might serve as the instruments of the museum’s commitment to a new form of public didacticism588

Accepting the needs of this new class of visitors, the didactic approach would soon be accompanied by a desire for an aestheticisation of the collected and displayed objects, the exhibition of which would, for practical reasons of protection and conservation, but also in service of the symbolic dimension of creating a shrine-like environment, often be dominated by glass cabinets. Little to no information given, the objects consequently seldom had more than an aesthetic value, with a quasi-religious aura around them, in an exhibition concept that the social anthropologist Sharon MacDonald calls “black-boxing”: By analogy with the use of the term ‘black box’ in the sociology of science to describe those technical objects or scientific principles which are taken as given by scientists without any knowledge of their background or workings, we might suggest that exhibitions tend to be presented as ‘glass-cased’ – this is, as objects there to be gazed upon, admired, and understood only in relation to themselves.589

Fickers identifies the 20th century (especially towards the end of it) as the era in which the focus of the museum shifted towards a “strong educational

588 589

Bennett in Macdonald (1998), p. 29 Macdonald (1998), p.2 295

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mission” 590. This recent retreat from the black box, however, cannot neutralise the museum exhibit’s staged nature, which today returns with a vengeance in the form of edutainment, the harshest developments of which come in the form of disneyfied591, i.e. theme-park-style, designs. A museum, as Lidchi points out, “does not deal solely with objects, but more importantly, with (…) ideas.”592 I will address what this means for anthropologic museums in a minute, but it is worthwhile to remain for a moment with some last basic assumptions about the function and Wirkung (effect) of objects in an exhibition, notably the concept of an object’s aura as brought forth by Walter Benjamin.

I.2 Aura and Constructed Meaning Benjamin argues that in the age of mechanical reproduction the aura of the “unique phenomenon of a distance” gets lost between the observer and the observed,593 a claim which we have to deal with when it comes to the analysis of a soundscape installation, which makes extensive use of reproduction 590

Fickers (2012) Disneyfication or disneyization “are generally used in a negative way, and they imply homogenization of consumption, merchandising, and emotional labour. They can be used more broadly to describe the processes of stripping a real place or event of its original character and repackaging it in a sanitized format. References to anything negative are removed, and the facts are watered down with the intent of making the subject more pleasant and easily grasped. In the case of places, this typically means replacing what has grown organically over time with an idealized and tourist-friendly veneer reminiscent of the "Main Street, U.S.A." attractions at Disney theme parks. (...)” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disneyfication) In the museum context, implications of this phenomenon must be taken into account when educative elements are weighed against entertaining ones, comforting manipulations against the presentation of potentially inconvenient realities, and, in general, an infantilisation and stereotypisation in presentation techniques. The museum objective in this case degrades into an excuse for entertainment and a staged feeling of security. 592 Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.160 593 Benjamin (1935), p.4 591

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technology. At this point, however, the postulate of the aura itself, which surrounded the exhibited object already (or especially) before the era of mechanical reproduction, is of the utmost relevance. It seems to be one feature of distinction for the museum to present its visitors with originals of whatever kind;594 a specimen of a deep sea fish preserved in alcohol, the death mask of King Tut, arrow tips (presumably poisoned, so they could, potentially, still kill!) of a yet “unspoiled”, primitive people from the rainforests of Papua New Guinea or the Amazon Basin. The knowledge (or the belief) to stand in front of such an original gives the object an “aura of authenticity”. Benjamin’s focus lay on art production, in which case the aura of an object would often be “promoting the ‘cult of the genius’ [inventor, artist] (…), framing the object as ‘masterpiece’”,595 which, from the atmospheric point of view, can create a much deeper impression than looking at sketches, or even photographs of the very same objects in an exhibition catalogue. For the case of the ethnographic object this idea can easily be adopted: Here the spectator stands in awe before this witness of the far, far away, grateful that he has been given this intimate experience of distance.596 However, in “presenting ‘auratic objects’ outside their natural environments, the ‘original’ aura is [already] destroyed.”597 This might not nonrestrictively be applicable to works of contemporary art, which often are created with their placement in a white cube in mind, but, alas, how true it is, when returning to Bobby Duncan’s potlatch in Campbell River! As you may recall, I saw Beau Dick dancing the deer transformation mask I had seen him carve in the course of the two weeks before, a very profound and deep experience, that could impossibly be recreated in a mu594

cp. Stocking (1985), p.4 Fickers (2012); note the difference, though not in quality, between art museums (the “genius”, “masterpiece”) and anthropological museums (the exotic, distant, alien etc.) 596 This must remind us of what Fabian says about distance; Benjamin’s aura perfectly serves as an affirmation of this misconceived, illusional perception of the Other. 597 Fickers (2012); cp. also Stocking (1985), p.4 595

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seum for the visitors, even if the exhibition designer had the mask, the dresses, recordings of the song, and other material connected to it at his disposal.598 Now, to “deal with this inevitable loss [of the original context], museums try to create a new narrative framework, aiming at staging a mediated experience of the ‘aura’”; a “structural framing”599 must take place.600 And here it becomes tricky. The visitor usually does not have the background information required to put himself into the place/time/situation the presented object(s) originate from, so he requires a substitute. This is offered by the exhibition design chosen for by the curator(s). In many cases they will try to come close to “reality” to their best knowledge. But since we’re dealing with several layers of removal, they must be, in many cases, condemned to fail. That this need not be a problematic issue, but indeed lies in the nature and original (though perhaps unconscious) purpose of the museum will now be laid out especially for anthropological museums.

598

See Next World (The Way of the Mask) for further considerations around this concept 599 both Fickers (2012); see also Clifford in Stocking, ed. (1985), p.5: The main factor for the nature of the “new” aura is the recipient himself; his frame of reference and imagination is the chief determinant on how a display is perceived. The exhibition designer must make use of his acquaintance with his target group to create an atmosphere that generates the desired effect. 600 The case of Comanche, “the horse who survived Custer’s last stand”, illustrates the ramifications of the removed object: Being, first of all, no more than a stuffed horse, the narrative of Comanche needs to be added to its objective presence, and, depending on what is politically en vogue, this narrative will change over time, or have different meaning to different audiences. The horse as the signifier may signify Custer’s heroic last stand, the unjust extermination of the indigenous peoples of North America, or the fugacity of life and thus the insignificance of man as a species, depending on your angle of entry. In any case it does need that underlying narrative for its auratic presence to be created/felt; Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.163ff Speaking with Roland Barthes, what happens with an object in the museum, is that it turns in to a simulacrum of itself; Barthes (1972), p.214f. 298

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I.3 Anthropology and Museum The discipline of anthropology has already been marked as, at least in part, a strategy of justifying colonial enterprises. More so, this must be assumed for the anthropological, or ethnographic museum, the older brother of the historical museum (which, on the other hand, in the case of imperialistic societies, need be no less problematic, if you take a critical look).601 The British Museum in London prides itself of owning and exhibiting several of the Benin Bronzes,602 seized during a punitive expedition in 1897 that lead to the downfall of the Benin Empire, which was then incorporated into the British Empire. It has been argued whether the Bronzes (along with countless other historical artefacts from all around the globe) should legally not rather belong to the successive societies of the respective areas. How much more justified then will be a claim on artefacts taken from living cultures,603 as compared to such that were already history when encountered, not to forget the infamous human zoos discussed in World Three?604 At the Ethnological Museum in Berlin a vast collection of objects, masks in particular, from Northwest Coast cultures can be found in the archives. When a party of visiting Kwakwaka'wakw got access to this collection a 601

cp. Stocking (1985), pp.4f, 7 see, for example, http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/highlights/highlight_ objects/aoa/b/brass_figure_of_a_portuguese-1.aspx 603 Museum International (UNESCO) 241/242: Return of Cultural Objects (The Athens Conference); May 2009, contains a large number of case studies and theoretical considerations as were discussed on the General Conference of UNESCO held in Athens 2008, among others the Benin Bronzes, and a contribution by Andrea Sanborn on the repatriation of a mask seized during the Cranmer potlatch in 1921; see World One, 4th Movement, section xii) Potlatch (pp.81-86). See also Gößwald: “The ICOM meanwhile recognizes that cultural heritage is an integral component of identity for a given community” (p.89, same volume), and Ferri: “(…) when cultural goods are removed from their context, they lose their ‘soul’, both objectively and in the eyes of the viewers” (p.92, same volume). These statements serve to span the arc from the intangible heritage discussion in World One to the issues at stake for source communities (World Two/Three) and museum visitors in this chapter. 604 See also the heritage discussion in World One, section V: Intangible Cultural Heritage 602

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few years ago, William Wasden jr., who was among that delegation, immediately identified a number of these objects, in particular the 'Nulis Mask, as being a heirloom of his family.605 This particular mask was, more than a century ago, officially sold to a collector, not looted from its original owner. However, many of the objects in museum collections are booty, but what’s more, they are yet another tool for justification. The ethnographic collections preceded the emergence of the discipline of anthropology,606 they might, in fact, have inspired it, just as the exhibitions on primitive cultures inspired the Primitivist movement in the visual arts.607 Now, if museums are to be the microcosmic display of the universe, the ethnographic museum must in turn be the microcosmic representation of the Empire. Ethnography “seeks ‘to describe nations of people with their customs, habits and points of difference’”.608 “Nation” here is a daring notion. Since most “objects which ethnographic museums hold (…) were (…) made or used by those who at one time or another were believed to be ‘exotic’, ‘pre-literate’, ‘primitive’, ‘simple’, ‘savage’ or belonging to ‘vanishing races’”,609 all of which are terms applied to peoples which were believed inferior to their observers, they were certainly not perceived as nations the way the members of the observing culture would identify themselves as being part of a nation or state. In fact they were the opposite of the well-ordered, expanding European civilisation who now were subject to the benefits of becoming civilised as well, whether they had asked for it or not, or, in other words, (many) “ethnographic objects have entered into western collections purely as the result of unequal relationships of power”.610 And

605

personal conversations with Wasden (10/2009) and Hatoum (11/2010); cp. Hatoum (2011), pp.155-73 606 Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.161 607 see World Three, section I.1: Pictures of an exhibition; cp. also Stocking (1985), p.6; on the history of re-contextualisation and aesthetisation of ethnographic objects 608 “common“ definition according to Lidchi; Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.160 609 ibid., p.161 610 ibid., p.167, see also Stocking (1985), p.5 300

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that is the crucial point. If you could prove their backwardness in the museums back home, there was no need to ask for their consent.611 So, next to being a display of the grandeur of the nation state that brought its glory even to the last corner of the Earth, boasting about its supremacy, it would at the same time show the rationale of helping the poor wretches who still spent their miserable lives without gunpowder and chamber orchestras. The issue of (re-)constructed meaning therefore is one of the greatest challenges ethnographic museums have to face today. Although many of them of course do acknowledge and try to deal with their exhibition informants on coeval terms, the danger of stereotyping is imminent, especially in respect to their visitors’ expectations. To accept that different cultures may be moving in different directions and are therefore not observable, or at least difficult to interpret, as Lévi-Strauss claims,612 or to grant coevalness to those who, from a Euro-centric starting point, appear to be less advanced still poses a challenge to many researchers, and more so to museum curators. The average museum visitor usually expects to be presented with the truth, not necessarily being aware of the constructed nature of what he is experiencing.613 Furthermore, he may not be interested in changing his world view on basis of what he is presented with, rather he would see his assumptions confirmed, a little expanded perhaps at best.614 So the problem remains, even given a highly sensitive and coeval attitude from the museum’s side, how to get the complexities behind exhibition construction across to the visitor. If even in anthropologists’ writings geographic (or cultural!) distance translates into temporal distance, how then is the museum visitor to understand that he is dealing with living people, no different 611 I already have pointed out in World Three the massive paradigm shift in that respect (see especially the sections II.2: Time and the Other, and III.4: The Apple Tree), which, nevertheless, is far from complete, especially, as I will show, in museum exhibition design, and not easily made obvious to the visitor. 612 See World Three, section 02, p.x; on the incomparability of cultures from within 613 „The popular perception of curatorial practice as a descriptive rather than an interpretative activity lends further support to this elision.“ Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.163 614 Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.202

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from himself, except for perhaps a number of cultural traits unfamiliar to him (but by no means an indicator for inferiority)?

I.4 Museum and Media: Intermediary Reassessment ICOM Definition Before we now turn to the particular value of the use of sound in the museum context, we should return to the definition of the purpose of the museum as introduced in the beginning of this section, also in the light of the use of media: A museum is a non-profit, permanent institution in the service of society and its development, open to the public, which acquires, conserves, researches, communicates and exhibits the tangible and intangible heritage of humanity and its environment for the purposes of education, study and enjoyment.

Historically, the reported development of the museum from a Wunderkammer into an identity-generating tool of the nation state already bore the seed of its later function. To summarise: the earliest public museums evolved in the wake of Enlightenment out of private collections of antiquities, artworks or "curious natural objects"615, rounded up by wealthy individuals, ruling families and the clergy. Universities and municipalities established institutes that were accessible to a widening public (before, usually only members of the higher classes, often with a letter of admission, were allowed to enter). The Louvre in Paris became the first museum open to all visitors during the French Revolution in 1793.616 Museums generally started as rather weakly structured exhibitions loosely displaying random objects that in some way seemed of interest (in case of the Louvre for example representing the rich heritage of 615 616

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Museum ibid.

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the "Grande Nation"). In the universities this took place within a scientific context, in exuberant collections, or, as the palaeontologist, biologist and geologist Anton Fritsch617 put it in 1904, as "overcrowded storehouses of material, purposelessly heaped together"618. By the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century the claim became more clearly articulated to restructure the public exhibitions into "a collection of well expressed, terse labels, illustrated by a few well selected objects"619. It had also been realized that "even when there is nothing strikingly incongruous or offensive in the manner of exhibition, the mere removal of objects from their natural environment places them at a disadvantage"620. It was clear to many curators and otherwise responsible individuals that, in order to reach the unlearned public with the museum's educational aspirations, strategies had to be developed to attract people to visit museums and to offer them something graspable to take home. They had to be teased into the exhibitions, and when inside, provided with a set of information that was exciting as well as (presumably) informative. The use of contemporary "multimedia" applications such as magic lantern slides and dioramas, formerly seen as of purely entertaining quality, was taken into consideration. But as soon as these “multimedia” ideas crept to the light of day resistance against the popularisation came along. Fearing a relapse into the medieval panopticum, whereas the museum was to be a place of education and science,621 the introduction of new technologies was discussed as controversially as a suggested oversimplification of scientific ideas.622 But in order to keep the museums attractive, a balance had to be found between

617

Prof. Dr. Anton Fritsch, or Antonin Fric (1832-1913) was professor for zoology at Prague University. (http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antonn_Jan_Frič) 618 Fritsch (1904), cf. Griffiths (2004); online resource w/o page numbers 619 George Browne Goode cited in Baker (1902), cf. Griffiths (2004) 620 Bather (1903), cf. Griffiths (2004) 621 see also Fickers (2012), sl.4; focus on education in the 20th cent. 622 Griffiths (2004) 303

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"science and spectacle"623. First efforts included the labelling of the exhibits, a technique not too common in the olden days, and the setup of habitat groups (natural history)624 and life groups (cultural history), that displayed the exhibits in a reconstructed “natural” environment. Fritsch also suggested the use of phonograph recordings to offer additional information.625 Another issue was the organization of the objects around thematic focal points. For museums charging an entrance fee, the question of how to encourage the public to pay (for) a visit has also always been a matter of economic survival. Most museums in Europe nowadays are indeed non-profit organisations, as they are usually state-funded or at least heavily supported. Whether that puts them into a more or less independent or unbiased position I will not argue about here.626 At any rate, it grants them a certain extent of freedom from economic pressure, so that they can at least strive to serve society in the way they think is best, limiting the amount of disneyfied elements to a minimum. Although in many cases at a fee, museums are open to the public, in fact, the educational mission is granted a prominent position, perceived by many curators to be of equal importance as the traditional tasks of acquisition, conservation, and research. So, yes, the old definition still holds, the exhibition of the “tangible and intangible heritage of humanity (…) for purposes of education, study and enjoyment” is what most museums try to offer their visitors. Nevertheless they also are the products of their history, and so is the habitualisation of their visitors. The black-boxing of objects is on the retreat, but much needs still to be done when it comes to 623

ibid. Donna Haraway’s observations tell us of habitat groups usually being comprised of one pair (strong male watching over smaller female nurturing the puppies); all specimen are in perfect shape (no deformations, disease, or death allowed in the display); the perfect Christian family in animal form. ten Bos (2008), p.54 625 Griffiths (2004) 626 An elaborate treatment can be found in Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), especially p.184ff on the politics of exhibiting, where she also returns to Foucault’s critique on institutional power mechanisms. 624

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transparency of the constructed nature of exhibitions and a credible attempt to coevalness, and, of course, the visual bias of exhibition design.

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II Sound in the Museum I have argued earlier627 that objects representing the tangible heritage of a culture may in fact be regarded as tangible proof of the intangible, the realm of ideas. So everything that is displayed in a museum in the end comes down to a representation of the cosmology and way of life of a people, historic or contemporary, hence, of its intangible cultural heritage. At the crossroads between the tangible and the intangible, the contemporary and the historic, we find recorded sound. In the following I will look at a number of examples how sound is used in museums. The case study of the Sound Chamber at the NONAM will form the main section of this chapter, giving a detailed account on the approach taken in the Sounding Museum research project, before I will again return to the definition that opened the chapter and find if my approach meets its criteria or if I would prefer an adaptation or adjustment of it.

II.1 Audioguide Virtually every museum offers guided tours to its visitors. A museum employee (or an underpaid student) takes groups of varying sizes on a tour through the exhibition spaces, giving away additional information, with a different extent of guided (the tour guide encourages responses by asking questions) or open (the participants may ask questions on their own accord) interactivity. So the first additional information/communication medium next to the objects themselves and the more or less complex label texts associated with them is the spoken word embodied by the voice of an expert held in stock by the institute. With the rise of audio technology and its multiple forms of storage and playback capabilities new forms of uses of sound could be introduced in the museum. 627

See World One, section V: Intangble Cultural Heritage

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At Sigmund Freud’s birthplace in Pribor (Czech Republic) you can rent an audio guide system from which Freud “himself ‘talks to visitors’”.628 He does so in different languages that can be chosen by the visitor when being handed the device, a small, headphone-carrying receiver/storage system that, in general, can be operated either by the visitor himself or, as being the case in this particular arrangement, triggered automatically by sensors in close proximity to the respective objects that by this means are explained in much more depth than could be achieved with the limited amount of space for text provided on average label plates. Additionally, due to the small size of the sensor hardware, the visual interference with the place can be kept to a minimum (in fact, in most cases the sensors can be hidden out of sight completely). The manufacturer stresses, that this form of information presentation can be as entertaining as it can be “profoundly scientific”629. Equally invisible, but this time allowing the visitor to make use of replay functions and including several installations at outdoor venues, the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg makes use of the same technology.630 Without causing aural distraction to others, information may be listened to over and over again, the seriousness of the museum’s subject matter, the systematic segregation and discrimination of South Africa’s majority population, being treated with appropriate care631 and intimacy. On a yet larger scale, audio guide implementation has been put into force in the city of Campeche, Mexico, UNESCO world heritage site since 1999. Here a tour of the city, outdoor museum venues, and a live show can be experienced with the help of a receiver-headphone combo. Not only does this installation feature multi-lingual pre-recorded audio tracks, due to the sender-receiver concept implemented in the hardware, live actors’ voices

628 http://www.guideport.de/sennheiser/guideport_eng.nsf/root/installations_cases_fr eud 629 ibid. 630 http://www.guideport.de/sennheiser/guideport_eng.nsf/root/installations_cases_ap artheid-museum 631 ibid.

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can also be transmitted directly to the user, enabling clear intelligibility independent from the listener’s distance from the sound source.632 This technology can of course also be used in regular guided tours, which, in museum spaces with poor acoustics, can be of great advantage, especially with larger groups. It also enables the guide to speak in a lower voice than required without such an aide, thus causing less disturbance, or allowing for a much closer spacing of held tours at one venue.633 All these solutions are based on an advanced edition of the classical audio guide; a small carry-on device with headphones containing spoken information on exhibition elements. Although additional audio content and alternative forms of content design appear to be on the advance, the basic idea is to support, supplement, or replace written information (as in label plates) by textual information read by a narrator to be listened to. In its modern form, a comparably high grade of versatility can be achieved concerning variability and density of content, with innovative concepts a level of intimacy can be realised that would certainly not be possible using printed labels exclusively. For example a personal confession of a real-live person on his or her sexual preferences spoken into headphones creates an emotional proximity that heavily transcends the distancing effect of the object as described in the previous section. A similar, if somewhat differing, approach in terms of hardware philosophy forgoes the headphones in favour of handheld mp3-players with a small loudspeaker to be held directly to the ear, just like one would do with a mobile telephone, for example at the Vermeer Visitor Centre in Delft (NL).634 Basically, the same content can be uploaded on these, the somewhat lower grade of intimacy635 is, from a pragmatic point of view, com-

632

http://www.guideport.de/sennheiser/guideport.nsf/root/stories_cases_campeche http://www.guideport.de/sennheiser/guideport.nsf/root/guideport_b-headphoneskopfhoerer-ausstellung-guide-museum-konferenz.html 634 http://de.guideid.com/site/home 635 The option of using stereo or binaural recordings (see http://www.soundmap.co. uk/; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Binaural_recording) also gets lost here, so the 633

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pensated for by the lower risk of damaging the device and easier to maintain hygienic standards (in case of headphones one would need to replace the foam caps after every use). In both cases an individually created route through a museum or other venue can as easily be allowed for as a pre-developed path can be created by the content provider, even with fixed time slots within which the user is expected to move from one point to another, as it is being done in the London Walks developed by Soundmap.636 Here everything has been preproduced, the level of interactivity is very low, with a fixed route and timeframe. Spoken directions are combined with composed ambiences and interview bits relating to the area and/or historic events that took place there, working with time witnesses and heavy sound design.637 Even the pacing has been pre-conditioned by the inclusion of a footstep-based rhythmic element to ensure that the user is travelling at the pre-devised speed.638

II.2 Loudspeaker-Based Applications Next to these portable solutions fixed listening stations have come into use, in the more sophisticated cases with touch screens or buttons for individual operation, headphone-based639 or with small directional loudspeakers. These operate at the junction to ambient loudspeakers that are not aimed at individual listening experience, but are placed in exhibition spaces with the presented sound events to be heard by all visitors present at the same time. sound-aesthetical loss is considerable, less sophisticated content production advisable. 636 http://www.soundmap.co.uk/ 637 as presented at the Staging Sound symposium 2012, Hilversum 638 ibid. 639 Hörinsel (“Listening Island”) Villa Clementine, Wiesbaden, GER (fixed installation), and travelling exhibition on post WWII Jewish life in Germany by the Amadeu Antoniou Stiftung as set up at the Aktives Museum Spiegelgasse, Wiesbaden, 2011 309

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Often they employ looped samples of different lengths, either working in a background sound mode, or, and then usually at a higher volume, as major factor of the experience.640 Another in-between is the (rather pricy and very delicate to handle) idea of the sound shower,641 where several highly directional loudspeakers are designed to be heard only in very sharply defined small areas within the same exhibition space, thus eluding the necessity for carry-on devices without creating a wild cacophony of interfering sound sources. A very potent variant of the sound shower has recently been employed at the NONAM: For a special exhibition on “traditional” indigenous education methods three armchairs have been equipped with small, directed speakers on ear height.642 By pushing a button on the armrest the user can start short sound files the contents of which correspond to the object or silent movie in sightline of the seating position. Though slightly limited in frequency range, especially on the lower end, the potential possibilities of use of these chairs range widely. The listener sits comfortably, sound can be presented in stereo, the level is high enough at the listening position due to the proximity of the ears to the speakers, but barely audible just a few steps away. Last, there are of course many examples to be found where sound is explicitly used as background ambience, a forest atmo in the exhibition space for the endemic woodland wildlife of Limburg province in the natural history museum of Maastricht, village atmo in a section of the anthropologic de-

640

Visitor Centre Jüdische Gedenkstätte Berlin (names of victims read aloud; middle ground), Natuurhistorisch Museum Maastricht (special exhibition on local wildlife 2007; background), Ethnologisches Museum Berlin (historic recording of traditional song in the Africa dept.; middle ground), special exhibition „Two Weeks in Alert Bay“ at the hr2 hörfest at the Villa Clementine in Wiesbaden 2011; (foreground), exhibition on WWII in Wiesbaden, around 2005 (recreation of an air raid in an old bomb shelter by means of explosion sounds as they would have been heard form inside; foreground) 641 http://www.holosonics.com/ 642 See photograph in the NONAM section of the “Raven Travelling” DVD 310

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partment of the Grassi Museum in Leipzig, harbour atmo in a navy museum, weapons’ fire in a war display, and so forth.643 It may be argued whether the collective or the individual experience (basically loudspeakers or audio guide) has the greater impact on the visitor, pro’s and con’s will certainly be found for both approaches. What most of the examples listed above have in common, with the exception maybe of Soundmap and of course “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”, however, is that the sound elements employed are in service of visual objects, as a surplus added to the pre-existing visual exhibition, often a mere extension to written text. Sound as a standalone or at least dominant/equal feature within an exhibition concept is still scarcely found.

643

In his study on visitor impact of piped-in moderate level soundscapes Robert Jakubowsky postulates that the inclusion of sound/soundscapes in the conceptual framework of exhibition design influences visitor satisfaction, dwell time, (selfperceived) knowledge gain, etc. Applying the soundscape approach in a rather intuitive way, he created seven settings (natural atmo, classical music, voices, each at low and medium level, plus a control setting with no piped-in sound) in an art exhibition as well as a natural history exhibition, and conducted a large-scale survey, qualitative interviews, and visitor tracking. He concludes that “the fact that the manipulation of sounds had any impact at all suggests that museum soundscapes deserve more than a cursory overview“, but also that this “is not to say that adding congruent sounds is always the best option. On the contrary, there were certain situations herein in which ambient (no sound) seem to be the best choice.” Jakubowsky (2011), p.80 The moozak-like character of Jakubowsky’s design notwithstanding it can be regarded as a step forward to systematically deal with sound applications, no matter of which format, leading away from the disneyfying effects of simply piling up multimedia technology in museums’ exhibition spaces. 311

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II.3 Sound as the Central Medium644 When the Nibelungen Museum in Worms645 opened its Gates in 2001 at least some of the visitors must have been irritated at first. In an old tower with barely any pictures on the walls they were supposed to feel the spirit of the Middle Ages and learn about historic times and myths of the area of Worms. Here the sound files stored on the audio guide included in the entrance fee and triggered by sensors next to uncomfortable wooden chairs fashioned after medieval furniture on the different levels of the tower were basically all they got. When I visited the place in 2007, it was my first time in a museum that I could really concentrate on listening, as the visual distraction was kept to a minimum. One could say that in this case the old tower walls and the damp light and smell of the centuries really supported the sound, and not the other way around. Mario Adorf, one of the grandees of German theatre and cinema, could be won as the narrator of the Nibelungen saga, with additional information added, and interpolated by excerpts of the original medieval German version of the epic poem. However, again the focus lay on the spoken word, which, although well narrated, to a large extent could have been read in a book without too much loss in authenticity. This was different on the little passage that opened up once I had reached the top level of the tower. From a doorway in the wall it was possible to walk some old battlements over to a second tower (from where the descent back to ground level could be made). At every embrasure a small label showed a picture of Worms in the course of history, in steps of approximately one century at a time. Along with these pictures (or rather, and that is what made it special, the pictures illustrating the sounds) a soundscape composition was played that presented what one would have heard in the respective age. No narrator interfered with this immersion in another time, alone on the battlements.

644 645

Data partly derived from Schoer (2007), pp.46-51 http://www.worms.de/extern/nibelungenmuseum/index.php

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Usually, installations that actually focus on sound can be found in places where this happens in service of sound itself. At the Dasa (Deutsche Arbeitsschutzaustellung) in Dortmund the acoustician Richard Schuckmann built a Lärmtunnel (noise tunnel), for which he developed a design that allows the visitor to pass through different sound pressure zones represented by sound samples like rain, classical music, airplane engine, to give an impression of loudness with reproductions of real-live sound sources.646 At the indoor and outdoor exhibition Erfahrungsfeld der Sinne (realm of the experience of the senses) on Schloss Freudenberg in Wiesbaden the different senses can be experienced, with a slightly esoteric slant, on a very affective level.647 It is not so much a surprise that the place is mainly aimed at children. Once we leave such technical or basic applications, sound in most cases moves into the background, again becoming an add-on, a means to create a more lively experience of objects, but not leaving the object-based approach, like the big America on the Move (AotM) exhibition commissioned by the Smithsonian Institution, where interviews, ambient compositions, and all kinds of sound were utilised to keep the visitor’s attention and get her deeper into the story.648 In recent times some fresh ideas have been introduced, like soundscape compositions dealing with historic settings in empty rooms where the visitor is asked to lie down and just listen,649 or where characters can be uploaded onto audio guides that represent historic individuals that you can follow acoustically through their day in the building that is the museum venue.650

646

Watch http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1ES2eCQDVo for an impression. http://www.schlossfreudenberg.de 648 see also Schoer (2007), pp.51-54 649 Special exhibition Sound Ways (2011) at the Aboa Vetus & Ars Nova Museum in Turku (SF) 650 heard of in a conversation at the Staging Sound Symposium in Hilversum (NL), February 2012 647

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Again, it may be asked, whether it is to be preferred to walk about an exhibition undisturbed by the interference of acoustic elements, to contemplate in silence before mute objects and their auratic atmosphere, or to be immersed into a multimedia, diorama-like illusion of a staged reality as a holistic experience. What needs to be determined is if there is indeed an original value to sound in the museum. In order to find an answer to this question, a situation needs to be created that allows for analysis difficult to acquire in the aforementioned (see AotM) holistic concept. The auditory needs to be separated from the visual, since, as I have argued in World One, we have so much to relearn when it comes to listening that any distraction may take us off the track. So, as a starting point, it seems a good plan to create an environment that focuses on sound and by and large excludes all other sensations. This is the approach I took with the Sound Chamber at the NONAM.

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III NONAM/Sound Chamber The Nordamerika Native Museum – Museum für Indianer- und InuitKulturen (NONAM) in Switzerland, is picturesquely situated in the Seefeld district of the city of Zürich, in a quiet neighbourhood next to the Zürisee. In 1963 the private collection Hotz was bought by the city of Zürich and transferred to a locked-down school, which was turned into a museum on North American Indians. It moved to its present location in 2003.651 On two floors it covers historic and contemporary indigenous cultures of North America, from the icy wastes of the Arctic to the hot deserts of Nevada. Out of the ten cultural areas defined for the continent, it features the Arctic, the Sub-Arctic and the Northern Woodlands,652 the Northwest Coast, the Plains and Prairies, and the Southwest in its permanent exhibition. Temporary special exhibitions have covered a broad range of topics in recent years, such as kayak building, the silver smithery of the Hopi, Navajo, and Zuni, mask carving of the Inland Tlingit, beadwork, wildlife, the paintings of Karl Bodmer, and a photo exhibition about Greenland and its indigenous culture, to name a few. In 2008, the former video cabin was transformed into what is now the Sound Chamber. According to the designs of Richard Schuckmann, the interior and stage designer Heinz Krisi refurnished a small wooden booth into a space of acoustic experience. Four high- and mid-frequency loudspeakers and an enormous subwoofer hidden behind a black curtain since then allow for surround playback in an acoustically treated environment that comes close to an anechoic chamber. It is worth to take a brief look into the genesis of this project before I discuss its current use.

651

http://www.stadt-zuerich.ch/content/kultur/de/index/institutionen/nonam _indianer_inuit_kulturen/das_museum.html 652 These two for now share one section, but will be separated after the redesign due 2014 315

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The first plans to include a sound installation at the NONAM were modest, temporary, and not much more than a neat gimmick for us, but nevertheless already held the potential of what we finally were able to realise. In the course of the planning for a special exhibition celebrating the international polar year653, a small delegation of sound-o-philes, namely Schuckmann and me, travelled to Zürich early in 2007 to discuss the options of a sound application that was to accompany the special exhibition “ai’guuq”654, featuring historic artefacts of the circumpolar indigenous cultures found in and loaned from various Swiss anthropological museums. Being in the middle of the International Polar Year, our first visit was framed by the aforementioned special exhibition on kayak building655, and when I returned a few months later to make the acoustic measurements (mainly impulse responses, frequency sweeps and noise measurements) that Schuckmann needed for further planning, the Greenland photographs of Markus Bühler-Rasom656 were on display. A small tube-shaped space (at the back of which a door opens to the sanitary area of the museum) not in use at the time was the first candidate for a temporary installation. We were thinking white sheets that the visitor could stare into, seeing – not much. But hearing things. There was the faint hope (which quickly faded) of getting funding for an expedition into the Arctic to make recordings that could then be played back in this place. We were already thinking in surround sound, so the visitor would look into the endless white of the polar circle, and would hear its sounds all around him. However, we had no idea where to get the sounds, and how to achieve the real feel that we aimed for from the beginning, since the small room acoustics would completely distort the experience: the feeling of void that can be heard in the free field with no obstacles obscuring sound’s path would immediately break down in this small tube with its highly reverberant walls.

653

http://www.ipy.org/about-ipy “aiguuq! – Arktische Schätze aus Schweizer Museen.” NONAM (2008) 655 “Kanu Kajak – Boote der Indianer und Inuit.” NONAM (2007) 656 Bühler-Rasom (2007) 654

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It turned out that the installation would be a little too costly to realise, if it was only temporary. Therefore the museum started thinking about a more permanent solution, if the money was to be invested in us at all. We ended up at the video booth, a small chamber on the edge of the permanent exhibition area, with walls and a roof of pressed wood and a couple of benches and a large flat screen inside. These were quickly removed and then Schuckmann and I started our measurements and calculations. By covering all walls, ceiling, and floor with Basotect acoustic foam, we removed the reverberation. Our initial sketches still included the use of visuals, either in the form of photographs, or screens on the walls, but we quickly decided against that. The final design takes the visitor onto a round metal platform with a handrail around it, all black and dark (except for very a chary and fuzzy chain of light halfway from the floor – and dimmed by the black, half-transparent acoustic curtain in front of it – and an emergency light above the entrance), accessible via a softly ascending ramp.657 The little visual and lighting design applied created, as I have been told by visitors (and was the intention of the designers) a feeling of being in a cocoon, an igloo-like bubble floating in the dark, with the light chain as the horizon. Thus my laboratory came into existence, where I could research on the impact of sound with all other senses (especially vision), if not cut off, at least heavily attenuated. Once inside the Sound Chamber, the outside world is shut out by heavy curtains sealing the entrance, which swallow all the light and almost all the sound from the exhibition area. And then you hear it. Icy wind, first in the distance, then all around you. Someone walks past in snowshoes crunching on the frozen ground. Dogs howl at the church bells on the other side of the inlet. The first piece to be featured at the Sound Chamber was the soundscape of the Arctic circle,658 that we composed from archive recordings taken over

657 Construction sketches and other technical details on the Sound Chamber can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI NONAM 658 For a full description of the piece see Raven Travelling: NONAM/Inuit Soundscape

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many years by Philippe le Goff, a composer and expert on the Arctic and Inuit cultures of Canada, during his numerous visits to various communities of the Canadian territory of Nunavut. 200 hours of material were screened and compressed into a 21-minute narrative that told the story of an arctic year, indoors and outside.659 Visitors were impressed by the intimacy of the sounds from this exotic place, the wind, the walruses, the women playing katajait, the roaring thunder of a calving glacier. Some asked how we had managed the floor to actually shake during that last scene (which it didn’t), others reported that they had shivered form the cold (in a room that was warm above average, as we had to cut it off form the air conditioning system to get rid of the noise it made). A first qualitative and quantitative evaluation survey that I conducted in the summer of 2008660 showed, as I had expected, that 21 minutes were far too long for the average visitor to stay and listen to a piece of mainly nonmusical content, ambience sound without narration, and especially without any visual stimuli to support the imagination of the satiated consumer. A shorter version of approximately 6’30’’ was created to compensate for this to some degree, and although there were still people coming out after a minute pointing out that “the movie’s broken” (despite the one square metre label plate at the entrance notifying that it is a sound-only installation), it certainly helped to account for our walk-in customers. In the meantime, the evaluation also showed us enough positive resonance to further pursue the project. We then decided that we wanted at least one soundscape composition for each cultural area presented in the permanent exhibition. In 2009 we could secure funding for the Southwest, which was realised by Harald Brandt and Christian Calon, and the Northwest Coast, which, in form of the surround sound production “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”, has become the central piece

659

The original piece and its short version can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM by visiting the NONAM-POI on the interactive map. 660 see ibid.: Evaluation Report 318

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of the Sounding Museum research project,661 Plains and Woodland still pending to date. The different compositions, each of which exist as 20’ full versions for workshop use and as 6’ short versions for walk-in purposes can be started via a dial knob connected to a small screen.662 Up until today this has to be done by the museum staff. A more interactive version that allows visitor operation is being discussed, however, not likely to be implemented due to the disadvantages it may bring along: Equipment handled by inexperienced users may be damaged, and it would be bothersome if one could switch to another, while someone else is listening to the soundscape of his choice.

III.1 Two Weeks in the Museum Before turning to “Two Weeks” at work, the exhibition concept of the NONAM deserves some further elaboration, as the setting found at the museum has much influence on the reception of any new exhibit, and vice versa. For this I will look at both the permanent exhibition and selected examples of special exhibition elements that I could visit during my involvement with the institute. Outside the entrance to the museum, facing a small courtyard with benches, a large wooden table and a gigantic parasol, a five-metre totem pole, depicting the story of Raven and Salmon Woman as recounted in the opener to

661

The short and full versions of the Southwest Soundscape can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM. 662 The original setup with a DVD-Audio player needed replacement once there was more than one cultural area to choose from; even then the constant back and forth between long and short version caused rapid material deterioration of the media due to mishandling. The current computer-based solution has proven to run much more stable. An intermediary test of a touch screen also did not turn out to be very practical. 319

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this chapter, greets the visitors, an original commission from the museum carved by Tlingit artist Nathan Jackson. Past the reception and museum shop at ground level, we get to the special exhibition space on first floor, were various subjects are presented, changing every six to twelve months (depending on success and cost of the respective displays). The heart of the museum, however, is to be found yet another floor up, where the permanent exhibition is located. Organised according to the cultural area concept, the museum here presents five of these cultural areas of the North American continent, recognisable by the use of a colour-based guiding system. You always know which cultural area you’re currently in by the hue of the interior architecture elements the objects are placed in/on: The Plains and Prairies are yellow, the Southwest is ochre-red, the Northwest Coast is brown, the Arctic is blue, and the SubArctic / Northern Woodland features a lighter and a darker green. Large label plates with the map of North America, the respective cultural areas marked in the same colours, support orientation. Texts on the plates are of medium length (usually no more than half a dozen to a dozen lines), written in comprehensible language. The labels and the exhibits aim at creating a balance between historical and contemporary information, general cultural traits and the impact of the history of White – Indian relations. Next to historic objects, such as an original rifle and a hand-painted dress of the plains Indians,663 both locked away inside glass cases for protection, there are also objects that may be touched, such as furs hanging form birch trunks in the Woodland section, and smaller objects like moccasins, that can be taken out of a drawer that functions in the mode of the museum suitcase concept.664 More detailed information on individual objects can be found in catalogues that are placed on small desks in the exhibition areas. A very important feature, however, are the commissioned pieces by contemporary native artists, like Nathan Jackson’s pole. In the Northwest Coast 663

They also have a real stuffed buffalo staring down, pretty intense fellow, that one! 664 see, for example, http://www.museumskoffer.de/der-museumskoffer.html 320

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section you can find a bentwood box by Bruce Alfred, and a Killer Whale mask by Marcus Alfred. For the special exhibition on beadwork, not only the production of the beads in 19th century Europe (although quickly incorporated into native American embroidery in a very unique fashion, they would always remain an imported trading good) was documented. Three native artists were invited to include some of their pieces, which only vaguely resembled features of “traditional” native art, in the exhibition. This is the museum’s approach to point towards the contemporary nature of North American indigenous cultures, which also finds its confirmation in the many personal contacts and friendships that thrive between the museum’s staff members and many individuals of native descent all over North America. Being the only museum in Zürich under the jurisdiction of the school and sports dept., municipal schools can come visit the museum for free. Therefore, one major target group are school classes that can enlist for guided tours or workshops (also free of charge). Sometimes also themed birthday parties are held at the museum. The pedagogic concept includes classical ex-cathedra guided tour elements, but also hands-on experiences with the objects that are approved for touching, and other activities, such as, for example, creating your own beadwork bracelets, or a workshop on kayak construction during the special exhibition on kayaks of Arctic peoples. In a short passageway between the permanent exhibition space and the cafeteria / Museum pedagogy area, the Sound Chamber can be found.

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III.2 The Documenter and the Documentary So far, I’ve been full of praise for the NONAM’s relatively coeval approach towards its subject matter. But does this also directly translate to public presentation or even representation? As with all museum display, the NONAM has to struggle with the staged nature of its exhibitions. To look at the Northwest Coast showcase cannot create the same experience as to be seated in the family section of the BigHouse in Campbell River. And even if it could, the average visitor (and to quite some extent, despite all my scholarly background and first-hand experience, I still count myself among these), would certainly lack the required data to fully understand what is going on, what it means to the Kwakwaka'wakw present, and all the complex relations history and everyday life bring into this snapshot of lived tradition. Instead, again, the visitor is extradited to what little a small number of mute objects and short paragraphs of text, thoughtfully arranged by the museum staff as they may be, can reveal to him, with no way of telling how much distortion the choice of objects and arrangement, his own background knowledge and mind set, and the general effect of museum presentation implant into his evaluation. He does not know Bruce Alfred, or the struggle we had when we tried to get his box ready for shipping, neither does he understand the engraved figures on the box, or what they can tell about Bruce’s lineage or that Bruce as a pious Christian nevertheless feels that he can balance Kwakwaka'wakw tradition with his religious beliefs. Neither does he realise that the Northwest Coast is not one unified cultural unit, but a loosely defined large geographical area, whose indigenous peoples just share more cultural traits with each other than with, say, the Inuit. So the narrative that can be read is a very limited one, and this fact must be accepted by the museum. What’s worse, it would presumably discourage the visitor if one would try to bring everything across, especially in such small a place as the NONAM, with children as one of its main target groups. I would argue that a reasonable compromise has been found, only one always needs to be aware of the 322

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responsibility towards the visitors, and even more perhaps to the people one professes to “represent”. When I first brought my piece to the NONAM after five months of studio work to finalise it in the Sound Chamber, where it was to be played, I was met with resistance from an unexpected corner: Runa had not heard any of my recordings since we had parted almost half a year before in Alert Bay, and now she was the first to listen to what I had made from our joint adventures (and some that she had never heard before, as I had stayed some more days, which included the performance of the Gwa'wina dancers, the morning at Beau Dick’s, sea lions, and the potlatch). Afterwards (in general she was very pleased with my creation), she asked me one critical question: “Why did you leave your voice in the composition?” That startled me a bit. I thought it had been a clever trick to include a short passage of my conversation with Beau Dick, where I explained to him that I was planning to organise the piece in four movements, corresponding to the four worlds of traditional Kwakwaka'wakw mythology (which he approved with), killing three birds with one stone, so to speak: I could reveal a little piece of information on the background of the composition as well as Kwakwaka'wakw culture without having to make use of a narrator, and, most importantly, I could make my point in terms of who was telling the story (remember how I insisted in previous chapters that I do not attempt to represent anyone other than myself). It would clearly break the illusion of impersonal objectivity, while at the same time presenting the reality of my visit to real-live, contemporary people in the almost-now.665 But I was told, and the museum’s director Denise Daenzer fully agreed to this, that the documenter had no place in his documentary, which, according to Daenzer had been agreed on in Swiss documentary tradition already in the seventies.666 I was upset and at first saw no way out of the dilemma. In the end I had to resort to yet another compromise. I cut out the 665 666

See also section IV: Coeval Museum Didactics; on “Paradise” personal conversation w/ Denise Daenzer, March 2010 323

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clearly intelligible words, thus loosing a to my ears valuable bit of the narrative, leaving some of my grunts and “hm’s” at various points in the composition (my conversations with the old man in the street and with Beau), as well as a couple of camera clicks in the Sea Lions passage. I believe the illusion-breaking effect has been thoroughly weakened by this intervention, and the clear first-person perspective has been blurred, but not enough to make me feel bad about it. The hidden hints may still, if only on a halfconscious level, foster some understanding.667 In audio-video presentations, that I often use for lectures or other presentation formats outside the museum, I usually include a photograph of the boardwalk in the Ecological Park of Cormorant Island that I took with the sun behind me.668 I not always point it out, but my shadow can clearly be seen on the planks, even how I am holding the camera. So despite their benevolent attitude to and their personal involvement with individuals (for instance, we discussed the issue with two Native contemporary artists, David Garneau and Hannah Claus, who were present at the time for the vernissage of the beadwork special exhibition, to which they had contributed some of their works), the NONAM’s institutional power remains widely unbroken when it comes to politics of exhibiting, the coeval dialogue that takes place among museum practitioners and content producers is only partly passed on to its visitors. And that is a deliberate decision. To return to our definition from the beginning of this chapter: Looking at the NONAM, we can say that “a museum is a non-profit, permanent institution”, assume that it is meant to be “in the service of society and its development,” it is indeed “open to the public,” and, yes, it “acquires, conserves, researches, communicates and exhibits the tangible and intangible heritage of humanity and its environment for the purposes of education, study and

667 On the Audio-DVD you can listen to the restored original full version containing my short dialogue with Beau. The CD features the “NONAMised” version. 668 See Raven Travelling: Audio Book, Two Weeks Short Slideshow, sl.#5 (@00’50’’)

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enjoyment.“ The only trouble is, it also still dictates the terms under which this communication takes place. I argue that the inclusion of sound in the form we have chosen helps to macerate this distancing mechanism. In order illustrate that claim, I will now turn to “Das Tönende Museum”, the workshop that I have developed as an educative application for the Sound Chamber and the soundscape compositions presented there.

III.3 Workshop If I assume that sound is an, albeit underrated, adequate means of communication between the Self and the Other (the outside world), and if I, secondly, assume that an (anthropological) museum would be an adequate place to bring it back into the focus it deserves within the framework of cultural rapprochement, I still will have to admit that it poses a challenge to implement measures that achieve this end. The evaluation survey on the Sound Chamber (see above) has shown that, despite its positive reception, its impact in terms of sonological competence and deepened cultural reflection in its pure form must be accepted to be rather low. To improve its performance on this particular task, additional tools needed to be developed. Starting in summer 2009 I conducted a series of workshops for schoolchildren that I developed around the Sound Chamber and the soundscape compositions that have been produced for it. I called them “Das Tönende Museum” (the Sounding Museum in Swiss German). The workshops were designed to cover three subjects: Sound education, North American indigenous cultures, and reflection on cultural identity. This was realised in a three-stage design that shall be elaborated on in the following section.

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In total I conducted 15 workshops in the summers of 2009 and 2010, with 15 to 26 participants (average 22), ages 6 to 15 (mostly between 10 and 12), plus one teacher (in few cases two) per class. The workshops were oriented on the regular workshop format as offered by the pedagogic department of the NONAM, which has a duration of 150’ and takes place at the museum. Due to the wider range of subjects to be treated, this design was extended for “Das Tönende Museum” by two framing 90’ units, both to take place at school. The primary goal of conducting this series of workshops was to develop and refine a didactic tool in service of the Sounding Museum’s thematic framework: the relevance of sound in ethnographic museums, or more specifically, to provide children access to the contemporary culture of indigenous North Americans by means of soundscape composition and clairaudience training. The didactic tools and structure as being elaborated on below were continuously adjusted, so that in the end a format was established by which the envisioned aims could be reached. The evaluation of the workshops takes place in the light of these aims, based on my claim that this mediation aspect is an inseparable element of a “good” cultural soundscape composition for museum purposes. The impression I could get from working with over 300 pupils, triangulated with (non-formal) talks with and questionnaires filled out by some of the teachers allows for a tentatively positive initial assessment, which I will lay out in the following descriptive account and in a brief conclusion.

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III.3.1 Stage One: A Sound Education Das Tönende Museum: Structure (0 Telephone Conversation with Teacher 1 Session One: Hearing Education (at school) 2 Session Two: Museum Visit 3 Session Three: Reflection (at school) total 330’ (360’)

30’) 90’ 150’ 90’

In the “Tuning of the World” Schafer complains about the lack of clairaudience669 in contemporary learning culture, claiming the need for creating sonological competence.670 He had been working in this field for over a decade by then and could listen back on some experience, which has resulted in a number of essays and reports that have been compiled in his “The Thinking Ear”,671 as well as collections of listening exercises for elementary courses and professional musicians.672 Informed by Schafer’s suggestions, the first part of the workshop was put together. In the original plot, an introduction of the cultural group at hand was already included in this first session, a 90’ unit to take place at school prior to the visit of the museum. But this idea was given up quickly, after it turned out that, with hearing education having no part in the schools’ curricula, conscious dealings with sound and listening were so far from most participants’ (including teachers’) prior experience, that a full session needed to be devoted to this issue: in real life the school bell rang before I could get to indigenous cultures of North America. But before I go into detail, maybe a few words on the framework within which the workshops were situated: The NONAM, as has been mentioned, is the only museum in the municipality of Zürich, that is not under the jurisdiction of the cultural department, but is administratively linked to the 669

Schafer (1977b), p.4, p.11 ibid., p.153ff 671 Schafer (1986) 672 Schafer (1992) and Schafer (2005) 670

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school and sports department. Municipal schools may send classes for guided tours and workshops free of charge, thereby offering their pupils a welcome diversion from the regular school routine. In some cases this takes place in direct connection to a subject related to contents that are being dealt with during class at the time. For instance, if there were a unit on North American Indians at school, a visit to the museum would be a logical extension. In case of “Das Tönende Museum”, the workshop was, as mentioned above, not limited to the museum visit, but would consist of three sessions, two of which would take place at school. In addition to this, I had arranged for preparation talks with the teachers, during which I would tell them about its contents and aims, and also could supply them with materials on acoustic ecology and Native culture that they could use in preparation for the workshop. So in the ideal case the pupils were somewhat prepared when I first came to their classroom. This is what they said: 673 A: We heard animal sounds and also other sounds, and then we had to look on a work sheet, which had these zig-zags, and we were to find out… B: This one (shows the work sheet, containing a set of pictographic audiograms representing the sounds). Our teacher played sounds, and we had to determine, if… Me: You had to identify which sound is depicted by which visualisation (…).

673

All quotes in the following boxes were taken from a workshop with a 4th grade elementary school class of 22 pupils, aged 9-10, from May 31st to June 2nd 2010. They have been translated by me from the German transcript. The capitals indicate different pupils, but are not consistent throughout the boxes (the same letter may mark different individuals in different boxes). I’ve tried to stay true to the original dialogue, but where it helped to convey the tone or for the sake of readability I have allowed some freedom in the translation. A detailed reflection on the 2009 workshops on the Arctic peoples, including the teachers’ questionnaires, can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM, POI NONAM: “Workshop Evaluation” (in German). 328

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With this simple exercise674 the teacher of this class had done excellent groundwork for what I had prepared for the children: without paying too much attention to factual knowledge, they had had their first flirt with sound and ear cleaning/clairaudience, that I now could tie in with. I then started with an exercise adapted from Schafer’s Sound Education;675 in my version it would go like this: Write down •

Five sounds (none music) you heard on your way to school

•

Five sounds (none music) you are hearing right now

•

Five sounds (none music) you make yourselves

•

Five sounds (none music) you like

• Five sounds (none music) you don’t like. Only write down sounds that you really remember, not just think that you might have heard! After a couple of minutes I began collecting examples that I then wrote down on the blackboard in five columns with the following symbols on top: In the first column (with the shoe representing the transfer from home to

school) examples from what had happened in the morning were collected, from the moment of waking up to entering the school building. In the second column (the time on the clock was always aligned to the actual time at

674 which may even have been indirectly inspired by Schafer’s own exercises; see Schafer (1992), p.42: “Try finding sounds to match the following shapes and textures” (followed by a tableau of simple shapes and irregular lines) 675 Schafer (1992), p.15ff (exercises one through four in particular)

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the moment it was drawn on the blackboard) sounds that could be heard sitting in class were listed. Column three held self-produced sounds, and in the last two, relished and despised sounds were written down.676 The list of May 31st looked like this:

- birds

- whispering - breathing - bird

- cars

- birds

- rustling

- the bus

of Leaves

outside

- shooting (football)

- pencil

- whistling

- airplane

- writing

- laughing

- blackboard - steps - coughing

water

- scratching - laughter

- steps

- airplane

- rushing

- talking

- crackling fire - frogs - bells (ch.) - rain

- when a pig is slaughtered - vacuum cleaner - ear buzzing - school bell (end o’ break) - when teacher says “test”

- school bell (beginning o’ break)

Once the examples were on the blackboard, we could start talking about what we found in our lists. There was no specific item that I looked for, no fixed teachings that I tried to bring across, except this: It is indeed possible to talk about sound and sounds and the soundscape, there is much and valuable information to be taken from what we hear during the day, not only in the teacher’s voice, but in all sound around us. For most of my participants this alone was already a new thought and experience. The easiest way to initiate a discussion (rather than me pointing out peculiarities for the pupils to digest) was the classification of the sounds. Schafer suggests various, sometimes very complex, classification systems,677 in part oriented on psy676

Please refer to the photo section of the Raven Travelling DVD for some original blackboard list sample photos. 677 Schafer (1977b), p.133ff, Schafer (1992), p.15ff, Schafer (1986), p.27ff 330

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cho-acoustic terminology,678 others borrowing from aesthetics, semiotics, and acoustics679, or musical theory and practice.680 In the brief timeslot I reserved for it, only its crudest form would be performed: A classification along the lines of natural, man-made, and technological sounds.681 The following pictograms were then attached to the examples in the lists, according to the indexing given by the pupils:

That this was not an easy task may be illustrated by some examples and commentaries given during the classification process and the following discussion. If I ride a bicycle, is this then a man-made sound (for I have to employ physical labour to make it move), or is it a mechanical sound (the object in question being, after all, a mechanical device)? And is it not a terribly indifferent paraphrase to speak of an object (the bicycle), when in fact one is speaking of sounds that may potentially emanate from this source (the screeching of the brakes, clattering chain, tire on pavement – in this case only if human interaction with the object takes place; a bicycle that no one rides will usually remain as mute as the 'Nulis Mask in the vaults of the Ethnological Museum in Berlin)? And if I speak of the bicycle in general, is not all sound that is associated with mechanical devices in the end attributable to human interference, without which it would not be produced? And are we not part of nature and therefore all human and mechanical sounds just a sub-category to natural sounds?

678

Schafer (1986), p.51ff Schafer (1977b), p.148ff 680 Schafer (1986), p.60ff, p.107ff 681 Other classification categories could be stationary – moving, continuous – single event, high – low, loud – soft, and so forth; it pretty much depends on time issues, age and responsivity of the class, how deep I go into this during the session. 679

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Excerpt from a discussion on nature/man/machine-made sounds: (Pencil proves difficult: They disagree on the correct answer, all three options are named) Me: Does a pencil exist in nature? Several: no A: No, but it is made from it. Me: Yes, right, but that applies to basically everything; a car is ultimately constructed from natural resources of some kind. However, pencil is not a thing that, let’s say, grows on trees, where it chirps and grunts, so I would personally leave out nature here. But of course a pencil is a device that needs to be held and used by a human. (I have one pupil write something with a pencil, asking the class to be quiet, so they can hear “the pencil”) Of course there is a human involved, but a pencil, we would now have to consider, is it also a machine of sorts, if we broaden the definition of machine by saying, a machine is generally a tool Then a pencil also is a tool. (We agree it’s a bit of both)

Another angle of observation may lead us to the finding that most sounds that can be heard on the way to school are of mechanical nature (mainly traffic sounds; Zürich is a large city with animal and plant sounds often masked by the mechanical part of the urban soundscape), many of the liked sounds are of natural origin, and the negative list is headed by human sounds. We can ask questions as to why this is the case, and try to draw conclusions that would lead us into the realms of ecology, sociology, and psychology. Of course I would always be very careful not to have this lead too far, but what can implicitly be taken from all these observations is, as claimed earlier, the rich set of information, reaching into all kinds of directions, that can be found in the preoccupation with sound. And with a little luck, the pupils themselves would also develop an understanding for this. In the following excerpt one can find an example of how the pupils began to embrace the deeper meaning and symbolism inherent to sound(s). It also shows (in the last part) that they were alert enough not to digest my claims without challenging them, if in doubt.

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Me: So sounds of nature are very popular. Machine sounds are not popular. Why is that so? A: Because, well, machine sounds, they don’t make you relax. B: You know that they are not good for the Earth. Me: That’s a very important point. (I recount how, for example in early America, the assessment would have been different; progress, mastering nature etc.) Are there more reasons why we like to hear nature, and not so much machines? C: There are three machines and three humans [on the list of disliked sounds]. (I admit that is correct, and that we could discuss this as well, and that the picture is never totally clear, that I have also had classes where the lists looked different, but that there is a tendency towards what we have found)

After this simple classification routine, which, by discussing the validity of our ascriptions, was meant to encourage more complex reflections on the sonic environment and its interrelations with the listener, I used to bring forth another set of issues to further enhance the pupils’ reflexive toolkit. Two aspects were of major interest: the aforementioned distinction between a sound and its source, and the associative dimension connected with affective evaluation of sound events. Both could easily be discussed using examples found on the blackboard lists, the latter of course by those in the liked/disliked sounds columns. I shall illustrate this by quoting from and commenting on a few transcript excerpts that recount situations in which these educative aims were met by the reactions of the pupils, demonstrating the didactic potential inherent in the approach taken in the workshops, transforming them, in part, into a basic course in semiotics, with sounds as signs, related to each other and to their sources and receivers in a systematic and meaningful way.

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Me: I had asked you to name sounds. If we now look closely at what we find here [on the lists], we need to ask, are these really sounds (...), or is it something else? Let’s take the first one, birds; are birds sounds? A: No. Me: Well? B: Animals. Me: Correct. B: But they make sounds. Me: Right, they make sounds. C: But they are not sounds. Me: (…) So, what would have been better here? B: Bird sound. Me: Or…? D: Bird twitter. (I correct the entry on the list) Me: (...) Ok, let’s move on to the next: cars. A: They make sounds. Me: Yes, but the car itself is not a sound. B: It’s the same as with the bird. Me: In that case we now have to ask, what kind of a sound are we talking about? C: Engine. Me: The engine again is not a sound (short disquiet) D: Car engine. Me: Right, but the car engine also is not a sound, it is a construction part that is found in the car. E: Engine sound A: Car sound. Me: We could say car sound, but that would be very generic. A: Exhaust fumes. Me: Exhaust fumes would rather be stench than sound.

At that point I would explain that in many cases the terms on the lists denominate objects, not sounds; that in the case of the car, the situation is complex, as there are many different sounds that it can be the source of, like rolling noise of the tires on pavement, blowing horn, various sounds associated with using the breaks, and so on. Other examples, like “rustling of leaves”, “children”, “wind”, “steps”, “airplane”, “pencil” are credited as sounds or objects, respectively. The differentiation between sound and activity associated with specific sounds is also introduced; all that in order 334

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to illustrate not that the students had it all wrong, but that they can be much more precise. I remark that we will repeat our lists in the following two meetings, and that they then should be alert to the discussed issues. Next we would look into context-related issues. Me: There we have an interesting phenomenon: The school bell funnily enough is found in both lists. A: Also the birds, and there, airplane is also on two lists. Me: Yes, true, we have the birds, and we have the airplane also on various lists (…). But what I find interesting is that exactly the same sound – at one point you say it is beautiful, and the next moment you don’t like the same sound anymore. B: Well, it has a different meaning, when you go outside, then you like it, but when you go back to class, you don’t.

Such a remark would of course give me the perfect peg to point out that affective assessment depends on context. Next we would turn towards laughter, as found on the liked sounds list. Me: Can someone give an example, where laughing is not all that beautiful? C: Being laughed at. Me: Right, being laughed at. Imagine you have fallen on your nose, which really hurts, and, to make matters worse, into a really muddy puddle, which you are now lying in, and around you there’s a dozen or so kids, pointing at you, laughing. The laughter all of a sudden is everything but beautiful. D: Then you laugh back. Me: Well, with a bloody nose, maybe you don’t feel like laughing back. Or the crackling fire; what would be a context in which this is not beautiful? (In the background the school bell announces a break; contained expressions of delight from some pupils.) D: When you hear it, as your house burns down. (We repeat the routine with rain.)

Without making use of the special terminology or openly introducing theoretical models, the pupils begin to apprehend sound as a critical factor in the system of communication formed by the individual and its environment, truly revealing sound and the soundscape’s semiotic function. Before I 335

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dismiss them into their well-deserved break I want them to dig a bit further with another set of examples to increase the chances for this aspect to sink in. Me: We can probably detect sounds that you have described as ugly, that in a certain context become beautiful. A: “We do not have a test.” (referring to “teacher’s voice”, when he says, we will now write a test) Me: That is of course not exactly the same. But it is the same voice, belonging to the same person. B: Or we have a test and I am well prepared. Me: Like that, yes. That is a very good example; you look forward to it, because you expect that you know everything. B: Or the squealing pig, when you hear that it’s out of pleasure. Me: That will certainly not be the same sound. I am sure that a pig being slaughtered will be squealing differently than one having fun (pupil imitating happy pig). This may be a brutal example, but what if you are terribly hungry, and the pig will be for you to eat? (approving ah’s) C: Or the pig is ill, and it suffers. Me: And is being released, yes. (I point out that almost all sounds on the last two lists, according to context, could be placed in the respective other list) C: Talking, that you are doing yourself, but it can also be ugly, if you are quarrelling and arguing.

We then moved on to the paper exercise.682 An empty sheet of paper was to be passed around in the class. Every pupil had to hold it once and once only, and in the end it was to be returned to me. During the whole procedure I didn’t want to hear a single sound. Did it work? What were the sounds that we still heard? What is silence (can silence exist at all, or was Cage right, and “there is no such thing as silence”683)? We realised that it was impossible to win this one. Even if the children were able to shut out all the outside sounds, even if they could concentrate hard enough so no one would start to giggle at some point, even if they were all standing naked (as one pupil suggested) in a circle, so no 682 683

See Schafer (1986), p.51 ibid., pp.50, 103

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clothes or chairs could come in the way, even if they shut off all electronic devices (neon ceiling lights, computer ventilation, ticking wall clock etc.), and if they’d all manage to hold their breaths long enough and had chalk on their fingers so the sweat on their hands would not make the paper stick, one could hear a very tiny sound as they opened our fingers to let go off the paper, and as the paper itself slightly swayed in the air. In fact, only then could these tiniest sounds be heard at all. We would then move on to the next part of the exercise. After being so neurotically silent, it was time to make some noise. So let’s find out what sounds we can actually make with a sheet of paper. After a little while of excited (and positively noisy) merrymaking every pupil presented his or her personal paper sound. They rumpled and crumpled, hit, scratched and tore the paper, blew on it, beat it against the table, or threw it at the wall, and many more things. They usually managed to find a sound that no one had presented before the other, even if the class was a large as 30 individuals. I then assigned groups to specific sounds to be produced in unison, and conducted a little piece of paper music.684 As a last very simple exercise I walked through the classroom with everyone’s eyes closed, and every time I said “Where is he?” the class had to point into my direction.685 Naturally they did well in this experiment, even when I told the teacher to join me and randomly add his voice as well. They also noticed the difference in frequency distribution and volume when I left the classroom and asked my question from outside with the door closed; yet another hint as to the variety of data (spatiality, directivity, propagation medium) that can be derived from listening to the environment. As the conclusion of this first session, I gave the class an assignment for our next meeting: Find an interesting sound and bring it with you. And

684

See also Schafer (1986), p.80f; a recording of May 31st 2010 can be found in the NONAM/Workshop section of Raven Travelling; with another class I even conducted a big performance at the end of a project week that the workshop was embedded into in front of hundreds of pupils, parent and teachers (not recorded). 685 See also Schafer (1992), p.20f 337

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listen to your world. Take a couple of minutes every day at a place that you like and just listen. If you want, you can write a sound diary. The idea was to give some impulses and let the pupils find out as much as possible by themselves, following a cybernetic approach686 on teaching, but with a less rigid focus on the outcome. There were no particular facts or figures to be learned, just an offer to broaden their ways of perceiving and reflecting about the world around them and in the final instance about themselves. By activating the participants’ brains and bodies as early and as often as possible within the framework of the workshop’s main objectives, and by triggering affective stimuli, the classical ex-cathedra methodology of teaching was challenged and transcended. Since there were no exams to be written in correspondence with the workshop, I could take the liberty of not asking from the participants anything they were not interested in doing or learning, I could adopt to their needs according to their reactions to what I offered them in the first place. So far there was not much need for adjustment, however, except for moving the introduction into indigenous culture to the second session.

III.3.2 Stage Two: Indian in a Box The second meeting took place at the museum. We started with our lists that the pupils knew from the first session, only this time we did it quickly, taking only a few minutes for the collection of examples, then looking at changes in precision of observation and terminology. It turned out that, after frequently having major troubles even completing one list in the first round, it now poured out of the children, they all had many sounds in mind that they could name.

686

cp. Luhmann (2009), p.54

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Here is list of June 1s, put together at the NONAM (the beautiful and ugly sounds were left out, as we only used 10’ for the whole exercise):

-

train

-

bird whistles

-

creak rushing

- the hiss from this pipe over there - talking

- whistling -stomping of feet - breathing

-

trees (leaves) rustling - sneezing of a child

- brushing teeth

-

construction site

- “Sie” (me)

- talking

-

cars

- clattering of keys

- coughing

-

bus

- whispering

- singing

-

people

- laughter

- and one more…

This second attempt on the list exercise deserves some elaboration: Next to the considerably shorter timespan it took to fill the lists it can already be noted, how much heed was paid to indeed naming sounds, not their source objects; only few remain, as compared to the first list. One boy said “motorcycle”, when asked to name a sound he makes himself, but immediately saw the mistake, when I inquired. The last example, which is not on the list above, was “to flutter one’s eyelashes” (Augenklimpern). The dialogue about it went like this: A: to move the eyes. Me: And how does that sound? A: Fluttering the eyelashes (Augenklimpern)? Me: And one can really hear this? (someone whispers “no”) A: Well, a little bit, yes, I sometimes hear sort of a little squeaking.

From the first to the second list exercise, a rising awareness for sound, Schafer’s sonological competence, could be observed regularly; in the second run many of the pupils already demonstrated a richer and more conscious perception, and a sharpened vocabulary to describe and discuss it. 339

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After that, I was of course curious if this would also show in the interesting sounds I had asked them to bring with them. Some only had descriptions (“The sound of a knife cutting through a cake” “Why do you find that interesting?” “Because I know that in a moment I will get a slice!”), some made funny sounds with their voices and bodies (blowing into your armpit creates a sound that regularly causes amusement), or imitated sounds they had heard between the two meetings (the meowing of a cat would be a trivial example, imitating a dripping water tap by striking your cheek with the oral cavity forming a flexible resonating lacuna is already a bit more challenging), and some brought objects that they could excite to create a sound (a cowbell – after all, we were in Switzerland). Here is a part of the conversation about the interesting sound of June 1st 2010: (Although I had left out the two affection lists, I now asked the pupils to decide on the fly whether they would deem their interesting sounds to be beautiful of ugly.) A: Hoof claps. Me: Where should I put it? A: Beautiful. Me: And why would you say it’s beautiful? A: To me it just sounds very… pretty. B: Unwrapping presents. (likes it) Me: And what is interesting about this sound? B: (uncertain, some hum and haw) Somehow you are excited when you unwrap a present. (I ask if the same sound, originating from scrunching up a newspaper is still interesting; hesitation) C: The sizzling of the wrapping paper. (We agree that wrapping paper without content is not as interesting; again the semiotics of sound unveiled in the real world.) The rolling of the wheels of the skateboard, when it rolls over the ground. (likes it) Me: Interesting because? D: (pause) No idea. E: School bell (Pausenklingeln). Me: Why would that be interesting? E: Well, I think it is interesting, when you can make a machine to ring like that. Me: Beautiful or ugly? 340

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E: Sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly. F: When someone writes on the blackboard, that is relaxing for me. (…) G: Grinding teeth (interesting because – unintelligible) H: When someone writes on the blackboard, sometimes it screeches likes that, this I don’t like at all. It bleeps terribly in the ears. Teacher: Works also with the fingernails (…)

After this warm-up, we turned to the second objective of the workshop, the cultural area that was in its focus, and that was featured in the museum’s exhibition. In the first year (2009) we would talk about the Arctic, since that was the only area that we already had a soundscape piece playing in the Sound Chamber. In the second year I worked with the Northwest Coast piece, because that was the one on which, due to my authorship, my expertise was highest. But of course any cultural area could be featured. For once, the little you can tell about it in one workshop can be presented by anyone who took a little time reading the basic information, and secondly, it was the museum pedagogues’ job to take care of it. One of them would be present at any of the museum sessions to give an introduction into the respective cultural area and the people that live there, also handing around a number of objects to offer a haptic element687 in the unit. Now the class was split up into three groups. Three different activities took place over the next two hours or so. One group followed the museum pedagogue into the permanent exhibition to learn more about the culture at the hand of the objects on display, another was lead into the Sound Chamber by the class’ teacher, and the third group came with me to take a soundwalk in the vicinity of the museum. All groups participated in all activities, which took a good half hour each, just the order succession was different for each of them.

687

We are always anxious to create a balance between haptic, visual, auditory, and cognitive methods to ensure that every learning type is supplied with optimal input; see Vester (1975) p.41 341

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III.3.2.1 The Permanent Exhibition Of course a member of the museum staff was the ideal candidate to take a group on a short guided tour through the exhibition, as he/she worked there every day and knew all the objects and their stories by heart, and could best answer all questions that might come up. He/she would also know many-a myth or legend that could be told to better illustrate the cultural tradition of the people dealt with. I always used to tell the story of Sedna the Sea goddess when dealing with the Inuit, and I always told the story of how Raven stole the Sun when I worked on the Northwest Coast. But Peter Kuhn or Veronika Ederer, who have been working with me in the past couple of years, knew a lot more stories that they could directly or indirectly relate to their objects, as well as tons of detailed information how and when these were made, who made them, and many other things. It was the most classical part of the workshop, differing from a traditional guided tour only in the very active (and heavily encouraged) participation of the tour guests, and in the possibility of using objects from the museum suitcase to add touch to the otherwise purely visual and language-based presentation.

III.3.2.2 The Sound Chamber Probably the hardest job came down on the teacher: To keep a group of eight to ten adolescents quiet in a dark place where nothing really happens for twenty-one minutes. It now paid off that we had spent a full two-hour meeting for clairaudience training, otherwise there probably would have been no way this could have worked. The group went into the Sound Chamber, where folding chairs had been arranged along the railing. The pupils had been prepared, they knew that they were expected to listen and that sound was the only 342

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sensation of relevance for the following 20 minutes. Nevertheless was their attention capability far from the ideal, but also far from the worst-case scenario. There was always some who had a hard time staying still, in the dark, sitting right next to members of the opposite sex (or a likewise suitable reason to get distracted) but on average, they behaved quite acceptably. Obviously not everyone was capable of embracing the challenging experience of a sound-only documentary-artistic non-narrative (at first glance, and if you have not introduced to the back-story, which they had not) cultural composition, as can be exemplified by one boy who I overheard imitating the kattajait of the Arctic piece during playback, and also later in class. It sounded more like a parody of the “African” music style used for some pieces in Disney’s “The Lion King” than anything else. But kids like this boy should be among the main target group when it comes to overcoming stereotypes and orientalism; they may be the hardest to reach, but they are certainly worth it. After the piece was over, they returned to the museum pedagogic facility and briefly discussed what they had heard with their teacher688 until they were picked up by one of the other workshop leaders to be taken into the exhibition or on the soundwalk.

III.3.2.3 Soundwalking The practice of soundwalking is at least as old as Schafer’s first classes on ear cleaning;689 one might even go back to the sound hunters of the fifties, although their approach was not yet as much aimed toward the acoustic environment as a whole, but rather to find particularly interesting sounds within it. Since their goal was to record, and the mobile recording equip688

This depended on whether they had been quicker than the exhibition group and did not take place all the time. Since I never was present (the soundwalk always took longest; see following pages), I could only take hints about these discussions during the workshop’s third session back in school on a later point in time. 689 Schafer (1986), p.107f 343

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ment was not yet as sophisticated as the human ears, which are the primary tool of the classical soundwalk, they had to think in particulars. Anyhow, before you push the record button, the first thing you have to do in any case is to listen. You must take in everything there is and then decide which elements are mere background sound or noisefloor, which are signals or signs, or even soundmarks, or perhaps unique keynotes. If you go beyond the sound hunters’ search for special single sound events, you will also reflect on the relations of the different elements with each other, discovering the semiotic and communicative quality of the soundscape around you. Or you might, from an artistic and/or aesthetic point of entry, search for musical qualities, such as periodicity (rhythm, that is; otherwise you could also declare it to be a physical attribute), melodious aspects, or a set of sounds that, perceived together, create a harmonic superstructure (as is often the case with continuous sound mixes that in the end then are summarised as the keynote). “A soundwalk is any excursion whose main purpose is to listen to the environment”690, says Hildegard Westerkamp, the grand dame of soundwalking. You can carry it out in many ways, and I have experienced as many different approaches to it as the number of soundwalks I have participated in (or conducted myself). You can walk with your eyes open or closed. You can add educative applications such as striking objects with a stick or your hand or foot, or throwing a stone and then ask what material you stroke, or how far away, and in which direction, and in what kind of a spatial situation the stone fell.691 Or you can lead people through different environments (a square, a shopping mall) and in circles while they have to cling to a rope, and ask them to create their own fantasies about the places and a journey in their head.692 While the latter two are to be done with eyes closed (you should have shreds of black cloth to assist you in not seeing 690

Westerkamp in Carlyle, ed. (2007), p.49 Soundwalk conducted by Murray Schafer on the Acoustics Week Canada in Niagara-on-the-Lake, October 2009 692 Soundwalk conducted by Ilaria Mancino at the FKL conference in Firenze, May 2011 691

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crap), another way to take people on a soundwalk is to take them on a guided tour through an area you are acquainted with (and your participants are not) and explicitly point out special sounds, or sights that are in one way or another connected to sounds, that together culturally define the area in question.693 Of course you can take a soundwalk on your own as easily. The only precondition is that you listen. And of course you may take recordings while you are at it. When I took my workshop kids on their soundwalk through the streets of the Seefeld quarter, we had very limited time, so I saw to it that we made the best use of it. I briefly explained to them what we were about to do, and why: we wanted to find out, in direct comparison, to what extent the soundscape of Zürich is similar and/or different to that of Alert Bay. So we walked for a while, just listening. Then I asked them to continue in pairs, one with the eyes closed, the other leading the way. Halfway through that part of the walk, they switched roles. It was not always easy to keep them quiet at that point, or even to really keep them focused on listening, because of course there are too many temptations when you are out in the streets in a group of adolescents with no “real” teacher around, especially when you can pull pranks with blindfolded victims, such as deliberately let them run into walls, that sort of thing. And boys generally do have a problem holding hands, so it is a tricky business to find a way they can guide each other. But there were always some with a serious interest, and even the others somehow caught the spirit sooner or later, at least a little bit. Every now and then we stopped to make a caesura of what we could hear so far and what we had experienced while being on our way (“How does it feel to walk with eyes closed? Does it change the way your perception works?”). There are no recordings of this part of the workshop, but the reactions I noted in my diary were encouraging: Prepared by the exercises, the children 693

Soundwalk conducted by Meri Kytö at the WFAE conference in Koli (SF), June 2010 345

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were able to name many sounds they had heard on their way, not only the ones they could hear when I asked them. They had really memorised the acoustic environment I had led them through. On the way from the museum’s entrance to the street we had to pass a chamber orchestra’s rehearsal building, where usually a few people would linger outside, smoking and talking, or a train would pass by, or a motorcycle of bicycle, or a sudden gash of wind, or construction sounds could be heard for part of the way, and someone would always remember that. In the part I had them close their eyes I would lead them a few steps up to the courtyard of the Seewürfel, an office building not far from the museum, where they have a small artificial waterfall, and of course that would also be remembered. In this courtyard there were a few trees surrounded by a circular gravel surface, and I made sure that the children walked through one of them. Many noticed not only the change in texture on the haptic level, but also that the sound of their steps altered depending on what they walked on. Some said, you hear much more and more purposeful, when it is your only means of orientation; and that being blindfolded can be confusing, even frightening, creating a feeling of helplessness, which, however, is lessened once you make use of the information you can gather with your ears, A private underground car park with a short tunnel that one can enter before one arrives at the closed gate, I used as the climax of the blindfold part of the walk. The pupils would immediately notice the change in reverberation (from more or less open field to heavy early reflections and long lasting reverb due to the tube shaped concrete structure), which was obvious from the arising din they caused when they started yelling for the echo effect. As soon as we had reached the commuter railway and streetcar station Tiefenbrunnen, I changed the task. From purely passive listening we now turned to act. I handed out a mobile recording device and a shotgun microphone (in later editions of the workshop I would refrain from using an ex-

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ternal microphone due to handling issues694) and set the children on a sound hunt. Now they were supposed not only to listen, but also to catch interesting sounds with the recorder. Most of what we would later find on the tapes were sounds they had made themselves (striking all kinds of objects, making fun stuff with their voices; I would terribly embarrass some of them playing back the stupid things they yelled into the mike not realising that they would be in my possession now), rather than hunting for found sounds. Often it appears to be difficult for the pupils to concentrate on sounds they do not produce themselves, they have to be really dominant to be noticed by most of them. But as Schafer says, “one learns about sound only by making sound”,695 so I was perfectly happy with this. The best way to get an idea of the sound hunting part of the soundwalk is to listen to an edited example, two of which can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD ROM in the NONAM section, The level of success of the soundwalks (of course this applies to all of the workshop, but here it shows very clearly due to the absence of the teacher) depends strongly on group dynamics, some of which can be influenced by careful selection (an even distribution of stronger and weaker pupils, as well as boys and girls, for example). Others, like the general intellectual level of the class, cannot be influenced; here it is up to the workshop conductor and his pedagogical and observational skills to make the best of what he is confronted with. After the soundwalk (or rather after all three groups had participated in all three activities) we got together one last time on that day to round up the session and to give some last advice for the next meeting. Which was: Listen.

694

For further technical and other details, as well as some analysis and field notes and the full workshop concept, please refer to the POI NONAM: Workshop. 695 Schafer (1986), p.46 347

348

Zürich

! ! ! ! !

- bird chirps - Squeaking of kickboard - break sound - tire rolling noise - crunching of artificial turf when walking on it - echo in tunnel - ripple of a puddle - soughing of the wind

! ! ! !

- screeching blackboard - whispering - coughing - bird chirps - grinding of chair as it moves over the floor - scribbling of pencil - projector “ping” - grinding of shoe soles - projector hum

nd

shouting coughing whistling steps laughing whispering yawning jumping (bounce) - swallowing - singing

-

- knocking woodpecker - rushing of waterfall - howling wind - croaking of raven - see roaring - croaking frog (?) - fire crackling - whales in water (?) - crows - rushing water

singing laughing drumming Kwakwa’la squealing baby (?) - clapping

-

- telephone ringing - off-road vehicle engine noise - humming oven - buzzing power saw - sawing - carving - alarm clock (?) - radio

Alert Bay (Sound Chamber)

The list of June 2 , which served for the comparison of the Zürich Soundscape with that of Alert Bay, bringing two local chronotopes into close proximity.

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III.3.3 Raven Revisited

We met again at school a couple of days later. Again we started by making lists. Only this time we focussed on two main questions: What were the sounds that we had heard during our soundwalks, and what were the sounds that we had heard in the Sound Chamber? We soon were deep in a discussion on the differences and similarities of the two soundscapes from two far-apart corners of the world. We found that many sounds were quite the same: The traffic (although much less of it is heard in Alert Bay, because it’s a much smaller place than Zürich; and it has no cable cars), people, birds (more sea birds in Alert Bay, though, obviously), and so on.

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From the collecting of the sounds that can be found on the list of June 2nd I will only give short excerpts that demonstrate the refined thought processes and expressional quality. Sounds of Zürich: A: The squeaking of the kickboard (Trottinet). B: When you break with a kickboard, that it stops. C: That is the squeaking again. B: No, that is not a squeaking. Me: That is something else. D: Breaking sound. (…) E: Car wheels. Me: Car wheels, are they a sound? E: The tires, yes, but how is that, when they squeak? Me: But then they remain car wheels; when the car stands still, nothing squeaks. But you can try to be more precise. E: When a car, no, when the car breaks F: The squeaking of the wheels? Me: Do they squeak? F: No E: Yes, when they start very fast Me: Aha, when they slide over the asphalt (…) C: When the chairs slide back and forth, that also makes a sound Me: How can we call that? C: Chair squeaking Me: A lot of squeaking we have today… D: Chair rustling (…) E: The chair grinds over the floor (We agree on “grinding sound chair” as the technical term; I point out that there are not many terms that actually describe particular sound classes.) (…) G: X has rubbed over the floor with the feet earlier (demonstrates it), sliding. Me: Scraping, is it maybe scraping? D: Grinding. Me: “Grinding of shoe sole on floor” (…). There is still room for one more, and that is a sound that I’d like you to hear; stay very still for a moment and listen closely. C: The air from the projector. Me: Yes, the projector hum.

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Alert Bay; machine sounds: A: Telephone B: An off-road vehicle. C: But that is not a sound D: I have heard an oven that was kind of humming. C: But a telephone, don’t we have to say ringing of a telephone now? Me: You are so right, I am getting imprecise myself already. D: Also off-road vehicle. (…)

After the lists had been assembled, the next step was the comparison: Where is the (indigenous) Alert Bay soundscape totally different, where is it similar to ours (Zürich’s)? Me: (human soundscape Zürich) Can we hear them (the sounds) in Alert Bay as well? Choir: yes A: English and Kwakwa'la, that we don’t hear as much Me: right, because here we hear what? B: Swiss German (…) Me: and how about the drumming? C: We can also drum, well, some people here also know how to drum D: I was in a djembe course for a year. I: All right, and where do the djembe come from? D: From Africa. Me: An imported sound, thus. The drumming and the singing – in the recording – is traditional Kwakwakwa'wakw music; do you hear this kind of music here? Was für Musik habt ihr hier? (several suggestions from popular music, brief heated debate about the cultural value of DJ Bobo) Me (pointing out the two clear differences: language, traditional music; same popular music, same human sounds etc.; modern life is more or less the same): (…) except that the cars are bigger, and that they all eat too many hamburgers and therefore on average are a bit more corpulent than we are. E: Why? Me: Because they eat too many hamburgers. Because all Yanks eat too many hamburgers. F: But they are not really, I mean, well, yes, but not really, Americans. Me: Yes, they are. F: Well, yes, but…

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Me: That is the really important point that I try to bring across: They are pretty normal, in this case Canadian American, these are totally normal people just like we are, just they have indigenous (indianische) ancestors, and therefore they also attend to their indigenous traditions. That means they have their old dances, their language, their music, but in their day-to-day life they don’t do anything different from what we do. They watch TV, they go to soccer matches, to school… G: Do they also have cars? Me: Of course they have cars, how stupid a question is that

This was, as far as I remember, the only time my self-composure left me, taken off guard by the fact that after three days he still had not got it. However, next to my reaction being pedagogically questionable, it was based on erroneous interpretation: This was the crucial moment, the breakthrough I had worked towards, now he had indeed got it, yes trey do have cars, and despite all he had known till that point, now even this little boy had allowed this fact to sink in. I should have congratulated him, instead of calling him stupid! H: But they eat too many hamburgers Me: You are alphorn and cheese and they are H: Hamburgers Me: But other than that there’s not much of a difference.

One clear difference always identified was the language; in Zürich they speak the Swiss German dialect, and in Alert Bay you mostly hear English (Kwak'wala, as you will recall, is not spoken much any more, so you don’t hear it in everyday conversation, only in language classes and at potlatches). And then there is the music. From the radio at Beau Dick’s house you hear Rod Stewart, but the traditional singing is very different from “our own” music. However, as I pointed out, there is folk music in Switzerland as well (remember the alphorn!), that is not too present in popular everyday culture. Which led us to the conclusion that the 'Namgis of Alert Bay are not that much different from the population of Zürich, except for some 351

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minor traits and the fact that they have a different historical cultural background. In their everyday life, they are just normal people like you and me, although there would be that boy (and it always was a boy) who, after three days of trying to get this message across, would ask in bewilderment, “do they really have cars?” And I would answer, yes, they do have cars, and they also have MP3-players and microwaves and refrigerators, just these are about three times as big as ours, because they’re Americans, and in America everything is bigger than here. Then I told the story of How Raven Stole the Sun, to get them one last atmospheric entry into the indigenous world of the Northwest Coast. They always enjoyed when I jumped up and down and imitate Raven Boy crying and the Chief shouting after him as he flies away with his prize. We also took another shot at the paper exercise, and they got better every time; no laughing, we really managed to achieve an impressive degree of silence, especially if they had kept practicing in the periods between our sessions. In the end we listened to a medley of their soundwalk recordings. We had to do that last, because they would get so agitated that afterwards no serious conversation would have been possible anymore. I then handed them a CD with their field recordings, thanked them for their interest and vanished out of their lives.

III.3.4 Conclusion Now the question must be: Does it work? This question I can only answer in part. From the pupils’ progress in working on the list exercise I deduct a clear progress in sound awareness (clairaudience, sonological competence). The repeatedly performed paper exercise shows how they learn to maintain silence and make it work for them, having become sensitive to what it is. The discussions on sound, source, and meaning, particularly the comparison between Zürich and Alert 352

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Bay, indicate that they take to perceiving and using sound as a meaningful cultural sign, as a valuable and easily accessible source of information. Within the course of a three-session, five-and a-half hour workshop the children took in all these aspects, the sound education, but also the cotemporality and comparability of indigenous culture, which underlines that it was worthwhile conducting the workshops as a real education of the senses (of hearing). My observations on the spot, listening back to the recordings,696 and enthusiastic reactions from the teachers697 convinced me, that it worked for my young participants (and for the teachers). What I cannot tell, however, is whether the workshop has a measurable long-term impact. It must be expected that it is low, if the workshop is a singular event not to be followed up by any further occupation with the subjects treated. I used to hand out a list of listening exercises that go beyond the few that I could try out during the workshops, but I have no way of knowing whether they are used by the teachers. So I cannot tell whether it’s the drop in the bucket, or if it was one of the first drops to wear the stone. I profess to believe in the latter; you have to start somewhere. The data may well be read as showing a tendency in favour of this, although, of course, a theoretical saturation has not been achieved, let alone statistical validation. But there have been many fruitful conversations, as I have shown, I have seen (heard) many eye (ear) openers happening, and if some of the children will later remember fragments of what they have heard during these three days, I will have achieved my goal. The most rewarding class in this respect 696

I recorded some of the sessions infull, without prior consent of the participants. The teachers were informed, but the pupils were not, as I feared their contributions might be coloured by the knowledge of being recorded. I did tell them afterwards and they did not object to my use of their (anonymised) reactions for the purpose of this research. Since their consent was only given in the context of this project their reactions are not to be taken for any further form of public use. 697 Only two of them filled in the questionnaire I sent them afterwards, and not too detailed, but their verbally expressed delight was considerable. With some of them (Frau Siebenthal, for example, who I worked and stayed with for a week) I had extensive conversations that went into some depth, which also left the impression with me that they perceived the workshop as a valuable enrichment of their regular curricula. 353

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was one with a high percentage of children with a migrant background, because there we could, during that last, reflexive and comparative session, discuss not only the soundscapes and cultures of Zürich and Alert Bay, but could include their memories from a variety of other cultures as well; they reported of different animals, music, languages, which made even more concrete and comprehensible how there are many different cultures that in the end are all part of one humanity. Although I never went into theorising about identity and cultural background, I think this fresh combination of learning to listen and cultural comparison could well be one foundation for later reflection, sharpening intercultural perception, with a little luck even being a contributor to a more tolerant (and coeval) mind set. The difference between noisefloor and keynote, as blurry as it may be in the real world at times, is that the noisefloor lacks identity. If you learn to understand to listen to the keynotes of your life, you might get an understanding where you come from and where you belong. And you will realise that there are many others like yourself, only they come from somewhere else, where there are other keynotes. However, on this end of the workshops’ educational aims, reflection on identity through reflecting about the Other (and comparing that with yourself) I have no positive evidence; this will have to be the objective of a consecutive, empirical study focussing on this issue.698 I have mainly worked with rather young participants. Out of the 15 workshops I have conducted to date, only one class was of an average age of 15 years, the others were younger; down to six I had them all, mostly they

698

For this qualitative research methodology, such as grounded theory, or tools, such as episodic or narrative interviews, and formalised quantitative questionnaires filled out by the participants before and after the workshops should be applied: see for example Vaike Fors’ (2013) in-depth study of “Teenagers’ Multisensory Routes for Learning in the Museum”, addressing such diverse issues as acquired “sensory skills and ways of knowing” (p.271), “creating learning environmernts” (p.272), “Sensory emplaced Learning in Relation to Media” (p.277f), and disneyfication (p.285). 354

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were around ten to twelve. That the concept can easily be adapted to older age groups I could test during lectures to students or panels on conferences, where I applied basically the same methods, with the major deficit of not having the museum objects at hand and no acoustically optimised Sound Chamber.699 But the wow-factor was always there. The next step at the NONAM would now be to modify the workshop into a format that can be taken over by any museum pedagogue with a proper introduction into the subjects (mainly ear cleaning), so that my presence is no longer required. Due to logistic reasons that especially requires the workshop to be refashioned in a way that it can be conducted in-house without the need to travel to schools. The Sound Chamber in its mobile form will be set up at the Rijksmuseum Volkenkunde in Leiden during the 35th American Indian Workshop in May 2014. This is a pilot project aimed at a wider range of audiences from all age groups and also for professionals. A first test group of professionals will be the conference participants, who are scholars of indigenous literature, archaeology, ethnography, and anthropology, and artists, both indigenous North Americans and international experts. Particularly interesting will also be the envisaged visits of blind people at the Sound Chamber. The setting at the Rijksmuseum, which is much larger, versatile, and resourceful than the NONAM, will allow for much more experimentation and exploration of the potential of the Sound Chamber and cultural soundscape composition, which here need not be limited to North American indigenous cultures, but can stipulate (coeval) collaborations all over the globe.

699

Wherever possible I set up the mobile version of the Sound Chamber (see Raven Travelling DVD, POI Wiesbaden) 355

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IV Coeval Museum Didactics After having looked at the NONAM’s implementation of the Sounding Museum, we can now return to the questions asked in the beginning of this chapter with a special focus on their relevance to the case. For that, let us first revisit the Icom definition one last time. A museum is a non-profit, permanent institution in the service of society and its development, open to the public, which acquires, conserves, researches, communicates and exhibits the tangible and intangible heritage of humanity and its environment for the purposes of education, study and enjoyment.

Does this definition still hold true in general and can it be applied to the NONAM, the Sound Chamber in particular, or are modifications in order? First of all, it is not a bad definition. The Icom has guarded and adjusted it for decades, and the basic desirable functions of the museum are indeed adequately described by it. It is a matter of opinion to what extent individual museums do indeed manage to meet the criteria, or, more accurately, which of those they focus on. For museums covering cultural grounds, another issue is that of exhibition politics and institutional power, which many contemporary museums have begun to develop an awareness for, while many of them may not yet have found a satisfactory solution to this last and greatest challenge. However, in my context this must be the core concern, since I cannot deal with heritage education without questioning the poetics of exhibition design on a political and ethical level. The definition provided by Icom is designed to be applicable to all types of museums, including technical and natural history museums, which need not be subject to the same considerations and where therefore its universal character is unproblematic. However, taking the importance of coeval relations into consideration, and noticing the emphasis on the “heritage of humanity”, which, after the discussions explicated in World Three, commands to imply all of humanity, I would opt for its inclusion. 356

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A museum is a non-profit, permanent institution in the service of society and its development, open to the public, which acquires, conserves, researches, communicates and exhibits the tangible and intangible heritage of humanity and its environment for the purposes of education, study and enjoyment in a coeval manner, regarding all peoples and cultures as equal.

Do the NONAM and the Sound Chamber meet the criteria of this extended definition? In her analysis of the exhibition Paradise: Change and Continuity in the New Guinea Highlands700 that had been open to the public from 1993 to 1995 at the Museum of Mankind in London, Henrietta Lidchi identifies a notable deviation from classical exhibition practice. An ambitious attempt had been made to include not only exotic peculiarities of the featured Wahgi people, but to present them in a most holistic way, addressing the “Change and Continuity” that comprised Wahgi life at the time of the exhibition, well exemplified by the introductory photograph and text plate at the entrance to the exhibition space. … a genial-looking man stand[ing] casually in front of a corrugated iron wall and frame window; he wears a striped apron of some commercial material, exotic accoutrements and gigantic headdress of red and black feathers. His face is painted black and red; a bright white substance is smeared across his chest. He looks straight at you, with a kind of smile.701

The exhibition then showed a variety of objects from Wahgi contemporary culture, including traditional bridewealth banners, compensation payment poles adorned with dollar notes, a sequential display of coffee production (which had recently connected the Wahgi to the international market), and the complete reproduction of a trade store offering colonial goods to the local population. A contact history was included as well. The most remark700 701

Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.169ff Clifford (1995), p.93, cf. Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.169 357

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able part, however, were the panels at its exit, meticulously documenting the ‘Making of the Exhibition’. By means of photographs and text the visitor gets an insight into how the objects came to the museum, and how the exhibition itself was designed.702 This shows, on the one hand, that the creators of the exhibition wished to create awareness for the processes underlying their finished product. But it also shows that the institutional and symbolic power703 still lay with the museum and the people it commissioned, not with the Wahgi, who were, though treated with the utmost respect upon encounter (Michael O’Hanlon, the anthropologist whose visits to the Wahgi resulted in the exhibition, insists that his practice is described best as mutual exchange, rather than collecting)704, not participating in the development of the exhibition itself. Even though, by recounting the “different stages of its production” “overtly signal[ling its] constructed nature”705, the visitor is still presented with a constructed reality706, which “the visitor is encouraged to trust – by virtue of the presence of artefacts – that this is a ‘reflection’ of Wahgi reality”707, the exhibition, however, remaining “an artefact fashioned by the interplay between curators, designers and the museum institution, but not necessarily the Wahgi”708, who, to my knowledge, were never invited to investigate the exhibition and give their comments or consent. At the NONAM, also with regard to the main target groups, the decision has been made to refrain from dealing too extensively with this meta-level of cultural exchange in favour of a more basic entrance into the world of the indigenous peoples of North America. No portrait of Bruce Alfred is shown next to his bentwood box, the visitors learn nothing of his struggles to find 702

Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), photographic plates between pp.170 and 171 ibid., p.183 704 Clifford (1995), after Lidchi in Hall (1997), p.217 705 Lidchi in Hall, ed. (1997), p.181 706 ibid., p.170 707 ibid., p.173 708 ibid., p.181 703

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an apprentice to learn the technique of steam-bending from him, nor how he and his colleagues work half of the year for money and the other half for potlatches, thus keeping their tradition alive and strengthening community spirit and identity.709 They don’t know that young Darren Alfred, who was working on that gigantic wooden spoon for ritual eulachon grease distribution when I first visited, has given up carving in the meantime and moved to Vancouver, or the troubles we had trying to figure out how to ship the Box to Switzerland. They just see a nicely carved and painted box as part of an arrangement of objects of different age originating from roughly the same cultural circle, without any information why they were chosen and arranged in this particular way. The question is, how much information you can offer without overfeeding your customers, how much they are willing and able to digest. Accepting the limited resources in exhibition space, personnel and budget that a museum as small as the NONAM has to cope with, I would affirm that a decent job is being done there, especially in the guided tours and with the label texts giving away as much information as the average visitor is ready to receive, with the brief accounts of traditional myths giving access to a cosmology and world view not necessarily his/her own. Nevertheless, as can be read in the account further up, a number of small alterations could be considered. The close links between the museum and individual indigenous artists or institutions such as the U’mista cultural society cannot directly be transmitted to the visitors who, with the little time and background knowledge that they bring, can only, if at all, catch a glimpse of the years of contemplation that the staff ideally has indulged in. Still, I believe that by putting a little more emphasis on this aspect, thus personalising the objects of younger origin, the level of coevalness, that has been established between the museum and its contributors, can be mediated, at least to a certain extent, to the visitors. It does happen in some of the special exhibitions, where it is easier to accomplish, as compared to the permanent exhibition, 709

cp. Schoer in De Bruyne/Gielen, eds. (2011), pp.252-262 359

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which has to cover five or six cultural areas on approx. 300sqm. In addition, the special exhibition tends to draw different audiences, whose potentially more extensive knowledge on the subject allows for more in-depth information. These difficulties are intrinsic to the genre of cultural soundscape composition, and therefore have to be made an issue. If you have read Stephen Feld’s Sound and Sentiment or other of his anthropological publications on the Kaluli People of the Bosavi Region in Papua New Guinea, you may have a rough idea what you are hearing when listening to his CD Voices of the Rainforest.710 But that does not mean that you know what the songs used in the compositions are about, to what extent Feld has manipulated his original field recordings, and who the people are, that you hear singing, or what they would have to say about the pieces. If you take the effort, you will find extensive information on the background of the work in the booklet, very much the same as with the “Two Weeks” CD’s first edition. But the distance will remain. Feld is always very conscious of the constructed nature of his writings and compositions, so no blame can be put on him. Nevertheless will a “western” listener, who has not visited the Kaluli and lived with them as long as Feld has, never fully understand what exactly he is listening to, thus creating his own constructed reality on top of what information he might be offered. When you hear Bruce working on a piece of wood, you don’t know that he only did this for the recording, you get no account of the long talks I had with him on all kinds of subjects concerning Christianity, Kwakwaka'wakw culture, and the faulty coffee maker in the carvers’ workshop. The only thing that can be done about this is to try and make the listener aware of this foreshortening without being too schoolmasterly. Put in a museum this becomes even more difficult, as you cannot expect someone who visits the Sound Chamber to read a lengthy elaboration on

710

Feld (1991)

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this subject. Here you are left with the subliminal hints such as small bits of the recordist’s voice or camera clicks. To improve the situation for the Sound Chamber in the future I could imagine to add a headphone-based listening station next to the entrance containing additional material, such as the speech from Vera Newman about her life and experiences held in Kwak'wala and English (maybe with a German translation) that I already used for the mobile copy of the Sound Chamber set up on a sound art exhibition, several symposia, and festivals.711 This speech gets you in touch with a live specimen that talks to you, thereby boosting the immediacy of what you are experiencing inside the Sound Chamber, confronting you with the (otherwise not so) obvious: that the Kwakwaka'wakw are not something of the past, but are really in the there and now. It will remain a schizophonic one-way communication, but the First Voice will decrease the steepness of the power slope between the exhibited, the exhibitor, and the exhibition visitors. The same challenge of adhering transparency about the staged nature of the museum environment applies to the workshop format. You have to take into account the limited time to cover a wide range of subjects and the limited resources of the participants. Therefore, the potential for Wirklichkeitsaneignung (acquirement or appropriation of reality) as postulated by Weschenfelder/Zacharias712 can only be an appropriation of a staged, of a constructed reality. It is the workshop conductor’s duty to put it all into perspective. There may be fissures in the illusions created, the constructed nature of reality may be laid open, the auratic black-boxing of objects may be broken, but it all comes down to a compromise that cannot be accepted as a fullyfledged substitute of reality. The affective first impression, the atmosphere created by the mingling of the place and the objects’ aurae and the (supposedly orientalist) tuning the visitor brings with him must be dissolved and 711 712

Two Weeks CD, track 2 Weschenfelder/Zacharias (1981), p.41f 361

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reassembled with caution. To what extent the individual doing this has itself been able to transcend the situation, and how this person is now in turn manipulative, is another question. So, in the light of all the demands of coevalness and transparency, if asked, regarding “Two Weeks”, the Sound Chamber, and the “das Tönende Museum” workshops, if someone would now ask me: Does it work? I can answer with utter conviction: No, But! I believe that to include such a thing as the Sound Chamber in an anthropological museum is of additional value in itself. It creates an access to experiencing cultures, that otherwise would be missing. To go on field research and create a composition opens a window into the contemporary life of people, decreasing mental (emotional) distance. At the same time it preserves a part of the intangible cultural heritage of the world713 on a very intimate level. During the workshops the children learn to reflect on themselves through another culture, and they also learn to see/hear other cultures with different eyes/ears. The museum is an auratic place in itself and I think it would be folly to try and strip it of that aura.714 The visitors can think, most of them will be aware, if unconsciously, of the constructed nature of the displayed realities. If the people whose heritage is exhibited in the anthropological museum715 know what is happening there and agree with it, you already make a qualitative difference; to put it in the words of Beau 713

During the time Feld made his Bosavi recordings for the Voices CD, the singing practice he documented was already on the decline (http://www.amazon.com/Voices -Rainforest-Life-Kaluli-People/dp/B0000009NX); a CD entitled „Hain“ by Michael Fahres works with recordings of the songs of the Selk’nam, a now extinct indigenous people of Tierra del Fuego (http://www.amazon.de/Hain-MichaelFahres/dp/B00000B4BB; see also Schoer 2007, p.29). 714 A museum is not – and probably also should not attempt to be – a theme park. With the proper attention to its purpose and tasks as defined by the Icom (and me), the extent of abuse of informant data, objects, and power relations may well be kept on an acceptable level. It is the obligation of the curator(s) to make sure of this. 715 I feel tempted to extend Lévi-Strauss’ appeal (see p.278) to museums: They should not be called anthropological anymore, rather, for instance, Museums on Peoples and Cultures of the World. 362

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Dick, who started a recount of a traditional story belonging to his family for me to record by stating the following: “Before I start I must remind you that what I am about to tell you is none of your business. But I am happy to share it with you, and I trust you will put it to good and respectful use.”

As long as everything within one’s means is done to live up to the standards established above, I can accept the shortcomings and limitations the museum is faced with in good conscience.

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Chapter Summary and Outlook IV World Four described the practical implementation of the lessons learned in the previous Worlds during the “Das Tönende Museum” workshops conducted with school classes at the NONAM. The historic backdrop, function and purpose of and the power relations at force in the museum were taken into account while testing strategies of mastering the challenges brought about by orientalism, schizophonia, and schizochronia, with a focus on sound application in exhibition design, paying also reference to the auratic/atmospheric effect of its staged nature, all of which are augmented by the inevitable removal of “objects”, tangible or intangible, from their original habitat. In the workshop, whose starting point was clairaudience training, sound and the soundscape approach were utilised to foster cultural rapprochement and an identity discussion, making the communicative value of the glocal framework an asset for coeval museum education. The Session Musician’s Approach applied during fieldwork proved advantageous in the mediation process between source and recipient, because despite the lack of personal encounter/experience, the participants could gain from the reflexive processes undergone by the conductor. However, it also became obvious, that neither the soundscape approach, nor the skilful integration of research, artistic practice, and pedagogic methodology can change people’s perception without a long-term commitment, and also that the institution of the museum itself, as appropriate a place as it may be to get things going, can itself prove restraining. Nevertheless, with the practical experiences from “Two Weeks” and “Das Tönende Museum”, and the theoretical munition provided by soundscape studies and anthropology as employed in this book, a move can be made towards a holistic take on trans-cultural communication, with cultural soundscape composition in the vanguard of the endeavour. In the Next World, new ways are suggested that may be able to answer to the obstacles identified, most notably an (applied) auditory anthropology. 364

The Two Ravens - So you want to hear the story of the Two Ravens, you nosy children, the story of the Two Ravens who sat on the Great Cedar in the middle of the forest? You shall listen patiently and not interrupt the storyteller with pert questions. Will you do that for me? - Yes, granduncle. - All right, come, move a little closer, for I wouldn’t want to scream anymore, so that every last plank of the BigHouse shakes from my voice. Well then: In the great forest in the middle of the world, where the rains are incessant, and where the trees are so old and so big, that even time cannot remember when they sprouted from the cones of their forefathers, there stood an enormous red cedar that was eldest even among them. Her thick and heavy branches darkened the world beneath her, and with her tip she penetrated the foothills of the heavens. She stood right in the heart of the forest, where the four worlds met. - But granduncle, what does all that have to do with the Ravens? - Now tell me, little Emily, what restlessness fosters in your impetuous young heart, that you try to disturb the flow of things? She who does not indulge in patience and self-discipline, will lean nothing, nor know anything in the end. So sit and watch the fire, and wait with your brothers and sisters, what the dance of the flames will reveal to you. - Yes, granduncle. - Now. On this eldest of all trees, that had resisted all the storms of the world since the beginning of time, for at least as long there had been living the Two Ravens. They were two great, white ravens with long grey beaks and deep black raven eyes. They were brother and sister, and they were as old as the world, for during its creation, they had been appointed to stand guard upon the evil that may befall it.

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There, in the heart of the forest, where the four worlds met, all malice and all evil of the peoples would gather after a long journey, and there sat the Two Ravens on the giant cedar, devouring all the black thoughts, thus maintaining the equilibrium between the natural order of things and the destructive forces of human cruelty. But eventually, the people spread and multiplied and became numerous, and made many inventions to gain dominion over the land and the seas, and would not consult the spirits over their actions anymore, and their evil grew faster than the Ravens could cope with it. In the heart of the forest on the great old cedar they soon saw themselves engulfed by a vast black flood that threatened to take down everything in its path. The Two Ravens carried on with their task, swallowing all evil down to the last viscous drop. But as hard as they tried, their bellies swelling under their white feathers, the darkness would surge ever closer, as evil grew in the world. One day, long had it been since the Two Ravens had seen the neversetting sun through all the blackness around them, that they took in without dismay, the inescapable happened. They had devoured such vast amounts of wickedness and discord that the younger one could no longer handle the pressure and burst into a thousand pieces. The old cedar was cloven in two and, with a roaring thunder, a lighting bolt pierced the heavens. It had not rained for a long time, as the black surge had driven all the clouds away, and so the mighty tree burned down to her roots. A terrible storm rose, that blew for four days and that dispersed the tree’s ashes into the four directions. When the storm finally receded, the stump of the tree had crumbled in ruin, and the four worlds were parted. - But granduncle, what happened to the world when the Ravens could not free it of its evil anymore?

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- What, dear Michael, have I told little Emily before about impatience and lack of discipline? You as the older brother should set a good example and live up to the virtues of our people. - Yes, granduncle. - All that I have told you happened a long time ago, long before the people came to these parts, even long before U’melth had found the first men in a clam shell. When his younger sister died, U’melth was stricken with grief. Stained with black goo from the explosion that would never come off again (though others say that Raven got his black plumage from another incident), he wandered the world. With his sister and the Great Cedar gone he decided never to take up his original task again but to mind his own business instead and to have himself a good time, perceiving that he had done more than his share in being a responsible person. Hence he became the creator and trickster as whom we know him today. Since then the people have to cope with their evil thoughts on their own. How well, my children, would you say, have they been doing? - Not too well, granduncle, otherwise the white men wouldn’t have taken away father John from here, who wanted to teach us to read and to write and to be like the men from the City. - Well, well, father John. I do not know about the men in the City, but one thing I do know: It is rumoured that the young Raven sister did not ultimately die from the evil of the world, but when she tried to heal the black heart of a white man.

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Next World:

The Way of the Mask. Conclusions and Outlook: Successive Projects, Auditory Anthropology

According to Hagbard Celine’s Second Law, “[true] communication is possible only between equals”.716 The Sounding Museum’s ostensible objective was to create a “good” cultural soundscape composition and to put it to use in a museum environment. Its fundamental and ultimate goal, however, is to help establish coeval intercultural communication. Communication is predominantly based on language and the spoken word, but transcending this, there is also the vast complexity of non-verbal communication, the totality of information exchange systems between the individual and its environment. Sound is, after all that has been said in this book, beyond any doubt one major and powerful medium for this exchange. If we want to understand each other, to learn from each other, to coexist with each other, we need to listen to each other, language barriers notwithstanding. In the cultural soundscape of a given unit we can find many aspects that fascinate us with their otherness, but likewise those elements that reassure us by their familiarity. Therefore, an important step in getting to know each other is to listen to the sounds of life, your own life and that of the Other, to realise that, in all its diversity, human culture is but one unit, the subdivisions of which are worth listening into and to be kept alive and evolving. A good place to get started with this appears to be the ethnographical museum. My case study accordingly covered the cultural soundscape approach as implemented with the Sound Chamber at the NONAM and activities taking place around it, as well as successively developed presentation formats.

716

Shae/Wilson (1975), p.286

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i) Looking Back: Mission Accomplished? To put sound at the centre of the rapprochement attempt has proven a productive decision in the framework of the Sounding Museum. As the evaluation of the Sound Chamber application and the workshops has shown, the affective power of the soundscape can be used as the starting point to initiate discussion, reflection and recapitulation of one’s assumptions. It will not wash orientalism out of the system, but, with a commitment to transparency, it will facilitate its exposure, eventually lessening the distance between cultures. Combining the Session Musician’s Approach with anthropological backup and as many First Voices as can be found as willing collaborators has worked as a communication strategy that functioned well in both directions, towards the source’s and the recipient’s ends. No miracles should be expected from this project. In its course, many obstacles have been met, some could be overcome, some could be eluded, some still stick out as impassable cliffs and shallows; the schizogenic nature of reproduced sound being the eponymous example for opportunity and threat at the same time. From my informants and my target groups I have received strong approval and confirmation of the appropriate performance of my designs. However, the Sounding Museum offers but one approach, one that works well in its context, but may not in another. It is a manual, a handbook, that will need adjustment and adaptation for any new case that may come along, and it can only be so effective as its environmental context allows it to be. That applies, accordingly, also to the recording and composing processes, where, for the case of “Two Weeks”, technically, artistically, and ethically, no significant flaws have been identified. On the small scale on which the project was implemented, measurability can almost only take place on a qualitative level, analysing individual situations and encounters. A large-scale study and comparative studies with alternative approaches would be a desirable follow-up enterprise to help improve the format, or develop more generally applicable guidelines. Then again I wonder, if that is necessary, or even possible, or if the conceptual claims 369

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laid out here should not be enough to go with, leaving enough freedom for individual designs to adjust to the encountered conditions. It can only be stressed again that the responsibility for ethical credibility will always rest heavily on the shoulders of those “in charge”, those who create a cultural presentation, whose personal integrity therefore remains paramount. More important, as Schafer and his colleagues and successors have been arguing for decades, would be to fully integrate sound education in school curricula, and, for the cultural rapprochement aspect, to implement the rethinking of museum design and anthropological research ethics and theory formation, as has been demanded at least since Lévi-Strauss’ early works, on a broad scale. Heritage and identity, along with its cultural boundaries, as I have proposed, seem to be largely established on an affective level, the atmospheric in-betweens of communication therefore posing an asset to be considered a valuable input source for action and reflection in this area. This likewise seems to call for more widespread acknowledgement, although it may first need to be lifted out of the esoteric reputation it, sometimes deservingly, has earned in many intellectual circles. Such a grand design may not be achieved with this Box of Treasures, but I am confident that I could provide another building block for its completion. In that respect, the initial goal of the Sounding Museum, to create a “good” cultural soundscape composition and to put it to use, has been achieved with “Two Weeks in Alert Bay”, the “Das Tönende Museum” workshop series, and the by-catch assembled here.

ii) Expanding: Different Formats and Contexts The narrow framework of the Sounding Museum’s original design has in recent years been expanded beyond the scope of its embedment in the NONAM. Next to surveying its visitors and working with school classes in the workshops I have had shots at various target groups outside the museum. These ranged from academic audiences in lectures, conference panels 370

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and other ex-cathedra or more interactive, workshop-oriented short (ranging from 45 minutes to three hours) forms, that were mainly aimed at the recapitulation and theorisation of the initial concept. Often such presentations would include a mobile reproduction of the Sound Chamber accessible for up to several days around the event, to fixed installations in deviating contexts. Most interesting among these was the reconstruction of the Sound Chamber in the framework of the sound art exhibition “Klang” that was held at the Künstlerverein Walkmühle in Wiesbaden, Germany, from August to October 2012.717 There, in form of the sound installation “This is not a Totem Pole”, the “Two Weeks” piece was completely removed from its ethnographic, even its educational context, generating a whole new set of questions that were not relevant for as long as it stayed in the NONAM. How would the storytelling, formerly embedded in a clear narrative of indigenous culture, be received by an audience interested in contemporary (sound) art? What shift in the perception of the cultural soundscape composition would take place, once it was situated among the products of artists (not related to cultural research), instead of ethnographic objects? Since an exhaustive evaluation has not been conducted, I can only make assumptions. These, however, would certainly be worth investigating in a consecutive study. I have seen works of Beau Dick, marvellous large-scale masks, some very traditionally crafted, some applying contemporary techniques and aesthetics, being exhibited in art galleries next to works with no affiliation to Northwest Coast indigeneity, where they stepped out of the boundaries of their cultural background.718 There Beau’s art was presented essentially as contemporary art, not as indigenous handicrafts. Does this lessen the dis-

717

A brief documentation can be found on the Raven Travelling DVD-ROM under POI “Wiesbaden“ 718 for example at the 17th Sydney Biennale in 2010, or at the Contemporary Art Gallery Vancouver 371

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tance, or does it just reconfirm the power relations by way of pointing out that an indigenous artist will only be respected as a contemporary, as coeval, if he bows to the rules of the (Western) art market? Will the work even be understood to the depth that is required to transcend the allochronic slope, once shown out of context, or will it, as some Kwakwaka'wakw elders would argue, act as a sell-out of their culture, outright disrespecting cultural taboos? And, in the case of “Not a Totem Pole” at the “Klang” exhibition, did I perhaps contribute to this by removing the original providers of my material even further than at the NONAM? I had a label plate attached to the installation, naming, next to the title of the work, me and the people of Alert Bay as its creators, but there is no way of knowing if that was actually comprehended by its visitors, who were presumably more habitualised to the idea of the single artist (or a group of artists collaborating), not to the idea of amalgamating tradition and modernity, perception and communication to move different cultures closer to each other. Both at the “Klang” exhibition and at the NONAM I had to ask myself, how digestive does my work need to be in order to be accepted by the audience, without becoming disneyfied, and how subversive can I allow it to be, without it failing to be understood? Referring back to the debate of (re-) presentation ethics and the liberties and restrictions of the presenter (artist, ethnographer, curator…) would it be located on the compass rose of mapping artworks as auto- or allo-relational?719 And would its position on this map indeed shift with change of context or target group?

719

Gielen (2011) has introduced a matrix within which any artwork can be located at the extremes or somewhere within in the fields of tension of allo- (deliberately aimed at a defined audience) and auto- (created chiefly for the convenience of the artist her-/himself) relationality, and digestivity (highest grade of compliance, no system-critical intention) and subversity (provocatively attacking a commonly agreed-on status quo), respectively. The positioning may vary depending on the context within which a work is presented/experienced. Gielen in De Bruyne/Gielen, eds. (2011), pp.16-33 372

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iii) The Future: First Voices and Sensory Holism? The answers to all these questions pending, I will now turn my attention to potential future perspectives of the Sounding Museum. One weakness I have repeatedly identified in my design is it being mainly a personal account of its creator. I have attenuated this weakness, to some extent even made it a strength, by pedantically insisting on the transparency of this fact, however, I cannot be as presumptuous as to claim to be representing, or even properly translating the setting I had found myself while on field research. Another weakness is the Sounding Museum’s proclaimed strong focus, limitation even, to sound as the sole or at least most prominent sensory channel served within its framework. This is a strength insofar as I have argued that it is an underrated channel in educative and scientific contexts and needs to be brought to its practitioners’ attention, as well as to people in general (“clairaudience”), facilitating a richer and more conscious perception and, in this course, improving communication capabilities on all levels. However, to achieve the “equilibrium of the senses”, we will have to get out of the laboratory that the Sound Chamber ultimately is. “The Sounding Museum: The Way of the Mask” is an idea for a follow-up project have I sketched out, that sticks to the here established combination of research, art, and education. In addition to that it proposes a significantly more prominent featuring of first voices. At the same time it tends to more than just one of the senses. It was in part inspired by the 'Nulis Mask mentioned in World Four that Wa had discovered in the vaults of the Berlin Ethnographic Museum. Ethnologist Rainer Hatoum has worked with William Wasden jr. and other indigenous Alert Bay residents to bring the old mask back to life in form of a new 'Nulis mask that he wanted to film as it was danced in a potlatch. The old and the new masks would then be exhibited together with the film, serving the purpose of transgressing the limitations of the “mute world of the museum.”

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The second inspiration was Vera Newman’s speech that I recorded at the U'mista Cultural Centre during my third visit to the Bay. I had originally intended to ask her if she would tell the story How Raven Stole the Sun in Kwak'wala so that I could use it as opening track for the second edition of the “Two Weeks” CD. But then I decided to let her speak her mind, drawing on what inspiration she found on her part by beforehand listening to the piece. The result is strongly informed by the First Voices approach and much more fascinating and content-rich than another rehash of the old Raven tune would have been. I have edited a proposal discussed at the NONAM and the Museum of Anthropology in Vancouver (MOA), which is reproduced below. The basic design is rather trivial, a simple narrative plot and some atmospheric/auratic gadgets neatly put together. However, with its intent to give the informants the authority of final decision, it strives to overcome the classical power relations that exist between museum and exhibited, between researcher and informant, between curator and object-maker. As will become obvious, this is not without risk, in fact, the whole endeavour could fail, once you agree that not the curator has the last word. A joint proposal of the Sounding Museum and the U'mista Cultural Society, this project would follow the path of coevalness, working with musicians, artists and representatives from the Kwakwaka'wakw communities of BC. It would also follow the Way of the Mask. From the logging business, that provides the cedar tree the mask will be cut from, over the carving process to the ceremonial use of the mask at a potlatch, all steps would be meticulously documented by camera. A whole squad of microphones would record all the sounds emanating from the respective events and activities, but also interviews, songs, and other relevant material, thereby assembling an acoustic portrait of one of the core aspects of contemporary Kwakwaka'wakw cultural identity. Kwakwaka'wakw master carver Beau Dick has signalled strong interest in collaborating. He would be accompanied working on a transformation mask. The audio footage could be used at the U'mista Cultural Centre and other exhibition spaces, such as the NONAM and the MOA, over the coming years in form of small interventions into the yet mostly mute exhibition spaces, culminating in a special exhibition that would feature the transformation mask itself (as a loan from its owner) at the centre.

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This centrepiece would be embedded in a setup featuring a multi-channel soundscape composition and visual documentary material, with additional presentations, lectures, workshops and performances. One of the project’s economic objectives should be to support education programmes for First Nation youths, for we would want to give the apple back with interest. There are three major points of departure in this concept that would make it worthwhile to pursue, all of them dealing with inclusions not yet to be taken for granted in museum exhibition practice. First, the inclusion of the whole sensory apparatus: While the Sound Chamber aims to re-introduce sound as an important means of communication, deliberately separating it from the rest of the museum, creating a laboratory-like artificial environment in order to avoid distraction, with the Way of the Mask all sensory information would be made accessible to the limits of what is possible in a museum environment. We will be able to hear, see, smell, and touch; films and photographs of logging will be accompanied by the ramble of power saws, falling trees, and truck engines, we will smell the sawdust and the gasoline, and we will have a log lying on the ground to feel the bark and the rough edges of the saw marks. Second, the inclusion of the inside story: Usually the exhibition designer, the ethnographer, or maybe an artist, decides which objects are to be exhibited, how they should be arranged, and what additional information will be offered. For the Way of the Mask, the people that provide the objects (and the other materials) will tell the story. Collaboration with the people of Alert Bay will not stop once we have returned to the Old World (or to Vancouver), instead they will come along and create an exhibition to their liking. We will turn the classical power relations of the museum upside down by letting them have the last word.720 Third, the inclusion of absolute transparency: When you visit a museum you expect to be presented with the truth. Hence, whatever you are confronted with must be the “real thing”, and nobody bothers discussing with you the staged nature of exhibition design. And perhaps that is not what you are interested in. You want to immerse yourself in an exotic world of strange creatures and strange habits that spark you imagination. The Way of the Mask will grant you a certain amount of illusion. But we will make sure that this illusion breaks down soon enough so you begin to understand that an object in a museum has a history of removal as well.721 720

See Colwell-Chanthaphonh (2009), p,23, on museum anthropology as applied anthropology, and “reciprocity and symmetric expertise” in reference to “source communities”. 721 Samuel Alberti (2005) identifies in objects’ biographies three phases of removal: collecting, life in the collection, and viewing the object; pp.559-71. Cp. also Susan M. Pearce (1999) on “self-reflexive museum production (…), the relationship between the collection, the collector, the museum exhibition and the visiting public (…) [and] the role of documentation as an aspect of colonial appropriation”; p.25. Footnote 599: the brief but clear statement by Clifford in Stocking (1985), p.5 375

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The mask in the museum is not the same artefact anymore that it was when it was danced at the potlatch. It is likely that the mask that you see on display as the centrepiece of the exhibition is not even the original one, which is safely stored away in the box of treasures of the chief who owns it, only to be exposed to the witnesses at the potlatch it is danced in. We will tell the whole story; not only that of the mask in its natural habitat, but also that of its removal and that of the making of the exhibition. The Way of the Mask will take you backstage.

iv) Towards an Auditory Anthropology722 Before I move on to the closing remarks to this book, I briefly want to return to a proposal that I mentioned in World Three, namely that of an auditory anthropology. I use this concept as drawn up by and discussed with the ethnomusicologists Matthias Lewy and Bernd Brabec de Mori.723 Based on the theory of the four ontologies introduced by Philippe Desco724 la and perspectivism as defined by Eduardo Viveiros de Castro,725 our proposal for an auditory anthropology is mainly informed by the findings of Lewy and Brabec de Mori’s fieldwork with Amerindians from the Amazon. They have started considering an auditory anthropology out of a for their ends unsatisfactory methodological framework they identified within ethnomusicology and anthropology. Whereas the ethnomusicologists’ prime 722

If not stated otherwise, all concepts and examples in this section are taken from Halbmayer, Karadimas, Lewy, and Brabec de Mori in Halbmayer, ed. (2012) and the discussions between Lewy, Brabec de Mori and me in the course of gathering our thoughts on the introduction of a concept for an auditory anthropology (2012/13). In this introduction many concepts have been abbreviated or simplified. Their exhaustive and differentiated analysis can be found in the referenced literature. This and the following section have been adapted from Schoer/Brabec de Mori/Lewy (2014). 723 An auditory anthropology has been anticipated By Feld with his acoustemology derived from his work in Bosavi; see Feld (1990), and Tom Rice has been working on a framework at least since 2007; Carlyle (2007), p.126 724 Descola (2011) pp.189f, 346 725 Viveiros de Castro (1997) pp.99-111 376

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domain should be sound, many of the findings in the field are still presented predominantly visually, as transcripts, scores, and texts, with a strong focus on analysis and interpretation of music/songs, their sonic and ontological circumstances widely ignored. Sarah Pink in “Doing Sensory Ethnography”726 has already suggested an approach to ethnography that attempts to include “sensoriality” in the ethnographic process. However, sensory ethnography, and anthropology, is still very much biased towards the visual, evident in the growing body of research in the field of visual anthropology. On the other hand, sound studies, as wide, ramified and interdisciplinary as they may present themselves, have not yet generated a comprehensive symbiosis of sound with anthropological theory.727 In this book I have introduced an approach to an applied auditory anthropology that aims to mediate theoretical concepts and field research on an affective/atmospheric level. I will now briefly summarise the main theoretical premises for an auditory anthropology and then present a number of examples from the Amazon that illustrate why not only the mediation of sound-related phenomena should put an emphasis on sound, but that also during research sound and the acoustic environment are of utmost relevance. An auditory anthropology will have to address the production and perception of sound, taxonomies of sound and the construction of ontologies, especially via the juxtaposition of naturalism and animism (see below), and the quality and interaction of the senses, with a clear position against the primacy of the visual. But before we can do that, we should return to a basic question: What do we hear? Sound, of course, we may reply, but what is sound? Is it waves, the physical compression and decompression of a carrier medium, vibration? Or is it rather events, like, if I knock on a table, does the listener actually perceive “waves”, or does he/she rather perceive the event/ action of knocking? Or is it the properties of the material that is being

726 727

Pink (2009) p.59 See also Brabec de Mori in Halbmayer (2012), p.79 377

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knocked on/excited that are revealed by the act of knocking?728 Is it the table itself that we hear? Another set of questions may be: Do we only hear with our ears? And do we hear only with our ears? I have noted in World One that the sense of hearing is of crucial importance for our orientation in space. The same holds true, evidentially, for the equilibrium sense, which happens to be physically located in the inner ear, its function based on the same physiological principles as hearing; lymph in the vestibular system exciting hair cells through its movements. So spatial information, not only of the acoustic kind, is generally perceived by the ears. Frequencies below 20Hz cannot be transduced by the cochlea, but with our body we can feel them;729 the possibility of the skin being able to process frequencies above 20kHz is being discussed.730 And then there are such phenomena as inner voices, imagined music, or blocked out sounds, that are either measurable but not perceived, or the other way around. Lewy and Brabec de Mori report situations experienced during their fieldwork, where their interlocutors heard sounds that they, possibly due to their different acculturation, did not.731 So the questions posed above all hint towards the complexity of sound and hearing, that cannot be reduced to physical attributes, but instead must be regarded in the light of Böhme’s atmospheric approach, with all its synesthetic aspects, and take into account that different cultures may deal differently with the acoustic world around them, not the least in several cases due to different ontologies.

728

cp. Böhme (1989b), pp.121-137; on the doctrine of signatures with Paracelsus and Jacob Böhme 729 In Steven Spielberg’s 1993 “Jurassic Park” frequencies down to 3Hz are used to create terror among the crowd; you don’t hear them, but you will be scared out of your wits! The Emoti-Chair developed at Ryerson University Toronto translates audio information into vibro-tactile stimuli, enabling deaf people to “listen” to music. (http://www.ryerson.ca/smart/images/OSC_Event.pdf) 730 http://www.audiva.de/anwender/therapeuten/grundlagen/hoeren-undspueren.html 731 personal conversations, May 2013; cp. Menezes Bastos (2013), p.287f 378

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In Descola’s matrix732 four ontologies are listed that are, informed by structuralist ideas, opposing each other in the way they deal with physicality and interiority. The most remarkable of these oppositions is the one between naturalism and animism. In naturalism, which Descola equates with Western thinking, a similar physicality is opposed by an individual interiority, meaning that we are all made of the same substance, but our minds or souls will always be separated, condemning us to a monadic existence in all these inner aspects. In contrast to this, in animism the physicality differs (we all look different), but we are of the same interiority. The question here is, where is sound located, where the voice? To give a preliminary answer to this, Lewy draws on the perspectivism of Viveiros de Castro, according to which, and now we enter the area of Latin American indigenous ontology, humans and non-humans see the world(s) differently. In reaction to the visual primacy expressed in Viveiros de Castro’s thinking, Lewy argues in a concept that he tentatively terms sonorism that humans and non-humans, according to indigenous (animistic) ontology, may hear similarly between those worlds, allowing them to interact trans-specifically via sound (auditory primacy). Bridging these two approaches, Brabec de Mori introduces a sonic perspectivism, arguing that the sonic domain facilitates agencies, wherein sound production, especially, as we will find in the following case examples, the voice, reflects sonorism. The Pemón, a Carib indigenous people living in the Amazon in Venezuela, Brazil, and Guyana, practice a hunting ritual called parishara, consisting of a song cycle of 30-something songs that take three to four hours to perform.733 To understand how this ritual works, we have to follow Lewy’s observation that Pemón myths reflect perspectivism in Viveiros de Castro’s sense: According to Pemón ontology, humans see humans as humans, animals as animals, and spirits as spirits with an anthropomorphic interiority; 732

see auditory anthropology slideshow on Raven Travelling, POI Wiesbaden, slide

11 733

Lewy in Halbmayer, ed. (2012), pp.64-69 379

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animals (prey) see humans as spirits or hunter animals; animals (hunter) and spirits see humans (and prey animals) as prey in an anthropomorphic framework.734 However, and that is where Lewy’s sonorism comes in, in the parishara, hearing, not seeing, is employed. Clearly, “real humans” (the translation of Pemón) sing the songs, but they are tapir songs! When the tapirs hear the songs of the parishara, they believe that there is a party of their own people going on, which they feel invited to join. Since the songs are their songs (according to Lewy in Amerindian animistic ontologies most original sound creation is attributed to non-humans), they perceive the people who are singing them as being of their own kind. Only once the tapirs see the hunters, they realise their mistake; the hunting begins. Another example of auditory ethnographical findings also comes from the Amazon, namely the Ucayali Valley in Peru, where Brabec de Mori has worked with the Shipibo-Conibo people (Shipibo in the following). From the parishara we have heard that on the sonic plane animals and humans (who all perceive themselves as humans) can interact. In the following case this interaction needs to be prevented: Some species of birds are, according to Shipibo cosmology, equally, if not more, powerful as the Shipibo themselves and therefore must not be mocked without risking unpleasant consequences. For example, when wandering in the jungle, these birds, having a much better overview than the humans, may warn them of imminent dangers. If they are upset, they may choose to refrain from continuing to do so. Now there are songs about these birds that they, for the above reasons, better not hear. However, if you have ever been to the Amazon, you will realise that they are always around; you can hear their singing all the time. In order to avoid discord, the Shipibo have devised a way to break the interspecific acoustic link in a way that reminds of the masking properties of the noisefloor described in World One: They create a sound carpet, a lofi soundscape, with rattles and small objects attached to their dancing garments that is so loud, that the birdsong cannot be heard anymore. Accord-

734

Viveiros de Castro (1998), p.470; reference to the Pemón by Lewy

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ingly, the birds will not be able to hear the humans’ singing, as long as this noisefloor is kept up.735 In one last example, which also comes from the Shipibo, I want to introduce a phenomenon that to a certain extent spans an arch back to the Kwakwaka'wakw far in the North: In indigenous cultures all over the Americas much heed is given to trans-specific transformations. You may recall the embarrassment I felt when I realised that I mixed up Bobby Duncan and Beau Dick in reference to the deer transformation mask, and how they both put me at ease by stating that when dancing the mask, they become the entity represented by it. In this case, however, it was obvious for the (Western) spectator, that their was a real human behind the mask, and that the transformation therefore must be symbolic, and no matter how fiercely a “traditionalist” indigenous person might object, no ethnographer, from the Arctic down to Tierra del Fuego, has ever actually seen such a transformation happen in the flesh. In the sonic realm this is different. Shipibo médicos (shamans) are believed to possess the capability of transforming into animals, even spirits736 during magical rituals. That as well cannot be visually observed. But it can be heard. Becoming, for example, a jaguar, the singing voice of the médico changes, and this change can be experienced, a sonic transformation called voice masking.737 The médico now is a jaguar, and it would be dangerous for a common man to let himself be seen during that time, because the shaman will see him as, for example, a tapir (while perceiving himself still as a human, but in the way all jaguars perceive themselves as humans), and may attack him.738 The ritual usually takes place in darkness. While from a naturalistic point of view, nothing may 735

You can listen to a progression of sound samples demonstrating the effect in the auditory anthropology slideshow on Raven Travelling, slides 17-20. 736 It is beyond the scope of this short account to discuss the precise nature of this transformation; cp. Brabec de Mori (2013), pp.343-61 737 Olsen (1996), p.159 738 Please listen to the audio sample in the auditory anthropology slide show on Raven Travelling, slide 21. It is the moment when the médico transforms back from jaguar to human, returning from his high-pitched jaguar voice to his low-pitched regular speaking voice. 381

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have happened, except for either deception or delusion, for the animist this change is absolutely real. Brabec de Mori and Victor Stoichiţă have introduced the term “sonic beings” to describe this non-personalised intermediary – in-between – agency that sound facilitates in these examples.739

v) Applied Auditory Anthropology: Four Worlds Consolidated From the examples above and the many more they have encountered during their fieldwork and that can be found in the field’s literature, Lewy and Brabec de Mori conclude that - sound and their ornaments (structure, instruments, lyrics) indicate the identity of the non-human; - non-humans transmitting these identities to humans and humans imitating these identities in performance aim to communicate transspecifically; - and, following Descola's concept of ontologies, sound perception and production is more related to interiority then to physicality.

With this relational definition of being740 in mind we postulate: - Amerindian ontologies are constructed strongly around auditory perception and sonic phenomena.741 739

Personal conversation with Brabec de Mori & Stoichiţă, May 2013 Viveiros de Castro acc. to Karadimas in Halbmayer, ed. (2012), p.27 741 Taking a closer look we may find this limitation to indigenous or even Amerindian ontologies a rather restrictive one, as well as the limitation to sound; instead, ontologies in general may be, as we may deduct from Böhme, strongly influenced by perceptive and affective phenomena, not only in the Amazon, but everywhere. To speak with Karadimas: “on a certain level, what Descola labelled ‘naturalist’ ontology relies on an ‘animistic’ process which is kept cryptic (Latin), or separated (art) from the consciousness of people sharing this ontology; Karadimas in Halbmayer, ed. (2012), p.49. However, finding ourselves painfully in the tradition of the evolutionists and the cultural garden hypothesis, it appears to be a good starting point, as 740

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- Neither is it sufficient to analyse and compare myths and other narratives (although it may help), nor just to look and see (which may help, too). - All senses and modes of expression must be considered when intending to understand indigenous ontology.742

Thus all these phenomena and the ontologies behind them cannot be exhaustively described without listening to the sounds that are affiliated to them. They can also not be properly interpreted without taking into account the different ontologies, which also means to step out of one’s own frame of reference (naturalism in our case) and accept that other ontologies are not simply false, but different takes on reality, different perspectives of the same phenomenon. By integrating perception theory, the soundscape approach, Feld’s acoustemology, Descola’s ontologies, and Viveiro de Castro’s perspectivism with our methodological approaches from the applied auditory anthropology, the First Voices and the Session Musician’s Approach, we aim to develop an atmospheric approach to anthropology, transgressing the primacy of the visual and the Western “view” on culture. An auditory anthropology will have to employ “a multidisciplinary approach of socio-semiotics, ethnomusicology and a phenomenology of acoustic experience - an akoumenology.”743 The initial question then must be extended from “what do we hear? ” to “how do we hear? ” and “how does the Other hear?” In the didactic branch of applied auditory anthropology744 aimed at a lay audience the ontological and epistemological groundwork behind such

the auditory aspects of Amazonian indigenous ontologies are so much more obvious than elsewhere. 742 cp. Brabec de Mori in Halbmayer, ed. (2012), p.98 743 Tan (2012), p.23. Cp. also Faudree’s suggestions for a synthesis of the soundscape approach and chronotopy with semiotic anthropology; Faudree (2012), pp.519-36 744 The political dimension implied by the lexical proximity to applied anthropology is explicitly intentional. We have learned from Levi-Strauss and others that anthropology nowadays cannot elude social and political entanglement, which, as argued 383

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practices as the parishara, voice masking, or other, cannot be brought across one-to-one, but by applying sound and understanding the aisthetic nature of perception and rationalisation, the analytic, naturalism-informed gaze can be confronted. And doubtlessly once the atmospheric entry has been made, the rest will follow eventually. The strength of the Sounding Museum’s concept lies in its integrative power, which, to no little extent, is the power of affects. If you are in academia, think about what got you attracted to your field of study in the first place. Was it the dusty archives that you spend most in your lives in, or was it the childly fascination for the adventure promised by the appeal of the unknown? There is a reason why so much effort has been put in the Box of Treasures’ appearance, with corporate design including visual logo and audio branding, old-fashioned as the production of a printed book and actual data disks may seem in times when everything can be found in online clouds. I cannot take you to Alert Bay, but I can give you an atmospheric (call it auratic, if you like) object to hold in your very hands. It is this tacit haptic-affective totality that creates a synthesis of soundscape studies, ethnographic fieldwork, anthropology, and museum didactics, and reconciles academic research, art, and education. The main (new) tools are the Session Musician’s Approach and the First Voices’ perspective, the glocal framework and the conscious and constructive integration of schizophonic aspects into it, and, particularly, the personal perspective: I am talking to you, not an impersonal omniscient naturalistic consciousness (Heisenberg’s deterministic demon, that cannot exist without ending the universe…). Thereby I am building bridges between the worlds of the audiophile, the “Exotic Other”, the scientist, the interested lay public; the Sounding Museum has indeed left the laboratory. in various places throughout this book, must hold especially true in the context of the power relations inherent in museum politics, particularly regarding the consequences they have on its visitors. Cp. Nader in Merril/Goddard, eds. (2002), pp.47-54, also Colwell-Chanthaphonh (2009), p.23. 384

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Because attracting new audiences is so imperative for the thriving of new ideas, the last paragraph will be granted to the Sounding Museum’s tools not for production of data, but especially their mediation.

xx) The Glocal Community: A whole World of Communication Next to the theoretical merging of anthropology and the Sounding Museum, and new projects that build on the foundations laid by its maiden flight, I would of course enjoy watching Sound Chambers grow in ethnographic and other museums all over the world, the workshop format adapted to their respective needs, and there are countless cultural soundscape compositions waiting to be produced. Another expansion of the Sounding Museum might take up where the initial research and development of presentation formats had to refrain from further investigation. With the “Raven Travelling” DVD-ROM a first interactive device has been introduced. This could easily be integrated into the virtual world of the internet.745 A website, its starting point being the map that is also found on the DVD, could provide real interactivity, with possibilities of participation and content development by anyone, from anywhere, its accessibility for end users virtually unlimited. Taking into account the excessive use of social media, above all facebook, by many (often younger) members of the indigenous communities of the Northwest Coast, it would be desirable to tap into this resource as well. More than that, the impact of such networks on the (cultural) life of indigenous communities certainly deserves a large-scale research project in itself. None of this need be limited to things Kwakwaka'wakw, quite the opposite, as this would almost have the feel of a form of positive discrimination. On the other hand, without proper maintenance, the broader the context, the vaster the data, the greater will be the risk of arbitrariness, thereby loosing its strong cohesive force. 745

For a pilot, please visit www.soundingmuseum.com 385

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To preserve, document, and spread an understanding for the importance of the vitality of the cultural soundscapes of the world, collaboration with strong local and global partners in academia, the arts, and education is compulsory. The UNESCO with its international commitment to the safeguarding of oral and intangible cultural heritage could here play an important role as patron for future activities, as the Swiss Commission has done for the Sounding Museum in the past. The soundscape approach offers “a mode of deep relational listening between sound and place [that] create[s] acoustic environments unique to cultural spaces”746, “sound is the means by which the ‘foreign’ is introduced to the ‘local’.“747 Cultures being the massive, ever-competing memeplexes that they are, no matter what course the Sounding Museum may take in the future, this Box of Treasures was assembled to speak out loudly in favour of listening to each other, and to regard each peculiar Other as your equal, not loosing your fascination for the unknown, but to un-tighten the grip of the eon-old instinct to fear it.748 If the air is jam full of sounds which we can tune in with, why should it not also be full of feels and smells and things seen through the spirit, drawing particles from us to them and them to us like magnets? Emily Carr749

746

Tan (2012), p.23 ibid., p.25 748 If we transcend the relational definition of being (see above) to a relational definition of culture, we may begin to understand why it is always the Other who is the cannibal, no matter from whose point of view; cp. Pöhl (2013) 749 http://www.arthistoryarchive.com/arthistory/canadian/Emily-Carr.html 747

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B) Websites (all last checked 06-28-2013, if not stated otherwise) - http://amor.cms.hu-berlin.de last checked 10/2011) - http://arcticrose.wordpress.com Hunting) - http://astro.temple.edu - http://de.guideid.com - http://de.wikipedia.org - http://en.wikipedia.org - http://epe.lac-bac.gc.ca - http://fr.wikipedia.org - http://galan.in http://silverjackson.tumblr .com/) - http://gutenberg.spiegel.de/ - http://icom.museum - http://interact.uoregon.edu - http://journeytothesea.com - http://mingusmingusmingus.com Davis) - http://unesdoc.unesco.org - http://wfae.net - http://www.alertbay.ca - http://www.arthistoryarchive.com - http://www.artwise.ca Monsters) - http://www.audiva.de - http://www.britishmuseum.org - http://www.eldrbarry.net - http://www.firstnations.de - http://www.flickr.com - http://www.futurism.org.uk - http://www.guideport.de - http://www.hessenpark.de - http://www.holosonics.com

(European Lieux de Memoire; (Raven and Mink go Bear (Boas) (audioguide)

(Carr) (Nicholas Galanin; now at (online book classics)

(Totem Poles) (Mingus’ open letter to Miles

(WFAE, Soundscape Journal) (Emily Carr a.o.) (Beau Dick – Maker-of(hearing) (Raven finds the first Men) (Eulachon) (Galanin) last checked 05/2007 (audioguide)

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- http://www.ijih.org (International Journal of Intangible Heritage) - http://www.ipy.org (International Polar Year) - http://www.itu.int (5.1 specs) - http://www.museumskoffer.de (museum suitcase) - http://www.namgis.bc.ca - http://www.philbrodieband.com (loudest bands) - http://www.recording-history.org (History of Recording Technology) - http://www.ryerson.ca - http://www.schlossfreudenberg.de - http://www.sfu.ca (Truax texts, Handbook Acoustic Ecology, WFAE a.o.) - http://www.soundfield.com - http://www.soundingmuseum.com - http://www.soundmap.co.uk/ - http://www.stadt-zuerich.ch (NONAM) - http://www.soundingmuseum.com (updates and archive) - http://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.com (Carr) - http://www.umista.ca - http://www.unesco.org (especially ICH) - http://www.unknown.nu (futurism) - http://www.virtualmuseum.ca (Carr) - http://www.worms.de (Nibelungenmuseum) - http://www.youtube.com - http//www.emilycarr.org (Carr) - https://docs.google.com (several) - https://sites.google.com (several)

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c) Other - Feld, Steven (1981): Music of the Kaluli. audio CD; Institute of Papua New Guinea Studies - Feld, Steven (1985): The Kaluli of Papua Nugini – Weeping and Song. audio CD; Bärenreiter Musicaphon - Feld, Steven (1991): Voices of the Rainforest. audio CD; Rykodisc - Feld, Steven (2001a): Rainforest Soundwalks – Ambiences of Bosavi, Papua New Guinea. audio CD; Earth Ear - Feld, Steven (2001b): Bosavi – Rainforest Music from Papua New Guinea. audio CD; Smithsonian Folkways - Fickers, Andreas (2012): In Search of the Sonic Aura. Keynote held at the Staging Sound in the Museum symposium in Hilversum, 02-03-2012 - Herbig, Michael (2001): Der Schuh des Manitou. Movie; Constantin Film - Kramer, Nicole (2011): Das Leid mit dem Vergleich. radio interview; WDR5 Lebensart: broadcast 05-03-2011 - Kubrick, Stanley (1971): A Clockwork Orange. Movie; Warner Bros. - Kubrick, Stanley/ Clarke Arthur C. (1968): 2001 – A Space Odyssey. Movie; Metro Goldwyn Meyer - Lucas, George (2005): Star Wars, Episode IV – Revenge of the Sith. Movie; Lucasfilm - Napoleon, Val (2011): Indigenous Law and Citizenship – Foundations for Indigenous Self-Determination. Keynote at American Indian Workshop, 03-312011, Graz - Ortiz, Simon (2011): Indigenous Literature – Land, Culture, Community. And Change, andIntegrity. Keynote at American Indian Workshop, 03-31-2011, Graz - Spielberg, Steven (1993): Jurassic Park. Movie; Universal Pictures

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The Sounding Museum: Two Weeks in Alert Bay audio DVD (formatted for DVD-Video players; AC3, 448kbps, 4.1) Hein Schoer 2010/2013

Total running time: 69’30’’ Track List 01 One Day in the Life of Raven (full version)

42’00’’

The original composition, made from 35h of field recordings. From this one, all abbreviated versions were cut, as well as the edited version for the NONAM.

02 Four Worlds (workshop edit)

21’00’’

During the Das Tönende Museum workshop at the NONAM there would not have been the time to play the full version, and it would also have been much too long to keep the children’s attention. For didactic reasons the atmospheric entry here has been enhanced by snippets from the four worlds, each coming from one of the four speakers of the quadraphonic array

03 Short Trip (walk-in edit)

5’26’’

The maximum length feasible for regular museum use. The four movements are barely distinguishable, it is more of a medley. At least the four snippets in the beginning give you a hint.

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The Sounding Museum: Two Weeks in Alert Bay 2nd edition audio CD Hein Schoer 2010-2013 Recordings for main piece made in October 2009, all other Alert bay recordings made winter 2011/2012 Tracks 01and 05-09 are unprocessed found sound pieces (one cut between pts. 1 & 2 and careful equalising in track 05).

Total running time: 79’58’’ Track List 01 Port McNeill – Sointula – Alert Bay

4’30’’

From Vancouver you take a small plane to Port Hardy. A taxi takes you to Port McNeill, which takes about an hour. From there you take the BC ferry, which stops at the Finnish expat community Sointula before arriving in Alert Bay. The coast view is breathtaking.

02 Welcome by Vera Newman

7’56’’

I thank Vera for sharing her thoughts in this wonderful introduction. A reciprocal inspiration feedback loop with endless opportunities.

03 How Raven Stole the Sun

5’26’’

One of the most prominent stories on the Northwest Coast and the narrative basis for the main piece.

04 Two Weeks in Alert Bay – One Day in the Life of Raven

42’00’’

The full 42’ version, NONAMised. My acoustic rendering of my impressions of two weeks in the Bay. On the audio-DVD you will find the original with my dialogue with Beau Dick. 399

05 Lahal, pts. 1 & 2

7’19’’

Lahal is a traditional gambling game, also known as the bonegame or stickgame, played all over the western part of North America. Two teams gamble over sticks, which they can win by guessing the right bone, held by the other team. It is a game of speed and deception. The singing generates a lot of energy, but is also used to distract your opponent. Before Christmas 2011 Wa arranged Lahal sessions in the BigHouse for the kids. I took some time to even grasp the rules, let alone follow the course of the game. They were having a lot of fun.

06 Rain at Woss Lake

2’03’’

My second trip with Wa and friends to the 'Namgis band cabin at Woss lake, my family also came along. This time I got my rain recordings.

07 Fighting over the Crumbs

1’51’’

Shortly after New Year 2011/2012 we took the bones of my first stuffed turkey to the seashore close to the U’mista, to attract some birds. They came in large numbers and fought fiercely. It was over in a wink. I got my first bald eagles.

08 Bald Eagle

0’46’’

The frustrating part of being a sound hunter. I saw eagles circling; apparently someone had more bones to dispose. It tried to get isolated eagle cries; this is the result (well, there’s one…).

09 Leaving the Bay

1’25’’

On the return trip the ferry does not stop at Sointula.

bonus track 10 Schizophonie 8

6’28’’

Recordings from the Rheingau, Madagascar, Marseille, various locations in Wiesbaden and surroundings, gongs, flush toilets, madly spinning creeks (OKM recording!), cluster singing, experimental jams, synths & SFX. Enjoy with headphones. 400

The Sounding Museum: Two Weeks in Alert Bay 2nd edition Bonus Track: Schizophonie 8 Soundscape Composition; Hein Schoer 2007 Additional recording credits (Madagascar, Marseille): Harald Brandt Running time: 6’38’ By focussing on the distorting effects of the temporal and spatial displacement of sound, “Schizophonie 8” picks up a phenomenon identified as one central obstacle as defined by the Sounding Museum. What happens to sounds that are taken away from their source? What effects occur when they are reassembled elsewhere, in a syncrisis that would have been impossible in the “real” world? When the original atmosphere gets lost, a new aura emerges between the sound and the listener, to supply her/him with the affects necessary to initiate reflection. But what if the source material is contextualised in a way that eludes the listener’s analysis? Diverging sounds from all kinds of places, situations, and contexts, mostly unprocessed, then again some heavily altered, mostly field recorded found sounds, then again some completely synthetic, are shuffled into a potpourri of in-determination. “Schizophonie 8” plays with listener expectations; familiar elements interchange with others that don’t seem to make any sense at all. It demonstrates that the frame of reference, the knowledge about the elements of the system and their interrelations, determines not only aesthetic judgement, but may also trigger animosity. In that sense, it is the artful answer to the Sounding Museum’s struggle with orientalism, coevalness, and other schizogenic challenges.

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About the Author

Hein Schoer (*1976) is a soundscaper and a musician. He holds a diploma in audio engineering, a BA in Recording Arts, and a MA in Cultural Science. He received his PhD from Maastricht University in 2014 for the Sounding Museum research project. He is active in research, education, and art, often combining the three. From 2008 to 2014 his homebase was Fontys School for Fine and Performing Arts, Tilburg, NL. During that time he also regularly taught at Hochschule Darmstadt, GER, and worked with the NONAM (Nordamerika Native Museum, Zürich, CH) and the AMS (Aktives Museum Spiegelgasse, Wiesbaden, GER). He lectures, conducts workshops, exhibits, and performs. His preferred subject is the soundscape and its manifold interconnections with fields such as anthropology, pedagogy, design, and composition. Current research focuses on identity formation and cultural skill development through sound for pupils and inmates of a youth penitentiary. He also cooks.

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